“Haute! My dear fellow, well met! Andrew, Wat! Take the horses and feed them our best,” he ordered his grooms. “Come in, come in, good friends.”
Kate could have sworn she had seen Wat before, but she could not place him. Jack Howard waved them back towards the main portal and disappeared from view. Kate gave George a look that said “I told you he knows me” and accepted Martin’s arm in negotiating the muck in the yard and the mud around the door.
Her rain-soaked skirts weighed a ton, and now they had an added two inches of mud at the hem. She hoped she would spend the night there and she could have dry clothes by morning—being wet was not one of life’s pleasures, she thought. So busy was she in looking at her filthy shoes and dress that she did not notice Jack Howard’s entrance until she was taken in a bear hug and a large kiss planted on her unsuspecting mouth.
“If it isn’t Mistress Kate herself!” Jack’s black eyes twinkled merrily as he released her and stood back a pace to look at her. Martin was astonished at Kate’s reception.
“Well met, Sir John,” Kate greeted the recently elected knight of the county, also astonished. “I am indeed flattered you remember me.”
“Mistress Lackseat? How could I forget?” he teased her. “I rescued your daughter-in-law these many years since, Haute. She had fallen on hard times and was sorely bruised. Not so, Kate?”
“Aye, sir. ’Twould best be forgotten and does not need to be repeated here, I beg of you. ’Tis a beautiful arras, sir. Is the scene biblical?” She pointed over his left shoulder to a large, elaborate wall hanging, making him turn away from her and, she hoped, the embarrassing topic of her fall from her horse. Sir John was circumspect in his reaction to the sudden change in conversation.
“’Tis well said, Kate. The arrival of the Queen of Sheba, I do believe. ’Twas a gift to my new bride. You have not yet made her acquaintance, Haute.” Martin shook his head. “Ah, Rose.” Howard was addressing a woman mounting the staircase. “Pray find your mistress and announce our visitors at once. And take these cloaks away and dry them. Séches-les! Comprends-tu?”
The woman nodded, her mouth pursed, as she walked stiffly down the stairs to gather up the rain-heavy garments and disappear to the back of the house.
“Odd woman—a favorite of my dear departed wife, Catherine. She’s from Burgundy,” he said, as if that would explain her peculiarities. “And this is my squire, Tom Moleyns.” He introduced a tall, lanky young man, who had followed Jack down the stairs. “He is kin to Catherine.” The young man, who had been hovering in the background, came forward and bowed, giving George a surreptitious glare as he did. “Tell the steward we shall be three more for supper this evening and to find bedding. You will stop the night, my dear Haute?”
Martin thanked his host, accepted the invitation graciously and asked about the new tower. Jack’s eyes lit up with passion.
“I have designed the tower myself. After dinner I will show you the plan, if you are interested, Martin. ’Twill be near three stories high!”
“Aye, Jack, I would be interested. It looks to be a handsome addition.”
“But first I must deal with young George.” Jack turned to George, who was fidgeting with the ring on his thumb. “I would speak to you alone in my chamber, sirrah.” Howard’s tone had changed. Kate looked anxiously at him and saw his mouth, framed by a long black mustache, harden. George looked appropriately fearful.
A step was heard on the staircase. Howard’s face softened again when he saw his wife. “Margaret will see to your comforts, friends—not so, my love?” The tenderness returned to his eyes as he stretched out his hand to present his wife to the Hautes. Then he motioned to George to precede him to his office, his long blue surcote swirling around him as he marched through the doorway.
Margaret Howard was very pregnant, and her tiny form was almost doubled by the child she was carrying. A pretty woman with rosy cheeks and a vivacious expression, she radiated a warmth impossible to ignore. She waddled forward, beaming. Two young children followed her, peeping out from behind her skirts.
“Welcome, friends! You must dry yourselves by the fire. Some mulled wine would not go amiss, I’ll be bound. Such a miserable day, and to think Jack has not thought to bring you to the fire yet.” She shooed Kate and Martin to the roaring hearth set in a side wall, and the travelers gratefully lifted their hems to warm their legs and dry off. Kate removed her shoes; their bright green dye had stained her stockings. Margaret called for Rose to take the children away to play.
“I suspect they are hers with her previous husband, John Norris,” Martin muttered to Kate, who watched them leave with curiosity. During the ride, Martin had explained that Margaret had been the child bride of Nicholas Wyfold, lord mayor of London. Wyfold had died ten years ago, leaving his young wife a wealthy woman. Margaret’s second marriage—to John Norris of Bray—was not fulfilling except for the birth of her two children.
“My little ones, Lettice and William.” Margaret waddled closer to the fire. She eyed Kate’s wet hem and green feet. “I would pass a dry gown for you to wear this evening, Mistress Haute, an you desire. You shiver so, and I would not want you to catch cold. ’Tis the time of year, is it not?” She was mothering Kate, a worried frown on her face.
Kate smiled. “Nay, madam, I am warned now, but the hot wine does sound inviting.” Before Margaret had a chance to respond, there was an eruption from the office.
“God’s bones!” The angry expletive was heard clearly through the thick oak door, though the rest of the sentence was muffled as Jack lowered his voice. All three by the fire stopped talking and stared at the door. Margaret broke the silence by readying a small pot suspended over the fire and pouring wine into it from a pitcher on the hearth. She selected a few cloves and a nutmeg and added them to the pot. Kate and Martin watched her, each imagining the scene in the other room.
“Fear not, Kate, my husband is most tolerant of young people in love at present.” She blushed modestly. “I am sure he will show utmost benevolence in his dealings with George.”
“Thank you, madam,” Kate said, glancing up at Martin.
He looked grim and then shocked the gentle Margaret by saying, “I hope the young good-for-nothing gets what he deserves!” He strode off to the foot of the staircase and stared up at the Queen of Sheba on the wall. Margaret patted Kate’s arm and was rewarded with a smile. No wonder the lad had fallen head over heels, she told Howard later.
After what seemed like an age, the door to the small chamber flew open, and Howard strode back into the hall with a wan George trailing behind him. George gave Margaret a small bow, Kate a look of anguish and went to his father. Martin turned when he heard the two men reenter.
“I do humbly beg your pardon, sir.” George was on one knee, his blond head bowed. “Sir John is gracious. He has not dismissed me from his service, but I must return to Framlingham and my duties there immediately. Do I have your leave, sir?”
His voice came from the vacuum that was his stomach. He was not sure which would have been the greater punishment—to have been dismissed by Howard to return in disgrace to his father’s house or to resume the hated knightly training. The misery he felt showed in the droop of his shoulders and his trembling voice.
“I accept your apology, my son. And I do thank God for the generosity of your patron. Howard, I am much indebted to you,” Martin called across the hall. “Now, ride back to your mother, tell her Kate and I shall rest here until the morrow and then get you gone to Framlingham at sunrise,” he ordered George in an even tone. “Say farewell to our hosts and your lady wife and be gone.”
He was relieved his son would not be disgraced, but had he been Howard, he would have also given the lad a whipping.
George said his good-byes stiffly, giving Kate a peck on the cheek.
“Nay, sir. Give her a proper kiss!” Jack’s command was kindly. “Don’t mind us, eh, Margaret?” And reaching across Margaret’s belly, he gave her a smacking kiss to demonstrate
.
George looked appalled but pulled himself together and taking Kate in his arms, kissed her carefully on the lips. Margaret noticed the lack of passion and was puzzled, but she smiled and nodded.
“That’s better,” Jack said. “Farewell, George. Here is your passport to the steward at Framlingham, excusing your absence.” He handed George a letter. “Now, you had best hurry an you get caught by darkness. Away with you!”
George bolted like a hare out of a hedge, and Kate stared after him, wondering what her fate would now be.
Jack patted her hand. “Never fear, Kate, you shall see him again before too long, I promise. You must know by now ’tis a wife’s lot to be left behind.”
Before Kate could demur, Margaret suddenly gave a cry of surprise and grasped Jack’s arm. Martin pulled up a chair, and as Jack maneuvered her into it, they all saw the telltale puddle of water on the floor.
“God’s bones! Her time is come. Martin, call to her women and tell them to prepare the bedchamber immediately. Margaret, my love, how do you fare?”
Howard’s voice was anxious but calm. Childbirth was nothing new for him. He had seen his wife Catherine delivered of six children, including his two sons, Thomas and Nicholas. He was hoping for another boy to secure the Howard line.
Kate stepped forward quickly. “If it please you, Sir John, allow me to fetch one of her gentlewomen, and I will arrange for hot water to be brought to the chamber. ’Tis best you and my father carry her to her chamber.”
“Certes, you are right, Kate.” Jack nodded to Martin to help him with Margaret, who was none too pleased at being picked up bodily by these two big men.
“Set me down, husband!” The men acquiesced and put her down gingerly. “’Tis three children I have borne before I met you, and this one will not be difficult, I promise you. I can perfectly well walk to my chamber, but I thank you both.”
She walked slowly to the stairs, her head high, until another pain caught her unawares, and she paused, gripping the banister. Howard ran to help her up the stairs while Martin watched from below, happy that he did not have to be involved. He had been on hand for only two of his children’s births, and that had been enough to make him relieved he had missed the others. He thought perhaps he and Kate should take their leave, but he was reluctant to relinquish his warm spot by the fire. Besides, he wanted George to ride and think on his foolishness alone. He picked up the poker and plunged the red-hot end into the pot of wine, which sputtered and sizzled, the scented steam making his mouth water. He poured himself a cup and lowered his tired body into a chair.
Kate bustled out to the kitchen, quickly introduced herself to the women and began giving orders. The commanding role came back to her naturally after her years as mistress of Draper House, although she had taken a back seat to Philippa at the manor. Soon lackeys and maids appeared, carrying buckets of water to be transferred to cauldrons over the fire, which was being stoked back to roaring. Two of Margaret’s tiring women were tearing lengths of linen, some of which would be used to keep Margaret clean during the birth, some for swaddling bands.
Kate asked to be shown the dispensary. She was taken to an airy cubicle at the back of the kitchen. It was lined with shelves of neatly marked jars filled with flowers, roots, leaves, powders and spices and even some tightly corked bottles of elixirs. She found the herbs she needed to help Margaret through the birth: valerian to ease her contractions, nettle for possible internal bleeding, and horehound and chamomile to soothe the stomach. After grinding pinches of each with a mortar and pestle, she put half the mixture in a cup and infused it with hot water. She left the other half for later.
Martin was still slumped in his chair sipping his warm wine when Kate mounted the staircase behind him with her brew. Upstairs she encountered the two children, wide-eyed at all the commotion, as well as Tom Moleyns, who was clearly nervous, and an older man with iron-gray hair and a big bulbous nose.
“Mistress Haute?” this last wheezed. He bowed and Kate inclined her head. “I am John Braham, steward to Sir John. I pray you follow me.”
Kate noticed how slowly and painfully he walked the few steps to the bedchamber. It must be old age, Kate thought, and resolved to give him a potion to ease his aching joints. Braham knocked on the door just as Jack flung it open to exit. The old man stumbled back in surprise and laughed with his master.
“Why, John, did I catch you at the keyhole?” Jack teased, but his eyes were full of concern for his faithful steward. “Get you gone and rest, man, you can be of no help here. This is women’s work, is it not, Kate? Your potion smells vile, but maybe it will ease my lady’s labor. I thank you for your care. You are a kind poppet!” He cupped her chin and kissed her forehead. “Now, go and see that Margaret lacks for naught. I shall join Martin in a cup of wine and do what all good fathers do at this time: be patient, wait—and drink!”
Kate smiled and shooed him away and then left the door open a crack. She thought about telling him to open the front door, but she forced the memory of Martha’s death to the back of her mind. Part of her still believed in the superstitions of her childhood, but she would never have dared to tell Sir John to stand his front door open.
Margaret was lost in the huge poster bed with its gorgeous damask hangings, her swollen belly dominating the fine linen landscape. Rose was wiping her mistress’s brow and another woman was gently massaging Margaret’s stomach.
“Mistress Kate, my dear. Everyone is making such a pother. I am well, and other than the accursed spasms, am not in great discomfort. This is Sarah, who I am told not only makes fine pies in our kitchen but is skilled in midwifery as well. And this is dear Janet. She has seen me through all my children.”
Sarah and Janet bobbed curtsies in Kate’s direction, and Sarah continued with her massaging while Janet stoked the brazier. Kate sat on the bed to administer her infusion and smiled as Margaret turned up her nose.
Kate laughed. “’Tis the stinking horehound you smell, Mistress Howard. I am sorry it is not appealing, but the mixture should calm your nerves and your stomach. Now drink!”
The gentlewomen from the kitchen, Agnes and Edith, hurried into the room with their bundles of cloth and were followed by two lackeys carrying hot water. Another contraction rendered Margaret rigid, and she grasped Kate’s hand tightly. Kate hummed a soothing lullaby. Margaret tried to concentrate on the music and not on her muscles.
Margaret was right. It was a quick and easy birth. Her women helped her into the birthing chair as she began to push. Not five minutes later, the baby slithered into Janet’s waiting hands. Sarah was efficient and as steady as a rock; she tied off and cut the umbilical cord. All that remained for her to attend to was the safe expulsion of the afterbirth.
Kate was handed the baby, a girl, to slap into life, and she smiled happily when a feisty, indignant cry issued from the writhing form she was holding upside down. Agnes wrung out a cloth and gently cleansed the baby, who was irate at being ejected from her former warm surroundings. She screamed her displeasure, much to the amusement of the attending women.
Margaret, too, was being washed. Kate bent and kissed her new friend in congratulation. “She is beautiful, my lady. You are indeed fortunate to have a healthy child. Shall I fetch Sir John now? Or do you wish to rest before you see him?” Kate had tears of happiness mixed with her own sadness for her childless marriage spilling down her cheeks.
Again Margaret was puzzled, but she was far too relieved that her ordeal was over and her daughter healthy to ask any questions.
“Nay, I am not tired in the least,” she protested, as Rose clucked around her, untying her mistress’s soiled shift and gentling it over her head. “And neither, it seems, is my daughter.” She smiled as she watched the tiny wriggling form being swaddled and rocked in Agnes’s arms. They hoped the baby would soon be asleep after her harrowing journey into a new world, but for the moment, she was wide awake. “Do fetch my husband, Kate, while I return to my bed.”
Ka
te suddenly felt dead tired. The journey in the rain, George’s abrupt departure, overseeing the servants in the kitchen and the whole birthing process had taxed even her youthful strength, and she had taken no sustenance since a slab of bread and cheese on the road from Chelsworth. She forced a smile and left the room. She tried to sound cheerful as she descended the staircase, holding on to the banister for support. “’Tis a daughter you have, Sir John,” she called. “She is beautiful! Perfect! And Margaret is asking to see you.”
“Is she, by the Rood! ’Tis a fine woman I have married, Martin, as I have been telling you these past hours. Now she has given me a sweet daughter. Forgive me for leaving you, my dear guests, but I must go and see my ladylove.”
Jack rose from his chair as he talked, thumped Martin heartily on the shoulder and lifted Kate off her feet in a gesture of affection and excitement. He turned to the young man next to Martin and slapped him on the back.
“Look after our guests, Nicholas. See that Mistress Haute has some supper.” He strode across the hall to the stairway.
“My respects to Margaret, Father,” Nicholas called after him.
“With pleasure, dear boy. A daughter? Why, I am delighted!” Jack cried as he mounted the stairs two at a time.
Martin laughed at his friend’s exuberance. “You would think he had not had daughters before, Kate. And here he was praying for another son not five minutes since, was he not, Nicholas?”
Nicholas smiled agreement and walked off to command food for Kate.
Martin swirled his wine in the cup. “Jack Howard is a generous and steadfast fellow and very much in love with his wife, as he says. So taken with her was he upon their meeting that he arranged to marry her in great haste, it seems. Here it is only nine months later. And the gifts he gave her. Even the diamonds given to him by the queen. ’Twas folly or love, I know not which.” He was still chuckling when Kate collapsed in a heap on the floor in front of him.
A Rose for the Crown: A Novel Page 23
