“Has Tom told you? Has he given my surprise away? Tom?” He arched his black brows at the squire, who shook his head, gave Jack a small bow and hurried away.
“He said you have a royal visitor, Sir John. And I am afraid I am not worthy and must surely not be welcome.” Kate was stammering. “I am not prepared . . . what shall I say? . . .” She stopped, looking at him anxiously.
Jack laughed. “Why, this is the first time I have seen you at a loss for words, my dear. ’Tis quite fetching for a change. Although I confess I like your boldness, too.”
“Oh, fiddle-faddle!” Kate was flattered and felt more at ease. “And now, as I appear to have no choice but to stay, I would know who your visitor is, Sir John.”
“Have you not guessed, my clever Kate? ’Tis Richard of Gloucester? I promised I would invite you the next time he came to Tendring, and I am keeping my promise. He is upstairs in the solar with Margaret.” He was gratified by Kate’s expression of awe. “He was anxious to leave the court at Coventry after so many weary weeks of Woodvilles—ah, pardon me, they are your kinsmen, are they not?”
“Many times removed, my lord, I can assure you,” Kate demurred, not understanding the implication.
“Who is your guest, Jack? May I be introduced, or do I interrupt something?” Richard of Gloucester’s pleasant voice reached them from the top of the stairs. Jack swung round and lifted his arms in welcome, the enormous sleeves of his surcote hiding Kate from Richard as he made his way down the stairs.
“I believe the two of you have already met, my lord Richard.” Jack put a fatherly arm about him and led him to Kate, who curtsied low.
“My lord.”
“Why, ’tis the lady of the forest!” Richard was clearly delighted, and his tone reassured Kate enough for her to raise her head and smile at him. “I am right glad to see you again, Dame . . .”
He looked helplessly at Jack, who rescued him with aplomb.
“Haute, my lord. Katherine Haute of Chelsworth. She is wed to the son of my neighbor, Martin Haute. Perhaps you saw him at Coventry last week. He is kinsman to her grace, the queen. Margaret and I are indebted to Kate for her friendship and help at the time of our baby’s birthing. She and Margaret have become fast friends.”
“Forgive me, madam. Rob and I dubbed you the lady of the forest, and that is how I remember you.” Richard reached for her hand. Kate gave it readily and sank into another curtsy. “Rob will be envious when I tell him,” he said.
“I am flattered you have spoken of me since our last meeting, my lord.”
Richard lightly pressed her hand to his lips, not taking his eyes off her, just as he had done upon their parting at Chelsworth. He seemed to want to linger over her hand, but Kate withdrew it gently and smiled at him.
“I am happy to see you again, my lord. What brings you into Suffolk at this dreary time of year?” Kate saw no reason to stand on ceremony. Amused, Jack stood by.
“In truth, madam, my brother’s court is tiresome to me. I am so long in Yorkshire, I am unaccustomed to people with airs—the only air there is fresh and sweet—therefore I have no taste for playing the popinjay among so many others. Sir John has kindly offered me respite from the politics and games. I had no idea that I would meet with you again, Katherine Haute, but it gives me pleasure to see you again.”
Cock’s bones, there looks to be something between these two, Jack thought, as he watched the young people and hoped Richard would remember Kate was married. They are but children, he mused, especially Gloucester. I doubt he has poked his stick anywhere yet. Warwick will have kept a strict eye on his royal charge, I’ll wager a boatful of oysters. The dinner bell broke off his train of thought, and Jack offered Richard the place of honor at the high table, excusing himself to fetch Margaret. The children came scampering down the stairs and chased each other in and out of the tables before an exasperated and out-of-breath Rose reached the hall and shooed them to their places. The Howard household slowly filled the empty benches and glanced with interest at the distinguished guest in the master’s seat. One of Richard’s retinue enlightened those nearest him as to his importance, and soon the news was whispered around the hall.
“’Tis the king’s youngest brother! ’Tis George of Clarence,” said one.
“Don’t be daft, Davy. Richard of Gloucester is the youngest,” his neighbor replied.
“He is not very big,” whispered someone else. “I thought the king was a giant. This be but a puling boy.”
Edith stared at Richard. “He is quite handsome, I will say.”
Agnes nodded and then noticed Kate, who was not sure of her place. “There is Dame Katherine. My lady did tell me she was expected. It seems our mistress is much taken with her. ’Tis strange we never see the husband.”
“Aye. But have you not heard the rumor? Tom Moleyns has known George Haute these three years at Framlingham, and ’tis said the young husband is . . .” The rest came out in hushed tones.
“Certes! That poor young mistress. No wonder she is looking for friendship. And no wonder she is not yet with child. When did she marry? Before the Feast of St. Bartholomew, so my lady told me.”
Agnes fell silent as the Howards appeared and processed to their seats on either side of Richard. Margaret’s chaplain, William Bele, said the grace, and the meal began.
* * *
JACK, RICHARD AND HIS small retinue spent the afternoon competing at the archery butts in the field below the house. Kate could see their breath in the cold air from her perch on the window seat in Margaret’s warm solar. Agnes, Edith and Rose sat grouped with Margaret and the baby, Cat, swaddled tightly and asleep in her cradle in their midst.
The women chattered as they plied their needles in and out of a large piece of needlework in a frame, each working on a corner. Kate had her own work on her lap, her legs curled under her and her back against the wall, so that she could monitor what was happening outside the house as well as in. She dawdled over a few stitches but then realized she needed thread of a different color and was too comfortable to get up and find it in the basket. She wished she could be shooting with the men instead of doing needlework. She really was not good at being a gentlewoman, she knew.
“He seems an amiable young man, my lady,” Edith said to Margaret, and Kate pricked up her ears. “Not at all arrogant for the brother of a king.”
“And good to look at,” Agnes added, twittering. “A little young for all of us, I fear.”
Margaret laughed. “Aye, Agnes, we are all too long in the tooth for young Dickon. Although”—she turned to look at Kate, who was still gazing out of the window—“not too young for Dame Katherine.”
“My lady!” Agnes and Edith said together in mock horror. Rose looked disapproving.
“I am only jesting, ladies. Kate already has a husband, as we know, and besides, I fear she is not highborn enough for my lord of Gloucester. The king will be looking for a prize for his favorite brother. Perhaps some princess from abroad. Aye, some foreign king’s daughter who will bring land and an alliance. But I agree with you, Edith, the young man is pleasant in manner and in form.”
Kate was watching the object of their conversation with interest. She saw that he allowed his host to let fly his arrows first, despite his higher rank, and then he waited patiently while the rest of the party shot. She also noticed that he was an excellent archer and that his retainers were not just cheering every effort because he was the duke of Gloucester but because he was the best among them—save one. Kate could not know that Daniel Bowman was Howard’s archer de maison and was paid to be the best. The cheers were faint from that distance, and the only voice that reached the room above the portal was Jack’s booming baritone. Richard was not tall for his fifteen years, but he had not finished growing yet, Kate supposed. Jack was a head taller and much broader, but Richard walked as if he were a tall man. He had an assurance that he wore like a mantle; a bearing that announced his noble birth. And yet, thought Kate, there is a gentleness, too. .
. .
“Kate! Do pay attention, dear friend. What is happening out there that causes you to daydream so?”
Kate looked back at Margaret and tried to act nonchalantly. She felt a little guilty about her attraction to Richard. She should not be looking at other men. She knew the Devil was watching her, but then she thought of George and her guilt flew out of the window—along with the Devil.
“I beg your pardon, Lady Margaret, I was watching the archery practice. Do you need something?” Kate uncurled her legs and set down her needlework. She turned to glance out of the window one last time. The movement must have caught Richard’s eye, for he looked up, saw her and gave an imperceptible bow. She felt a rush of blood to her face and prayed the women would not notice.
“I was asking you if you would sing for our guest tonight, Kate. I hope you brought your harp, as Jack suggested. I’ll warrant Thomas the harper will not want to relinquish his instrument to you again now that you have outshone him.” Margaret smiled at Kate. “Jack tells me lord Richard is as fond of music as he is. As soon as he establishes his own household, he intends having his own choir. A very ambitious young man.”
“Aye, my lady, I have my harp. But Thomas need not fear competition from me. He is far more practiced than I, and I think he disapproves of women posturing in public!” she said behind her hand. Agnes and Edith tittered at that, and Rose looked disapproving again. Holy Mother, she is a killjoy, Kate thought.
“We shall let Thomas entertain us at supper, but in the intimacy of this chamber, you shall delight us with a song afterwards. That sounds fair, do you not agree?” Margaret said.
Kate smiled and bent to rock the cradle as Cat began to fuss.
* * *
“’TWAS A GREAT PITY I could not have witnessed Warwick’s and Rivers’ faces myself.” Jack gave a short laugh. The brazier was sending warmth and a glow into the solar, and cast huge shadows on the wall behind Jack’s chair as he talked to Richard seated next to him. “I’ll wager both were itching to get at each other’s throats instead of clasping hands. Tell me, my lord, you must have been close at hand.”
Richard nodded, staring into the coals and remembering the scene. “Aye, Jack. I was there and too close for comfort. Rivers was still smarting from the attack on his Kentish estate, which Warwick’s friends no doubt had a hand in. My lord of Warwick was humbled, ’tis true, but it was he and not that upstart Rivers who had my sympathy. He has been my lord and I have been true to him these last five years. He used me fairly and taught me well. It is painful for me to see the gap widening between him and Edward. But widen it has, and Warwick has shown me that pride does indeed undo a man. He has presumed too much, I fear. Edward is his own man. He has no more need for Warwick or his kingmaking. For a man as proud as Warwick, ’tis a sour soup to swallow.”
Kate sat quietly at her dreaded needlework with Margaret and the other women, who were talking among themselves. She was more interested in the men’s conversation, however, and strained to hear more of the events at court, many of which were shaped by these two men. She was drawn to Richard’s calmness. There was something about the young man that soothed and yet excited her.
“How long do you think this truce will last, my lord?” Jack asked. “When I arrived at Coventry, the talk was of a fragile reconciliation, and Warwick had already quit the court.”
“I am not in my brother’s trust yet, Jack, so I do not know. And pray call me Richard. My friends do.” He looked quizzically at Jack, assessing his loyalty. “Edward knows I am steadfast in my regard for my lord of Warwick, and I must now prove that not even that can cloud my complete duty to my brother and my king.”
“He has mine.” Jack hesitated for a second before saying, “Richard,” acknowledging the young duke’s earlier affirmation of friendship. “All that I am I owe to your brother, and the House of York can count on Howard to fight into very hell if need be!” His raised voice interrupted the women.
“Hush, Jack! I pray you, no talk of fighting tonight. There is enough blood spilled over here from Kate fighting with her hated needle. Let us invite her to sing instead. What say you, my lord?” Margaret addressed her question to Richard. “Would it please you to hear our guest sing?”
“Above anything, madam,” Richard said eagerly. “Music is a passion for me. I only wish I had the gift for it myself. If it please you, Dame Haute, I should be honored if you would play.”
“With pleasure, my lord.” Kate found herself blushing for the second time that day. “I would honor Thomas Harper by singing a song he gave to me.”
She surreptitiously wiped her bloody finger on the back of her dress, eliciting a giggle from Agnes. Kate made a face at her as she picked up her waiting harp.
“Come here, Kate, where we can see you,” Jack commanded, smiling his encouragement. “’Tis not like you to hide your light—”
“Fiddle-faddle, Sir John! I am not so brazen as you would think.” Jack and Richard both laughed.
“Nay, Kate, there is nothing bold about you, indeed,” Margaret said, wryly.
Kate set her stool on the other side of the brazier and tuned her harp.
“What did I hear you call her earlier, Jack?” Richard asked. “Mistress Lackseat? Why is that, may I ask?”
Kate looked so mortified that Jack took pity on her and told Richard it was their little secret. Richard raised one eyebrow in amusement and looked across at Kate. She was rosy in the fire’s soft glow, and the folds of her green and gold gown shimmered as she positioned herself to begin. She looked up and caught Richard observing her. There was that sensation again, she thought, puzzled. It was a physical ache down low that traveled up to her heart and made her catch her breath. She quickly focused on her harp and ran her fingers across the strings. The audience was quiet, and Margaret blew out the candles, leaving only fireglow.
Kate began her tale of the two sisters, allowing the haunting melody to linger at the end of each verse. As the story moved into the mystical element, her voice became a whisper.
“When the miller found the drowned woman
Hey, with a gay and a grinding,
He said, ’tis either a woman or a milk-white swan
By the bonny, bonny banks of London.
And when he looked that lady on
He sighed and made a heavy moan.
And he made him a harp of her breastbone . . .
. . . and the sound would melt a heart of stone.”
Margaret glanced at her husband, who was listening with his eyes closed and his finger tapping the rhythm on his knee, and then she noticed Richard’s intense gaze on Kate.
“And he did make strings of her yellow hair . . .
. . . and the notes made sad the listening ear.
He’s taken the harp to her father’s hall . . .
. . . and the court was there assembled all.
He had placed the harp upon the stone . . .
. . . it began to sing all on its own.”
Rose crossed herself and Agnes looked around to see if the Devil was lurking to hear this ghostly tale.
“Yonder sits my father the king,” sang the harp.
“And yonder my mother, the queen.
And yonder sits my little brother, Hugh . . .
. . . by him my William, so sweet and true.”
As Kate came to the last stanza, she lifted her head and stared towards the darkened window as if the solar had melted away and she was in the scene. The women leaned forward to catch her every word.
“The last song that the harp played then,
Hey, with a gay and a grinding
Was ‘Woe to my sister, the false Helen.’ ”
Kate’s fingers stroked the melancholic final chord and let the last word hang heavily on them all. A piece of wood shifted in the fire and showered sparks onto the floor, jolting Kate back to the present. Her audience did not move a muscle.
“’Tis well done, Kate.” Jack’s voice was hoarse with emotion. “You have moved us
all with your tale. And I do not think William was so sweet and true. He certainly did not tarry before he wed the heinous Helen.”
“But Jack,” Richard disagreed, “in life young men of our rank are often called upon to wed where we have not given our hearts. Perhaps he had no choice.” He looked full into Kate’s eyes, and she thought he could see straight to her heart. “Madam, you have a rare gift, and I believe you have carried us all away with your musical spell. My compliments. May I say that your voice is even more beautiful than when I first heard it in Westminster Hall.”
Kate could only nod in acknowledgment, not trusting her voice.
Jack beamed. “Certes! I had forgotten your performance that night of the coronation. Thank you, Kate, for diverting us all.” He rose noisily to his feet. “But now, friends, ’tis time for bed. Come, Margaret, we should leave our guest his room.”
Richard’s two squires began to prepare the tester bed for their royal master, and one by one the women curtsied to the royal visitor and left the chamber. Kate paused and looked back at him, saying, “Good night, your grace.” It was Richard’s turn to flush.
Jack took Margaret’s arm and turned back to Richard. “If it please you, tomorrow we shall hunt. My leg has healed well enough for me to test it again. It plagued me like the devil on the road to Coventry.”
“I hear it was a boar’s charge that took you off guard. Tell me of it, Jack.” Richard allowed his doublet to be unbuttoned and removed by his squire, and Jack noticed that as slight as Richard appeared, his shoulders and chest had been developed to manly proportions by his training at Middleham. ’Tis no wonder the lad shoots the bow so well, he has the strength for it, he thought. To Richard he said, “Aye, ’twas a boar. I thought I had him, but he surprised us all. It is a noble beast, in truth.”
“I am glad to hear you say so, Jack, for now my mind is made up. I will take the boar as my badge. ’Tis one of several I have been pondering, but your story confirms my belief. One day I would like to be able to surprise my foes with a valiant charge even though the case seems hopeless. That seems to me the essence of courage, don’t you think?”
A Rose for the Crown: A Novel Page 28
