“God give you welcome, friends,” she said in a pleasant, musical voice. Her bright blue eyes surveyed Kate and then came to rest on Katherine. She smiled, inviting the girl to come and be kissed. Katherine looked at her mother, who nodded, and allowed herself to be crushed in the large woman’s embrace.
“So, you are Richard’s Katherine! ’Tis no wonder he speaks so glowingly of you, my child. You are a beauty, to be sure.” Elizabeth noted the fashionable gown Young Martin had arranged to have made. “Are you ready to be in the service of your dreadful old aunt?”
Katherine’s eyes were wide as sundials. She was not expecting to be addressed like this by a duchess. “If it please you, madam.” As Kate had instructed her, she curtsied low. Kate smiled her approval. But Katherine had not finished. “But I do not think you are dreadful or old.”
“Katherine!” Kate expostulated, and Martin burst out laughing.
Elizabeth threw back her head and neighed her delight, putting Kate in mind of a mare in heat. “Oh, good. Someone who is not afraid to talk to me. You and I will go along famously. Now, run and play with the other children there while I talk to your mother. Mistress Ratcliffe will take you to meet them all.”
Elizabeth watched Katherine skip off to join her children. “My brood, you know. Too many of them, I fear. But I love them all dearly. Come and sit here with me, Mistress Haute. Sir, perhaps you would like to explore the estate for a spell.” It was a command not a choice, and Martin bowed and left immediately.
“Now, Kate—I may call you Kate, yes?”
“With plea—” Kate started to say.
Elizabeth put her hand up. “Richard has written to me about you, so you need not explain further.”
“I—” Kate tried again.
“I do not expect you remember me from young Meg’s wedding celebrations,” Elizabeth continued, “there were so many people, but as soon as I saw you today, my dear, I remembered ’twas you who sang so prettily for Edward. I am right, am I not?”
Kate hesitated to reply, expecting to be cut off. But Elizabeth appeared to have finished and was awaiting a response.
“You are right, your grace. And sore afraid I was, too.” Kate chuckled at the memory. “Jack—Lord Howard—took me by surprise, but I could not gainsay him.”
“Aye, he is a force to be reckoned with, that man. But one to be trusted, as I have heard the king and my husband say, and who holds the office of treasurer better than any before him. Richard, too, seems much taken with him, which is odd—there are many years that separate them.”
“He is as fine a man as one could meet, your grace. He and his wife, Margaret, have been very kind to me and the children.”
“Ah, yes, you have another bast . . . child of Richard’s,” she corrected herself. “A boy as I understand. Where is he today? I would like to have met my nephew.”
“John is but six, madam, and he is content to stay at Chelsworth. But you will see him at Fotheringhay later in the summer, for Richard would have me take him there to join his household.”
“John! The same as my eldest, a good solid name. At Fotheringhay, you say? Then I shall look forward to it. Does he resemble Katherine, who, certes, is your image but with Richard’s eyes.” Elizabeth gave Kate an admiring look. Kate’s hand flew to the scar on her nose left by a well-worried pox.
“Nay, John is his father in miniature. His expression and temperament are all Richard. He is good-natured and loving, and he is beloved by all who know him.” Kate’s eyes shone as she spoke of her son.
Elizabeth spoke gently. “I can see ’twill be difficult for you to let him go, my dear. We all must face that. My John and three of his brothers are all away from home. But have no fear. Richard is a kind boy, always has been. John will be cared for at Middleham . . . or Pontefract. I can never remember where Richard spends his time these days. The north is as foreign to me as France.” Her neigh split the air again, and the gentlewomen looked up and smiled indulgently.
The visit went smoothly enough. Kate spent many hours talking to the duchess, who seemed not to mind associating with a commoner—or as some might even say, a whore. Wingfield was far enough removed from the pretensions of Westminster for Elizabeth to keep a more casual court. She had purposely picked a time to welcome Katherine when her husband was away in London. She did not want the child to feel threatened by the bustle that always accompanied the duke. Katherine’s manners and her naturalness made Kate proud, and she quickly made a friend of one of the younger Suffolk girls. The duchess was pleased with her niece and told Kate she would be treated as family.
“God keep you, my dear child,” Kate whispered into Katherine’s thick hair the morning of the departure. “Remember, I am not far away, and her grace has given me leave to come again to see you. Make me proud, Katherine, and know that I love you.”
“Farewell, Mother. I shall be a good girl, fear not. I love you, too,” she said on a sob and clung tightly to Kate. Kate gently pulled the girl’s hands from her neck, kissed her one more time and turned to her horse. Martin hugged Katherine next, and Kate was touched to see tears in his eyes when he took his reins from the groom. Their escort started trotting down the driveway with Martin following. Kate nudged her horse into a walk and turned to wave once more to the small figure standing on the steps. Elizabeth and her children crowded round Katherine to wave, and Kate was cheered to see her daughter accepted so readily by her new family.
She let her horse lead her, for she could not see the path.
* * *
THE CAVALCADE WAS SAID to be a league long, the dust from which was seen for miles around as it progressed south to Fotheringhay. Decked out in their finery, the king and many members of the York family accompanied the sacred remains of Richard, duke of York and his son, Edmund of Rutland, from Pontefract in Yorkshire, where they had been meagerly interred following the battle at Wakefield fifteen years earlier. Edward was to give his father and brother a fitting funeral at Fotheringhay, the favorite of the York family residences and Richard’s birthplace. The churchyard there was also the site of the York family vault. The funeral procession had taken six days to pass the spot where Kate and John now stood on the last Saturday in July in the small walled city of Stamford. Jostled among the curious crowd of citizens, Kate clung tightly to John’s hand.
The musicians entered the square first, their fanfare raising the hairs on the back of Kate’s neck. Shawms, pibcorns, trumpets, sackbuts, drums and cymbals made quite a racket as they passed, and Kate was glad when their music faded and the dozen or so bishops and abbots in their rich pontifical robes rode through the Clement Gate and into the city. Next, heralds trotted towards the heart of the town, banners and pennants waving gaily. The citizens cheered, but soon the noise died down as a line of somberly clad drummers, stepping slowly to their pounding funereal beat, preceded a massive pillared chariot, pulled by seven horses covered with black velvet, carrying the royal bones. The hearse was also covered with black velvet, on which were embossed the White Rose of York and Edward’s own Sunne in Splendour. The carriage was adorned with pennons and banners and the pillars decorated with many gilded wax images of kings and angels. From the steps of All Hallows Church, a bishop blessed the remains with holy water. The bells of all the churches tolled mournfully as the catafalque was pulled past the market cross and eventually to the Grey Friars priory a stone’s throw from the city. Here the coffins would rest for a day and a night before their final journey to Fotheringhay on Monday.
As the chief mourner, Richard of Gloucester rode behind the hearse clad in a voluminous black robe, a hood shadowing his face. Even Kate did not recognize him. There was a hush of expectancy, and people pushed forward. They were immediately urged back by foot guards who cajoled rather than coerced with their pikes. An unabashed cheer went up as Edward appeared, clothed in the traditional blue mourning clothes reserved for the king and mounted on his big black charger. Then the crowd resumed a reverential silence.
Kate s
tared in disbelief. “Why, he has grown fat!” She had spoken aloud, and a few people turned to stare at her. For most, this was the first time they had ever seen their king. “I saw him many years ago in London,” she hurriedly explained in a whisper, and they nodded and turned to gape at him.
Kate did not wait to watch the entire cortège of men, all clad in black habits, that followed the king to Grey Friars. She went back to the White Boar to await Richard’s summons. She was unsure what form it would take. From the window, she could see the end of the procession, like a black snake wending its way over the hill and into the town, and she was disappointed Richard did not appear to have had a part in it.
THE NEXT DAY, a very different cavalcade left the priory and made its way back into Stamford to attend mass at All Hallows. Word had spread through the town that others of the royal family would join the king and his party for the celebration of mass. Kate and John had worshipped at terce earlier that morning and now were among the onlookers close by the church. John was dismayed he could see nothing but the backside of a large woman in front of him, and he jumped up and down to get a better view. “Mother, I cannot see anything. Can you lift me up?”
“Nay, John, I am sorry. You are much too big for me to carry now. I shall just have to tell you what I see.”
“Mother! I beg of you, lift me!” His plea was heard by a stalwart standing next to them, who offered to hoist John onto his shoulders. Kate thanked him and allowed John to climb up. The man smelled of stale ale and sweat, but John did not seem to care.
The boy was spellbound, his small hands clinging around the man’s neck. Kate hoped he would not cry out something that might reveal their identity, but he seemed speechless for the time being. The mounting roar told her the king’s party was approaching, and she stood on tiptoe, determined not to miss Richard this time. The king waved genially to his subjects, and they waved back. He was again wearing mourning blue, but the other men had left off their black habits and were clad in less concealing attire. She recognized George, duke of Clarence, who was charming the townsfolk by throwing coins among them. Kate knew how much trouble this third son of York had caused, and she dismissed him and studied his wife instead. She was shocked. Isobel Neville was plainly ill. She had been considered prettier than her sister, but now she was gaunt, her cheeks hollowed, with great dark circles around her eyes. On her, mourning black sat like a pall. Isobel had given birth to a son the year before, and it seemed she had not recovered, so Jack had said.
Kate’s eye was caught by a fluttering standard displaying a white boar. And there he was—Richard! He sat astride a new horse she did not recognize, but the familiarity of his face, his clear, gray eyes and athletic body all evoked long-ago feelings she had suppressed these past four years. His magnificence took her breath away; his smile pierced her heart. She could not control the tears that rolled down her cheeks—happy tears that he was there, he was well, and he had not changed.
“’Tis Gloucester,” said the woman in front. “And his Neville wife. He was born at Foth’ringhay, you know. He be one of us.”
Kate had forgotten about Anne. Now she looked at her rival with keen interest. What she saw did not overly impress her, though she admitted Anne appeared to have a gentle demeanor and sat her horse well. Kate caught the look of adoration thrown Richard’s way, and a stab of jealousy surprised her. She had thought time had healed her wound, she had convinced herself she no longer thought of Richard as more than her children’s father. Of course, there were those nights when she still cried herself to sleep, and she never forgot him in her prayers. But she had moved on, hadn’t she? So, why the sudden pang?
She had no time to answer herself, for Richard was staring straight at her. Did he recognize her in the ugly widow’s wimple? Those eyes haunted her in her dreams, and as they locked on hers for an instant, he smiled. He knows me, she rejoiced. He chose the moment to blow a kiss seemingly at random into the crowd. It hit its intended mark, and she put her hand up to her cheek in acknowledgment. She felt herself flush. She did not care what anyone thought as she, too, blew a kiss. Then she reached up and touched John. Richard stared happily at his son and nodded slowly in recognition. In a few seconds, he was gone, leaving Kate glowing.
Behind his mother and father, prettily posed on a white pony, Edward of Middleham waved to the crowd. A squire leading the horse made sure the tiny figure did not fall. He was a frail child, with light brown hair and pink skin. Nevertheless, there was something about him that reminded Kate of John—the steadfast gray eyes, perhaps. Edward was only a few months younger than Dickon, she thought, and she wondered—as she wondered every day—how her other son was faring.
“’Tis Katherine, Mother! Look, look!” John almost fell off his perch as he lurched over one of his porter’s shoulders to get Kate’s attention.
“Take care, little laddie!” The man laughed good-naturedly and tightened his grasp on John’s legs. “Who is it you see?”
“My sister, sir. There, with the black dress. See?”
Kate spotted her daughter riding behind a lady-in-waiting to Elizabeth and holding onto the woman’s skirts. Kate waved, but the girl did not see her or John, who was shrieking her name. The yeoman scanned the crowd on the opposite side of the street and did not think to look at one of the royal company. Kate chose not to enlighten him.
“Katherine! Katherine! Over here!” John was desperate, and Kate could see he was now annoying the yeoman.
“He is a pest, is he not?” Kate gave him a sympathetic smile. “Put him down, goodman. He has seen enough, and we thank you for your kindness.”
Gratefully, the man lowered the wriggling John to the ground and tousled the boy’s dark hair. “It be natural, mistress. Bain’t every day a lad gets to see his king. Farewell, littl’un.”
Kate took John’s hand and eased out of the crowd. The market square, with the sun beating on the citizenry, was stifling. A vendor was selling ale and pies nearby, and Kate bought them both a cup of the bitter brew and a pasty.
“Which one was my father?” John asked, as they munched their pies on the way back to the White Boar. He jumped aside as the contents of a pot were thrown from the second floor of a house. “God’s bones, but that nearly hit me!”
“John! I will not have you speak thus,” Kate scolded him, but recognizing from whom he must have heard the oath, she did not slap him. “Your father was the handsome man on the black horse just in front of the little boy on the pony.”
“Oh,” said John, not remembering the man at all. “But did you see Katherine? ’Twas exciting to see her amidst those grand people, don’t you think, Mother?”
“Aye, son. And in a few days, you will be part of them, just as I explained to you at home before we came. That is why you must have a care of what you say and remember the manners I have taught you. You will be a good boy, promise me, John.” There was a catch in her throat.
She had been quite complacent all through the journey to Stamford and kept up a lighthearted chatter to allay John’s fears about leaving home. But now, seeing all the people who would be John’s new family circle parading in front of her, the reality was sinking in. Would he remember her after a few months in his grand new world? She doubted it.
The inn was empty when they reached the doorstep, but they could still hear the cheering from the procession route, telling Kate they might enjoy a short respite. She drew John onto her lap by the window in the comfortable room Richard had reserved and sang him one of his favorite songs.
“Our King went forth to Normandy,
With grace and might of chivalry;
The God for him wrought marv’lously,
Wherefore England may call and cry
Deo gratias.”
John joined in the Deo gratias with gusto. Martin had told him the story of King Henry at Agincourt over and over again, and he would fall asleep dreaming he was among the soldiers of that victorious army. Kate was glad to have raised a boy who appreciated music
so much. Richard would be pleased, she hoped. Then what was there about John that Richard could not like? He was a steadfast, kind-hearted boy with a quick mind, physical agility and no pretensions. Handsome, too, in her maternal opinion. Truly, he was a prince.
By the time she had finished singing several other ballads, Kate could hear signs the excitement was over. Voices floated up to her from the street, and the inn door banged several times. She had been holding John all this time, wanting to cherish each second of his closeness before she had to relinquish him forever.
“Ouch, Mother, you are choking me!” John squirmed out of her arms and onto the floor just as Molly knocked and entered the chamber. Wat followed behind her. They were flushed from the sun’s rays and the sights and sounds of the day.
“Madam, did you see Katherine? Looking every bit the lady, my sweet baby.” Molly was ecstatic.
The maid had several weeks of despondency when Katherine left for Wingfield, and Kate had felt sorry for her until Molly turned her bitterness on John, and then Kate stepped in and told her to collect herself. Kate was glad Molly felt such affection for the girl, but if she, Katherine’s mother, could get over the loss, then certes, so could Molly. Besides, she was upsetting John, whose turn to leave was rapidly approaching.
Kate smiled at her servant. “Aye, Molly, she looked as fair as any of the other ladies, I agree. I did not think to see her here, but I am right glad to know the duchess is not ashamed of her.”
“Ashamed! Why so, ashamed? She be a perfect little lady.”
Kate smiled. “You should not show your prejudice so, Molly. Now, pray instruct the landlord to serve our supper. I want John in bed early tonight, for he will have a big day tomorrow.” She forced gaiety into her voice to mask the terror she felt at the imminent parting from her beloved son.
A Rose for the Crown: A Novel Page 57
