“As for my news, I shall go back to Dog Kennel House in a few weeks. Young Martin and his wife have been kind to let me stay, but I long for my own hearth and Margaret’s company. ’Tis time for Magdalena to have charge of Haute Manor. God bless you, Geoff. Dickon is in good hands and I shall arrange a stipend. Your loving sister, Kate.”
She folded the parchment, warmed some wax and sealed it with Richard’s ring. Sitting by the window of her chamber, she stared out at the familiar fields now under the plough. She tried to imagine Dickon poring over a book, but in her fancy she could only see him working a piece of wood with his hands. How she longed to touch those hands, look into the unknown face of her child and hear his voice. The customary pain that accompanied thoughts of any of her children, especially Dickon, gripped her heart now, but she refused to give in to self-pity. She slammed the window shut and went to deliver her letter to Wat for dispatch.
“Ah, Kate. I have been hoping to see you.” Young Martin stopped her. He was at the solar door, and she followed him in. Magdalena was seated in Philippa’s old chair, her face alight with excitement.
“Magdalena and the children are going to visit her parents in Calais for a few weeks. She wants to know if you would go with them before you return to Tendring Park. I have told her I need you here to run the household, but if you wish to go, I shall not gainsay you.”
Kate smiled at Magdalena. “’Tis indeed kind of you to invite me, dear sister, but my place is here. I do not speak your language, and you should go to your family without worrying about me. I have much work to do before I leave.”
“If you are sure, Kate?” Magdalena was disappointed but not crushed by Kate’s refusal. If the truth were known, she always felt a plain little mouse in Kate’s presence. When Kate announced her intention of returning to Tendring, Magdalena had been secretly relieved. Since they had moved back to Haute Manor, Martin increasingly sought Kate’s opinion and advice, leaving Magdalena overlooked and underappreciated. Kate felt compassion for her and knew it was time to go.
“I am certain, Magdalena,” Kate reassured her.
ONCE AGAIN, her possessions sat atop a cart, with heavy sacking protecting them from the drizzle that began after dawn. Kate solemnly wished the servants farewell and gave them each a silver penny. She gave Gareth a groat for his good service to Martin and George. Then Martin dismissed them, and Kate was left with the family.
“Come, kiss your Aunt Kate, girls.” She held out her arms to Philippa and Amelia, who ran into them with a tearful “Farewell, Aunt.”
Magdalena wept as she embraced Kate, for despite her wish to be mistress at Haute Manor, there was so much she still had to learn about running a large house. Amelia Jacob had ruled with an iron rod in Lavenham and had left Magdalena to be a mother. Besides, Magdalena had come to regard Kate as an older sister.
“Farewell, sweet sister,” Kate whispered into Magdalena’s ear. “Look after Martin. He has great need of you.”
Magdalena nodded and smiled through her tears. “God be with you, Kate.”
Martin took Kate’s arm and walked her out to her horse. Wat and Molly were already on the cart seat, with Wat’s horse tied behind. Sweet Jesu, but this looks familiar, Kate said to herself. “Go on,” she called to Wat. “I shall be there directly.”
The lumbering vehicle inched its way out of the mud in the yard and towards the village road. The cart-horse picked up a little speed and turned out of the gate.
Kate turned to Martin and saw that he was close to tears. “For shame, brother,” she chided him. “I shall only be nine miles hence. You are all welcome at any time, in truth.”
Martin cupped his hands for her foot and propelled her lightly into the saddle. She reached into her pouch and threw Simon a penny. She had never been comfortable with the man, but he was a hard worker and gave the family good service. He grinned and bit the coin. She kicked the horse’s flanks, turned to wave at Martin and trotted after Wat and Molly. She twisted round one more time before she reached the road to look back at the house she had called home for so long. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, took a deep breath and urged Cornflower faster.
“I AM BEHOLDEN to my lord of Gloucester for these players,” Jack told the assembly at Tendring Hall after the Christmas feast. “Pray clear the tables, draw near and listen.”
His family, all present for the celebration of the birth of Christ this year, surrounded him. It was a merry group, Kate thought. Jack had been absent the Christmas of 1481, campaigning against the Scots as admiral of the fleet. He had successfully raided Berwick just as Richard had successfully defeated the land armies on the border, and Richard’s confidence in Jack’s loyalty had doubled. Jack had been delighted to receive Richard’s personal players for the season as a token of the younger man’s respect.
“Richard is a force to be recognized, Kate,” Jack said one evening after she had settled back into Dog Kennel House. “He is feared by the Scots and loved by almost all of those stout-hearted Northerners. The king is fortunate in his young brother, for Richard has united most of them.”
He did not mention the exception. The earl of Northumberland, Lord Percy, would always resent a stronger arm than his in his native country. But ’twas naught to fret over, he decided. Instead, he told her of his encounter with John and Katherine, which interested her far more than Richard’s exploits in the field.
“Richard is well pleased with both, in truth. John is strong and learns well from the master at arms. He is also fond of singing, and Richard assures me his mother’s talent for music has not been lost on her son. As for Katherine, she has already broken many of the henchmen’s hearts, and I regret to tell you that she has lost none of her spirit despite Duchess Elizabeth’s years of guidance. ’Tis remarkable how like her mother she is.”
At the feast, Margaret persuaded Kate to sing for the company, and her song was warmly received. Thomas Harper even lent his accompaniment, and she thrilled to the experience of sharing her music with such an accomplished player.
“Ecce mundi gaudium
ecce solus gentium
Virgo parit filium
Sine violentio
Lo, the joy of the world,
Lo, the salvation of the people
The virgin has borne a son,
With no impropriety;
Hail, queenly virgin, full of grace.”
“Our Kate is certainly full of grace these days, do you not think, my love?” Jack leaned over to Margaret and nuzzled her cheek. “Do you know if she is happy alone?”
“Certes, she is as happy as she can be without her love and her children.”
“Aye, I suppose. ’Twould be hard to give up one’s children.” He looked fondly around at his large family. Thomas and Elizabeth sat on Jack’s left, their three sons squabbling behind them, bored now that the food had been taken away. Elizabeth reprimanded them once again and threatened bed if they did not behave.
“Boys!” Jack grinned with pride.
He was happier than he had been earlier that week when he heard the sad news of little Anne Mowbray’s death. This left Prince Richard with the disputed dukedom of Norfolk, which would—should the boy remarry and have a child—remove every chance Jack had of the title. However, he was not thinking of titles when he rose to greet the players. They entertained the company with a farce about a sly lawyer who defrauds a mercer of a length of cloth and pretends to be dying when the shopkeeper arrives to collect his money. Boos accompanied the lawyer’s antics to avoid payment, and a roar of laughter erupted when the shopkeeper pushed past the lawyer’s indignant wife, flung back the bedclothes and revealed the rascally miscreant fully clothed, and then chased him three times round the hall. The talented troupe then turned their skills to juggling, acrobatics and magic. Jack rewarded them generously. Musicians struck up a merry country dance, and several young couples formed a circle. Jack was tired by this time and whispered to Margaret that he was ready for some quiet conversation in the tow
er solar. A few of the family followed him out, and Margaret beckoned to Kate to join them. She was enjoying the music, but she had no partner for the dance and so was content to leave.
“How was London, Father?” asked Jack’s eldest daughter, Isabel, seated in the window embrasure. “Is the king at Westminster for the season?”
“Aye, sweetheart, he is.” Jack’s face was grave at the mention of Edward. “I have to confess, I like not Edward’s humor at present. He is grossly fat, and he cannot keep his hands away from Mistress Shore. ’Tis an insult to the queen, but she bears it with fortitude.”
“Perhaps she is happy to be relieved of her bedroom duties, Father.” Daughter Margaret Wyndham tittered. “She has been more than a little busy in continuing the York family line.”
The company laughed, but Jack was still grim. “His grace should look to his health. We do not need another boy king. England is stable at present, but I fear for us if the crown is on a child’s head. I pray for Edward’s safekeeping every night, and so should all of you.”
His words were ominous. The hairs rose on Kate’s neck. How would Edward’s death affect Richard? she wondered. The young Prince of Wales had lived for years apart from his father at Ludlow Castle, in the care of his uncle, Anthony, Lord Rivers. It would indeed be an unsettling time if there was no strong hand on the helm of state. It might plunge the country back into civil war.
Jack had spoiled the festive mood, and it was not long before loud yawns persuaded most present to seek their bed. Kate shivered as she stepped into the snow that was falling gently on the hard ground. A servant accompanied her to her door with a torch, and she was glad to dispel her gloomy thoughts in front of a blazing fire in the kitchen with Molly, Wat and her kitchen servants. After a rousing version of “Wassail,” she climbed the stairs to her chamber.
“God keep the king safe,” she added to her nightly prayers.
JACK HAD FURTHER CAUSE to complain about the king. One evening, he arrived back from London in a rage. Margaret coaxed him into a chair by the fire and took off his boots. Margaret’s gentlewomen sat apart from the couple, but the family and Kate gathered round to hear his grumblings.
“Not only does that boy have the title,” he said, referring to the little Prince Richard, “but he now has the entire Mowbray inheritance, thanks to an act Edward made those fools in Parliament agree to. It does not sit well with me, I must tell you.” He ran his fingers through his iron-gray hair and asked for wine.
“Perhaps you could talk to the king, love,” Margaret suggested. “He may not fully grasp the significance of what he has done.”
“Ha! That man is wilier than all of us, Margaret. Nay, he may be a lecher and a glutton, but he is not a fool.”
WILY OR NOT, Edward proved no match for the Lord’s will. On April 9, 1483, after contracting a chill during a boat ride, King Edward the Fourth breathed his last at the age of forty-one at Westminster Palace in the presence of physicians and shriving priests.
Jack was not present at Edward’s deathbed. He received a message at Tendring from Lord Hastings on the fourth day of April that the king was ill, but as the letter gave him no sense of urgency, he tarried until the seventh before setting off for London. He arrived as the bells were tolling the king’s passing.
Margaret was shocked when she read Jack’s letter dated the twelfth. Her cry of dismay disturbed Kate’s reading and brought several of the family into the tower solar. Margaret told them what had happened.
“My dearest wife, God’s greeting to you. I have black news. The king is dead. He died a few hours before I reached London. Last evening I dined with Will Hastings, and now I will tell his tale. Two days before Edward’s death, Will was summoned to the royal bedchamber along with other members of the council who were close by. Will described the insufferable smell of the room, ‘ ’Twas as if the Grim Reaper himself was there, his fetid flesh stinking the air and putting the fear of God in us’ were his very words. Edward’s face was green-gray and puffed as a bullfrog’s. Between labor’d breaths, he charged all those present to put old quarrels aside. He asked them to swear fealty to his son and keep his kingdom safe. The queen sat close, her cheek to his hand, and their children stood close by, weeping. He exhorted them to love one another, and then he told them he would name Richard of Gloucester Protector of the Realm. At these words, the queen raised up her head, and Will said he saw her stare intently at her son, Dorset, across the bed. That lord’s expression told her that he was not happy with his stepfather’s decision.”
Margaret paused and looked around the room. She needed to know all could be relied upon. Only Kate was not kin. Satisfied, she read on quietly.
“I do not trust that man as far as I can heave him. And the news will sit even less well with Lord Rivers at Ludlow, I will wager my life. ’Tis to no avail, all heard the king’s wish, and I for one am pleased with it. The kingdom will be well tended in Richard’s hands until young Edward be crowned, of course, which will not be long, if the queen has her way. She fears Gloucester’s power, it is said, and would rid herself of it at the first opportunity. The king will be interred at Windsor, and I have the honor to carry his banner in the procession. I shall return to Stepney and give you instructions then, dear wife. I must be here to welcome the new king when he comes. The lord protector will surely ride into the city with him. I shall expect you to be by my side for that ceremony, Margaret, so make preparation.”
Margaret chose not to read Jack’s tender farewell to the gathering but folded the parchment carefully and tucked it inside her bodice. Everyone sat in stunned silence. They had all experienced the commanding presence of the king, and it was hard to imagine the vibrant, magnificent monarch no longer in their world.
Jack attended Edward’s funeral, which began at Westminster and ended in burial in the yet-unfinished St. George’s Chapel at Windsor—the final setting of the Sunne in Splendour.
WHEN MARGARET and her entourage trotted between the stone pillars into the courtyard of the Stepney mansion, London was still reeling from the events of the past two weeks. When circumstances forced the council to set a new coronation date, Jack sent a messenger to Tendring telling Margaret to delay her journey to London. He did not elaborate. Margaret knew her husband would explain all when she arrived.
An unexpected letter from John arrived a day after Jack’s, begging Kate to come to London, for he was to ride south with his father and join his cousin, the new king. Kate had not seen her son for seven years, and her heart leapt with longing. She would travel with Margaret and be a guest at Stepney.
Looking at the size of the Howard retinue, Kate wondered where everyone might be housed. She need not have worried, for Jack lived in state on the outskirts of London. He liked being away from the hustle and bustle of the city. His house was bordered by tranquil fields to the north and the river to the south. Jack always enjoyed the river ride to London or Westminster, although he was often teased for living in the wilderness of Wapping.
Jack cheerfully greeted the travelers at the steps of the magnificent town house. “Well met, well met! Margaret, my dear wife, I greet you well.”
He had kisses for all, including Kate. Then he took Margaret’s arm and led the way up the short flight of steps, through the great oak door and into the hall. Like Tendring, the town house was richly furnished, comfortable and exuded the warmth of its owners.
“What has delayed the coronation?” Margaret asked Jack at supper, once grace had been said, hands washed and wiped with white linens. “When is it to be?”
Those around the head table looked eagerly at Jack for the news.
“You cannot believe all that has occurred this past month.” He shook his head and smiled at the expectant faces. “Let me begin at the beginning, or at least, after Edward’s burial.”
Jack described the extraordinary events of April. He was deliberate and fair-minded. “It appears no one informed Gloucester—the Lord Protector—that his brother was dead for nigh on
ten days. ’Twas Hastings who finally sent for him to come south with all speed—and to bring an army.”
“An army? For what reason? Who was there for Gloucester to fear?”
“’Twould seem Hastings suspected the queen and her family had designs to secure the king’s person and set up a regency, my love. The council preferred to abide by Edward’s will and wait for the protector before making decisions. Happily, Gloucester ignored Hastings’ demand, for it would not have looked right for the protector to advance on London with such a display of might. Instead, he sent to Rivers at Ludlow, exhorting him and the young king to meet him at Northampton on the twenty-ninth of April so all could proceed to London together. That way, the Woodville faction would no longer control the king. Rivers dallied a few days and amassed two thousand men to accompany them.” Jack snorted. “More than enough to accomplish a triumphal ride into London, I would think.”
Cat’s husband, John, let out a whistle. “Two thousand!”
“When Gloucester arrived in Northampton on the appointed day, he found the king’s party had already moved on a dozen miles to Stony Stratford. Duke Richard was puzzled and angered. He sensed Hastings’ concern might well have been correct. He was surprised, therefore, when Lord Rivers himself rode into Northampton—alone—and gave the duke cheerful greeting and stayed to dine. By then, Harry Stafford of Buckingham had joined his cousin Gloucester. Rivers told the dukes he had moved ahead simply because there was not enough room to accommodate both his and Gloucester’s retinues in Northampton.”
Margaret interrupted again. “But Northampton is twice as large as Stony Stratford. And more capable of entertaining a king for the night. It would seem my lord Rivers wanted to arrive in London before the lord protector. Am I right?”
“We cannot tell, Margaret. All we know is that Gloucester and Buckingham perceived Rivers’ action as suspicious. Rivers found lodging for himself in the town for the night, and at dawn he was awakened by men of Gloucester’s guard and was arrested.”
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