A Rose for the Crown: A Novel

by Anne Easter Smith

  “What!” he shouted at her, leaping to his feet, his eyes glinting like flint and his face white. A silver cup went flying across the room, emptying its contents in a stream over the floor. “What!”

  The inner door behind him was flung open and a man strode in, his hand on his dagger. Richard swiveled round and pointed an imperious finger at him. “How dare you interrupt us! I did not hear your knock. You presume too much, Will Catesby. Now, get out! Out, I say!”

  Kate shivered at the ghost of a smirk that crossed the man’s handsome face as he looked past Richard at her. Then he gave a stiff bow and backed out of the room, murmuring apologies.

  “God’s nails! Can a king not have privacy?” Richard growled.

  “Perhaps he did not know you had company and thought you called for him. Master Catesby is someone you trust, is he not? You do not need to make an enemy of him.” Kate rose and led Richard back to his seat. “Calm yourself, I beg of you.”

  He sneered, roughly shrugging off her hand. “Calm myself, you say! I shall never be calm again. I am doomed, ’tis certain. God in Your heaven, why do You hate me?”

  She had seen Richard angry before, but his anger had always been directed at some injustice, a traitorous act or person. This was self-hatred and uncharacteristic. His dejected stance and raillery against God at once reminded her of Martin after Philippa’s death. Then she knew its source. The man was consumed by grief, and she was angry that God was dealing so harshly with this good and honest man. She ignored his ranting and persisted in sitting him down, stroking his hair and allowing him time to recover.

  It took a minute or two. “I am sorry, Kate. What is this nonsense about Bess? I swear I will give you my full attention.”

  “And not shout at me again?”

  He gave a short laugh and shook his head. “I promise.”

  She told him she had come to warn him of this new problem and, having Jack’s permission, told of Elizabeth’s letter. Richard’s mouth dropped open.

  “She is naught but a child. She is my niece—’tis incestuous surely. How could she imagine I would love and marry her? ’Tis quite unbelievable.”

  “She is no child. She is older than Katherine, and you have already married our daughter to William Herbert. I feel sorry for the girl—she is quite infatuated, it would seem—but it is your position that concerns me and, more nearly, concerns your advisers. ’Twas Jack who begged me to see you and try to make you deny these rumors. He is acting on behalf of the whole council, I assure you.”

  Richard sat slumped in his chair, contemplating his tightly clasped hands. “In their great wisdom, what do they suggest I do?”

  “They feel it is of sufficient importance to make a public denial.” She paused, expecting another angry outburst. Richard did not let her down.

  On his feet again, he shouted at the door, “I am not a puppet! Make a public denial. How dare they! I am not guilty. I have done nothing wrong. ’Tis Bess who should make a public denial, not me. I shall refuse! I am the king!”

  Kate could now well understand the reluctance of Richard’s advisers to confront him with this suggestion. What a green girl I am, she thought, watching him stride back and forth, his fists clenched and his head poked forward like an ugly crow. Jack knew what he was doing when he sent me.

  “Those lily-livered measles! Sending a woman to do a man’s job. I should dismiss them all!”

  “That is foolish talk, and you know it. I do not know the others, but Jack Howard is as loyal a man as you will ever know. He asked me to come for the good of the people—and for your own good. Put down the rumors once and for all. It makes sense to me, too.” She went to him, took the rigid fists into her hands and looked into his eyes, the gray darkened to angry black. “I will go now and let you ponder this. It will not be an easy task, Richard, but I have seen you master more difficult ones. I believe you should do it soon, for none who sees you now can doubt your real grief for Anne. They will have no choice but to know your words are true. I beg you, do not let this rumor fester.”

  She felt his hands relax for a moment and then grip hers. He pulled her to him and kissed her full on the mouth. There was no passion in his kiss, just a desperate need for love and acceptance. She put her arms around him, laid her head on his chest and held him close.

  “Thank you, Kate. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

  “I could do nothing less, my dear. Your well-being is my well-being. If you need me, you know where I am.”

  She gently pulled herself away from him, took his hand and slid off her ring. “I may have this back?” She looked up at him coyly. “You never know when I might need it again.”

  She was delighted to hear him laugh.

  “Aye, my rose, ’tis yours, in truth. And in case you have not heard, I can give you something in return. I have pardoned Richard Haute. Ightham is his once more.”

  Kate’s eyes gave him the satisfaction he needed. Her loyalty had been repaid.

  ON WEDNESDAY, March the thirtieth, Richard commanded the presence of the mayor and aldermen of London, noblemen, prelates and clergy, and his household officers in the great hall of the venerated Priory of St. John, home of the Knights Hospitallers. In a loud voice, he denied the rumor that he was intending to marry his niece. To some it was a shock; to most a relief. They hoped now Richard would be able to get on with the business of ruling.

  “GOD BE PRAISED!” Kate cried.

  Molly blushed.

  “When is it expected?” Kate asked her servant with a hug.

  “September, I be thinking, mistress. Harvest time. He should be big and healthy afore winter comes.”

  “Aye, Molly, he should be.” Kate smiled at Molly’s certainty she would give Wat a son. “This time we shall take good care of you.”

  Although Molly was looking robust, at thirty-eight she was old to be pregnant, especially after failing for so many years following the first child.

  “What does that tickle-brained husband of yours think?”

  “Oh, mistress. He be that pleased. He swears to hit me no more.”

  “He will have me to deal with if he does. Now finish my hair so I may greet my son.”

  Molly lovingly brushed the chestnut tresses until they gleamed. She regretted each day that she was the sole admirer of them. She was proud her mistress had only one or two white hairs; she now had many.

  Before Kate left Westminster, Richard had promised he would send John to her. In all the turmoil of the public denial, he had not forgotten. It was typical of Richard, Kate thought. He never forgot a promise. An April shower spoiled her plan to wait for John beneath her favorite willow, so she sat in the window of Margaret’s solar with her nose pressed to the glass. She was full of anticipation at the reunion. She had not seen her son since the coronation, almost two years before. Jack, who had been privy to the patent that named John Captain of Calais, had thoughtfully remembered to recite the exact phrasing Richard had used: “. . . our dear son, our bastard John of Gloucester, whose quickness of mind, agility of body, and inclination to all good customs give us great hope of his good service for the future.”

  Kate kissed Jack for bothering to commit so much to memory. It told her of Richard’s high regard. She did not fret for John’s future—as long as he stays out of battles, she thought.

  She rubbed away the condensation her breath had made on the windowpane and then she saw the barge. “Wicked boy. He has borrowed the king’s barge.”

  “Has he, now?” Margaret grinned, looking up from her sewing. “I wonder who he aims to impress?”

  Kate bobbed Margaret a curtsy and left the room. John was hurrying in from the rain as she descended the stairs. He looked up and saw her. The change from boy to man had been made, and his likeness to Richard astonished Kate. He still had the stocky build of many of the Bywood men, but his more prominent features, coloring and bearing were Richard’s. Only Kate could not see that her beauty had transformed Richard’s pleasant looks into John’s
handsome ones. He removed his hat and made her a sweeping bow. She ignored it and ran into his arms.

  “Holy Mother of God, John. Do I now have to look up to you?” She laughed and stood on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his mouth.

  John grinned, picked her up—more easily this time—and whirled her around. “Mother! Well met. I swear you grow more beautiful every time I see you.”

  “Fiddle-faddle, John. I see they have taught you a good deal of silver-tongued flattery at court. No doubt those young maidens you attempt to seduce might be taken in by it, but not your mother.”

  John blushed. He had indeed managed to seduce one or two serving wenches and found it a most pleasurable experience. But he did not expect his mother to talk about it. He changed the subject. “My father, the king, sends you God’s greetings.”

  “I am glad of them,” she murmured. “Her grace, the duchess, would like to see you, John. Then we may have the afternoon to ourselves.”

  They bumped into Molly on the landing. She squealed when she saw him and squealed again when he picked her up and kissed her soundly on the cheek.

  “Put me down, Master John, you naughty boy!” He acquiesced, and she looked him up and down. “It be hard to believe. ’Twere only yesterday I helped you to take your first steps.”

  “Molly, fetch us some wine and wafers, please. We shall be in the duchess’s solar.”

  “Gladly, madam.” Molly picked up her skirts and ran downstairs.

  “Have a care, Molly. Remember your condition,” Kate called after her. John looked blankly at his mother, but she ignored him, taking his hand and tucking it into hers. “Come, my son. You must greet Lady Margaret.”

  Margaret gave John a warm welcome. “Well met, Captain John. Are you used to the title yet?”

  John laughed. “’Tis indeed a great honor, your grace. I hope Father will not be disappointed in me.”

  “How could he be?” Kate retorted, making John roll his eyes with embarrassment.

  As they sipped wine and exchanged news, Kate asked about his sister.

  “Katherine left my stepmother’s service as soon as her grace was declared contagious. Father thought Katherine would be safer with her husband, and she is gone into Wales. She was happy to be reunited with him, so Father told me. I have not seen her in an age. She, more than I, must be grieved by Aunt Anne’s death. She lived closely with the queen all these years. My time has been spent mostly in the north, but Father called me to join him in London as soon as ’twas clear Aunt Anne was dying. We have been hunting—he has given me my own falcon! Hawking seems to give him comfort. He is much changed by the queen’s passing, in truth. ’Twas bad enough when little Ned died. It did seem his heart would break—indeed both their hearts.”

  Margaret nodded. “The duke and I have also remarked the great change in your father, John. ’Tis sad to see. He does try so hard to be a good king. But tell me, what news of your cousins of York?”

  Kate held her breath. She let it out when John shrugged and said, “I have no news, your grace. ’Tis certain they are somewhere safe. They are no longer in the Tower, but you know that, I suppose. If you speak of my cousin Bess, Father intends to send her north with me when I return next week.”

  Kate groaned. “Next week—so soon? I had hoped to see you much more.”

  John gave her a rueful smile. “’Tis my father’s command, Mother.”

  “Then let us make the most of his visit today, Kate,” Margaret interrupted. “ ’Tis said you have a pretty voice, John. May we hear you sing? Kate, fetch your harp. You may amuse us all while we sew, do you not agree, ladies?”

  Her three gentlewomen, who had been silently plying their needles by the window, looked up and nodded.

  “I like to sing, your grace, but my voice . . .” He tailed off as it lurched into a lower range, and they all laughed. “If it please you, I would dearly love to hear my mother.”

  For John, Kate sang his favorite Agincourt song, and he occasionally chimed in when he felt his voice would not let him down.

  “He is perfectly delightful, Kate,” Margaret declared later, after John had taken his leave. “Such a handsome boy with a fine wit. No wonder Richard is proud.”

  “As am I!”

  Margaret patted her hand. “Certes. But all mothers are proud of their children, even those who turn out to be bum-baileys. However, ’tis for a son to earn his father’s pride, and ’tis easy to see why John has done so. ’Tis a godsend for Richard that he has this fine young son to lean on now.”

  Kate went to bed wondering how Richard would bear up when John returned to the north. It did not surprise her that she dreamed again of the meadow, the two children floating above it and the third watching from the edge. She had no doubt now the children were hers, but the dream’s significance still eluded her.

  IT HAD RAINED all night, but the ruts in the road were soon caked dry. Kate twice almost missed her footing teetering on her pattens up to Tendring Hall. The summer wildflowers, made more brilliant by their recent watering, lifted their heads to the blue sky. Campion, ragged robin, cow parsley and the purple vetch, Kate named them all as she passed. The glorious scarlet poppies in a distant field stood out in contrast to the ripened wheat. Honeysuckle climbed and trailed along the hedgerow, its strong, sickly-sweet fragrance saturating the air. Kate breathed it in deeply; it masked the smell of the decomposing rubbish heap nearby.

  Margaret was in residence at the Hall for the summer. She did not care for Framlingham Castle. It was too isolated, set on a knoll overlooking nothing but flat fields and woods, she said. Moreover, it was overcrowded and noisy. She would always look on Tendring as her home.

  “Besides, being here means being close to you again, dear Kate,” she told her friend one day. The summer did not agree with Margaret. Her growing girth slowed her down, and she perspired profusely. On the days when she would not leave her chamber, she sat quietly in the darkened room in only her shift. She complained of pains in her chest and had difficulty breathing in the hot, humid days. Kate worried about her and gave her tinctures of motherwort to help her respiration and calm her pulse.

  “What does it say?” Margaret asked after watching Kate read a letter. Her ankles were swollen today, and she had asked Kate to massage them with lavender oil.

  “Katherine is coming to see me.” Kate’s eyes shone in the gloom. “It appears that William, her husband, fears an invasion close to them by Henry of Richmond.”

  “Ah, yes. Henry of Richmond, the so-called Tudor pretender.” Margaret scoffed. “Does he think he will find support here? Who would rally to fight for a man who left our shores as a boy and has not set foot here since? Why, we have heard he hardly speaks word of English! Yes, his mother is a Beaufort—a descendant of those bastards of John of Gaunt and his mistress—but why does Henry not believe the stipulation excepta dignitate regali—that the Beauforts should never inherit the crown—also applies to him?” Margaret was warming to her subject, and Kate was used to letting her vent. “And who was Tudor’s father? Edmund Tudor, son of Henry the Fifth’s widow and a Welsh groom. Another bastard! Hardly ideal bloodlines,” she finished, shaking her head.

  “Quite so, Margaret,” Kate said. “As I was saying, he wishes to remove Katherine from any danger. He believes that if their castle were to be taken, Henry would not think twice about taking the daughter of the king hostage. He thinks she will be safer with me.”

  “Very sensible,” Margaret said more calmly. “He must care for Katherine deeply. When may we expect her?”

  “William wrote this on August the first. Today is the seventh. Why, she should be here in a day or two. I must tell Molly. You know Katherine is her favorite. But first, let me make your poor legs comfortable. Then I shall light a candle in the chapel for Katherine’s safe arrival.”

  WILLIAM HERBERT, earl of Huntingdon, had made handsome provision for his wife’s long journey across England. On August the tenth, twenty liveried retainers escorted their royal charge, wh
o was attended by three gentlewomen, along the lane from the village to Tendring Hall. The villagers were used to seeing their duke ride in and out of Stoke with a much larger train, but they did not recognize this livery, and so many stopped what they were doing to gawp. Tendring field hands lined the lane, many of them too young to remember the auburn-haired beauty as the toddler who had played in the fields behind Dog Kennel House.

  Kate waited at the front door of the hall with Molly, Edith and Agnes. Margaret was in the tower solar, not wishing to spoil the reunion with senseless etiquette. Kate was surprised to see her usually exuberant daughter carried in a litter, her little jennet trotting riderless behind a groom’s horse. True, it had been a long ride of more than a week in the heat of the summer, but there was something wrong, she could tell. Katherine, who should have been enjoying the attention, was lifeless and her face pale. However, when she saw Kate, she rallied and waved.

  “Mother! God’s greetings. I am glad to see you.”

  “Katherine, my dearest girl, as I am you. What ails you, my sweet child?” Kate ran forward to help her daughter to the ground but was edged out by a burly man-at-arms who lifted his charge easily off the litter.

  “Thank you, Rhys. I shall be well once I go inside, I promise you,” Katherine said.

  “I swore to my lord I would deliver you whole, my lady. I feel responsible that you are unwell.” He backed away to allow Kate to reach her daughter just as Katherine swooned. “God’s bones! What ails her?” he cried, springing forward and lifting up her limp form.

  Kate felt Katherine’s forehead. “Sweet Jesu, she is drenched!”

  Despite her pallor, the young woman was clearly feverish. Her breathing was labored, and when she opened her eyes a few moments later, she complained of pain in her stomach. Molly came forward to see her beloved Katherine, but Kate forbade her to go near. The experience with plague had taught her to be wary.

  “We know not what this is, Molly. You must not endanger your child. Run down to the house and ready my chamber. We will isolate her there.”

  She asked Edith to go to Margaret and arrange for the housing of the escort. First, she asked if any more of the party had been ill or had any of Katherine’s symptoms. Two older men and one of the women acknowledged they, too, were ailing, and Kate told them to follow her to the house. As she led the small group to Dog Kennel House, she searched her knowledge for a sickness of this sort and could not find an answer. She needed help.