City of Ladies

by Sarah Kennedy

  Eleanor had thrown a couple of sticks onto the fire and was stirring the offending cloth into ash. The stink had burned off and she added a thin log. “Want to bathe, Madam?”

  “More than anything.” Catherine stripped to wash at the basin but stood staring at her reflection in the water. “No,” she said. “There is one thing I want more.”

  “What would that be?”

  “I want Robbie.” Catherine didn’t care that the water was tepid. The soap smelt like roses, and she ran the cloth over her neck and arms and breasts. Eleanor held up her mistress’s hair and wiped down her back and nape.

  “You will need to be cautious, Madam. What Master Benjamin says, it’s true?”

  “You mean about the king and his appetites? God knows. I likely will look like an old married woman in his eyes. I think I am bound for the daughter anyway. Is there a basin in your room?”

  “A small one. It’s enough. Give me a minute and I will come dress you.”

  Catherine handed her the soap. “No sense letting this dry out.”

  Eleanor held it to her nose and closed her eyes with pleasure. “One minute.” She was already pulling her apron loose as she slipped into the next room.

  Catherine regarded her face in the small glass on the wall. Dark hair, curlier than she had thought it would ever be. Her skin was pale, like most women from the North, but her eyes were the same green as John Bridle’s. She bit her lips and they bloomed red. From her small case she drew a box of rice powder for her chest and cheeks. A fresh shift and a straightened hood on her head, and she was ready to be seen.

  Eleanor came in, tying her hair up with a clean ribbon of silk the color of twilight. “I found this in the cupboard. It is almost the Overton shade of blue. Will I be whipped for wearing it?”

  “Not if it is a reformed ribbon,” said Catherine. She held one raveled end to the light. “It is close enough to our color.”

  “I found something else.” The maid ran back to her chamber and returned with a handful of lavender, the heads heavy with blossoms. “Can you make use of these?”

  “Oh, thank God above,” said Catherine. The flowers were still fragrant. She stripped off some petals in one quick motion and sprinkled them over her trunk. “Now let the bedbugs go bite elsewhere.” She handed the remainder back to Eleanor. “There are still plenty of flowers there. Go strip them off into your clothing and your bed.”

  Eleanor did as she was bidden and returned with the decapitated stems, which she strewed among the rushes on the floor. She stood behind Catherine, who sat to let the little maid smooth her sleeves and the back of her hood. Eleanor’s hand rested on Catherine’s shoulder. “Madam?”

  Catherine was enjoying the petting. “What is it?”

  “You look fine.”

  Catherine hefted her breasts and let them fall. “I feel like a dowdy cow.”

  “No. I mean you look very fine. I cannot help but think on what the gentleman said. Do you want to look so well? Is it safe?”

  Catherine looked in her glass again. “I will keep out of the sight of the king’s men. The king himself, too, as well as I can.”

  “That house is full of men, I have heard. And the king himself sniffs through the ladies for his prey. Even married ladies. There is no telling, Madam, what might happen to someone who looks like you.”

  14

  Supper was being prepared, and William sat with Benjamin at the long dining table, drinking wine. Catherine swept into the room and waited for her vision to adjust to the gloom.

  “Catherine. Love,” said William. “We have been speaking of you. Come, sit with us and we will map out your future.”

  “Our future, surely you mean.” When she could pick out his dim figure, Catherine chose the seat across from her husband, pulled her spoon from her girdle bag, and wiped it on her handkerchief.

  “I have dinner tools for you,” said Benjamin. “I promise they’re not poisoned.”

  Catherine cursed herself silently and set the utensil gently by the silver plate. “I thought no such thing. I am a simple woman, accustomed to my own.” Her hand remained on the cool pewter handle. “William tells me that your lady was taken down by the pox. It grieves my heart to hear it. Were there no physicians in London to be had?”

  “Physicians coming out our ears. No one who can stop death when it breathes on a person.”

  “Catherine can stop it,” said William. “It was she who brought me through the pox.”

  “Was that you?” Benjamin looked at Catherine with new eyes. “I thought you had bewitched his soul, not his skin.”

  “I cared for him as well as I could,” Catherine said. “The pox is a powerful enemy.”

  “Would that you had been here when my wife fell ill. She has lain in the Davies family tomb for over a year now. And I have seen her resting place only once in that time, though it is less than a week’s ride to Conwy from here.” Benjamin seemed to be speaking to himself.

  Catherine moved her spoon an inch from the linen napkin, then pulled it back again. She said into the silence, “How is it that you are called Benjamin? It is not a Welsh name.”

  The man brightened at that and spoke directly to her. “My mother is as English as you. A conquest of my father’s. His second. Or third. The man married so often his children had difficulty keeping up. I am his third son, which absolves me of all responsibility in the matter of names and ancestral properties. I am a free man, as you see.” He spread his arms as though his liberty showed on his body. “I have a daughter of my own, but she keeps to her room. She is just thirteen, and has given herself up wholly to piety. I will have her down directly to sing to us if I can haul her away from her prayers long enough.” He sighed. “She misses a mother, as all girls do. I think she would like us to bring back the Mother of God so that she will have a place to direct her petitions.”

  “Yes,” said Catherine. “I understand. I would be pleased to hear her voice.”

  Benjamin put his elbow on the table and pointed at Catherine. “And speaking of conquests, this Elizabeth is the one you should fasten upon. The child is mostly forgotten, mostly without friends, but the king will have her provided for. He must. She’s a small meteor, that girl. You can see that she’s a bastard by her bad behavior. But she’s the king’s, no doubt about that. The hair.” Benjamin touched his own head with the tip of his knife, then beckoned to a man at the door who held another platter of meat. “Bring it in.” The food was laid, and the man called upon two boys who scooted in with bread and more wine. “Ah,” said Benjamin. He sat back while his plate was loaded with slabs of venison and chicken. A bowl of leeks and carrots was laid, and he helped himself with a big spoon. “Give the lady some wine, lad. Then go fetch my daughter.”

  Catherine’s stomach had shriveled, hungry as she was. “So a bastard can be discovered by her evil manners, is that it?”

  Benjamin opened his mouth. Then he closed it. “I meant no offense.” He cut a piece of meat. “But I believe you said yourself you were no good nun.”

  Catherine’s guts were shifting about, and she thought she might cry. Instead, a laugh erupted from her. He was in the right. “I stand corrected. I have laid claim to my own devil, haven’t I?”

  “You’re the greater lady for having to build a character from the ground up,” said Benjamin. “And perhaps the king’s bastard will do the same.”

  “Perhaps.” Catherine rubbed the handle of her spoon. It was smooth and familiar under her fingertip.

  The men fell to their food, shoveling meats and bread in together. They finished one loaf and called for another. Catherine sipped at the wine and pushed the meat around on her plate. It left a bloody trail and she set down her knife.

  “Your lady has no appetite,” said Benjamin, sitting back and sucking his teeth. “Are the victuals not to your taste?”

  “I am weary from the road,” said Catherine. She took a piece of bread and drove it through the juices. She took a bite and her stomach closed up.
She could eat nothing until she spoke. “I thought the princess was at Hatfield Place. Is there nothing I can do for her?”

  “That’s who I’ve been telling you about. Hatfield House. The place has not been a palace for ages. Yes, the child wants a friendly face.”

  “Yes, of course. I mean, no.” Catherine took another bite of bread, plain this time, and washed it down with wine. Her face was aflame, and her guts felt like sparked tinder. “I mean the older daughter. Mary. She has ladies, too, doesn’t she? I might serve her better. We are almost of an age.”

  “Catherine—” William said, a warning note ringing at the bottom of his voice.

  Benjamin raised his hand. “No, let her speak. Let me counsel you about the Lady Mary. She’s possessed, out of her mind. She seems gentle as a spring rain one minute, but I know more than one woman who’s been dismissed from her service with scratches on both face and soul. I should know. My wife was one of them.” He drank deeply and lifted the goblet for his man. The servant sprang from a dark corner and came to the table with a jug. “And with your history, you will make no lasting friends if you go down that path. You might find yourself quite alone.”

  “But she must be mad with grief,” said Catherine. “Her life has been a torture. It would try the patience of a saint.”

  “Mary Tudor is no saint and if her life is torture, I know many a felon who would change places with her. She maintains ties with Rome. The king is forced to keep a watch on her day and night. Her head is likely safe enough, at least for now, but I would not send another woman into her circle for Christ’s big toe in a silver ring.”

  “Perhaps she needs physic,” said Catherine. “Sometimes maladies of the mind can be calmed through care of the body. I have made studies of women’s ailments. I could be of service to her.”

  “No.” William pushed back his chair and stood, leaning onto the table with both palms flat. “She is a papist. You cannot serve her. You will not. You will serve the Protestant daughter.”

  “The bastard, you mean,” Catherine murmured, picking at the meat with her knife. “The evil one.”

  “They are both bastards, for all that,” said Benjamin. “The king recognizes them as his flesh, but not as his heirs. There is now a boy, so you’d best go where you’re safest. I tell you, Mary Tudor is beyond physic, for the body or the mind. Her soul is black, and her wits have descended into that same dark pit. She has enough old nuns hovering about her. It’s like a school for angels of death. She doesn’t need another one.”

  Now Catherine stood and met her husband’s eyes evenly. “Very well. I see that my course has been chosen for me. I will present myself to the daughter of the Boleyn woman and we shall see if the little bastard will have me.”

  “You will present yourself nowhere,” said Benjamin. “I will present your husband to the master of the house. His name is Sir John Shelton. He may present you both to one of her women, who will examine you. If she approves, you may be given a trial. That’s all I can promise.”

  “It has been a long journey to beg to nurse a brat,” said Catherine.

  “Indeed. But this is a brat with diapers of gold. Ah, and here is my Diana now.” A tiny girl with nut-brown hair entered the room, carrying a lute. “Will you give us a song, child?”

  “As you wish, Father, but my voice is not in good tune.” She plucked at the instrument and adjusted the strings.

  William murmured, “I mean what I say, Catherine. You are to serve the Protestant daughter. Elizabeth.”

  As Diana opened her mouth, Catherine nodded and smiled. She would see about that.

  15

  The next morning, William was up before dawn, fretting about the wool. He was gone to meet some merchants from Flanders by the time Catherine washed, fed Veronica, and pulled on her red skirt and sleeves. The make was fine, with slashings and Overton blue embroidery across the bodice, and Eleanor stroked the fabric over Catherine’s back after she tightened the laces.

  “You will look as high a lady as anyone at the court in this.”

  “It is not the court proper. The child stays at Hatfield Pl--House, and we are to go there. I think you’ll find it far removed from the glories of the king.”

  “But she is royalty, Madam. Isn’t she?”

  “So they will say. But shh, Eleanor. We must hold our tongues until we see the lie of the land. I mean to have my son here if we stay. Will you bring Veronica?”

  “Yes, Madam.”

  Downstairs, the morning meal had been laid and eaten by the men. Eleanor took the back steps to the kitchen, and Catherine sat alone in the dark, hollow dining room, picking at the loaf growing stale on the table. A man came to the side door and waited with his hands folded. He said nothing.

  “Have you any ale?” asked Catherine.

  “Yes, Madam.” He withdrew backward, and she was alone again. When the draught was brought, Catherine took the cup and loaf and slipped after Eleanor, down toward the sound of laughter. She entered a large white-washed room, where half a dozen women surrounded a trestle table, rough-hewn from fir. An old lady was holding Veronica.

  The noise ceased when Catherine appeared. “Do not stop your talk for me,” she said, sitting on the nearest bench. “I will break my fast among you women, if you will have me.”

  “Madam, this is the kitchen,” said the old woman. She handed the baby to Eleanor.

  “Oh, I cry you mercy, I thought I was in the queen’s bedchamber,” said Catherine, breaking the loaf. She looked hard at the woman, then laughed and patted the stringy arm. “I know where I am.”

  “The master will whip us to shreds if he catches you among us,” the woman whispered.

  “Wherefore should he whip you? I have legs enough to carry me where I mean to go. My woman is here. My daughter is here. Here is where I mean to be and I will stand between you and the scourge if he do but try it.”

  The women all looked toward the door behind her. “You heard the lady,” said Benjamin Davies. “She will bind me hand and foot and let the daws peck at me if I speak a cross word to you.”

  Catherine rose. The heat had come into her face again. “I do not mean to overturn your house, Benjamin. I was lonely for women’s voices. That’s all.”

  “Come, then, and I’ll take you where the chatter of females never ends.” He winked at Catherine, and she followed him back upstairs. William was in the main gallery, counting coins, and he rattled his purse when he saw her.

  “The Overton wool is still thought the best,” he said. “This will outfit you for any king’s daughter. What say you to opening a drapery at home? We could make the new worsteds and sell them direct.”

  Catherine went to the open door and measured the weather with her face. The sun shone with a fierce expression, but the wind was cold. “It might be the best use for the old convent buildings.”

  “You think like a man, Catherine,” said William. He jangled his purse again and stuffed into his pocket. “Is it time we rode to your country house, Benjamin?”

  “I await your orders, sir,” said Benjamin.

  Catherine waited in the doorway for the horses to be brought around and watched William, in the yard with the pack animals, directing his men. He was in deep conference with his reeve, who had purchased a proud young Suffolk ram. The poor animal flailed and thrashed, but they tied it up to the harness of one of the horses and it settled into sullen submission. Joseph was returning with the animals to Overton House, and he whispered into the ear of a sniffling Eleanor. Finally, the horses and men and sheep got into line and made their progress out the front gate. Catherine threw her cloak over her head against the damp breeze and ran for her pony, jumping into the saddle without assistance. William leapt up behind her. “Eleanor and the baby here behind Catherine.”

  Benjamin mounted his big gelding, and they jolted into movement.

  Catherine trotted up beside William. “I haven’t brought anything with me but the receipts that are in my head. No books or pens. What will th
ey want me to do?”

  “Just hear you talk at first, I predict. We will send home for anything you need. Benjamin knows his way around these royal people and he’s sure of you.”

  “That counts for one,” said Catherine. She waved as they parted from Joseph and his caravan, sat back and watched as the town became countryside, then deep woods. Eleanor plodded silently behind her.

  They traveled all afternoon and into the night, stopping only for a meal and drink at twilight. Catherine did not think her legs could be wearier if she had walked the entire way and she closed her eyes now and then, but still she saw the pony’s thick ears and the long road printed upon the backs of her lids.

  “Wake up,” said William, shaking her arm.

  Catherine blinked. All was dark, but before her she saw a large house, like a black mound heaved up from the earth. Eleanor was at her side, holding a sleeping Veronica. Catherine asked, “Where are we?”

  William grinned, and she could see his teeth. “Your future.”

  16

  The Davies House was a heap, with overgrown hedges and dark shutters that looked moldy and warped. But the building was huge in the moonlight that had cut through the clouds, and it hunched on its foundations like a raven. A man watched their approach from the doorway, a weak taper in his hand, and when he saw Benjamin, he stepped forward. He was grizzled and gristly, and he seemed stuck in a bent-forward posture.