She snapped at Diana, “God cares if you can think. Where will women be if they allow men to argue for them? Who will stand between you and your judgment at the final day? Will you look for a husband to plead your case for you? Trust me. He will not. Nor will any other man. And paper is expensive. You will not waste it.”
“You are almost a Jesuit,” grumbled Diana. She returned to the table, leaned back, and scrubbed at her eyes with her fists. “And does this Christine write of nothing but war?”
“Shh,” said Catherine, rising to close the door. “No talk of orders. We are simply women who improve our God-given talents, as the parable instructs. We take no vows. We wear no habits. And this Christine is thought to be wise indeed, even for an Italian lady.”
“We will make ourselves so learned that we won’t get any husbands.” Diana whined. She sniffed at her armpits. “It is so warm tonight that I stink of myself.”
Eleanor grinned at that. “I know some men who like a woman with a tongue in her head and a bit of smell on her skin. They aren’t all tyrants.”
Catherine sat. The anger had drained from her. “You miss him,” she said to Eleanor.
Diana looked from one to the other. “Who? You two have been keeping secrets. Who is he?”
“Joseph Adwolfe,” said Eleanor. She closed her eyes and smiled. “He likes to hear me talk. He says he wants a woman who stands on her hind legs.”
“And so he says, even though he likes them well enough when you’re on your back, as well.”
“Madam!” Eleanor blushed deeply.
Catherine lightly slapped her on the arm. “I think you will still speak your mind. And do your will too.”
Diana leaned forward. “You have had him? And still unbetrothed? How do you dare? What if you should get a child from him?”
“There are methods for preventing such things, aren’t there, Madam?”
Catherine took Eleanor’s hands. “You must keep mum about these matters, Eleanor. I tell you truth. And no method is beyond accident. The later remedies are dangerous. Of this I am sure.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Diana. “You two know things that I don’t. Tell me. I want to know.”
“You speak too loud,” Catherine said. “What is it we can tell you?”
“I can ask anything?”
“Anything. I may not have answers for you.”
Diana took a breath. “What is it like to be with a man?”
Catherine and Eleanor looked at each other and burst out laughing. “It depends upon the man,” said Catherine.
“With the right man,” said Eleanor, “it is like a fire that warms without consuming. It burns from within but leaves you cool and refreshed. Like fire and water together. Like a wild summer storm with a winter pool at its center.”
Catherine said, “You are a poet.”
“Is it that way for you?” Diana said to Catherine.
Catherine sat back and folded her hands.
“You don’t have to tell anything, Madam,” said Eleanor. “Some stories are meant to be private.”
“No. I will tell you. The difference between a man and a man can be the distance between nightmare and dream.” She put her palm on the tabletop. “The day they closed our convent, I was surprised by one of the king’s men. He pushed me under a table much like this one. He was a beast, and his breath felt like the mouth of Hell upon me. They say that a woman must have her pleasure to conceive, but it is not so.”
“Madam,” said Diana in a horrified whisper. “Veronica is—?”
“No, Veronica is my husband’s daughter.”
“Does he know? Your husband?” asked Diana.
“I did not lie to him. It was his free choice. Of course, men often regret their choices and seek a place to set their grief.”
“He blames you?” asked Diana.
“Men have their moods,” said Catherine. “They will call us fickle and say our monthlies make us creatures of a moment, but men are more changeable than any woman with her flowers. They are like children aching and wailing for a shiny toy, and when they get it, they want to throw it down and break it.” After a moment, she added, “Bless them.”
Diana and Eleanor sat silent, and Catherine finally wiped her hands on her skirt. “Enough of this confessional, ladies. You ask for tales to distract me from your instruction. Back to your letters now. We will speak more of women’s problems at another time.”
Eleanor and Diana bent to their papers. Catherine watched them for a moment. It would work this time, she thought, and no one would harm them. Overton House was another life, and she found she could barely bring the image of its flat, cold face to mind. She checked the baby, then went to the pantry to seek turnips, but she had barely pulled the cloth from the root baskets when Eleanor called her name.
“What is it now?” she asked. Eleanor pointed out the window, where a woman slouched in a heavy hood.
When Catherine flung open the back door, Ann Smith said simply, “Hello.”
Catherine grabbed her and hugged her until she groaned.
“You’ll crush the breath from me! Let go and I will show you a secret treasure.”
Catherine backed up, wiping her eyes. Ann pulled the child from behind her by the hand. It was Catherine’s son, Robert.
29
“Robbie, let me feel how tall you are.” Catherine was on her knees, squeezing the boy’s wrists and ribs. “You have grown a mile toward the sky.” She pushed Robert to arm’s length and examined him up and down, then pulled him toward her again, kissing his face and stroking his soft, dark hair. “Thank God you are here, child. I have dreamt of you every night.”
“Mother, you will break me into pieces,” cried Robert. Catherine sat back on her haunches and gazed at him. He put his small hand against her wet face and said, “Have you got a treat for me? Auntie Ann said you would have something for me.”
“Oh, she did, did she?” Catherine swung the boy onto her hip. “Let’s see if we can find a tart for you.”
“An apple tart!”
“I will have the very thing made for you this minute. How would that be? With fresh milk?”
The boy clapped his hands, and Catherine laughed. She searched the shadows of the yard beyond Ann. “And where is William?”
“Not with us,” said Ann. “We should step inside, out of this air. It’s bad for my breathing.” She placed her palm over the scar on her throat.
“Yes, yes,” said Catherine, ushering her into the kitchen. Eleanor was waiting with her hands out, and Diana had stood. “Girls, my son is here. Robbie, you know Eleanor.”
She set him on the table, and the boy bowed like a miniature courtier, sweeping his small hat to his side.
“And this is Diana Davies, my new friend. Diana, make the acquaintance of my son, Robert Overton.”
Diana put out her hand and the boy bowed again, kissing her fingers. “I am pleased to know you, Mistress Davies,” he said.
Diana asked, “How old is he?”
“How old are you, Robert?” asked Catherine, and he solemnly held up three fingers.
Diana took back her hand. “A prodigy! You have been training this one for the court since he was a baby.”
“He seems born for it.” Catherine set him on the floor. “Now, what do we have here to make an apple tart?”
“I will see to that,” said Eleanor. “How do you remember me, Robert?”
“You are my mother’s lady’s maid,” the boy said. “Will you fix me a sweet?”
She tapped him on the nose. “You men all think alike. Come with me to the cellar, Robert, and you may choose the fruits you like best.”
Catherine nodded, handing her a taper, and the boy trotted along with Eleanor. Diana scooted after them.
Ann sat and Catherine brought out a jug of claret with two goblets. “William has elected to stay at Benjamin’s, I suppose?”
“William is still in Yorkshire,” said Ann. She drank. “He has business with t
he constable these days.”
“Tell it. Don’t leave anything out.” Catherine opened her bodice and gathered the baby up.
“She has sprouted like a little weed. You must be a cow.”
“She is as good a child as I have ever seen. And the king’s daughter adores her like a favorite doll.”
“King’s daughter, eh? No ‘little bastard’ these days?”
“Shh. The others may hear you. God’s blood, my heart goes out to her despite myself, Ann. The poor thing is ignored by her father and shunned by most of the court. No one comes to see her. Her sister despises her, I think, though I hardly blame her for it. They both bear a world of hurt.”
“Does she remember her days of glory? The small one, I mean?”
“She’s quick as a bolt of lightning, mark me. She feels her fall.”
“Mm. That’s what they said about her mother, too. Fast.”
“Still, the child’s condition grieves me. As does the princess’s. The Lady Mary.” Catherine turned the baby to the other breast. “But what is the news from Overton House? Has William sent you alone to bring Robert? All that way?”
“I brought a man from the village with me, but he turned back when we caught sight of the house and I came up alone. Hannah and Teresa have gone missing. Ruth was found. You got my letter?”
Catherine nodded.
“The disappearances cause murmuring among the tenants. People in the village are saying that Overton House is bewitched, that the women are practicing dark arts and that demons are killing them. Killing us, I should say.”
“I hope that Father John has come to tell them how silly they are. Witches, indeed.” Catherine spat on the floor. “We are supposed to be sensible these days. We are supposed to have freed ourselves of superstition. What are they saying, that Teresa rode on a broomstick and made potions out of dead frogs? Hannah is no more a witch than Robert’s pony is.”
“You may scoff, but the constable has been at the House. He speaks to William privately and won’t look me in the eye.”
“Coward.”
“Margaret has not been quiet in all this either. I heard her taking William to task for allowing them to stay. Blaming you for bringing sin to them all. She has been slinking around like a cat with mustaches of cream.”
“But she was more smiling of late. At the churching—”
“That tune has changed since your departure. Margaret bears herself as the lady of Overton House and says right out loud that you will never return to Yorkshire.”
Catherine’s throat narrowed as she pictured William’s sister. “And what does my husband say to this?”
Ann’s eyes shifted away. She picked up her goblet, but it was empty and she set it down again. She went to the window and, making a hood of her hands, looked through the glass. Then she sat again heavily. “Your husband says very little to anything.”
“But he must have been concerned for your safety. And Robert’s. To send you away.”
Ann turned, chewing the inside of her cheek, and studied her goblet. She poured herself another drink. “Robert’s pony bucked last week, and his boot was caught in the stirrup. I barely made it out the door as he came by. I got him free, but his head was covered with welts the size of boulders.”
“How did that happen? He is not supposed to have stirrups at all.”
“You tell me. I caught the pony myself. And listen to this—when I get the boy loose, I look up and who is standing at the door of the stable, calm as a frog in a pond? Geoffrey White, your husband’s master of horse. And what does he say? Not a word, as I sit here.”
Catherine could not breathe without opening her mouth. It could not be. The stirrups must have been an error in judgment. “Did he explain himself?”
“Not one word, as I say, and not a hand to help. He saw that I had Robert, and he went back in. But I swear those stirrups were a man’s size. A boy’s foot would have slipped through at the slightest push.”
“And so William sent him with you?”
The chewing began again. “And so I brought him away. To you. For his safety. You’re his mother, Catherine, and he ought to be with you.”
Catherine gasped. “You took him without William’s leave?”
Ann shrugged. “I brought the boy to his mother because he was injured and no one was overseeing his welfare.”
“Who knows you are here?” Catherine jumped up and closed the shutters. Diana and Eleanor opened the door just then, and Robert followed them in. The younger women emptied their aprons into a bowl.
“Who will make the coffin?” asked Diana.
Catherine latched the door behind them. “Eleanor, can you do it? You have the skill with pastry and I have some business with Ann upstairs. Show Diana how to break the fat into the flour.”
“Yes, Madam, of course. Shall we keep Robert here to oversee his sweetie?”
“Will you stay and not run off?” Catherine tousled the boy’s hair, but she was feeling for the injuries. He seemed healed well enough.
“Yes, Mother.” He climbed onto a stool and folded his hands. “I will be the best boy in Christendom.”
“Keep the shutters closed and the door locked,” said Catherine. Diana and Eleanor looked at each other, but Catherine didn’t answer the questions on their faces. “I have reason,” she said simply.
Ann followed Catherine up to the school room where Elizabeth took her music lessons in the mornings. They could hear the strings of a lute being plucked out, then a twang, then a sharp rap, then a cry. It was too late for the music master. “It must be Kat. She is the little one’s favorite gentlewoman,” Catherine said. She listened at the door. “We can wait out here.” They sat in the hallway while the music went on, and by the time the door opened, Ann’s head had fallen back against the wall and she was breathing lightly through her mouth.
“Wake up.” Catherine nudged her. Kat Champernowne came out with Elizabeth in hand. The child stared at Ann, who was rubbing her eyes.
“Who is this?” Kat asked. She extended her hand but her eyes were hard with suspicion.
“Ann Smith. From Mount Grace, then Overton House. She is a respectable widow and she has been my dearest friend since I was a girl. She was a lay sister at the convent after her husband died. She has brought my son to me.”
“Elizabeth will be delighted to have another playmate,” said Kat. “Will you not?” Elizabeth regarded Ann warily, and the lady went on. “The boy is younger than she is?”
“He is just three.”
“Good. And keep in mind that she already has one boy who will command her. She doesn’t need another.” Kat turned her gaze on Ann. “You have been on the roads. We will find you a room. How long will you stay with us?”
Catherine stepped forward. “She may stay in my room. Ann and I have been bedmates many a night. Ann is strong and she would be a good hand for me.”
“I thought Diana Davies was your second set of hands.”
Ann showed her muscled arms without embarrassment. “I am a skilled laundress, and I am not too proud to do it. I can make excellent soap. I can also kill a chicken or duck with one hand.”
“Well. We could make use of a laundress who earns her keep.” Kat looked at Catherine, then at Ann. “What is it? What is the secret?”
Now Catherine gnawed at her lip. She moved close to Kat and spoke in a murmur. “Ann has brought my son away without the express permission of my husband.” Kat’s face went ashy, and Catherine quickly added, “William was gone to fetch him anyway, but four women of Overton House are missing and two have been found murdered on the grounds and he has much to occupy his mind.”
“The child was not safe,” said Ann. She stood straight under Kat’s scrutiny. “I felt it was my duty to God to protect him when his father was distracted. I brought him to his mother.”
“Will we have the law at our door, is that what you tell me?”
“No,” Catherine said. “I will have charge of Robert, and if his father come
s, I will keep the boy or let him go as my husband requires. Ann will bring us no trouble.”
“But you would like to keep her hidden away in the laundry.”
“Not hidden.” Catherine ran through a catalog of euphemisms in her mind. “Busy. We would like to keep her busy.”
One of Lady Champernowne’s eyebrows went up. “They say idleness is a sin in women. Get her to the laundry at first light, and if anyone asks me about her, I will send them to you.”
“I will bring no troubles to this house,” said Catherine.
“You had better not,” said Kat. She had not taken her eyes off Ann. “Or you will be sorry indeed.”
30
No one came for two full weeks, and in that time Ann accustomed herself to the pace of the household while Catherine went up and down stairs, directing the choice of fresh salad greens and young vegetables in the kitchen or sitting with the ladies up in their chambers. Elizabeth, preferring to play in the garden, grew fussy over her letters. Catherine diverted her by bringing in Robert to work alongside her, but the boy, shy in the company of the king’s daughter, would not speak to her, and she forced him into her cast-off garments until he cried. Then she dried his tears with her own skirt and Catherine relented and let her take him outside to sit in the sun and watch the birds and roll Veronica about in the grass to make her laugh.
Mary Tudor’s menses were late, and Catherine sat at the table five evenings in a row, stirring draughts of primrose and wort to bring on her flowers without making the young woman even thinner. The receipt was her own, and Catherine did not breathe easily until the morning that Mary called her upstairs to say that she was a regular woman again.
Diana was skilled with her needle, and she sat with Elizabeth in the late afternoons, showing her how to sew fancy stitches, while Eleanor stayed in the kitchen to make bread, Catherine sniffing the brown grains for freshness. Eleanor wanted to use the softer white flour, but Catherine refused. “The child suffers from an anxious stomach and the darker grain will clean her insides.”
“But this is what ploughmen eat,” complained Eleanor. She threw down a handful in disgust.
City of Ladies Page 15
