“And ploughmen seldom complain of their guts,” said Catherine. “And take those greens off the fire. You will spoil them.”
“I have never heard of so much raw food for a princess. We feed her as though she were a hare.”
“It is not raw. Vegetables that grow above ground are creatures of the air and cooking them over much kills their spirits. Then they do the body no good. They are delicate in nature. Earthy vegetables can endure it. They are like trolls and enjoy the darkness and heat. Those that grow toward the clouds must be treated with an angel’s hand.”
“Where do you get these ideas?” asked Eleanor. She tasted the greens and smiled. “They taste like spring.”
“You see? You haven’t destroyed their virtues. And you must call her ‘lady,’ not ‘princess.’”
And so it went. Catherine told herself that William would understand, that Robert and Ann would be woven into the fabric of Hatfield House without a dropped stitch, that when William finally came south they would have a grand meal to celebrate his return.
It had been precisely a fortnight when Catherine, coming down from Mary’s chambers with her empty dinner things, heard a rapping on the great front door. She froze on the landing to listen. Lady Bryan was speaking to someone. A man. Catherine ran on her toes down the hall and descended by the back stairs.
“Where is Ann?” Catherine whispered, coming into the kitchen.
“In the laundry,” said Eleanor, pulling a dark loaf from the oven and turning it for inspection to the light from the hearth. “Where else?”
“Run and tell her to lie low,” said Catherine. “Like the wind now, go.”
“I am gone,” said Eleanor, plopping the bread down just as the bell rang to summon Catherine.
She removed her dirty apron and pulled on a clean one. She checked her hood for neatness and went up the back way. She saw them before they saw her and she put on her most innocent face. “You need me, Madam?”
Kat Champernowne was now with the man. He had the bearing of a constable, and he held his cap in his hand. “Have you a boy here by the name of Robert Overton?”
“I have. Of course I have. He is my son and my husband sent him from our home in Yorkshire to abide with me here. Would you like to see him?”
The constable looked at Kat, who had raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. She said nothing.
“I am here to rescue a stolen child.” He opened a crumpled letter and squinted at it. “It says here that the boy is taken by force from his home and must be returned.”
“The boy is away from home, I grant you,” said Catherine, “but I am his mother, and he is here because I am. He is only three years old. I shall send for him and you may see.” She started away, but the constable raised a hand to stop her.
“You have a letter from your husband?”
“I have several letters from my husband. Which one would you like to see?”
“The one that says he’s sending the boy to you.”
“Why would he send me such a letter? He went north to fetch the boy. We agreed between us to the action before his departure. There was no need for a letter. He has sent the boy.”
Kat went to the stairs and called Eleanor up. “Get little Robert and bring him here, will you? Who’s got him?”
“He’s downstairs. I’ll fetch him, Madam.” Eleanor curtsied deeply and disappeared again.
They waited in silence until Eleanor returned, holding Robert by the hand. When he saw Catherine, the boy ran to her and she lifted him onto her hip. “Robbie, this gentleman would like to meet you. Can you say hello? Be polite, Son.” She set him down again, and he bowed with a little flourish of his hand.
The man squatted. “I am the constable, boy. Can you say who is your family here?”
Robert took Catherine’s hand. “This is my mother, who serves the Lady Elizabeth, who is the king’s daughter.” He pouted a little and added, “She has made me put on her gown.” He took Kat’s finger with his other. “And this is Madam Champernowne, who switches us when we misbehave.”
Kat laughed, and the constable stood. “Where is your father, boy?”
“My father is on our estate in Yorkshire, overseeing his tenants and my Aunt Margaret. We have a constable, too, and he has a much larger nose than you have.”
The constable coughed and examined his letter again.
“May I see the order?” asked Catherine. “Perhaps I can solve the mystery for you.”
He frowned but handed over the paper, chewing on the nail of his forefinger while Catherine read. It was signed by Margaret Overton and charged that Robert Overton had been taken without his father’s consent. Her chest loosened. She almost laughed. “This is from my sister-in-law,” said Catherine. “She has misunderstood her brother’s intent in the matter.” She handed the letter back. “It is not an uncommon occurrence. She often suffers from such disorders of reason.”
“Well,” said the constable, peering into the message. He looked up at Catherine. His lower eyelids twitched and stiffened. “I see no cause to take your son.”
“I will send to Overton House myself, to ensure that my husband knows Robert has arrived safely here. If there is trouble, I will let you know.”
“Well,” he said again, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “If you will swear it.”
“Upon my mother’s virtue,” said Catherine, her hand on her breast.
The constable bowed and scraped his boots and backed out, his cap going on and coming off again three times.
Kat closed the door behind him. “I have heard tales of your mother, Catherine.”
“I didn’t swear that she was virtuous,” said Catherine. She smiled. “He’s gone, is he not?”
Kat smiled too, but with only half of her mouth. “For now.”
“And before he thinks to return, I must send to Overton House in truth. There is no good reason for this letter to have come from Margaret instead of my husband.”
31
Catherine wrote the letter that afternoon, down in the laundry. She sat at the narrow board table while Ann rinsed Elizabeth’s narrow shifts, sweeping back her sweaty hair with one forearm. “Go on, read it out,” Ann said, hanging another small garment over a wooden bar. She stepped back and looked at her work. “A king’s child and she wears cloth that is almost ready to dissolve. It shames me to think he is England.”
“My Dearest Husband William,” Catherine began.
“Oh, I see. You aim for irony,” said Ann, pulling a cap from the pile of clothing and shaking it out. “Look at this. It disgusts me. The seams will give way any minute.”
“We don’t know that William is to blame for any of the business at home.”
“All right. William is a saint.” Ann softly slapped the surface of the wash water to test its temperature, then dunked a handful of caps and scrubbed them together.
“It goes like this. ‘I have received a message from Margaret inquiring as to Robert’s safe arrival at Hatfield House. He is here and he thrives in the company of young Lady Elizabeth and the other children. Veronica grows by the day and looks more like you every time she opens her eyes. My position is satisfactory to me, and I hope that you will find yourself welcomed at the court the next time you come south. Send me word of your health. Your most loving wife, etc. etc.’ How is that?”
“No question of the missing women?”
“I think perhaps it is wiser if I seem to have forgotten them. He may believe that I am so busy here that it has slipped my female mind.”
“Or he will think that I am here with you and that you mean to distract him.”
Catherine folded the letter. “He may be convinced you are missing like the others. There was no mention of your name in Margaret’s letter. If she suspected you, she surely would have had the men of Yorkshire up in arms to haul you back.”
“Or she is a simpleton. How else will he think Robert got here?” Ann put her hands on her hips and sighed at the huge basket of w
rinkled linen. “This labor has made me strong as an ox. They had better be armed mightily if they mean to lay hands upon me.”
“Do you want me to solicit for a different task?”
“No. It pleases me. The work clears my mind and hardens my hands. It makes my soul feel stronger.” She transferred the caps to a rinse tub and swished them about.
“I will have Eleanor run this to a messenger today.”
“Did you call me, Madam?” Eleanor was in the doorway, and after Catherine sealed the letter with wax, the maid tucked it into her pocket and promised to return before dinner. Rocking the baby, Catherine walked to a window and watched the young woman hurry away toward the main road and thought how straight and firmly Eleanor walked. She could pass for lower gentry, and now she could read some. Soon she would be able to write a passable letter herself. She might marry a merchant and bring him no shame. Or she might encourage that Joseph to better himself along with her. He might learn accounts or enough letters to manage an inn. Catherine smiled to herself. She glanced at the courtyard. She blinked. As though she had conjured him, there he was, Joseph Adwolfe, riding in on a lathered gelding, sliding to the ground, walking around the corner of the house. He handed his reins to one of the stable boys. Catherine rubbed her eyes, but Joseph was no ghost. He pulled off his hat to slick back his hair before heading toward the front door.
The knocking had started before Catherine reached the top of the stairs, and Kat was directing the door to be opened. Kat stepped backward at the sight of the grubby young man. “And who are you?” Catherine heard her ask.
“Madam, I am William Overton’s stable man, and I crave a word with Catherine Overton.”
“You may find Catherine in the kitchen overseeing her duties there. Or she will be in the garden.”
“I am here,” Catherine said, stepping up behind the other woman. “Joseph, it will be more convenient for me speak to you in the kitchen. Meet me there.”
“Pardon me, Madam, but I have news that the lady of the house may want to hear.” Joseph stood his ground, not quite inside, but not out in the yard either. “I will deliver myself of my message here.”
“Very well,” said Kat, crossing her arms. “Deliver it then.”
“Your husband lies ill, Madam,” Joseph said to Catherine. “He suffers from an ailment that will not relent. He cannot keep food on his stomach and his color is wrong. His sister tends him but he has sent me to gather you. He says she has not the skill to mend the sick and he fears for his life. His man stays beside him but he has no knowledge of illnesses.”
Catherine’s heart tightened like a fist. “I have just this minute sent to him to see how he does. Eleanor has taken the letter. What are his symptoms, Joseph? Have you laid eyes upon him? Has he sores?”
“I bade him farewell at his bedside four days ago. I have rid almost without ceasing but for sleep and victual. He was hot and red in the face. He is much withered. But I saw no sign of sores. He seemed thin and excitable. He clutched me by the hand and told me to come direct to you.”
“And you have come to us with the disease upon you?” asked Kat. She was waving her hands in front of her face as though it would ward off whatever he carried. “You will infect the entire household. The king’s children are here. Get out.”
Joseph backed away at this. “I have a strong constitution, Madam, and I have ridden four days straight without sign of fever. My hunger is good and I am strong in my limbs.” He flexed his arms for her. He stared directly into her eyes. “I have no signs of sickness anywhere. You may examine me if you like.”
“Catherine will meet you downstairs,” Kat said. She whirled around and glared. “You must go.”
“It seems so,” Catherine said.
Joseph knocked a slab of mud from his boot and Kat glowered at it as though he had shat on the shrubs. “And you will return north to tell your master that his wife returns.”
“Might I eat first? Have a drink?”
“Have it, then go.” Kat lifted her arm.
Joseph jogged around the corner of the house, headed toward the kitchen. Catherine asked, “May I take some stores from the garden?”
“Take what you need. Ann can do your duties in your absence?”
“Some of them. Let Diana aid her to manage Elizabeth’s diet. The girl is coming along quickly.”
“What of the children?”
“I’m their mother. They should go with me.”
Kat’s forehead glistened with sweat, and she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at herself, then scrutinized the cloth as though a fever might be crawling among the fibers. “We can find a wet nurse.”
“No.” Catherine crossed her arms. “I have no confidence in them.”
Kat wiped the cloth over her eyebrows and examined it again. “I know someone who has extra horses available, but you will have to be the one to petition him.”
“You mean Benjamin Davies.”
Kat shrugged. “He has an entire stable at his disposal. We need to keep our household intact.”
“You seemed to want me clear of that man,” said Catherine. Kat was still smearing her skin with the cloth and studying its surface. She was not looking up. “I will speak to Diana,” Catherine finally said. “And now I should go see to Joseph’s victuals.”
Kat folded the handkerchief once, then twice. She pinched the edges flat and inserted the soggy mess into her pocket. Her eyes were bright with fear and anger. “I do not like your being beholden to that man. He doesn’t have a woman and you are too beautiful. But I see no other path before us. You must go and no one must know why.”
32
“You cannot go now,” announced Kat the next morning. Eleanor peeked out from the maid’s quarters when she heard the familiar voice and quickly withdrew. Kat had driven Joseph off at first light, and Eleanor looked as though she had no wish to answer any questions about where he had spent the night.
“Why?” Catherine had been making out a list of Mary Tudor’s preferred foods and paused her writing. “Is Elizabeth ill? Mary?”
“No, but they both may be down in their beds before the week is out. We all may be. The king is coming.”
“Here?” Catherine dropped the quill. “When?”
“In three days, and the house must be in perfect order. The Lady Mary must attend him. She must behave and she must hold her tongue. They must both be fed well, and the king must see who oversees his younger daughter’s diet. They must not look sallow or thin.”
“That is enough must to make wine, but I fear it will be sour,” said Catherine. “Three days? My husband may be upon his death bed. I cannot stay.”
Kat crossed her arms. “You will remain here until the king has gone. We need every hand.” She looked at Catherine and finally sat. “I wish I could let you go. I know what it is to love a man, but is his sister not with him?”
“She is a fool, God forgive me,” said Catherine.
“And you are not. Stay and the reward will be great. That should heal him quickly enough.”
Catherine considered it. If she lost her place, he would be sick at heart, perhaps to death. “I will stay, but I fly the moment the king leaves.”
“I will set your things upon the pack horses myself,” said Kat.
“But three days?” said Catherine. “Mary and Elizabeth are neither one of them hearty. We must get a calf fresh killed. And all the geese and ducks that are fat.” She glanced down at the list and handed it to Eleanor, who’d stepped into view. “You will oversee the bread. Can you do it?”
“May I use the white flour?”
“Use both. They will complain after if we seem to serve them finer when the king is here and rightly so. The father should see what his daughters eat. But we should have finer for the head of the table.” Catherine turned suddenly to Kat and pitched her voice to a more submissive tone. “Unless you think otherwise, of course.”
Kat sniffed. “The king will hardly see what color of bread he puts
in his mouth, as long as there is meat, and we give him tarts and puddings afterward. And plenty of wine.”
“Mary will not eat more on account of his coming,” said Catherine.
“She must eat. She cannot appear sickly.”
Catherine removed some of the garments she had packed. “She is fastidious, but perhaps I can entice her with her favorites. There is good French claret still and I will make her a meal to celebrate her mother’s memory. She will eat for that.”
Kat came forward in a rush as though she meant to slap Catherine, but she stopped, quivering all over, just short of a collision. “Are you a simpleton? Speak of her mother? Now? Mary will work herself into a consumption over it.”
“No,” said Catherine. “I am sure it will please and calm her. She is slim, but her skin is clear. If she is happy, she will look healthier and will act the part of a king’s daughter.”
Kat’s eyebrow went up. “How can you know this?”
Catherine stared back. “Mary is tightly strung, but like a lute she can sing if played rightly. Let the spirit of her mother be called out of her for a bit and her natural love of her father will be the next tune.”
Kat thought this over. “We can try it.” She waved four fingers at the chests. “Put these things up for now and get busy.”
Catherine nodded. “Eleanor, get you down to the kitchen and have some of the fatter hens killed.” Eleanor twisted herself past Kat and fled the room. “I will see to salads. Ann can help with the tarts. There is rhubarb and new strawberry.”
“Come on then,” said Kat, pulling Catherine by the elbow. “The king will eat the whole house down.”
The sky had turned dark with storm when Catherine found Ann in the laundry. Eleanor skipped behind her, holding onto Robert, and when Catherine told Ann she was staying, the maid clapped the boy’s hands inside her own.
“We will see his majesty!” Eleanor said. Her voice was breathy and ragged and she seemed to have forgotten that Joseph was gone.
“‘We’ will likely not,” said Ann, “unless you spy him as he goes past a stairwell. Eleanor, quiet yourself. The king doesn’t bother himself with maids and laundresses.”
City of Ladies Page 16
