A small crowd had gathered, and Catherine came up behind a trio of women. One of them glanced back and stepped aside to let her through.
Someone said, “Who claims I am the father of her son?” and Catherine shoved between two more women to see. The speaker was Adam Hastings. He was dark-haired, like Catherine, still wiry and boyish. He swung his hips forward and massaged the pommel of his sword. He grinned at William. Hastings was surrounded by men in bright shirts and soft breeches. Catherine got close enough to her husband to smell the rancid sweat on him. She couldn’t see Benjamin or Geoffrey.
“Overton, my man, you look like Belial’s breakfast,” Hastings said.
William did not move. “Leave this place, Hastings. Turn and go and don’t say a word more. Not one.”
Catherine’s skin felt licked with flame. She stared hard at Adam Hastings, but his gaze washed over her with barely a flicker of recognition. He still smirked at William and now he massaged his codpiece thoughtfully. “You’ll have to show me. Who’s the lady I have favored?”
With that, William was at him. Catherine grabbed for his cloak and Benjamin flashed by her side, but William was too fast. Adam Hastings saw him coming. Before he could maneuver his sword forward, though, William was on him and had run his own blade into his gut up to the hilt.
“You will shut your damned mouth now,” William said, backing off. He stumbled a step and lost his footing, catching himself with one hand on the ground.
But Hastings had not fallen, and as William righted himself, Adam, still standing in astonishment and as yet unaware of the wound’s depth, moved his sword out and forward. When he drew back, William, caught on the blade, moved with him in a horrific dance. Catherine screamed, and then the two men were facing each other, attached by the sword for a moment, before Adam staggered backward, pulling his weapon free as he fell.
“I have killed you, then,” said William. He sat, hard, and put his hand over the stain that was spreading over his shirt. “That’s enough.” Dark blood leaked through his fingers. He turned. He saw Catherine first but his eyes went beyond her, and she turned, too, to see Kit Sillon behind her. “And now,” said William, “you may arrest me for your murderer and let the others go.”
He wavered, his eyes closing, and Catherine helped him down to the gravel, laying her face on his chest. “William,” she whispered, “what have you done?”
“I have tried to be your husband and my father’s son,” said William. “I have failed at both. I cannot even bring myself to death without making a botch of it.”
“Did you order my women murdered? Did you make the poison yourself? In that pouch?”
“You found it?” His hand drifted to his forehead, then fell into the dirt. “Oh, Catherine, I know nothing of poisons. That’s woman’s work. But she would have regretted it. I took it away to save her. Forgive me. Forgive her.” His vision wavered, then settled on her eyes again. “I spoke harsh words. I am responsible for my house. Give us your forgiveness, Wife.”
Hands were pulling at Catherine, and she heard something shrieking like a wind-storm, but when she was lifted, the sunlight was bright across the road. Benjamin and Father John were holding her up, and her husband lay beneath her. “Get the woman away,” Kit Sillon was saying from beyond her somewhere.
“No, no, let me tend to him,” she shouted, but Father John said, “Catherine, there is nothing you can do.”
The way was cluttered with people, and Benjamin drew his sword at them as he dragged Catherine along. “Get back, all of you,” he shouted, “or I will make dog’s meat of you.”
The crowd backed off, muttering and glowering. Someone said “murderer,” and someone else hissed.
“Get back, I say,” Benjamin repeated, and they retreated, but only far enough to stay his hand.
Eleanor came running from the inn to Catherine and held her arm. “What has happened? Madam?”
The light was white in her eyes, and Catherine heard her own voice from a long distance away. It said, “He’s dead. He’s killed.”
“Who?” asked Joseph.
“William,” said the priest. “Come, bring her in from the sun.”
Catherine was full of blinding clouds, and a wind whistled through her head. “I must see to him. I must tend him.”
John Bridle eased her through the door and onto a stool. “He is beyond all that, now, Daughter. Drink this.”
She looked at the mug of ale in his hand but did not take it. “Margaret,” Catherine said. “Where is she?”
64
“Margaret Overton is not here,” said the innkeeper. He’d searched both building and grounds, and now waited in the front room for instructions.
Kit Sillon shook his head and spat on the floor. “Grubb, can’t you keep your eye on any of your charges? Christ on a donkey, man, what’s wrong with you?” The Justice pulled back the curtain and dropped it again. “Benjamin Davies is bringing the bodies.”
Catherine started for the door, but Sillon snagged her elbow. “Don’t. Let them be taken to your home before you.”
She could see the two forms being laid on the grass by Havenston men. Benjamin stood between them.
“You will not bring the soldier to Overton House,” said Catherine. “He can be taken to the church.” One of the men outdoors covered Adam Hastings’ face with a handkerchief. She turned away. “You can throw him on a dungheap for all I care.”
The priest went out, spoke to Benjamin, and pointed southward, toward the little church. Two men took up the limp remains of Hastings and carried him out. Two others followed Benjamin with the body of William Overton. They turned north at the gate and met Joseph, who’d come from the constable’s house. He was leading the ladies’ horses, and behind him was Eleanor with the baby in her arms. Geoffrey White, shackled and led by two watchmen, was with them.
Catherine could not stop herself from going out. “Where is she, Geoffrey?”
“Don’t ask me. I say nothing more after today. Got my head in a noose now for speaking to her ever.”
“She gave the order, didn’t she? Say it, Geoffrey.”
But Geoffrey White shook his head, and the watchmen led him toward the constable’s house. He did not look back.
Benjamin was leading Caesar through Grubb’s front gate and he passed the little group without raising his head. He watched his feet walk toward the inn and stopped just before her. He finally looked up. “Let me take you home, Catherine.”
“What home?” Catherine asked. The road was still full of people. “What home is there?”
“Your home,” said Benjamin.
She let him lift her onto her saddle. The ride to Overton House was silent, and the place seemed cold and dark. Catherine gave her reins to Joseph in the courtyard and threw off her riding cloak in the front hall. Eleanor was already there, holding out the baby.
“She’s all pink in the face again, Madam. Veronica. She’s pretty as an angel and hungry as a pup.”
Catherine stumbled up to her chamber, loosened her bodice, and put Veronica to her breast. The baby nuzzled against her skin and Catherine began to weep. Eleanor slid onto the stool by the hearth and waited.
“You see, she eats as she should,” said Catherine, wiping her nose. The baby’s face stared up at her. “Child, child,” she said, and the tears came again. Veronica put her small hand up and touched her mother’s wet face.
“Madam?” asked Eleanor gently. “What will happen now?”
“I don’t know.” She offered the other breast to Veronica, and when the baby was finished suckling, Catherine handed her over to Eleanor. “I suppose I had better go find out.”
Father John had ridden behind them, and he sat with Benjamin in the long gallery, a bottle between them. Reg hovered at the side door, and Catherine waved him in.
“You have found your way back,” she said.
“As my master could not,” said Reg. “Will you send me off now?”
John Bridle and Benjamin sat u
nmoving.
“You will stay,” said Catherine, “if you choose.”
Reginald bowed from the waist. “I am yours, Madam.” Then he slipped backward through the doorway.
The two men at the table raised their glasses. “Sit with us, Catherine,” said John Bridle, “as it seems we have already helped ourselves to your stores.”
She sat and took a glass of wine. It tasted like dark flowers, like night, and she drank deeply. “What is left, Father? Benjamin, have you two been planning your great empire of wool-making in the old convent buildings? Will you be kings of the woolens?” It was unaccountably funny, and she laughed, but the sound was a little mad, and she swallowed it.
“We will have the new draperies in Mount Grace,” said Father John. His face was flushed. He was maybe drunk. “The plans are already made. I will oversee the work.” Catherine looked from her father to Benjamin. “What has been decided here?”
“Nothing new,” said Benjamin. “The land is yours, Catherine. The house is yours. The leases will be yours. You can oversee the work yourself if you want.”
“Margaret will claim that the house is hers.” Catherine pushed her glass forward and Benjamin filled it again. She drank, studying the men over the rim. Father John was scrutinizing the beams across the ceiling. Benjamin began cleaning his nails with the tip of his hand knife. Catherine slapped the glass down onto the table, and its base cracked. “Margaret has been the hand working all of these puppets, and she will not be held to account for it.”
Benjamin said, “You will be wanted back at Hatfield House.”
“You have seen to managing my departure, have you?”
He poured. “No. You may manage yourself.” He tried to pour himself another glass and found the bottle empty. He called for another, and soft soles in the next room scuffled away.
Catherine felt the storm in her belly clear off. The late sun was falling in broken pieces through the windows, and casting the specters of leaves and limbs over the table. “It’s no wonder that he was unable to heal,” she said to the shadows. “He was sick in body and soul. He must have known. Surely after he found the pouch.”
“She is monstrous,” said Father John.
“But with William gone, there is no one to give proofs against her,” said Catherine.
Father John said, “When she is found, Sillon will make her talk.”
But Margaret Overton was not found, not that day or the next or the next. She did not appear for the small funeral that laid William beside his brother and his father in the family tomb. She did not appear when Geoffrey White was sentenced to hanging. She did not appear at the hasty marriage of Eleanor and Joseph.
The morning after the wedding, the couple followed Catherine on a walk through the fields and stables that surrounded Overton House. They ended at the falcon houses, and Catherine put her hand on the latch. “We will free them now.” The birds hunched inside, sullen and frayed, neglect sitting like dust on their feathers.
“No, Madam,” said Joseph, staying her hand. “If I may, I will tend them. Your father will be my guide.”
Catherine hesitated. “Very well, then.” She regarded the bedraggled birds. “Perhaps something can be brought back to health here.”
“And what will we call ourselves?” asked Joseph. “Will we still be Overton House? After all of this business?”
“For now,” said Catherine, “though Havens House might do as well.”
Joseph and Eleanor exchanged a quick glance. “So we will be Havens House over Havenston then?” asked Eleanor.
“We’ll see,” said Catherine. “There is no telling what the future will bring in this country.”
65
The road back to Hatfield House was stormy the first day, the clouds lying low-bellied over them most of the way. Agnes was carrying Veronica strapped to her chest, and when the rain came late in the afternoon, the little party of riders stopped at an inn. Benjamin ordered food while Catherine stretched her bones and nursed the baby. Agnes trailed after her, and they sat at a window in their cramped room upstairs, waiting for the call to dine. Catherine had brought her Christine de Pizan, and she read a little out loud. “She says here that a wife must put aside ‘womanly timidity’ and strengthen her heart with ‘manly courage.’”
“It’s a hard charge in this world, Madam,” said Agnes.
“Indeed.” The rain swept over the fields like grey curtains, and sparrows swooped in, under the eaves. Two of them began sparring in the air, wings beating each other as they vied for dominance. “They are just like us,” Catherine murmured.
“Mm?” Agnes had slumped on her low stool.
“The birds. Someone must always be king.”
The girl leaned forward dutifully to look, but the loser had already settled for a lower place. “At least they leave off before they kill each other,” Catherine said.
The summons came, and the women joined the men downstairs. The roast beef was fine, and the ale was strong, but Catherine had little appetite and stirred her food around the trencher with a hunk of bread. The storm came in force, and she went to bed early, lying on the straw mattress listening to the slapping of the rain against the thatch. Agnes, sleeping on a cot on the other side of the room, began snoring softly late in the night. Toward daybreak, the sky cleared and a wedge of moon sat heavy outside the window. In the gloom Catherine could see the rafters over her head, but they looked like nothing so much as the frame of a scaffold.
She rode the next day and the next in a cloudy daze, though the July sun was high and fierce, and the fields steamed a bold green. Benjamin rode before her without speaking, and Agnes carried the baby covered to protect her skin. Reginald Goodall rode with Benjamin, as naturally as if they had always been together.
The news of Margaret Overton’s disappearance had preceded them to Hatfield House, and Lady Shelton stood in the front door with a tight mouth when they rode up. Sir John pushed past her to greet Benjamin, who handed his reins over, helped Catherine to the ground, and walked inside, head inclined to speak privately.
Ann Smith was holding little Robert Overton by the hand, but he broke free when he saw his mother and ran. She squatted to gather him into her arms. “Are you home then, Mother?” he said against her neck. “I have prayed for you every night.”
“As I have for you, Robbie.”
Ann watched Reg dismount and stand by Benjamin’s horse, one hand out. His eyes slid over. He winked. A blush streaked up Ann’s face, and she smiled. Then she stepped over to Agnes, unstrapped the baby, and gazed into the small face. Catherine set down her son and curtsied. “Lady Shelton.”
“Rise up, Catherine Havens Overton.” Catherine had expected a harsh tone, but Lady Shelton’s voice was velvet. “You are now a great lady with a great estate. Let me see the baby.”
Ann turned back the blanket, and Lady Shelton clucked. “She’s grown. And look at that hair.” She fingered the curly red fluff. “The Lady Elizabeth will be delighted to have her doll again.”
“And I will be glad to serve her,” said Catherine.
They passed into the house. A lady’s maid took Catherine’s traveling cloak and hood and hesitated a moment, listening. “Go,” said Lady Shelton, and the girl trotted off. “News travels fast enough these days,” she said, watching. “We needn’t give it wings to help it along.”
“So you have heard.” Catherine glanced into the gallery, where Benjamin stood in close conversation with Sir John.
They saw her and came quickly forward. “Master Davies will ride on to his own house,” said Sir John.
Benjamin stepped forward and bowed. “If you need my services, Lady Overton, I will come at a word from you.”
Before she could answer, Lady Shelton said, “Ah, here is Kat. She is to be the Lady Elizabeth’s governess.”
Kate Champernowne came sweeping down the big stairs and held Catherine by the shoulders to embrace her without mashing Veronica. Catherine tried to curtsey, but the other woman he
ld her up. “Your room is ready. Marry, your skirt is more dirt than wool.”
“Sodden through,” said Catherine. “We rode into a storm and I never felt I could get the clouds out of me.”
“You have been through a tempest in truth,” said Lady Shelton. “But we will clean you up. Come.” They steered her up the stairs, and she barely had time for one backward look. Benjamin was already walking out the front door. Reg followed close behind him.
The men had brought Catherine’s bags and cases to the room already, and the ewer was filled with fresh water. Kat and Ann unpacked the clothes while Catherine bathed. “Ah, God, I’m filthy,” she said, laying the baby in the cradle and untying her sleeves. A clean basin had never looked better, and she splashed her face.
“She will not be hanged then? Like the servant?” asked Kat, sitting beside Catherine.
“I doubt it.”
“Where in the world can she be?”
“She took her maid and two man servants.” Catherine rubbed her sweating hairline. “There are many places a woman can hide if she wants to disappear badly enough.” She wiped her face hard.
Agnes ducked in and shut the door. “Let me undress you, Madam,” she said, but Catherine waved her off. “I will tend to myself tonight.” Agnes nodded and disappeared into her own small quarters.
Catherine untied the bodice and let the heavy skirt drop to the floor. She stepped out of it and toed it aside so that she could wipe her neck and arms clean. When the water was brown, she hung the towel on the edge of the ewer.
“And who will govern your properties in his absence?” asked Kat.
Catherine said, “My father. And I have left Eleanor and Joseph. They’re married.”
“Then all is well. A murderer is found out, and you are back with us, Lady Overton. Or Lady Havens, perhaps. You will begin again to people your city of ladies.”
“And Margaret Overton lurks somewhere,” Ann said, folding the skirt yet again. No one had an answer for that.
City of Ladies Page 31
