The Golden Widows

by Isolde Martyn

  ‘Your grace?’ Richard materialised, doglike, at Kate’s elbow.

  ‘What are the penalties for treason, my lord? Your sister just threatened to—’

  Delivering a don’t-you-dare-say-it look, she sank into a placatory curtsey and Ned spluttered even more and then he wiped his eyes with his knuckle, drew himself up to full regal height which made her feel like David crouched before Goliath. ‘You Nevilles have a very high opinion of yourselves.’ Those nearby froze with interest. ‘And quite deserved,’ he added pricking the bubble of dangerous tension surrounding them. ‘Good night to you, my lord cousin. Lady Harrington, you have leave.’

  She set her hand on Richard’s wrist and let him lead her to the side of the hall.

  ‘What in God’s name was that about?’

  ‘Nothing of importance.’

  ‘He must have said something to annoy you.’ She gave him her best scowl but he was out to interrogate the truth out of her. ‘Kate?’

  ‘Well, he asked me if I’d consider being queen of England since I was already using the royal bath.’

  ‘Jesu!’ For a moment Richard believed her. The look on his face was priceless.

  ‘No, my lord brother, of course he didn’t. Ned is not a fool and neither am I. Did I mention I am leaving for Shute tomorrow, Richard? No? Well, I am.’

  But her brother was too clever for her ‘Not without royal permission, little sister. It would be seen as an insult and your horse will get bogged to its hocks before you reach Kingston.’

  She opened her mouth and shut it again and then she asked: ‘Do you remember when you carried me on your shoulders at Bisham Fair, Richard?’

  ‘Yes, what of it?’

  ‘Did I nearly strangle you at the time?’

  ‘No, Kate.’

  ‘Pity!’ she muttered under her breath as she walked away.

  Surely Ned had been teasing her, she told herself as she snuggled against Eleanor’s back in the bed that night to keep warm. A match with Lord Hastings? No, out of the question. She wanted a husband who would be faithful. Lord Hastings’ fine feathers attracted women, beautiful women. Kate had noticed the heads turn, the swish of maiden mane that betokened interest, the biting of lips, the side glances in seductive fashion. No, she was too much of a sparrow, a plump sparrow, for such a well-plumed hawk and she would tell her brother so. She might agree that he should become Cecily’s guardian but without the conjugal strings attached. But then that too had consequences. Oh, curse everything, she needed to think this through! Joan, her older sister, might prove a willing confidante, but when Kate knocked on her sister’s bedchamber door after Mass next morning, Arundel told her gruffly that her sister was indisposed and seeing no one.

  That was concerning. There had been strange bruises on her sister’s face. She must mention that to Richard since he was head of the family. Mind, he was so busy, she stood more chance of entertaining St Peter to sweet wafers and a beaker of cider.

  She awoke next morning to an excess of minstrelsy and tugged back the bedcurtains. ‘Eleanor? What in heaven…’

  A giggle reached her from the open window. ‘Come and look, my lady. Poor things, they are all red-nosed. A wonder their fingers can manage the strings in the cold.’

  Kate wriggled out of bed and padded over. ‘No, Eleanor, stay where you are,’ she murmured, setting a hand upon her handmaid’s shoulder so she could stand on tiptoe. ‘Oh, my goodness. There’s three of them.’

  ‘I think you’re being wooed, my lady.’

  ‘By a castrato. Oh, this is ridiculous.’

  ‘The piper is very winsome and…oh lordy!’ Eleanor clasped a hand to her mouth and ducked back. ‘They’ve woken my lord of Arundel.’

  Weighted by insults, a gruff voice belonging to Kate’s brotherin-law, Fitzalan, Earl of Arundel, rumbled forth from the next chamber’s window. The singer persisted. Someone who was not a castrato swore back at the earl and then there was a splash as my lord hurled the contents of his pisspot at the entertainment. Ripe expletives rose upward and the trio retreated, huffy, angry and spattered, across the puddled courtyard.

  Kate jammed a fist into her mouth and laughed until the tears came. ‘Poor fellows,’ she spluttered. ‘How unfair.’

  ‘I daresay they were paid well by your suitor, my lady. Do you think it is my lord of Desmond? He made a meal of kissing your hand yester eve.’

  ‘Perhaps. Go after them, Eleanor, and give them a silver penny each for their trouble and inquire who sent them.’

  A woman’s pleading and shrill cry of ‘No’ came from the bedchamber next to them and Kate’s grin froze. Eleanor hesitated for an instant and then said softly, ‘Pardon me for saying so, my lady, but it’s not the first time.’

  ‘No,’ said Kate grimly. ‘But if I have anything to do with it, it’s going to be the last!’

  She waited until her brother-in-law had left her sister’s chamber before she knocked gently on the door and let herself in. Joan Neville was still abed. There were fresh bruises on her cheeks and bared arms and her freckled skin was the hue of a death monument.

  ‘I came to see if you had breakfasted, sister,’ Kate declared brightly, coming further into the chamber. ‘Ah.’ A wooden tray of pottage stood unwanted on the uppermost bedstep.

  ‘I tried to persuade her, my lady,’ muttered the aged maidservant, smoothing her skirts with a sniff. ‘The master is so quick to find fault.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’ asked Kate, reaching out to clasp her sister’s hand upon the coverlet. Joan might be in her late-thirties but her suffering made her look far older.

  ‘I am not well but Fitzalan will have everything his way,’ she murmured weakly.

  Kate pulled a face. ‘He should know better at his age. How old is he now?’

  ‘F-five-and-forty.’

  ‘Hmm, I think I shall definitely speak to Richard about this.’

  The bleakness in her sister’s pale blue eyes was pitiful. ‘You think Richard can fix this?’ she muttered bleakly, shaking her head.

  ‘Richard is the law or so everyone tells me. Consider it done, Joan.’

  ‘You are very kind…and very young.’ And happily a widow at the moment, thought Kate. There was too translucent a quality about her sister’s skin. ‘You were named for Aunt Catherine, weren’t you?’ Her sister’s fingertips reached out to touch Kate’s cheek. ‘You have her zest for life.’ Her breast rose unhappily with a deep breath. ‘Enjoy the music while you can, dearest. It was for you, this morning, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Unless they chose the wrong window.’ Kate gave a little gurgle of self-conscious laughter. ‘Maybe it was for Aunt Catherine!’ She clapped a hand to her mouth and grinned at her sister. Dimples appeared in Joan’s cheeks.

  ‘Ah, you are a philtre for my woes, Kate. I wish we could have seen more of one another these last years.’

  ‘Unfortunately, that is the way of things.’ Kate picked up the tray, wishing Arundel was there so she might crash the whole lot across his head. ‘Now how about we warm this pottage?’

  And if Richard would not listen, she would go to Ned.

  *

  She found the King’s Painted Chamber empty save for Ned’s servants putting new sheets on the royal bed and swabbing mud off the floorboards. The royal council must still be in session. The councillors usually met before attending Mass with Ned in the royal chapel and then they would disperse to fulfil their various duties. Kate hastened down and waited outside for the session to end. They came out early and as Richard was not in conversation with Ned, she was able to draw him aside in the Little Hall. Lord Hastings overtook them, doffing his hat to her as he strode past but he did not linger. She did not know whether to be disappointed or much relieved.

  ‘Be brief, I’ve much work to do,’ growled her brother, striding across to stand with his back to the fireplace. He hitched up his fine woollen robe to warm his calves before the glowing embers.

  ‘I have a very important favour to ask. T
hat you will tell Lord Arundel to stop hitting poor Joan. It does not take a village idiot to see she is ailing and needs kindness.’

  Richard looked down at her. ‘Are your wits gone?’

  ‘Can’t you…can’t you strip him of some lucrative office if he refuses?’

  ‘By Heaven, you are such a bird-brain, Kate. He adores your sister.’

  ‘What? But I heard her cry out and he was so horrible.’

  ‘Because she won’t eat. He’s trying to save her life. She’s very ill.’

  She swallowed. ‘I thought that he had been hitting her. The bruises—’

  ‘Well, you’re mistaken. The bruising is coming from within, God help her. She has not long for this world. Oh God, Kate, you are such an innocent.’

  He left her standing by the fire, feeling stunned, blind and incredibly stupid. A murrain on innocence! And there had she been thinking she was now such a woman of the world. Justly rebuked, she returned to Joan’s bedchamber and spent the rest of the morning with her and even discussed with Lord Arundel what repasts might tempt her poor sister’s flimsy appetite.

  Later, in great sadness, she left her sister to sleep and went down to St Stephen’s Chapel where she lit a candle for Joan and, kneeling before the altar, prayed for her sister’s recovery, for Cecily and Grandmother Bonville’s wellbeing, and her mother’s health, then having been cornered by Thomas Rotherham, Ned’s chaplain, she made confession.

  She received the usual sentence of aves and a reminder to use her rosary beads more often but his advice stayed with her as she left the chapel.

  ‘To make an error of judgment is not a sin, my daughter, especially when you were only thinking of my lady your sister’s wellbeing, but maybe, being young, you are still somewhat hasty in your conclusions. Observe and consider before you speak, for you are a noblewoman of great standing, and people will look to you for wisdom and desire to respect you for your knowledge. There will be many times in this world when you will be called upon to make judgments that affect others and you should always be prepared to hear both sides. Meditate upon King Solomon’s wisdom and pray to our dear Lord for his love and guidance.’

  So she was of ‘great standing’. Kate halted on the steps down to the great hall and felt like she had just been knighted. Was that how everyone in Westminster truly thought of her? Father Rotherham’s words were like a sort of juicy munch from the apple of the Tree of Knowledge. A munch that implied, yes, duty, but a greater purpose than just being the mother of an heiress, a sense of being herself. As for listening to other people’s side of things, of course she did. Just because she had misunderstood Joan’s situation…

  A passing esquire doffed his hat to her and winked. It reminded her she was nineteen and for a little space she had the leisure to frolic before she returned to being ‘grand’ again. Absolved, advised and definitely replenished, she decided that after dinner she would ride to Cheapside with Eleanor and find a gift to cheer Joan.

  Heaven decreed otherwise. By noon, God’s angels, or whatever whimsical celestial beings lived above the clouds, were hurling down sufficient rain to turn every highway out of London into a hoof-swallowing muddy dough, especially the much-travelled road through Charing to Ludgate. Truly England’s weather was as unpredictable as a flock of sozzled friars.

  Nor was she the only one who felt thwarted; the men of the court who had had their hearts set on more strenuous pursuits had been reduced to inside pastimes; boules or board games such as fox and geese, merrills, tables, or the newly introduced playing cards from France. And for some gentlemen, like the Earl of Desmond, flirting was on the agendum.

  Eleanor had discovered that he was behind the music beneath their window and no doubt still hopeful of an affair with Kate before he returned to his wife in Ireland.

  He was waiting to take his turn at boules as she stopped to watch the game.

  Ned was howling with laughter as Lord Stanley’s ball went wide of the jack. ‘Are you going to join us, my lady?’

  ‘Maybe, your highness.’

  ‘Boules, pah!’ Thomas whispered, stealing his arm around her high waist. ‘I could teach you to make love like the Irish do.’

  ‘How do you know I don’t know already, my lord?’ she teased back, pushing his fingers away from where they were adventuring.

  ‘Shall I test you then, sweet Katherine?’

  ‘Go on!’ She raised her chin in challenge.

  ‘Oh no, not here,’ he laughed, stroking his other fingertips down her cheek. ‘We’d need to be private somewhere.’

  She gave him a playful flick in the chest with the back of her hand. ‘Then you’ll never know my repertoire, my lord. Ah, it’s your turn. They’re waiting for you.’

  ‘And I’m waiting for you,’ he said with mock sorrow.

  ‘Thank you for the minstrels,’ she murmured, wondering if he’d had to pay for their ruined clothes, and with her virtue still intact she left him and wandered across to watch the chess game between Clarence and Gloucester.

  ‘Oh, cousin, what timing on your part!’ the older boy exclaimed and she found herself talked into taking his place while he stalked off to the latrines. He didn’t return.

  Her small opponent, Gloucester, proved inconsistent in his play. Sometimes he would risk a valuable piece.

  ‘Checkmate! You did not watch my bishop, your grace.’ She removed his queen.

  ‘I forgot they moved diagonally.’ He glanced over at Archbishop Bourchier as though he was imagining the prelate crossing between corners with mincing steps.

  ‘Some of them move obliquely,’ Kate agreed dryly, ‘and some don’t move much at all.’ She indicated her brother, the lord chancellor, who was helping himself to a sweet tart as he stood deep in discussion with Joan’s husband, Fitzalan. ‘And, my lord of Gloucester, since I’m feeling merciful, I’ll let you have your last move again.’ She handed him back the queen. ‘I suspect you had your thoughts on something else. I don’t mind but it makes for a poor game.’

  ‘There’s no need, my lady.’ He did not set the piece back but rubbed a thumb pensively over its wooden skirt. ‘I am to become a page to my lord your brother at Middleham.’

  Ah, so dealing with Richard was bothering him. Although there was little chance of Richard spending much time at home.

  ‘Well, that’s all to the good,’ she commented cheerfully. ‘Most young noblemen see service in another lord’s household and my brother will teach you well.’

  Gloucester looked up. ‘Yes, I know.’ It was not a peevish answer.

  ‘Then why so glum, little lord?’

  ‘It’s just that I wanted to take Verity – she’s the falcon that Ned gave me when I became a duke – but Cousin Richard says we will ride hard because there is much trouble he must attend to and it were best that Verity stays with my brother Clarence. I don’t trust him to take care of her.’

  ‘I see. Then, how about I speak to my brother?’

  ‘Would you? Oh, Cousin Kate, if you can persuade him, I will grant you any favour within my power.’

  She laughed. ‘I’ll try. Now save your king!’

  Together they worked out the chess moves that would give him the game.

  ‘This little rascal,’ exclaimed Ned, looming up and seizing his small brother by the waist, ‘should learn by making mistakes.’

  His grace of Gloucester was lifted high in the air. ‘No, I’ve done that already. Ask Cousin Kate!’ he squealed, upside down, red-faced and clearly delighted by his royal brother’s attention.

  ‘Has he?’

  ‘Yes, your grace.’ Kate rose from her curtsey and slid back onto the stool.

  ‘Par Dieu, Dick lad, then you shall come and see the new pony that shall bear you to Yorkshire.’

  There was a whoop from behind the dangling hair. With a grin at Kate, Ned tossed his brother over his back. ‘Shall you come, too, Cousin Kate?’ he asked with mock gravitas. ‘I can put you over my other shoulder.’

  ‘A dizzying elev
ation that I shall thankfully forego, your grace.’

  She was left contentedly setting the chess pieces out again as a courtesy for other players when a shadow fell across her and Lord Hastings sat down on the empty seat opposite.

  You will do him to a nicety!

  Nerves, heart, breath, all suddenly seemed to accelerate.

  Had Ned been jesting? She was suddenly wondering what it would be like to have this man for her husband and she felt her face grow warm at the thought.

  Hastings was wearing his slightly harassed look. Did he know of the king’s scheming? Had the fishing trip been devised to make them more acquainted? Maybe Ned could be just as calculating as Richard. There was a thought!

  ‘This matter of a silver rattle, Lady Katherine.’ Of course, that was Hastings’ task as well. The man had the bluest eyes, a true Saxon blue like Our Lady’s robe.

  ‘Rattle?’ Oh dear God, she was staring and her heart seemed to be doing the rattling.

  ‘You see, I don’t know much about rattles, my lady.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose you do, my lord, nor it seems does his highness. Cecily is eighteen months old.’

  ‘Ah, then she would prefer…’ Kate with amusement let him flounder. At his age, he probably did have some love children somewhere. After all, Ned did. But the man opposite her had her measure. The earnest look had fled as though he had tucked away his mental notebook for the present. ‘I cry you mercy. Tell me.’

  ‘A silver beaker might suffice, my lord.’ She was trying to keep it simple for him.

  The gleam in his eyes told her he was not to be appeased. ‘I doubt Cecily would think so, my lady. Would she not consider it boring? And surely silver beakers can be easily dented if thrown against the wall. I speak from experience. My mother tells me I ruined a christening cup.’ He stood up and somehow his right hand had curled round one of hers, drawing her to her feet. ‘Come!’

  To where? Truth to tell, she was too curious to refuse and fast realising that the path of the conversation had been anticipated. He led her out into a torchlit passageway that birthed into a gallery behind the royal apartments. Their destination proved to be a spacious business chamber, heated by a cheerful fire. This must be his demesne, she realised, noting the trestles orderly with piles of correspondence. Beneath several shelves of rolled documents was a wooden rail where parchment and vellum documents hung like drying napkins with balls of red tape perched between them. The air smelled of sealing wax and ink. Straddling the far corner was a leather daybed scarce visible beneath costumes from last night’s interlude. Along the window were several desks for scriveners and amanuenses but only one of these was in use and its occupant, a secretary, judging by his cor-du-roi tabard, rose and bowed as they entered.