Catherine’s heart jumped into her throat, and she grabbed Ann’s hand. “Christ’s wounds, it’s got a devil in it.”
“It is the new learning, Lady, no devil,” said Martins. He waved the smoke away and peered into the distance. The apple sat unmolested, but a branch from the small oak nearby lay splintered on the brown grass. “Ah, a miss this time. But a hit next shot. Does it not give a frightful appearance, Lady?”
“A frightful appearance,” assured Chandler.
“It appears that we will have fruit tart for supper after all,” said Catherine. “You will not fire upon me if I rescue the poor victim, I trust?”
Lady Jane pulled her furs close and stood. “I must attend to Lady Anne,” she said, ducking indoors. “I cannot endure such noise.”
Barts sat where Jane had been. “The mechanism perhaps needs, hm, some regulation. Give it to me.” He held out his hand and Martins laid the wheel-lock into it.
“You know how to make the changes?” Martins watched as the other man turned the weapon over. Bart’s cheeks were wind-burned, and with his sandy hair and spectacles catching the sunlight, he looked scorched all over. Chandler hung over the other two, silently watching.
Catherine walked with Ann Smith down the garden and tossed the apple to her friend.
Ann caught it with one hand. “The men will perfect their firearms and make the world safer?”
“Safer for Englishmen and their God, no doubt,” said Catherine, as they walked back. The men were still attending to the wheel-lock. “They will fire us all straight into heaven if they have their way.” She slowed her pace. “They seem more intent on their own pleasure than on driving Lady Anne into submission just now. Can that mean a wedding to follow?”
“Henry has never revoked his will in matters of his desire. Only in matters of faith.”
“But now that he’s been proven a cuckold,” said Catherine, “maybe the wind’s gone out of his sails and he’ll want to board a more sober woman.”
“If there is still any wood in the mast.”Ann sniggered.
Catherine lowered her voice. “He is older now, and fatter. Perhaps he no longer wants a woman that way. I am sick, Ann. I must get inside.”
Martins raised the weapon as the women came up and the engraved leaves and vines upon the hilt glittered, even in the dull sun. “We have it! Shall we shoot again?”
“Not this day,” said Catherine. “We’re going to sacrifice this apple to a coffin of pastry in celebration of your new-found power.”
“We have given you a gift, then. A boundless happiness to me. I would that you had every yearning of your heart. It is not too much to ask, is it?” He waved the weapon around. “A woman seeks her yearnings, I have heard.”
“My deepest craving this moment is to get out of the cold,” said Catherine.
“A simple woman with plain needs. A rarity these days. Do let me know if you have any troubles from which I can free you.” The man laid the barrel into his palm.
“Very well, ladies. You return to your pots and pans. You have us to protect you.”
“A great reassurance,” said Catherine as he claimed her fingers for a damp kiss. Her stomach revolted at it, and she ran.
The fire was ablaze in the kitchen, and Sebastian hooked the spit into the notch and sat for a drink. Catherine, dropping her cloak, turned her back to the flames. Heat touched her hose and the muscles in her thighs stopped shivering. “Thank God for warmth.” She knelt and emptied her stomach into a bucket.
Ann laid her hand along the thick curtain. “That third one’s got the weapon now. What’s his name? Chandler Ellers?”
“Ellers Chandler. I believe he is a lawyer, so he may have a name that runs both ways.”
“Whatever he is,” said Ann, “some conference is putting their heads together. Changing the course of the world. God on the cross, they can hardly tell their scabbards from their codpieces.”
One of the chambermaids came down, holding Veronica by the hand. The child clutched a feather duster and swiped at the walls and floors.
“Are you making a cleaning girl of my daughter?” asked Catherine. “Give me that, Veronica.”
“It’s mine!” the child protested, but Catherine hooked it out of her reach.
“She likes to see the dust fly,” said the maid, looking at her feet. “I didn’t mean no harm by it, Madam.”
Ann laughed out loud. “She is practicing to be a member of the king’s court, Catherine. Plenty of dirt flying there.”
Veronica put her thumb in her mouth, sulking, and Catherine removed it. “Oh, no, small lady. No sucking. You are just like your brother, and I almost resorted to sewing a glove to his sleeve to save his teeth.”
The girl tucked her thumb under her four fingers. “I will be good, Mother.”
“Yes, you will,” said Catherine. “And then perhaps you will be called to serve the royal children, too.”
The maid had backed silently from the room and Sebastian retook his post. “Have you a letter from my brother?” asked Veronica.
“I do,” said Catherine. “He writes a good hand, and he asks after your health, as a good brother should.”
Veronica leapt onto the bench. “He is the prince’s best companion, is he not?” She clapped her hands before her face. “And the prince will be king, and my brother will be the king’s counselor. And I am his sister and he will reward me.”
Ann laughed again. “Your fancy runs off with you, girl.”
Catherine said, “He is not always in the company of the prince, but he can ride with the best of them. He will move up with the court and perhaps one day he will be at the prince’s right hand. And, yes, my girl, you are his sister.”
“Read the letter to me, Mother, if you please.”
“I have it upon me.” Catherine pulled the paper from her pocket.
“He begins ‘Dearest Mother.’ Isn’t that a good boy?”
“All brothers say that,” said Veronica. “That is nothing.”
Catherine flapped the letter on her head. “All right, you monkey. He says ‘I am much upon my new gelding, and he flies as fast as the horses of the prince’s stable. I thank you for him. I pray for you every night, and for my little sister. His Grace has favored me with larger chambers. I do well and serve my father’s name proudly.’” Catherine stopped a moment, skimming the paper. “‘I send you my love and duty. Your son, Robert Overton.’” She folded it and stuck it back into her pocket. “Does he not sound like a young man?”
Ann said, “I know few boys of six years who write such messages.” She shook her head. “Say, didn’t Benjamin send him that gelding?”
Catherine glanced at her friend. “He seems to remember his own name well enough,” she said. “Now, Mistress Veronica, where are your lessons? You were to show me how well you can spell your name.”
Veronica traced a circle in the wood of the table. “I will do it just now.”
“You have not even begun?” asked Catherine. “Veronica!”
Ann took her by the hand. “You will do it now, indeed, my small madam. And I will watch you as I fold the linens. And I will secure that other bit of stuff as well.” She dragged Veronica off just as Jane Dudley came into the kitchen.
“You are wanted upstairs, Catherine. I believe that Martin Martins cannot contain himself if he does not aim his weapon for your admiration one more time.”
11
Martin David Martins was saying his elaborate, oily farewell, and he pivoted, leg extended and codpiece displayed, when Catherine came up. He grabbed her hand and laid his lips upon it. Then he rose and drew her close, whispering into her ear, “So many temptations, Lady, and you so deserving. Do let me know if you lay eyes upon that ring. Or anything else of value. I have heard that you like to have a man in attendance. Let me be of service to you.”
So he mea
nt to come again. Catherine retrieved her hand and wiped it on her skirt as soon as the man’s back was turned. Jane Dudley stood in the doorway, her eyes following Martins until he was riding away. Catherine’s breast unwound, but midway to shutting the door upon the horrible squat man, Jane opened it again.
“Who is that?” she said. “Catherine, don’t leave just yet. That is another of your suitors, is it not?”
Catherine stepped forward, pulled the door wider, and stood beside Jane. The man had stopped to greet Martins and was now riding toward them. His mouth was tightened into a measured smirk. “It is Benjamin Davies and his man Reginald,” said Catherine. She almost stepped outside but recovered herself. “He comes with news for me. Tell him I am in the kitchen.”
“The Lady Anne must see him. Don’t hang on him and be sure you produce him quickly.” She closed the door. The men would take their horses around back first. “What’s the matter? What’s this news he brings? You seem to know it already.”
Catherine’s heart was galloping. “Benjamin has invested monies with me. And with my father. I expect he brings me reports of our yields. Nothing more.” She rubbed a patch of pain in her forehead. “I owe him a great deal.”
Jane’s eyes drilled into her. “Does he mean to marry you? There will be no permissions given now, you mark me. And Lady Anne in such a state—”
“Yes. I mean to say, I know nothing of any permissions. I mean, Benjamin was a great friend to my husband. I mean, to my husband’s older brother. He knows all the wool markets. He has profitable friends in Dover and Calais. But the king’s orders? I have nothing to say to them.” Her heart was giddy and would not stay down in her chest.
“When has that ever stopped love from rushing to its final destination?” Jane was now smiling, but only with one side of her mouth. The other side seemed to frown. “Come, Catherine, don’t look glum. I’ve never heard your words tie themselves into such knots. He seems well enough. At least he doesn’t affect those great shoulders the other men wear. God’s wounds, they look like stuffed dolls.”
“No,” said Catherine. Her guts were as tangled as her tongue. “Benjamin Davies is quite immune to the contagion of fashion.”
Jane pinched Catherine’s cheeks. “Look how rosy a young widow you are. And what a bad little sister.” Then she sobered. “But take care for yourself. And for all of us here.”
“I will only be a few minutes with him.” Catherine ran downstairs, pulled on a cloak, and went out. The air was frozen and bright and breathing was like drinking from a cold stream. The first lettuces would be showing their green crowns already. Catherine was shooing the gulls as the group of men rode around the house and pulled up short. The two in the rear bore a deer on a pole between them.
Benjamin Davies, in the lead, leapt from his Caesar and hailed Catherine. “What are you doing, tromping through the mud like a serving woman?” He swept off his hat and bowed, but his eyes were laughing at her. He was still broad in the shoulders, without benefit of padding, and still wore his dark beard long, too shaggy for court style. His coat was plain and his breeches were simple woolen. No codpiece. His black hair had grown even longer and curlier, hanging over his shoulders, and the window lit up the white strands in it. He bowed and said, “I bring you a token, Lady, if you will have it. I felled this beast with my own hands.”
Reg Goodall was dismounting behind Benjamin, waving for the other men to ride on up to the stables. Their horses sauntered forward, and the ones carrying the deer high-stepped and snorted as their riders turned them to display the dead animal. It was a young buck but a fat one.
“Reg. It’s good to see you well.” Catherine laid her hand on the animal’s flank and removed it, not liking to feel the hard, cold muscle under the soft fur. She said to the men, “Take it to the shambles in the back and ask for Hubert. He will oversee the dressing of it.”
The men dipped their caps and rode on, the dead ears and tail swinging as they went. Reg was looking at the kitchen door, and Catherine said, “Go on in, won’t you? She’s hiding in the laundry.” He dipped his head and hurried toward the house.
“And how do you, Catherine?” Benjamin resituated his hat. “I don’t suppose you will let me kiss your hand?”
“You might kiss my mouth if we were not being watched from every window. And you needn’t play the courtier until we’re inside,” said Catherine. “You wear the mask so tightly that it will grow to your face.”
“Oh. A hit.” Benjamin touched his breast. “You will injure me to my grave.”
“Go to, Benjamin, you mock me,” said Catherine. Her cheeks flamed and she wanted to cover them. “Do you bring news?”
“Your sheep are fat and woolly. The village is full of gossip about your son. They say that Robbie is the center of his circle, shining among the other pages as a gem set in dull metal. They are sure that he will be as handsome as his mother is beautiful and will ride in with you and restore them to their glory.”
“How long have you been returned?” Catherine walked on toward the garden and Benjamin was forced to follow.
“I have been at my country house for a day, just long enough see my daughter and to shoot you some meat. Your leftover wool has been bundled for sale, and there will be more coming with the warm weather. Much more. Your father and Joseph Adwolfe have managed the works like old sheepmen. They are born to business.”
They had reached the protected edge of the vegetable patch, and Catherine knelt to examine the tiny leaves pushing through the cold soil. They were larger where the sun shone all day, and she nipped one and tasted it. Sweet and tender. She stood, brushing her hands together. “And?”
“And what? You will have a pot of money.”
“You know perfectly well. Are the banns published?”
“Your father said he would nail them to the underside of an old shelf. The first should be up by this time.”
Catherine rocked back onto her haunches and shaded her eyes to look up at him. “I have news for you. The king has had the Lady Anne to him.”
“What? For a wife?”
“Well, not fast. Not yet. She has been called to him, though.” The sun was rising behind Benjamin, and she couldn’t make out his face.
“It may mean something. I cannot tell.”
“I haven’t heard a word from Margaret,” said Catherine. “Did you see her?”
“Oh, she’s taken up residence with that Connie. I wonder that the mud didn’t sink her along the road. The ways are almost impassable. She broke two wagons and was carrying nothing but her clothes and some old bushes.” Benjamin squatted to Catherine’s level. “The maid has grown to look almost the image of Robert Overton.”
Catherine stood and wiped her hand on her apron. Benjamin stood beside her and offered his arm, but she didn’t take it. “Constance is as much an Overton as my own children are.”
“Oh, no. She is not and you must not say so aloud. Your children are William’s by law and that one is Robert’s bastard.”
“Robert and William are both dead anyway. Lower your voice.” Catherine stepped aside to let Marjory walk past. The maid had a pile of the soft carrots in a clout and she was headed toward the pig pens. Catherine said, “You might cut out what can be saved from those before they go into the slops.”
“Yes, Madam,” said Marjory wearily. Her eyes were on Benjamin.
Catherine chose a handful of skinny green onions and toed the dirt back over the tiny holes in the soil. They walked back without talking, where Catherine closed the door behind them and pulled Benjamin into the side kitchen. “Come away from the window. You’ll create a spectacle.”
“Are you worried that the maids will see us?” He sidled closer, hip to hip with Catherine.
“Gossip can get a woman’s head cut off.” His hand was on her waist and she tried to ignore it. “Tell me what you know of Margaret.”
; Benjamin put his lips in the hollow under her jaw and murmured, “She went to Yorkshire after the little queen went to the block. She is holed up in her chamber like a fox in its lair.”
“As Eleanor said in her letter.”
“Mm-hm. And Eleanor plays the saint when Margaret is in attendance, ‘yes, Madam’ing and ‘no, Madam’ing’ as though her tongue were made of snow. I can see the fire in her eyes, though. If she knew a way to cast the devil out, she would say the spell.”
“Did you speak to her?”
Benjamin pulled away. “Margaret? I told her that it became a spinster sister to look over her family’s property in their absence.”
“You never did say that.” A laugh twisted in Catherine’s throat and she choked on the mean knot of it.
Benjamin patted her back and let his hand wander to Catherine’s nape. “Don’t throttle yourself with joy.”
Marjory came in and passed through to the laundry with the dirty clout, empty of carrots, dangling from her fingers.
Catherine watched until she had gone. “How do my servants get along?”
“I spoke but little to them. Your man-steward never was one for many words. He is all work all the day. He is up with the sun and at it, even before Eleanor. I spent my evenings alone with the best wine from your cellar.” Benjamin grinned and Catherine feinted a slap.
The big skewer squeaked in the next room, and Catherine said, “Come this way,” leading Benjamin to her still room. “Benjamin, I think the world turns our way. But I worry for my son. Robbie will not approve of my marrying again.” The man sat forward and Catherine let her tongue go. “He has no father and he feels the loss. Shall I fetch him to me?”
Benjamin whistled, low, as though he were calling a falcon. “What will you tell the prince? That his company was not good enough for your son?”
“My belly will rise soon.” Catherine guided Benjamin’s fingers to her skirt, but there was no swelling yet. She asked without looking up, “What if we were to take him back to Yorkshire?”
The King's Sisters Page 7
