The King's Sisters

by Sarah Kennedy

  Jane drank. Catherine sipped.

  Jane stepped closer, almost whispering into Catherine’s ear. “She will be humiliated if she begs for the king to take her again. She will be humiliated by her brother if she does not.”

  Now Catherine drank deep. “What will she do?”

  “What indeed.” Jane peered at the dregs of her cup. “What woman wants to brag of how disgusting she is to all of the men around her?” She waved at Sebastian. “Go outside, you.” He went.

  “Yes,” said Catherine. “I heard how proud the queen sounded when she was on the scaffold for being a beauty. And what occurred this morning in the writing room? Has the king said no to her?”

  “Martins claims that she is spending more than she says. He intimates that she is concealing her spending. It sounds not like news of a nuptial sort.” She smiled.

  “Henry wants her gone,” Catherine concluded.

  “Her absence might make the king’s path easier.”

  “Ah,” said Catherine. “Yes. The king’s path has been so very difficult before now.”

  Jane’s right eyelid flickered. She regarded Catherine carefully for a few seconds.

  “Yes.”

  Catherine could not hold her tongue. “And so very crowded.”

  “What do you mean?” Jane’s eyes sparked.

  “Nothing,” said Catherine, turning back to the fire. “I meant nothing at all. A king’s way must be peopled. That is all.”

  “I expect that Martins will receive a nice advantage from a discovery of thieving. A windfall for him, no doubt.” Jane left without speaking further.

  “Are you trying to get yourself arrested?” Ann said, coming into the room. Veronica was not with her. “You don’t know who Jane talks to.”

  “I almost said ‘crowded with bodies.’ But I stopped my tongue in time.” Catherine carved a piece of undercooked meat, slapped it onto a platter, and spooned the sauce from the pot over it. It had thickened to a gelatinous mass, and she stirred a spoonful of wine into the mess.

  “This will settle her enough to send her to her gaming table.”

  “Let’s hope she is keeping track of her gambling debts,” said Ann, “or she and all of her women will find themselves in the Tower.”

  “We’re her women,” said Catherine.

  “I know,” said Ann. She looked at the bloody meat. “I will fetch Sebastian.”

  Catherine found Lady Anne in the dining hall with Lady Jane, and she set the plate down with a slight curtsey. The maids had replaced the dirty dishes with clean ones, and Catherine gave silent thanks. “Forgive me for tardiness. I hope this will nourish you.”

  “More pig?” asked Lady Anne.

  “Yes. It is plentiful just now. Pig with apple.”

  “Mm. Good. What is the flavor?” The Lady Anne seemed to study the rafters as she chewed.

  Catherine choked down a gag. “A large pinch of cinnamon.”

  Anne of Cleves swallowed, the lump of her effort as visible as a small animal writhing in her neck. “You will cook this dish for our guest.”

  “Guest? Who will be visiting us?”

  “The Lady Mary.”

  “When? Today?” Catherine’s gaze skidded toward Jane Dudley, whose mouth had fallen slightly open.

  “Soon. You have made the acquaintance of her,” said Anne. “She say you know her.” Anne helped herself to another mouthful of meat. “She say she hope to see you. She know you of old, she say. Did you serve in the household of Lady Mary, Catherine?” Anne burped luxuriously and patted the small bulge of her stomach.

  “I was in the household of the Lady Elizabeth once,” said Catherine. “The Lady Mary was sometimes there.”

  “And you were removed, were you not?” asked Jane. Her eyes glittered. She looked a little wild. “You were sent home.”

  Catherine rose to her full height. “My husband was ill. I removed myself, to my own home. Do you blame me for that?”

  “I judge no one,” said Jane. “But we all know your past, Catherine, and Mary’s stubborn nature is the block you might stumble upon.” She turned to Anne. “I beseech you, Lady, to postpone this visit. Richmond Palace needs no more scrutiny than it presently suffers.” She flicked a look at Catherine.

  Lady Anne now rose and stared down at Jane. “Mary is of the close age with me.” She lifted her hand. “Catherine is of age also. We will be three together. Jane, you may go if you are not happy with me.”

  “The king will hear of it,” said Jane. “He must. Don’t bring her here. Not now.”

  “What will the king hear of?” said Martin David Martins. He waddled into the room like a plucked duck and fastened his fleshy hand onto an entire loaf of bread. Ciaran Barts leaned against the door frame, cleaning his spectacles with his handkerchief, and the squat Chandler settled beside him, narrow-eying the room. Out in the hall, Karl Harst huddled over the knot of his own hands.

  Jane said,“He will hear only things good and proper of this house. Reformed things.”

  Martins ripped a bite from the heel and ruminated. Then he swallowed hard and said, “You must confide in me. It is upon my word that the king judges you. I am his eyes and ears.”

  Anne of Cleves threw down her napkin. “I hide nothing from the king.” She yanked her skirt free of the table legs and trudged from the room, calling, “I will have the Lady Mary here. I will have anyone here that I want.” Martins’ gaze followed her as she went.

  17

  March had come in cold and wet, but as the day for the visit approached, the breeze blew in a few green-smelling days, winter breaking apart for spring, despite the calendar’s insistence upon Lent. Catherine was stuck within doors, waiting for Benjamin and preparing the kitchen and overseeing the deliveries of bread and wine. So much wine. So much waiting. He should have returned. He would return. The cellar was crowded, the barrels stacked almost to the tops of the walls. Like bloated coffins in a tomb, thought Catherine.

  On the day before the royal arrival, the men brought in a large catch of fish and the maids brought up all of the remaining carrots and parsnips from the root cellar. They were strewn across the big kitchen table, and Catherine sent them back for cabbages and onions and apples. Ann Smith disappeared into the laundry, pleading the need for a great washing. She took Veronica with her.

  The time passed in a rush of food, killing a few old geese and hauling in more fish. Catherine set the maids to sorting a fresh delivery of new fruits, some for sauces and some for tarts. Catherine herself inspected the stocks of French wine, holding the bottles to the light and discarding any that looked cloudy. Veronica whined at being sent to the laundry to make her letters, but Ann Smith promised a special sweet made of the tender new strawberries and cinnamon, and the girl finally followed, sulking, to the table beside the washtubs. The kitchen was a shambles by the time Catherine fell into her bed at midnight.

  The next morning was bright, and Catherine escaped the havoc by disappearing into the west garden. Trimming stems from the rosemary bushes, she worked alone, practicing what she might and might not say to Mary Tudor. Catherine was holding the needles of a woody branch, and she nipped the end of her right forefinger when she snipped. She cried out, and a berry of blood swelled out and fell upon the green herb. She put the cut to her mouth, inhaling the tangy scent of metal and leaf. “I will crack like a stick,” Catherine muttered, ripping a branch loose. She shoved it into her pocket.

  “Is that what you have waited for? To break at the last moment? It’s not like you. Will you go back to hiding him in the bushes and the cupboards?”

  Catherine whirled to find Ann Smith, a basket of eggs on her hip. Catherine’s face went hot, and she put her uninjured palm on her cheek. “We never did. Not in the bushes.”

  “You’ve been out here for hours. What have you done to yourself?”

  Catherine suck
ed the wound. “My finger bleeds, that’s all. I am just confessing my sins to God. Don’t listen to me.”

  “You’d better stand up and listen for yourself,” said Ann. “There’s horses coming down the north lane and you don’t want them to find you talking to the bushes.”

  Just as she finished speaking, the Richmond Palace dogs came storming from the barns, snapping at the air, and all of the women, Catherine and Ann among them, fled back to the house, where they could watch from the safety of the kitchen windows. The riders blew in, raising small armies of dust and kicking at the dogs’ snouts, sending them howling. The lead man swung himself to the ground and motioned for the others to go around to the front of the house, and when they had turned he led his mount into the stable, calling out a loud hallo. Catherine went in search of the kitchen maids. They were huddled together in the laundry, on their toes at the window, whispering and squealing. “Is she come?” asked Marjory when Catherine burst through the door. “Is the king’s daughter here?”

  “I expect she is,” said Catherine, “or close behind them. She may come by water. Have the butcher dress the biggest of the catch for supper. Set the herbs that are on the table into the meat and keep one stem back to drop into a bottle of claret. Carrots. Did we get carrots with the apples? See if there are young peas in the glass house yet. Fry up the onions. And put together some custards. Ann has the eggs, and there are nutmegs on the top shelf in the pantry.” She was pulling off her apron with one hand and fixing her hood with the other. She discovered a patch of dirt on her skirt and cursed. “Where has Ann gone? Where is Sebastian? Hand me that brush, Agnes.” She beat at the soiled spot but it would not come out. Her finger split open with dark blood again. “Sweet mother of God, I look like a—”

  “A what, Madam?” asked Agnes. She knelt in front of Catherine and, taking the brush, worked at the stain. “See? It comes right off if you knock it downward. Ann is just there, folding napkins for the table.” She pointed. Ann had gotten to work right behind her.

  Catherine felt the blood pounding her cheeks again. Her finger throbbed, hot and swollen. She put her left hand upon Agnes’s head. “You’re a good girl,” she said.

  Then came the call from upstairs.

  Catherine wrapped her wound, put her hands together, took a breath, and went. She took the cold steps slowly, counting as she rose. It would be nothing, she told herself. Another visitor. Another woman cast off by Henry. It would change nothing. Other women married. Remarried. More than once. It was not a crime. It should not be a crime. She set her hand on her belly. It felt like a pouch and she sucked in. She could look hollow for now. Benjamin would come soon. He would. He must. “Never in a cupboard,” she said to the stone walls.

  Jane Dudley had already turned back to the visitors when Catherine rounded the corner into the room, and they walked, one behind the other like lady and maid, toward the two royals. Jane Dudley squatted a tight curtsey, bent her head, and retreated. Catherine was left with the king’s Beloved Sister and the king’s elder daughter.

  “Lady Mary,” she said, dropping to her knee.

  “Catherine Overton,” said Mary. “Stand up and let me look upon you.”

  Mary Tudor was narrow-boned as a young bird, and her gaze had grown darker. Flinty. Catherine stood and said, “My Lady, I am glad to see you well. My thoughts have been ever with you.”

  “As you yourself have not been. Do you recall our conversations at Hatfield House?”

  “I do. It was decided for me to serve here with the King’s Beloved Sister.”

  “You might be lady of your own properties. And yet you stay here, doing your battles with a dirty kitchen. Is this your choice? What has happened to your hand?”

  Catherine glanced at Lady Anne, who pondered the wall, arms crossed on her belly. Catherine considered a moment. “It was the king’s wish. The Lady Anne has an excellent kitchen, and I find a great joy in teaching the younger girls.” She lifted her right hand. The linen was soaked on one side. “I injured myself in the garden.”

  “And you find Catherine a satisfactory companion?” Mary asked Lady Anne.

  “She is good cook and good manager,” said Anne of Cleves, patting her stomach. “She keep us all in good flesh, even in the Lenten time.” She put her arms on Catherine’s and Mary’s shoulders. “And so we three, we will all be sisters, will we not?” Her eyes had found Mary’s and the hoods of her eyes lifted.

  “Sisters?” asked Mary. Her eyes softened. “Yes. We might be. How might we show our love to one another?”

  Anne let her head rock from side to side. “We will play the cards together.” She pulled Catherine closer. “You will let the below girls do the cooking for now.”

  “But I—” Catherine began.

  “You will play,” said Mary Tudor.

  Catherine nodded. Anne of Cleves waved her hand. “You. You leave us.” The other ladies and maids curtsied and ran off.

  Lady Anne led Mary Tudor into her gaming room, and Catherine stepped to the stairs that led down to the kitchen and called for Agnes. “Bring food. Wine and cheeses and bread. Where Lady Anne plays at cards. Choose another of the girls to help you serve. Three cups.” Agnes scuttled off, and Catherine hurried to follow Anne of Cleves and Mary Tudor.

  The two women had settled at the small table, and Anne was already shuffling the deck. These were brightly painted with Greek gods and goddesses, Poseidon threatening the sky with a trident, grey-eyed Hera scowling from the heavens. Athena, armed against all comers.

  Mary Tudor was twisting a ring on her thumb when Catherine entered, and she rose to pace the room. Catherine went to her knees until Mary snapped her fingers to raise her. “He must not have another,” said the king’s daughter. She strode back and forth, stopping finally at the window to jerk back the drape. But she then dropped it as though it had scorched her. “You must tell your brother to stop writing. My father should not marry again with anyone.”

  “He give me much,” said Anne quietly. She had laid the cards down and began lifting them one by one, setting them face up in a second pile. “But this sisterhood shame me. My brother say this.”

  “Shame,” said Mary. She went a circuit around the floor again. Twigs from her travels had gathered in the hem of her skirt, and Catherine itched to pull the nest free, but Mary kept walking. She was talking low, almost to herself. “I have had a lifetime of shame. And my mother. She died of it. You must stay as you are. You are safe. You live in comfort. What shame is in that? And your brother. He is in Cleves. Let him stay there, where he cannot lay his hand upon you. Brothers. They are born to torment their sisters.”

  “I am not queen,” murmured Anne.

  “Nor am I,” said Mary. She halted and clutched her skirt in her fists. “Nor am I ever like to be if he has another son. As things are, I will also be the king’s sister if that boy grows to manhood. He already struts like a monarch and makes his little speeches and I can hardly bear it.” She dropped into a chair and put out her hand. “Catherine, I am glad to see you sit with us. You are with us, are you not? Three sisters, happy without men.”

  Catherine nodded. “I am with you, Lady.” She sat.

  Anne tossed out the cards listlessly, and Mary picked up hers without looking at them. Catherine was not dealt in, and she didn’t ask for a hand.

  “What will I do here?” asked Anne. “My brother say I am locked away like a nun.”

  Catherine’s finger wept blood through its windings, and she made a fist to contain it, but the wound complained, and she opened her grip to find a stigma upon her palm.

  “Your brother is a tyrant and a villain,” said Mary. “Brothers believe they may rule their sisters’ fortunes as well as their hearts. You must not demand what your brother demands. Brothers may be defied. Even if they are—” She stopped there and squinted at a king of hearts before her. She laid it down, revealing Zeus wielding a thu
nderbolt.

  Lady Anne’s shoulders sagged and she fanned her cards. She picked one out and tucked it back in. “But I will not even ask for audience no more?”

  “He will scorn you again. And that would be shame indeed.” Mary skidded the king of the gods away and tapped the table with the edge of a pink Eros. “Ignore your brother. Brothers grow old. Sometimes, they die.”

  Someone knocked at the door, and the Lady Anne called, “Enter.” It was Agnes, with a large platter. She set it on the sideboard. She opened her mouth, closed it again, curtsied, wobbled, fell, and caught herself with one hand on the floor.

  “Rise up, girl, and see to your kitchen,” said Mary, without looking away from her cards.

  Agnes scrambled to her feet and backed to the door. She banged her knee as she gathered her skirts to squeeze through.

  “Is that one of your new prodigies?” asked Mary.

  Catherine said, “She’s a good girl. Just green and afraid of great faces.”

  “Hmph,” said Mary. “I wish this face would terrify as well as some others. It might do me some good then.”

  Catherine served the wine and brought the plate of cheese and bread for the card table. “I treated this for you, Lady Mary. It is healthful for your stomach.”

  “Catherine. Always thinking of my body’s health.” Mary Tudor drank. “It pleases me.”

  “I am gladdened to hear it.”

  “But what of my soul, Catherine Havens Overton? Would you help me to keep that healthful as well?” Mary spread the cards in her hand and plucked at one.

  “I would serve anyone’s soul to keep it healthy,” said Catherine.

  Mary still scrutinized her cards, and the Lady Anne let her hands flop into her lap. “We three are of one almost year. It means that we must be like the dairy maids at their work.”