Benjamin was on him in two steps, wrenching the firearm from Martins’ hand. The fat man wobbled, then sat heavily where he was. It was like watching a rotten bladder of wine collapse on stone. Ann lifted Catherine and held her, drawing her skirts away from the blood.
“We must ride,” announced Barts. “At once. Martins, up with you. I will fetch the horses.” He knelt and pushed at one of Chandler’s eyelids, then let it drop without ceremony. “This man is dead.”
Barts addressed himself to Catherine. “As the lady of the house, you will arrange for the burial of this man who has died in your custody. I will inform his family what accident of fortune has befallen him. Martins, get up from there! We ride. Now.”
Catherine said, “Now I am the lady of the house? When you kill your own and leave them lying in their blood? What say you to this, Master LaBranche? Are there not laws against murder in this country anymore?”
LaBranche touched his fingertips together and pursed his mouth. His upper lip glistened with sweat. “The law contains many statutes that pertain to the act of causing death. First—”
“Jesus on the water, will you shut your mouth?” said Benjamin. He took hold of Martins’ arm and shook him.
Martins jiggled like a rat in a hound’s jaws. “It was a mishap,” he squealed. Then he indicated Ann. “That woman. That damned woman. She pulled my arm and interfered with my aim. She is to blame.” Benjamin flung him away.
Ann let loose of Catherine. “You will not lay your murder at my feet. LaBranche, if you can pull your fingers apart, you might get a constable and have this man arrested.” The lawyer did not move, and she kicked him in the shin. “Go, man. On your horse. That animal with the four hooves that you left in the courtyard.”
LaBranche stumbled outdoors and away, and Martins scuttled around the other men. He squatted at Chandler’s side and ran his hands into the man’s breeches pockets.
“What are you doing?” asked Benjamin. He tried to haul Martins to his feet, but the man was so bottom-heavy that he rolled away.
“He was my companion. I will have something to take to his mother.” He crawled back toward Chandler, and Benjamin shoved him with his toe.
“Get back. You will not take anything from here.” Benjamin pushed at Martins again, then again. “Hand over that warrant.”
Martins sat and stared at Benjamin’s knees, then he gathered himself to his feet. It was like watching a small mountain rise from the base of a hill. He glared around. Benjamin would not be moved. Barts said, “Come on, man, give up the field,” and Martins waddled to the stairs and sat. Benjamin prodded him, and the fat man produced the warrant, dropping it on the pavers. “This is not signed,” said Benjamin. Martins didn’t move again until they heard horses out front, and LaBranche pranced in, followed by Peter Grubb.
The constable walked to the body, then knelt, stroking his chin. “I figure a man that shoots his friend is bound to be punished twice.” He struggled to his feet. “Who’s the villain here?” They all pointed at Martins, and Grubb shouted, “Come on.” A pair of his watchmen brought manacles and bundled Martins and Barts out. Grubb turned back in their dusty wake. “You will prepare the body?”
Catherine nodded, and the constable was gone. “There is not enough of England to hide their heads from the eye of God.” She turned back to Chandler and, lifting the jacket edges, ran her fingers into the pockets that lined the garments. The large ones contained handkerchiefs and gloves, a small bag of coins. A dried nosegay. A short love message from someone named Alise. Catherine worked her fingers up near the collar. There, on the left, above the heart, was a tiny pocket with a flap and a button. She twisted it open and reached inside.
“Here it is,” she said. She held up the ring. It was a deeply colored ruby, set in gold fretwork and surrounded with pearls. Catherine let a spear of candle light sparkle through it, then rolled it into her palm and held it out to Benjamin. “All of this over a man’s wounded pride. And a stone.” It lay, a sanguine spot in the middle of her hand. “This belongs to the King’s Sister. I have seen it on her very finger. Mine is only a garnet.”
“And now this poor fellow will pay for it under a stone,” said Benjamin, toeing Chandler’s arm.
She lifted the ring toward her husband. “I must take it back where it belongs.” She stared down at the dead man’s face. A silent circle of servants had appeared at the head of the stairs above, and Benjamin nodded at them to carry Chandler away.
“Where do you want him?”
“In the main kitchen,” said Catherine. “Then in the chapel.”
Benjamin offered a hand and pulled Catherine up beside him. “We must show ourselves now.”
The tall oaks outside moved in a sudden wind, and the sun’s rays shimmered through the windows like coins falling. Catherine said, “I will get the girls to clean up this floor.”
Veronica’s voice came piping from downstairs. “What is all the noise? Where is my mother?”
Ann said, “The child mustn’t see this,” and went. Catherine watched the open shutter bump gently against the window frame. Far beyond them, a dog barked. A kite wheeled past, one dark initial against the darker sky. Benjamin said, “The king may be merciful when we bow and show your great belly.”
“He is so very well known for mercy,” said Catherine. The wind set the curtains fluttering, and Catherine put her hand on the silk. It felt greasy and old. “How much water would wash this clean again? Maybe we should leave the shutters open and let the storms do what they will.” She turned. “I will send for my father to say the words for this man. We will put him in the Havenston churchyard.” Someone moved at the top of the stairs, and they all looked up. Sebastian came stomping down and presented himself. “I stand before you, Lady, as your prisoner. It was I who set them onto you and now I am abandoned in the enemy camp.”
“Sweet Mother of God.”
Benjamin said, “What have you got to say for yourself?”
“I have nothing to say,” said Sebastian. He drew a narrow knife from his boot. “I will be required to stand trial.” He placed a hand on his throat. “They don’t allow no neck-verse to servants, even if I can read as well as the next man. But I will not go. If they require me to go, I will not. I will swing from that window first.” Sebastian’s face was chalky and his eyes were liquid. “I will stick a hole into my heart before they will lay their hands on me.” The blade shone with a dull wickedness when he held it up. “It is long enough to reach my soul.”
Benjamin swiped the knife from his hand in one motion. “Now I have saved your soul from damnation and you will ride to your fate and sing your song to whoever care to listen. You’re a weasel.” He cuffed the man on the jaw.
“Reg! Bring me a rope.”
51
The road south gave them time to accustom themselves to married life, sleeping together on lousy mattresses and moldy pillows and riding side by side by day. The Davies House was already alive with news of Master Davies and his new Lady, and they spent one night in each other’s arms on the best bed in the house. They made love in silence, Benjamin careful not to lay his full weight upon Catherine’s belly until she pulled him to her.
But Benjamin was not summoned to court. No word arrived from Ashridge. A letter came from John Dudley, saying that Benjamin was directed to Calais, where a load of his wool was said to have been abandoned, unclaimed by any merchant. Catherine had been ordered to Richmond Palace.
They parted in London, Benjamin promising a straight return. Reg and Ann went with Catherine. Only Jane Dudley came out as they rode up, Catherine in the lead and Ann behind her, holding Veronica. As they were deciding their words, Jane said, “At last you come. We have heard the story. The king has heard of it. And the prince.”
Catherine curtsied low. “Rumor has wings but few wits, though if you have heard of my marriage, you have heard true.”
; Jane stood back to let them enter. “Yours and your sister’s as well. The king does not say a word about you.”
“My sister?”
“Come inside.” She sent Ann downstairs and the men around back. “Leave the girl here.” When they were alone, she appraised Catherine. “You are with child.”
“I am.”
“She is waiting for you.” Jane went toward the receiving room, where Anne of Cleves perched on her big chair.
Catherine fell to the floor in front of the Lady of Cleves. “I have offended you most grievously, My Lady.” She withdrew the ring from her pocket. “But I come with your jewel, to restore it to you.”
“Bring it to me,” said Lady Anne. Catherine began to rise, but Anne stopped her with an upraised palm. “Little Veronica, give it to me.” The child plucked the gem from her mother’s hand and delivered it. She sat at the feet of Anne of Cleves.
“Which is the more prized of these jewels? A ring or a daughter?”
Catherine chanced a look up. “My children are always my chiefest gems.”
“Get up, Catherine,” said the King’s Sister. She put the ring on her finger and shoved herself out of the seat. “Jane, we will go to the game room.” She took Veronica by the hand and they went, Catherine in a daze at the rear. They settled around the familiar table, and Jane began to deal out cards. No one picked them up. Veronica folded her hands and sat still.
“Your sister has behaved very bad,” said Lady Anne. “Our messenger say that she has married a manservant. Someone from the Overton House.”
“Who?” asked Catherine.
Lady Anne said, “You do not know your own servants?”
“Margaret has gathered servants of her own,” said Catherine.
“She have cursed herself. This cannot be undone.”
“It is I who have behaved cursedly, Lady Anne. But I have made a redemption in marriage. Benjamin is a gentleman.”
“A redemption?” said Jane Dudley. She gave Catherine a withering look. “Your man had better make his fortune in the wool trade. And you had better set yourself to the work below with a vengeance and work your salvation with your hands.”
“I am allowed to stay?”
“It is required.” Lady Anne lifted a card and set it back where it had been. “You are to be in a purgatory. We will see how long it lasts.”
“And how hot it will be,” said Jane.
Catherine’s eyes leaked tears, and she could not stop them. Veronica crawled over onto her lap, and Jane patted her hand. “You have been preserved by your sister’s greater ruin. It is a most grievous fall.”
“Beshrew me if I don’t pity her. The world spins too fast for me. I don’t know what to say.”
“Your son is very silent,” said Jane. “And you are not to send any letter into the prince’s house.”
Catherine said, “He will come back to me in time. He must.”
“Go now,” said the King’s Beloved Sister. “I play alone.” She smeared the cards into a pile, and Catherine went.
But Jane was with her, and before Catherine descended, she said, “The tide has turned and you will not be much in the king’s thoughts here.”
“Are Lady Anne and the king friends again?”
“The king has friends enough. He has lately turned his attentions to another widow. One not as irregular as you have been. She is noble and good. The prince has warmed to her.”
“And Lady Anne’s hopes are at an end?”
“She never had a hope. Not a true one. Keep your head low, Catherine, and pray for your soul. No one has forgotten your past, and all of the king’s sisters are to be impeccable. Too many of them have fallen. You have done so under a lucky star. You have much to do to win back your character.”
“I will undertake it,” Catherine said. “And what is the lady called, the king’s new favorite?”
Jane laughed, but she was not smiling. “You will appreciate the irony of it. She is a widow of good reputation, and her name is Catherine. Catherine Parr.” Then she walked away.
Catherine took up her daughter’s hand to begin the next journey. The unborn child shifted within her, and,with great care, she set her foot down, upon the first of the slick, uneven steps.
About the Author
Sarah Kennedy is the author of the novels The Altarpiece and City of Ladies, Books One and Two of The Cross and the Crown series, as well as seven books of poems. A professor of English in Virginia, Sarah Kennedy holds a PhD in Renaissance Literature and an MFA in Creative Writing. She has received grants from both the National Endowment for the Arts and the Virginia Commission for the Arts. Please visit Sarah at her website: http://sarahkennedybooks.com.
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