by Alison Weir
“I’m glad to hear it!” her grandam said, her tone severe. “Now, you may consort with Mr. Dereham, bearing in mind the proprieties, and I will seek your father’s approval for a match between you. If he does not approve, then you must stop seeing each other.”
“Yes, my lady,” Katheryn said, praying that Father would consent. Only, it would be ages before she found out, for it took days for letters to reach Calais.
* * *
—
She could barely wait to tell Francis the good news—it was good news, surely? She was in a fever of anxiety until nighttime and, when he arrived at the dorter, she hurried him into her chamber, heedless of her grandam’s injunction to observe the proprieties, and told him what the Duchess had said. He stared at her, his sardonic eyes suddenly luminous.
“By God, Katheryn, I was right! We may well achieve our hearts’ desire. And, if your father refuses, we’ll just have to be honest with him and say we are troth-plight.” He folded her in his arms. “We’ll be together, openly, and all will see how proud I am to have you for my wife!”
“Oh, Francis!” Katheryn cried. “I do pray my father writes soon.”
“I’ll go to Calais, if need be, and convince him what a good husband I’ll be to you!” he declared.
Once more, she was in his arms, responding to his desire. She knew she was doing wrong in disobeying the Duchess, but it did not really matter. In her heart, she was certain that she and Francis would soon be wed.
* * *
—
The following morning, Mother Emmet knocked on Katheryn’s door. Katheryn thanked God and all the saints that Francis had left in the small hours.
“May I come in?” Mother Emmet asked and Katheryn stood aside to admit her. The older woman’s eyes roved over the rumpled bed and the pile of discarded clothes on the floor. Katheryn hastened to pull up the counterpane, hoping the mistress of the maids had not seen the stains on the bottom sheet.
“My lady of Norfolk has informed me of your light behavior,” Mother Emmet said, her tone cool. “I was reprimanded for it. I explained that I cannot be held responsible for the transgressions of every one of you gentlewomen and that I had no idea of your misconduct. You have disappointed and embarrassed me, Mistress Katheryn, and I trust you will be more circumspect in the future.”
“I’m very sorry,” Katheryn said meekly. If you hadn’t been so bone idle, thanks be to God, a lot more of us would be in trouble.
“I’ll be watching you,” Mother Emmet said, wagging her finger. “Be warned!”
* * *
—
The next night, Francis came to the dorter in a buoyant mood.
“You do know that your coming to see Mistress Katheryn here is common gossip?” Joan challenged him.
“Old Agnes knows about it,” Alice chimed in.
Francis grinned. “I’m aware of that.” He turned to Katheryn. “The Duchess had her sport with me today. She came upon me in a gallery and said she would know where to find me if she needed me, for it would be in your chamber. She said she blamed me for our keeping company together, and told me off for seeking you out, but then she said that my presumption might be to my advantage.”
“I do hope so!” Katheryn cried. It was becoming obvious that the Duchess approved of their marrying, and if she did, Father probably would, too.
“She mentioned you to me today,” Edward Waldegrave said to Francis. He was sitting on the bed opposite, his arm around Joan, both of them scoffing custard tarts. “She said she thought you would never be out of Mistress Katheryn’s chamber, despite her telling you to stay away.”
“I was there,” William Ashby added. “She told Edward she had suspected that there was love between you both, and that she mistrusted you and feared you might have been misbehaving yourselves.”
“She can’t have mistrusted you that much,” Joan put in, “else she would have bestirred herself before now to put a stop to it.”
“Old Agnes never bestirs herself if she can help it,” Meg said, pouring wine for them all. “She thinks that, because she houses and feeds us, she’s done her duty.”
“Only a lucky few, like Malyn, get marriages arranged for them,” Joan muttered. Katheryn wondered why Joan was complaining, since she had a husband already. She never spoke of William Bulmer, and Katheryn had never liked to ask why she had left him. Kat had said he’d been unfaithful, but Dorothy thought he’d ordered Joan out of his house because of her infidelity.
“I think that, in my case, she will bestir herself,” Katheryn said. “She is going to write to my father and ask if Francis and I can marry.”
“Well, I hope she gets around to it,” Meg replied tartly.
“I do hope so,” Katheryn said. “I fervently hope so.”
“What worries me,” Meg continued, “is that Old Agnes suspects the rest of us of misbehaving ourselves.”
“I don’t think she does,” Katheryn assured her. “She never mentioned it. But she’s now set Mother Emmet to watch over me, so we’ll have to be careful, Francis.”
“Oh, no!” Francis cried, lifting his hands in mock horror. “Not that dragon!”
“She’s hardly that,” Katheryn giggled.
“More like a pussycat,” Kat chuckled.
“Seriously,” Francis said, “the Duchess said nothing to me, either, about the rest of you. I think you are all safe.”
“Nevertheless,” Joan replied tartly, “you two have put us all in peril by your lack of discretion. I suggest you take greater care from now on.”
“We will, Joan, my sweet!” Francis cried, planting a kiss on her mouth. “Do not worry.”
* * *
—
One evening in early February, the talk in the gentlewomen’s dorter was all about Harry Manox getting married.
“He said his father was pressing him to marry a neighbor’s daughter,” Katheryn said. “I suppose he did so in the end.”
“I heard from one of Lady Bayment’s maids that he has gone to live in Streatham,” said Kat.
“Good riddance!” remarked Francis, who was stretched out on the bed, twisting Katheryn’s hair around his fingers. They all laughed.
“I bet you’re glad he’s out of the way!” Alice chortled.
Francis shrugged. “I saw him off months ago,” he retorted. “Katheryn loves me now.”
“And you haven’t stopped talking about it,” Robert teased him. “Katheryn, he brags about you the live-long day! The whole world knows about you both. It’s probably the talk of the court, too!”
“Shut up,” Francis countered good-naturedly.
“I wish you’d be more discreet,” Katheryn chided him. “At least until we hear from my father.”
“Me, discreet?” He grinned. “Why should I be discreet? I want the world to know you are mine.”
“It will soon, I’m sure,” she told him. “In the meantime, please be circumspect. For my sake.”
“For you, I’d promise anything,” Francis declared, and kissed her hand with mock courtesy.
* * *
—
Katheryn thought no more of Harry until a week later, when she was sorting embroidery silks in the parlor and Mary burst in.
“You’d better come!” she cried. “Mr. Dereham is quarreling with Mr. Manox, and I fear there might be violence!”
Katheryn dropped the silks and ran after Mary. As they flew across the courtyard, she could see Harry standing by the porter’s lodge, his face puce. When he caught sight of her, he turned away and stalked off toward the gate. Of Francis, there was no sign.
“Thank goodness they’ve stopped shouting,” Mary said breathlessly. “I thought they’d kill each other. The porter was warning them to desist, or he’d fetch my lady.”
“What happened?” Katheryn asked.
“I was walking through the court and I heard voices raised and heard your name. I saw them through the archway. They were almost snarling at each other. Things got nasty when Mr. Manox made a point of boasting that he knew of a private mark on your body.”
“The villain!” Katheryn cried. “How dare he!” What a fool she had been to involve herself with such a knave!
“I thought Mr. Dereham was going to draw his dagger,” Mary went on. “That’s when I ran to fetch you.”
“I’ll go and find him,” Katheryn said, guessing that what Harry had said would have angered Francis deeply.
As she turned to go, she heard Harry’s voice call, “Mistress Lascelles!”
She looked back to see him standing just beyond the gate, and watched as Mary approached him. They spoke for a few minutes, Harry clearly agitated and Mary evidently trying to soothe him, but Katheryn could not hear what they were saying. Then Harry strode off and Mary came back.
“It seems he still loves you, and is jealous of Mr. Dereham,” she said, as they walked back through the courtyard.
Katheryn was appalled. “But he’s married now!”
“On the rebound, I suspect. It’s you he wants, and he’s furious that Mr. Dereham has supplanted him. Apparently, someone told him that Mr. Dereham was flaunting his conquest. He came here to warn the Duchess about it, but Mr. Dereham happened to see him arriving and the row broke out. Mr. Manox insisted just now on speaking to you about your behavior with Mr. Dereham, but I told him to keep quiet and go away.”
“Thank goodness he went,” Katheryn said, hoping he’d give her up for lost and never come back.
They had returned to the parlor now. As Katheryn bent to pick up the silks, Mary lingered. “Really, Mistress Katheryn, you should take more care in your choice of admirers. You’re acting like a wanton.”
“That’s not fair!” Katheryn retorted. “Francis and I are to be married, you know that.”
“Actually, you don’t know that for certain. And your love life has been the subject of more gossip in this house than anyone else’s. As I’ve said to you before, in charity, take care. And don’t value yourself so cheaply.”
“I’ll thank you to mind your own business!” Katheryn barked, stung.
After Mary had closed the door, without another word, Katheryn’s anger abated. Mary was a queer one, but, underneath the superior manner, she really did care, and she had seen Harry off, for which she, Katheryn, ought to be grateful.
It was time to look for Francis. Her cheeks burned when she thought of Harry revealing their intimate secrets to him. Francis knew that mark, too, and had kissed it many times.
She found him in the stables, saddling his horse.
“Katheryn!” He picked her up, tiny as she was, and swung her around. “Mary told me you heard of my little altercation with that scoundrel Manox this morning. The man is unspeakable, but fear not, he will not trouble us again. I told him that if he showed his face here one more time, I would run him through.”
“You didn’t!”
“I did, and I meant it. He knew that. Now, I am for Southwark for the bear baiting. I will see you tonight.” He kissed her soundly. She responded with all her heart, grateful that he had not referred to the shameful thing Harry had said.
* * *
—
That evening, when the young gentlewomen gathered in the dorter, Katheryn joined them. There was to be another banquet that night, and the food was already hidden away in cupboards and chests, but it lacked three hours until midnight, so they lay on their beds chattering and giggling in anticipation of the pleasures ahead.
Someone must have forgotten to lock the door. When St. Mary’s clock had not long struck ten, it banged open and the Duchess walked in, in a furious mood, her ladies crowding behind her.
“Well,” she demanded, “where is he?”
Katheryn froze.
“Where is who, Madam?” Mary asked. Everyone was looking terrified.
“Mr. Hastings, of course!” the Duchess barked. “I am informed that he has been coming to this dormitory at night to visit one of you hussies. I can see that Mother Emmet has again been remiss. As if we haven’t had enough trouble with Mr. Dereham!” She glared at Katheryn.
There was no doubt that Mother Emmet had been remiss. For all her apparent kindness and threatened vigilance, she was never there when she was most needed. Katheryn had come to wonder if she absented herself deliberately, wishing to avoid making trouble.
But who was Mr. Hastings?
“I have never heard of a Mr. Hastings,” she was able to say with truth, although it was also true that she did not know the names of all the young gentlemen who frequented the dorter at night. The others professed ignorance, too, and gave a good impression of being scandalized that my lady should suspect one of their number of such naughtiness.
“Well, this is strange,” the Duchess said, seating herself on a bench and taking from her pocket a folded piece of paper. “This afternoon, I found this letter by my pew in the chapel. I will tell you what it says. ‘Your Grace, it would be advisable if you take good heed to your gentlewomen. If it shall please you, an hour after you go to bed, to rise suddenly and visit their chamber, you shall see that which shall displease you.’ It is unsigned.” She looked up, her gaze taking in all of them. “Can any of you think who could have sent this? And why?”
Katheryn could have told her. There was no doubt in her mind that this was Harry Manox seeking to be revenged on her. But she said nothing, while the others shook their heads and said they had no idea who had written it.
“Very well,” the Duchess said. “It is probably some mischievous prank. I am sorry to have troubled you. Good night!”
As soon as her footsteps had stopped echoing, the young women burst out in anxious speculation.
“Someone knows what goes on here,” Meg said.
“Yes, but it’s an outsider,” Kat opined. “I don’t know a Mr. Hastings.”
Nor did anyone else.
“The letter didn’t actually mention a Mr. Hastings,” Alice pointed out.
“Then why did the Duchess ask about him?” Kat wondered.
“I have no idea,” Alice said. “Maybe she had suspicions of her own.”
“She’s barking up the wrong tree there,” Joan told her.
Katheryn turned to Mary, with whom she had made her peace at supper. “It’s Harry, I’m sure,” she whispered.
“I’m sure it is,” Mary murmured.
“Say nothing,” Katheryn told her.
* * *
—
She lay in bed, fretting that Harry would not stop at this. What if the Duchess investigated further and found that the handwriting in the letter was his? There were still old music books bearing his notes and annotations in the house—maybe even letters. No! My lady must not even have the chance to look.
It was the Duchess’s custom to hear Mass in her chapel each morning at eight o’clock. While she was thus occupied, Katheryn slipped into her chamber, receiving a jolt when she saw the maids in there, cleaning.
“I thought I left my prayer book in here,” she said, thinking quickly. It gave her a pretext to search the room and, as luck would have it, she saw the letter lying on the top of a pile of papers on the table. Slipping it into her pocket when no one was looking, she hurried back to the dorter and studied it. Yes, she was sure it was Harry’s writing.
She showed it to Francis, who reacted angrily.
“By God, he shall answer for this!” He leaped up.
“No, Francis!” Katheryn cried. “Don’t do anything silly, please!”
But he had stormed out. He was too hot-headed for his own good. Didn’t he realize that it was a bad idea to draw attention to himself—and her?
She ran after him, all the way up Church Street to Lord Baymen
t’s house, but she was too late. She saw Francis standing at the door, shouting at Harry, calling him a knave—and worse. “You never loved her!” she heard him say. “If you did, you wouldn’t hurt her. She loves me—just get used to it!”
Katheryn hung back. The mood between the two men was ugly. She saw Harry looking at her.
“One day, Mr. Dereham, she’ll drop you just as she did me,” he snarled. “She’s a little trollop who’ll lift her skirts to any fine fellow who takes her fancy.”
Katheryn gasped, as Francis seized Harry by the throat. Harry punched him in the face. His nose bloodied, Francis went for him like a wild bull and slammed him back against the door. Horrified, Katheryn saw Harry reach for his dagger and screamed. Francis caught his wrist and bent it behind his back, causing him to cry out and drop the knife, then shoved him to his knees.
“You don’t want to swing for me!” he growled, as Harry struggled to get up. “And I’ll thank you not to write any more nasty letters to the Duchess!”
“You haven’t heard the last of this,” Harry spat.
“Provoke me again and you will regret it,” Francis warned. “Come, Katheryn, this scum is no fit company for a lady.”
Leaving Harry nursing his twisted wrist and calling out threats behind them, they walked at a brisk pace back toward the Duchess’s inn, only to encounter her son Lord William Howard coming out of his house, very fine in his damask gown and feathered bonnet, with two grooms in attendance. He had the thin-faced Howard features and an aristocratic nose like his mother’s. He bowed to Katheryn, who dipped a curtsey.
“In the wars, Mr. Dereham?” he asked, looking at the bloodied handkerchief Francis was holding to his nose.
“You should see my assailant, my lord,” Francis said, with grim humor. “Seriously, Mr. Manox, who used to be your niece’s music master and was dismissed by my lady of Norfolk for imagining he might marry her, is giving her trouble. My lady has asked Lord Edmund Howard if we two might marry, but Mr. Manox is jealous. He sent my lady an anonymous letter implying we were closer than we should be, and though she saw there was nothing in it, he won’t desist.” He explained what had just happened. “And I won’t repeat what he said about Mistress Katheryn.”
