A Rose for the Crown (35 page)

In a little more than two hours, they crested snowy Clay Hill and could see the church tower through the leafless trees by the river. Haute Manor and reality lay a stone’s throw beyond. Cornflower sensed they were home and began to snicker and strain at the bit. The village dogs set up a barking as Kate and Wat picked their way across the icy bridge, and within a few minutes they were at the stable. Wat jumped off his
mount and helped Kate down. Simon appeared and gave a cursory greeting, taking Cornflower’s reins. Wat gave him a friendly slap on the arm and introduced himself, and Simon cheered up. The two grooms took the horses to be rubbed down, while Kate dodged her way through the crusty puddles and chicken dirt to the front door.

Molly was escorting Robert and Maud into the solar when Kate stepped into the house. The children squealed with glee and fell upon her, which gladdened Kate’s heart. She had not expected to be missed that much. Molly bobbed a curtsy, took her cloak and rescued her from Maud’s stranglehold. Kate brushed the residual snow from her dress and stamped her frozen feet.

“Fie, now, sweetings, be you good young ’uns and mind your manners,” Molly admonished them without much conviction. Kate chuckled. She kissed the children and motioned to Molly to come closer. The children ran off to tell their mother of Kate’s arrival.

“You would never guess who escorted me home today, Molly. Never in a month of Sundays.”

“Sir John Howard himself?” Molly’s eyes were wide. “Nay, it cannot be him. He would have entered with you. Oh, I do not know, mistress. I pray you tell me!”

“Wat Smith! And he still thinks you are beautiful.”

Kate watched with satisfaction as Molly’s birthmark went several shades darker and the maid tried to hide her confusion by lowering her head.

“Truly, mistress? Be it really Wat? And he remembers me?” Molly was clearly overcome.

Kate moved toward the solar, where she could hear the children chattering to Philippa. She gave her maid a broad wink. “Aye, Molly. Maybe you should run out to the stable and retrieve my saddlebag, so you can see for yourself.”

Molly hung Kate’s cloak on a peg, smoothed her skirts and her cap, and walked out into the cold air. She wanted to run, but she controlled the urge. She did not want to look too eager, but her heart was beating fast, and she had a pleasurable feeling in her stomach. Wat, his back to her as he unsaddled his horse, did not see her as she entered the stable. She called to Simon, which made Wat swivel round.

“Molly! Molly Miller. So you really do exist out of my dreams.” Wat grinned at her, turning an unmanly shade of pink as he spoke.

“Pshaw, Wat Smith, of course I exist! Here, feel me if you do not believe me.” Molly nonchalantly put out her hand. Wat touched it as if it were made of the finest glass.

“Aye, you be real, all right, and I am glad to see you again.” He dropped her hand. “But now I must tend to my horse before he catches cold. Will I see you before I return to Tendring?”

“Come to the bakehouse when you’re done, and I will make sure you are fed before you go.” Molly cradled to her chest the hand he had touched. She called again to Simon, who emerged from Cornflower’s stall carrying Kate’s bag. Without taking her eyes off Wat, smiling happily, she held out her hand for the bag and backed out of the door. Once she was out of view, Wat let out a whoop that rang in Molly’s ears as she raced back to the house.

In the solar, Kate was greeting her mother-in-law warmly and telling her all about the birth of Cat and the Howards’ kindness to her. Philippa and the children listened until Kate asked leave to go and change out of her traveling shoes and put on dry stockings.

She mounted the staircase, the third step bringing her back to earth with its ominous creak. She had returned to the twisted tangle of her marriage knot. She knew not how she would untie it but had faith that Margaret would help her find a way.

11
Suffolk, December 1467 to January 1468

T
he snow lingered through November, its cold and damp sending the younger children to bed with chills and runny noses. Kate did what she could to relieve their discomfort with hot possets made from the paltry pickings in Philippa’s jars of herbs. She made a note to improve the physic garden at Haute Manor in the spring; she had arrived too late in the season to be of help this year. Philippa did not have a separate dispensary, as Elinor had at Ightham, but a corner of the kitchen would suffice, provided it would accommodate a small cupboard for jars and a table for mortar and pestle. She would ask Philippa about it.

A dog barked and then another. A stranger, Kate thought, as she carried a steaming bowl of garlic and rosemary infusion to the solar. Philippa sat spinning close to the four-poster and talking to her children. They were propped up in the bed, luxuriating in the feather mattress, a change from their own straw mattress stowed on its trundle under the bed.

“Are you expecting someone, Mother? The dogs are very excited about something.” Kate balanced the bowl on Maud’s knees and covered
the child’s head with a cloth, allowing her to breathe in the healing vapors.

“Nay, Kate. Martin took a ride to the Pound Field. Walter and he are assessing damage to one of the walls.” Philippa stopped her wheel to listen. The dogs were not giving up. The window faced west, the opposite side of the house from the stables, so they could not see an arrival. She sighed, stood up and smoothed her skirts. “I will see to them. There, Maud, you will feel much better now. I will be back anon.”

A draught of cold air told Kate that Philippa had opened the front door, and she heard voices. A few minutes later, Philippa called to her from the hall. Kate closed the solar door behind her, wincing at Robert’s bout of coughing. She was surprised to see Wat Smith.

“Kate, here is your escort from Tendring returned with a message from Sir John. Let us hear it. What does our good lord say?” Philippa went to the hearth and heaved another log onto it. “Pray warm yourself by the fire.” Wat bowed to Kate, grinned and slapped a flea gnawing on his neck.

“Good day to you, Mistress Haute. It is right glad I am to see you again,” he said, flicking the dead flea to the floor. He addressed Philippa, who was waiting patiently. “My master sends his greetings to your house, madam, and begs me to tell you that he left for France as envoy for the king this very morning. He wishes you to know that he has taken Master George with him. He expects to return to Tendring for the Yuletide season.”

He paused, but as he obviously had something else to say, Philippa waved him on.

“My master would be pleased if you, my lady, your esteemed husband—Master Haute—and Mistress Kate will join his family in the celebrations leading to Twelfth Night. I am also to convey to Mistress Kate Lady Margaret’s warm wishes and urgings to attend!” Wat finished with a flourish, relieved that he had remembered everything. The two women were amused by his formality and caught each other’s eye across the fireplace.

“Well, now! Such an invitation! We are honored, you may tell your mistress. I am sure we will be delighted to come, but I must wait until my”—Philippa was tempted to use “esteemed” but thought better of it—
“husband returns later before I can tell you for certain.” She broke off, seeing Molly through the carved screen at the end of the hall. “Ah, Molly! Perhaps you could take our visitor to the kitchen and find him some bread and ale.”

Molly appeared from behind the screen and blushed when she saw Wat, who made her a low bow.

“That be right kind of you, mistress.” Wat rescued the tongue-tied Molly by taking her elbow and marching her back behind the screen. Philippa looked a little puzzled, but before she could ask anything awkward, Kate diverted her by clapping her hands.

“Tendring for Christmas! ’Tis wonderful, isn’t it, Mother! Why, I’ll be bound it is even grander than the season at Ightham.” Kate was delighted by the invitation.

Philippa was still wondering what had made the usually impassive Molly blush, but she was caught up in Kate’s excitement and admitted she, too, was pleased.

“Aye, ’tis wonderful indeed. You can be reunited with George, I am sure, for Sir John must know he will not be long in France if he is planning revels at Tendring.”

“Ah, yes, George. Certes.” Kate forced a smile. “It seems Sir John must have good account of him from Framlingham to want him in France. Poor George will not enjoy the voyage though, will he? I remember he was green after crossing the Thames at Gravesend. And it was calmer than a millpond.”

Philippa laughed. “I had forgotten his
mal de mer.
If he stays in Sir John’s service, he will have to become accustomed to the sea. But ’tis indeed good news George is trusted enough to go on a royal commission. He should be very proud. Martin will be pleased.”

Martin was pleased. He returned as the winter sky was darkening and torches and candles were being lit. The tables were set out for supper and the ale was poured when Philippa told him of Wat’s message.

“I received a letter from our kinsman Richard at Westminster yesterday telling me that Jack had been appointed envoy,” Martin said. “I understand the visit is just a formality so that he may present his credentials to King Louis. Nevertheless, ’twill be good for young George to get a view of the world outside Suffolk. His grace the king has need of a
good man like Jack at the French court. It is rumored Warwick is hand in glove with Louis again. Does the earl not learn? ’Tis not wise to fool with Edward. Aye, Jack is just the person for the task.”

As for the invitation, he was surprised. “In all the years we have been connected with Howard, this is the first time we are included in festivities at Tendring. I think we have Kate to thank for that. She has endeared herself to Margaret, ’tis clear, which is not at all a bad thing. George is lucky,” he said, and Philippa nodded in agreement.

Kate was in her chamber, amused that Molly had became all thumbs in braiding her mistress’s hair. “Why, Molly Miller, I do believe you are in love,” Kate teased her. “Tell me, has he kissed you yet?”

“Mistress! How could you?” Molly said coyly. Wat had in fact kissed her several times on their way to the bakehouse. He certainly was not shy, even in front of the other servants, most of whom were male and were egging him on. Molly was torn between lustful enjoyment and fear of being caught by a member of the family and had finally pushed him onto a stool. She slapped a slab of bread into his hand and had walked off in a huff.

“Ouch, that hurt! Molly, pay attention to what you are doing,” Kate admonished her. “You have not answered my question. Did he kiss you?”

Molly smiled, winding one long braid up over Kate’s head and securing it with a few pins to form a knot.

“Aye, mistress, he did. I should have slapped him for it, but no matter. In truth, it was very pleasant,” she admitted, which reminded her: “You must miss your husband.”

“Aye.” Kate was curt. “Wat came to tell us he is gone to France with Sir John Howard on a royal commission. What do you think of that?”

Molly was not sure what it meant but said, “’Tis wondrous” and chattered on, glad the subject had turned from Wat. She wetted the braids with some rosemary water; it was too cold to wash her mistress’s hair in winter, and rosemary helped eliminate the superfluous oil. She was pleased there had been no recurrence of the lice that had plagued Kate at Draper House. Fleas could not be avoided. They knew no social bounds, and they bothered everyone. Molly’s thoughts turned from fleas to her own pet pest, Wat Smith. She was smitten, she had to admit, and far from disliking his forwardness with her, she found she enjoyed it. She
was no virgin, but the feelings she had for Wat Smith were new to her. She told Kate that no man had paid her much mind except for a quick romp until now. “I be no beauty, no catch and no man’s fool. What man would want me for wife?”

Kate’s eyebrows arched, and Molly attempted to extricate herself.

“Wife! What am I thinking?” She busied herself with tidying to cover her embarrassment. “How can I be Wat’s wife when he be in Jack Howard’s house and I be here?”

The supper bell rang and Kate went to the door. “’Tis exactly so, my girl,” she said, leaving the room.

Molly muttered, “Addle-pate! I will have to take my chances with him as I can.”