A Rose for the Crown (36 page)

She wasted no time. When the household was asleep, she spent a pleasant night in Wat’s arms in the stable.

M
ARTIN
RETURNED
from Lavenham a few days before Christmas with letters for Kate from Richard Haute and Geoff.

“My sweet little Kate, it is with great gladness I tell you of your brother Geoff’s progress. He is well able to write and is likely to be of use as a clerk when he is older. In other news, Anne is looking forward to motherhood and I to holding my first grandchild. We shall all be at Ightham for Yuletide, would you could be there, too. Your monies from Tunbridge I will dispatch with Ralph after the season. They are safe with me now. Commend me to my kinsman and his lady wife. Your obedient servant, Richard Haute.”

No mention of George. Of course, Richard did not like him, Kate thought. And for the hundredth time she wished she had listened to him. She broke the seal on the other letter and was impressed by Geoff’s penmanship. It was neater than Richard’s and less flourishing.

“To my sister Katherine Haute season’s greetings from Ightham. I regret to tell you that our father met with an accident a fortnight ago and can no longer walk. He has taken to his bed and I fear will soon die. Johnny is now master of the farm and does well. He and Matty send greetings and love. I will write
further an I know more. My dear sister, I long to see you again. With my love, your brother Geoffrey.”

Kate felt a terrible pang of guilt. She had not thought of her family for a long time. They were so far away and in a different world, and her letter-writing had petered out after leaving Tunbridge. The years at the farm had faded, leaving a few vivid pictures and warm feelings. She resolved to help them in some small way. Perhaps Richard could arrange for an amount to be paid to Johnny from her stipend. It would salve her conscience, she admitted; she did not want to forget her beginnings. Kate was relieved that Richard was pleased with Geoff and his future appeared secure.

She tucked the letters into her carved chest and locked it. She sat at the spinning wheel, pulled some wool from the basket and began running the carding comb through it. It was the time of her monthly courses, and, as was expected, she spent most of the day in her room, with Molly bringing her food and gossip from the kitchen and removing the soiled rags. Usually, she chafed at the confinement, but the timing meant that she would be free of it at Tendring. The thought of Tendring made her throw down the wool comb and go to her wardrobe chest. She had had no occasion to wear Thomas’s beautiful gowns since arriving in Suffolk, but now she had. Which shall I take? she thought, rummaging through damasks and satins that were beginning to smell musty. She pulled out a green and gold damask, with large flowers woven into the fabric and held it up against her.

“Aye, this one for certain,” she said aloud and hung it on a peg to release its creases. As she was choosing a second, she heard laughter and gleeful shrieks outside the window and went to throw open the casement to see what was happening below. Robert and Maud were astride a huge tree trunk that was being pulled across the snowy ground by four field hands.

“The Yule log!” Kate cried out, and the children looked up and waved happily. One of the field hands also carried a pack-basket stuffed with holly and ivy from the woods, and Maud was brandishing a large clump of mistletoe.

“God’s bones!” Kate muttered under her breath, borrowing Jack Howard’s favorite expletive. “I shall miss out on decorating the house this year because of this accursed cycle.”

She was about to close the casement when she heard the dogs in the stable yard barking. She craned her neck out as far as she could, but she could not see the road. She pulled the window shut more assertively than she needed and caught a few strands of hair in the process.

“Saints!” she cursed again. “I am missing all the fun.”

If she had waited a few seconds, she would have seen Robert and Maud jump off the log and call to their big brother George as he rode into the stable yard. The dogs leapt upon him as he slid off his horse, and he grinned at his young siblings cavorting in front of him.

“How now, young ’uns! You seem happy to see me. What is this you ride on?”

“’Tis the Yule log, the Yule log!” Robert and Maud chorused. George laughed and put his arms around both.

“Is that what it is? I would not have guessed! You must think me a bumbling clodpole.”

“George is a clodpole! George is a clodpole!” cried Robert, pulling himself from George’s protective arm and running to the front door. He grasped the iron ring handle and tried to turn it. George helped him and pushed wide the door.

“Mother! George has come home. Come quickly,” Robert shouted.

Kate heard George’s name when Philippa answered Robert from the solar underneath.

“George! I cannot believe it!” Philippa exclaimed. “I am coming.”

Upstairs, Kate groaned. Oh, no, not George. I am not ready to see him, she thought. Certes, I did not think to see him until Tendring. It then occurred to her that her husband was not expected to share her bed at her time of the month. She sent up a prayer of thanks to the Virgin, hoping it would make up for all the swearing she had done earlier.

George knocked at the door and waited until summoned. Kate bade him enter after she had installed herself once more at the spinning wheel.

“Well met, husband. We were not expecting you. I hope you have not deserted your master again.” Her tone was light and bantering, and
George was relieved. He came forward, kissed her hand and sank down on the bed to pull off his boots.

“Do not be a tease, Kate. I would not dare conduct myself so stupidly again. Sir John has honored me greatly with his trust, and I intend to prove I am worthy. I must tell you—though I am loath to for fear of enlarging your pretty head—that my lord is very taken with you and seems to have given his approval to our union. I find I must thank you for my change in fortune.”

“Well, well. I am flattered to hear it.” Kate mimicked his condescension. “And I am pleased to know you are mending your ways.” She paused before showing her guns. “And will this ‘mending’ include our . . . our . . . problem?”

George got up and checked that the door was securely latched. He watched Kate twist wool fiber between her fingers and feed it onto the twirling spindle.

“Nothing will change that, Kate. I am sorry, but with me away so much now, it cannot be so difficult for you, can it?” He slumped back onto the bed. “You are not still seeking a way out, are you? It would not bode well for my new relations with Sir John.”

“’Tis always on my mind, George. I grant you I am no further in solving the problem, and I have no wish to displease Sir John. But you cannot be cruel enough to let me live without love and without”—the words caught in her throat—“without a child.”

He pounced on this sign of weakness in her.

“Pah! A child! There are plenty of barren women in this world. You would not be considered unusual. Why, you told me Master Draper’s wife was barren, and they were married many years. And why did you not conceive when you were his wife, answer me that. Maybe it is not I who should be blamed. Besides, you can mother Robert and Maud. I see that they dote on you already. . . .”

The spinning wheel crashing to the floor cut him off, and Kate stood in front of him, her eyes blazing. “I will get dispensation to unbind me from you, George, I will,” she hissed in a low voice. “And I will have children of my own, mark my words. Now go and pay your respects to your father and leave me alone!”

George pulled his boots on and stalked out of the room.

“Dear God!” Kate fell to her knees and crossed herself. “Help me. Help us. I must be free of him.”

T
HE
WASSAIL
BOWL
was steaming and the Yule log crackling when Kate made her appearance in the hall for the Christmas Eve festivities. Redberried holly and trailing ivy adorned every beam and window ledge, and Maud’s bunch of mistletoe hung from the iron chandelier in the center of the room. Robert dragged Kate under it, and she bent down to his kiss amid giggles from Maud and a guffaw from Martin.

The family was gathered around the fire enjoying their cups of lambs’ wool. Philippa held out a cup for her daughter-in-law, and Kate sipped the warm liquid, inhaling the delicious bouquet of sweetened hot ale, apple pulp and spices. The smell took her back to Christmas in Kent—apple country—when she had gone out with her father and brothers to wassail the apple tree. She told the Hautes that her family would take the wassail bowl into the orchard and set it down. Then all present would fill their cups from the bowl and take a drink and then throw the remains at the base of all the trees.

“’Twas to give the roots something good to drink in the winter,” Kate said off the top of her head when Maud asked her why they would waste good wassail on a tree. “And make sure of a good crop the next year, I dare say.”

“Kate, would you sing us a song?” Martin asked. Kate looked at George, who was quietly drinking, and spoke to him.

“Would it please you, husband, if I sang for the family?” Her anger of the other day had abated, and she had gone back to feeling sorry for George. She knew he was afraid of Martin and wished he would stand up to his father. She thought that her deferring to him might give him more confidence in front of Martin. George waved a dismissive hand and nodded. Philippa stared hard at her son’s profile and then busied herself with the poker resting under the Yule log. She pulled it out and plunged the red-hot iron hissing into the wassail bowl. Robert tried to mimic the sound and his mother smiled.

Kate ran to the solar to fetch her harp. The Hautes were too small a household to hire mummers and minstrels for their entertainment, as Richard Haute had done at Ightham. Martin had set the backgammon
table between him and Philippa and challenged her to a game. But Kate’s offer was much more to Philippa’s liking, and she looked fondly at her daughter-in-law when Kate returned holding her precious harp.

“There is no rose of such virtue
As is the rose that bore Jesu. Alleluia.
For in this rose contained was
Heaven and earth in little space. Resmiranda.”

The delicate melody and intricate embellishments on the harp filled the hall. A few curious faces appeared round the screen at the kitchen end, and Martin motioned the servants to come and listen. Then Kate began a
ductia,
a lively dance tune that set everyone’s feet to tapping. One of the kitchen lads ran back to the bakehouse, where he kept his meager bundle of personal belongings, and returned with a tabor. He sidled close to Kate and began beating time on the drum. Martin jumped to his feet and took Philippa’s hand and led her out to dance. They were a handsome pair with their complementary height and blond good looks. They moved gracefully together, and thus encouraged, Walter, Martin’s bailiff, bowed awkwardly to Molly and sedately stepped with her to the music. Maud and Robert ran behind their parents and earnestly tried to copy the steps until a fit of coughing sent Robert back to his fireside seat. George watched without emotion, but from time to time he looked in admiration at his wife. Kate caught him looking at her at one point and raised an eyebrow. Then she turned her attention back to the dancers, who were all enjoying themselves, except for Simon, who spent the evening as far from the family as possible.

The festivities continued with a game of hoodman blind before Molly took the children to bed and Martin announced it was time for the short walk to the church. The old lad’s passing bell had been ringing for nigh on half an hour, signaling the death of the Devil and the birth of the Savior. Martin did not want the household of Haute Manor to be late for the midnight mass. Wrapped in their cloaks, their feet in clogs, the company moved silently on the white ground, their lantern lights creating diamonds in the snow.

George offered Kate his arm and drew her close to him. “Christ’s
greetings, Kate. Think not too unkindly on me, I pray you. Not tonight. I shall be gone soon, and you may be tranquil again.” He paused. “I for my part am proud of you. Your music pleases my parents, I see. They think I chose well.”

Kate stiffened but did not pull away. She had been reminded of her unhappiness again when Simon had arrived, but George showed no indication that he had seen the groom, and she presumed this was part of her husband’s “mended ways.” Simon would be abandoned.

“Christmas greetings to you, too, George,” was all she could think to respond.

I
T
WAS
THE
SIXTH
DAY
of Christmas, and the kitchen servants at Tendring were in a frenzy of baking for the feast of Christ’s Circumcision on the morrow. Philippa was downstairs supervising the preparations so as to allow Margaret Howard time to be with her child. Margaret had been glad of the offer and had taken Kate upstairs with her. She allowed Rose to brush her hair while she rocked the cradle. The solar was warm, a brazier was set up on the tiled floor and Kate sat contentedly on a stool nearby.

Young Catherine was a healthy baby, although the swaddling made it hard to see if she had grown. Margaret put the demanding mouth to her breast and the child suckled hungrily. A contented expression settled over Margaret’s pleasant face.