A Rose for the Crown

by Anne Easter Smith

  “Not so!” Kate’s response was swift and impassioned.

  “Nay? Why? Oh, Kate, now I do see your pain. Richard has abandoned you!” Margaret knelt in front of Kate and pulled her into her arms. For the first time since her return to Chelsworth, Kate released the flood of tears that, as mistress of the house, she had had to dam up. Her body heaved with uncontrollable sobs. Margaret did nothing to stem the flow of gibberish that was let loose.

  “Richard had to . . . he truly loves me, he said . . . he loves the children . . . ’tis his duty to marry her . . . no bedding me after wedding Anne. I love him . . . I love him with my very soul . . . ’tis too cruel . . . Oh, woe is me! I am lost without him . . . especially now . . . now that I am . . . Oh, Margaret, I cannot tell him—” She broke off to spill more tears.

  Margaret digested all the information and sat back on her heels. “Sweet Mary, so that’s the way of it,” she muttered to herself. To Kate she said, “But I heard he entertained with you at Crosby Place at Christmas.”

  Kate blew her nose and calmed down. “Richard was all kindness, Margaret. I pray you forgive me my foolishness. ’Twas to be expected—Richard’s marriage, I mean. He is the king’s brother. We had an understanding all these years, but I did not consider how hard it would be to say good-bye.” Her voice rose again in anguish.

  “Hush, hush, child. You do not want Jack and Thomas to come and see what ails you, do you? We shall talk about this as two sensible women and plan how you can best cope with your loss, and”—Margaret paused, staring knowingly at Kate’s waist—“your gain.”

  Kate found herself smiling. “Aye, you guessed, as I knew you would. I used the sponge, just as you told me, but I fear I must not have used enough vinegar.”

  “That’s better,” Margaret nodded. “’Tis not the end of the world, and you know Richard will provide for it.”

  “Nay! He must not know, Margaret. He is newly wed, and he promised himself he would go to Anne with a clear conscience and our liaison behind him. ’Twould be cruel to tell him or to have her find out. She must acknowledge John and Katherine, everyone knows about them, but this one—this one will be for me.” A wistful expression settled on her puffy face. “No one but Molly—and now you—knows of this, Margaret. I beg of you, help me with this. I cannot tell Martin. He has been so good to me, and I know he would not turn me out, but I honor him too much to thrust another bastard upon him or cause the village to gossip. I was so happy when he suggested I visit you, in truth. For you are my dearest friend, and”—she began to sniffle again—“I knew I could count on you to think of something.”

  Margaret patted her hand firmly. “There, now, Kate. Do not begin again. You will see, unburdening yourself to me will help you bear this more readily. And while you are here, we will laugh and play with the children as we used to and come up with a plan, have no fear. ’Tis well you are not showing much. Have you been unwell?”

  “Aye, this babe does not sit well with me. I had the morning sickness with all three, but never for so long as I have with this one. It could be it will not survive, and then all our worries will be at an end.”

  “Nonsense!” said the practical Margaret. “Many mothers experience longer bouts of sickness, and no doubt your broken heart is much to blame. I cannot remember you having a day’s illness since I have known you, my dear, and I cannot think you will have an unhealthy child, if you look after yourself. I hope you would not attempt to lose the child.” Margaret was anxious.

  Kate was horrified. “Nay, Margaret. ’Twould be a sin!”

  “’Tis happy I am to hear it. Now we must proceed as though we have naught in our heads but to amuse ourselves.”

  For a week or more, no one would ever have suspected Kate was not having the time of her life. The two women whispered conspiratorily together as they watched the children play. Katherine and Cat never left each other’s side, and little John toddled along behind, chattering happily. Margaret told Kate that Jack had already arranged a marriage for Cat, and Kate’s eyes were wide with disbelief. “Already! Who is the lucky . . . boy?”

  “You must know these things can be arranged whenever it suits the parents, Kate. ’Tis not unusual. Young John Bourchier—you know, the boy with the thatch of red hair—who is now Lord Berners. He is growing up with Cat here, and they are the best of friends. I am very pleased.”

  Then she chuckled. “In case you have not done the reckoning, I shall save you the trouble. Thomas’s wife, Elizabeth, is John’s mother. Therefore, Thomas is at once the boy’s brother-in-law and stepfather. ’Tis amusing, is it not? Poor John knows not whether to address Thomas as father or brother. So, he calls him sir.”

  Away from the quiet at Chelsworth, Kate was obliged to come out of the doldrums. Jack Howard’s household numbered more than a hundred, including Jack’s children and wards, so she was never at a loss for company. The weeks stretched to a month, and Kate became concerned that Jack or others would notice her growing waist, so she disguised her condition neatly with loose clothes and shawls, which Margaret lent her. The hawthorn had snowed its blossom over the hills and hedges when Kate reluctantly decided she could no longer delay her return to her duties at Chelsworth. Besides, she and Margaret had finally come up with a plan.

  “Is there a place you can go where no one will look for you, Kate? A convent, perhaps?” Margaret asked her one day as they strolled through the orchard, inhaling the sweet scent of apple blossom. Kate was about to answer nay, when the scent reminded her of her childhood in Kent. She stopped in her tracks, clutching Margaret’s arm in excitement.

  “Why, to be sure there is! My home—Bywood Farm. Johnny would not care, especially if I gave him money to improve the property along with my grateful thanks. My stepmother, Joanna, is a dear, sensible woman, and I could count on her when the time comes. And on my way, I could visit Anne at Ightham.”

  Margaret was just as excited. “’Tis ideal! Truly it is. But will Martin give you leave to go again? And what excuse would you make him?”

  “I do not know yet, Margaret. But we shall think on it and find one, have no fear.”

  RICHARD HAUTE was in London with his new wife when Kate and her party trotted down the familiar lane from Ivy Hatch to Ightham Mote. He sent her a letter begging forgiveness for his absence and assuring her that she would be right welcome to stay with Anne and John. Although Kate had dearly wished to meet Elizabeth Darcy, she was relieved Richard would not be at home. If her condition became obvious, she would have to explain it. Anne and John she could handle, she felt.

  The dear, warm stones of Ightham glowed a greeting in the setting sun as Wat helped her dismount and she walked through the gate into the courtyard with the children and Molly. She was struck by how small the house seemed now. The courtyard was intimate and not grand like Baynard’s Castle, Westminster and even Crosby Place. New oriel windows had been installed in the great hall, she remarked, and a new structure was being built at a right angle to the solars along the south face. “A new chapel, mistress,” a mason told her.

  Holding her children’s hands, Kate went to the front door, nodding to some of the familiar faces working around the courtyard. Before she could knock, the door was thrown open and Anne launched herself at Kate with a restrained squeal. Kate found she had tears wetting her cheeks as she held her childhood playmate close, and John chuckled when he eventually arrived in Anne’s wake.

  “She saw you enter from the solar,” he said, pointing up to the newly glassed windows. “I have not seen her move so fast since Johnny tried walking on the lake.”

  “Anne, my dear friend. Let me look at you. John, what is your secret? Your wife grows more beautiful with time, I swear.”

  “Nonsense, Kate.” Anne blushed scarlet, looking up at John through her lashes. “’Tis you who grows more beautiful.”

  “When you two ladies have finished telling lies, I dare swear these children need some sustenance after their journey.” John took charge, squatting down in front
of John and Katherine like an ungainly stork. “And who might you be, mistress?” he asked Katherine.

  “I am Katherine, if it please you, sir. And who are you?”

  Anne clapped her hands and laughed. “’Tis uncanny. The child is the image of her mother. Such boldness is only born of Kate Bywood.” Kate made a face but watched John with Katherine.

  “I am Cousin John.” He bowed as best he could from his squat and wobbled precariously. “And I greet you well, Katherine.”

  Katherine gurgled with laughter as he toppled over, unable to keep his balance any longer. Not to be outdone by his sister, two-year-old John made himself known.

  “Me John. Me bigger’n Ka’trin. Me strong. See,” he announced and promptly pushed Katherine over. A sibling scuffle ensued. Kate and Anne pulled them apart.

  Laughing, John Gaynesford scrambled to his feet and dusted himself off. “I see your children are not backward in coming forward, Kate. I fear you will think our two very timid in comparison. Let us go inside and take some refreshment upstairs.”

  He called to a servant for cider and meat pie, and the party walked through the hall to the staircase. Kate gazed around the walls of the hall and found her favorite gargoyle still grinning down at her. Elizabeth had brought rich wall hangings with her, and a colorful carpet now decorated the floor under the head table.

  “Elizabeth brought a large dowry, Kate,” Anne whispered. “You will see how beautiful our chambers are now that she is here.”

  Edgar opened the office door just as the group mounted the stairs and smiled. “By the heavens, ’tis young Mistress Kate! Well met, mistress. And these are your young ’uns. How time flies!”

  “Edgar! I am glad to see you again. Is Geoffrey here? How does he?”

  “Nay, Kate. I forgot to tell you,” Anne interrupted. “He is gone away to study.”

  “Away? Where? I was so looking forward to seeing him.”

  Edgar beamed. “Master Haute is Geoffrey’s patron while the lad studies at Oxford. Your brother discovered the gift of letters, madam. You should be proud.”

  “Oh, I am, I am. But I do so want to see him. When does he return?”

  “The Lammas term will soon be ended, and he will be here for the summer to help me with the correspondence and accounts, now that Brother Francis is gone.”

  Kate had thought about making her confession to Brother Francis. It had been a while since she had seen a priest. As well as this unwanted pregnancy, she had to admit to the lie she had told Martin to allow her to journey into Kent and the even bigger one she was going to have to tell in order to stay through her confinement. She was not unhappy the cleric had left.

  “Cousin Richard begs me to visit the Mote and meet his new wife, Father,” were her opening words to Martin. “I know I have only returned from Tendring this fortnight, but while the weather is so fine, may I not visit my old family? I have not been home since I married George, and I would dearly love to see them all. Please, please, Father!”

  Martin smiled indulgently at his daughter-in-law. She really was hard to refuse, and he was glad to see she had filled out and had the roses back in her cheeks.

  Kate’s excuse for going to Kent was a half-truth. Richard Haute had indeed sent her a letter hoping that one day she would bring her children to Ightham to visit. She had promptly written back asking if now was convenient. What Kate failed to tell Martin was that Richard’s answer told her he and Elizabeth would not be at home all summer but that should not stop her making the journey. Kate knew an invitation from Richard would weigh more with Martin than a jaunt to see Anne, and so she had lied. On the way to Ightham, she had had plenty of time to think of a reason for not returning to Chelsworth until after September. It would not be too far from the truth if she used a physical excuse. She would pretend to fall ill at Ightham and have to be nursed for several months. At the inn that night, she recited ten more aves than needed to redeem herself.

  The candles were lit in the solar when she joined Anne and John, and she exclaimed at their children’s good looks and intelligence. Privately, she thought neither child warranted a second glance, but they were bright enough. Next to her enchanting Katherine and sturdy John, the Gaynesford children were commonplace. Anne and John sat together on the window seat, holding hands, and a pang of envy surged through Kate. She looked at her own hands and the two rings she wore, reminders of Richard’s love.

  “’Tis strange, Kate. Neither of your children put me in mind of George.” Anne’s remark startled Kate, who had almost forgotten Anne did not know about Richard. “Katherine looks just like you, of course. But where are the gray eyes and dark hair in George’s family?”

  “Oh, poor George. Our children have both taken after my family. You may not remember my father had dark hair,” Kate said blithely. Another lie, she thought. I am certain to go to the Devil.

  Anne nodded absently and rose to pour some cider for the children. But Kate underestimated Anne. Despite her quietness, she was quick-witted. Her happy marriage and the death of her overbearing mother had given her the confidence to use her brain in running the household, and she was not fooled one bit by Kate’s flippancy. She was surprised Kate had chosen this time to visit Ightham. Surely after all these years Kate would have wanted to see Cousin Richard and meet his new wife. She knew Kate well enough to know there must be more to this than met the eye. And her eye was not deceived. Having two children of her own, she recognized a woman with child when she saw one. She confronted Kate as soon as John left the room.

  “When is your babe due, Kate?” she began innocently.

  Kate had the grace not to demur. She flushed. “You knew?”

  “As soon as I saw you, my dear friend. And when we embraced, ’twas obvious. But, Kate, George is . . .”

  “Dead? Aye. And so, I could not disgrace Martin with my presence in his house any longer. He does not know, and I do not wish him to know. ’Twas my mistake, and do not question me further, Anne, I beg of you. ’Tis painful enough for me. I do not need a sermon,” Kate said, her chin high. “I would be grateful to you if you did not speak of this to anyone. I was in need of a friend, and so I came to you. But I shall be gone before the baby is born, I promise.”

  She waited for Anne’s usual virtuous reply, but Anne surprised her again. “Oh, Kate, I am glad you came to me. All these years I have missed you. We shared so much. I am certain your grief for George must have made you lonely. ’Tis no wonder you found solace in someone else’s arms.”

  Kate stared at her friend for a moment. She swallowed her real reaction. Grief for George? She must be jesting. Then she acquiesced with a nod. It was easier to lie. Dear God, another one!

  Anne’s suspicion of the children’s lineage was forgotten in her joy at having Kate close again. Besides, it was plain that Kate would not reveal her lover’s identity, and Anne was relieved not to share the burden. They sat for hours reminiscing about the past, and Kate showed Katherine all her favorite spots, including where Uncle Geoff, whom she would meet soon, used to hide from the master of the kitchen and from Brother Francis. Katherine was a little young to understand why her mother and uncle had come to live at Ightham, but she thrilled to the story of Geoff’s escapade on Oldbury Hill. Kate did not tell her of Elinor’s drowning, and Katherine therefore was taken aback by her mother’s violent reaction when she ventured too close to the lake one day. The little girl’s arm was bruised from Kate’s grip as she was dragged away. Kate shuddered at the memory of Elinor’s bloated, fish-white body lying in the mud and reeds. She hurried Katherine to Geoffrey’s favorite beech tree.

  * * *

  IT RAINED ON Kate’s twenty-second birthday. The farmers looked skyward and inwardly groaned. They hoped St. Swithin would be kind. Even though the country was basking in King Edward’s Sunne in Splendour days following two decades of civil strife, forty days of rain would ruin the harvest and many of the farmers with it. Kate awoke with a toothache. She had been lucky in her young life not to have
experienced one before. Many of her friends had already lost teeth and produced lopsided smiles to hide the gaps. Her turn was to come, she had no doubt, judging by the throbbing pain in the lower left side of her jaw. She had first noticed it during the journey to Kent but had ignored it. She went to her old haunt, the dispensary, and found some oil of clove that she herself may have concocted all those years ago. Its bitterness in such concentration made her retch, but there was no doubt of its numbing capacity. She felt better within minutes and hurried to break her fast, hoping to forget the pain.

  The rain was steady all day, and the children soon became bored with their confinement indoors. Despite her ill humor, Kate agreed to sing for them all.

  “Ring a-ring a-rosies,

  A pocketful of posies,

  Atishoo, Atishoo, we all fall down!”

  Anne, Molly and the children all held hands in a circle and helped Kate with the words. They all collapsed onto the floor at the signal and were getting up to begin again when there was a knock on the door.

  “Come!” Anne called, laughing and straightening her headdress.

  “Geoff!” exclaimed Kate, putting aside her harp and running to embrace her brother, who stood on the threshold with wet hair and muddy boots. “Oh, Geoff, I am right glad to see you again!”

  “And I you, sister. ’Tis your special day, is it not? I was determined to be here for it when I knew you were at Ightham.” Geoff grinned down at her. He had grown tall but was still thin. Physical prowess would never be Geoff’s strength, she thought. Richard was also slim, but his muscles had been hardened by the martial skills he had trained in since his youth.

  “Indeed it is her birthday, Geoff. How clever of you,” Anne said. “Perhaps you will bring the sunshine and make the farmers happy.”

  Geoff smiled and lifted Anne’s hand to his lips, behaving just as gracefully as any courtier at Westminster. “Well met, cousin. Aye, the weather to the west is clearing. All may not be lost yet.” He turned his attention to the children. “Are these my niece and nephew? This child is the image of you, Kate, I cannot be wrong.”