A Rose for the Crown

by Anne Easter Smith

  “Ha! I remember it as if it were a week ago. Who would have believed how our lives would change, Kate. If it had not been for your boldness or this,” he put out his shortened arm, “we would still think there was no bigger river than the Medway or town than Tunbridge. Now look at us, and Johnny is a farmer and little Matty is married with a child.”

  “God moves in mysterious ways, in truth. I wish I knew what He had in store for this babe, Geoff. As Joanna says, we are all equal in His eyes, but am I right to leave a royal child in the care of a farmer?” Kate turned her head to look at Geoff. The moon was sinking, and they started walking back.

  “The child will not know the difference, Kate. And I have been thinking. Once my studies are finished, Cousin Richard plans to set me up as schoolmaster in Ivy Hatch. I shall have my own schoolhouse and shall take in boys from merchant families. Why not your child, if it is a boy? What say you?”

  Kate stopped and took his hands in hers.

  “Why, Geoff, ’tis a wonderful plan if ’tis a boy. If she is a girl, well . . . we shall think of something. How can I ever repay you?”

  “You repaid me tenfold when you rescued me from certain branding as a murderer. I do not forget my debts.”

  Kate stroked his cheek tenderly. “Never was a girl so lucky in her brothers.”

  KATE’S THIRD CHILD came into the world in a rush. Kate had her first pain not long after the breakfast dishes had been cleared, and her water broke almost immediately. The contractions came fast, and Margery had scarcely enough time to boil one pot and Joanna to place Kate comfortably on the birthing chair when it began. Geoff had left two days before with Katherine and John, who fussed at the parting but did as they were told. Molly would take care of them Kate promised, and she would join them soon. She felt quite alone in her old world as she waved farewell to the little party representing the new.

  In two hours, it was all over and another chestnut-haired baby was placed in his mother’s welcoming arms. As was customary, he had been washed and rubbed down with salt and tightly swaddled.

  “He be beautiful, Kate. Small but beautiful.” Joanna beamed at her stepdaughter.

  The baby was nuzzling at his mother’s chemise, and Kate prepared her breast to feed him. “Anxious young pup! As you are my witnesses, I shall name him Richard, after his father. But to avoid confusion, he shall be Dickon.” The women nodded approvingly. “What say you, Dickon? Do you like your name?” Kate whispered into the downy head.

  But all little Dickon cared about was satisfying his hunger.

  19

  Suffolk and Lincolnshire, 1472–1476

  Kate did not dare stay at the farm longer than two weeks. She was afraid she would become too attached to the baby, and she felt guilty about leaving the children with Anne. Joanna found a wet nurse in the village, and Kate arranged to pay her. She wept when she kissed Dickon for the last time, for she did not know when she might see him again. Margery took him from her, and the look of joy on the young woman’s face reassured Kate that she was leaving Dickon in kind hands.

  “I give you leave to have the baby know you as his own mother and father,” Kate told Margery and Johnny when she bade them farewell. “I would like him to have as normal a life as possible. When the time comes—if it does—I will reveal myself to him. God keep him safe with you, my dear brother and sister. I shall be for ever in your debt.” Her voice quavered and she strode to Cornflower, tears welling. At the end of the lane, taking one last, long look at the cozy farmhouse and the family gathered to see her off, she sent up a prayer to the Virgin for the safekeeping of her child.

  * * *

  MARTIN WAS DELIGHTED to welcome her home. She had been away four months, and he had sorely missed the children. Katherine and John ran into his embrace as soon as they dismounted and with Katherine on one arm and John’s hand tucked in his other hand, he entered the hall.

  “Daughter, you look well again, I am happy to see.” He set the children down and embraced Kate. “A little taste of home was what you needed, I dare say. All that warm Kentish air and good farm food.”

  Kate laughed. “Aye, Father. It helped me recover my good humor. But I am glad to be home. ’Twas a long journey, and the rain made the road impassable at times. The children were long-suffering and good little travelers. I have no complaints. And you, how are you?”

  “’Tis tranquil here, Kate. I liked not the London bustle, and I am feeling stronger again. See, I believe my arm is completely healed.” He flexed his shoulder and stretched up his arm. “As soon as you have shed your wet clothes, I have a letter for you.” He drew a letter from the pile on the table and turned it over. “I think you may recognize the Blanc Sanglier seal!”

  He laughed as she snatched it and ran across the hall and upstairs to her chamber.

  “Molly, take care of the children!” she called to her maid, and stared with joy at the White Boar seal.

  “My trusty, well beloved Kate, I give you greeting from Pontefract. My window looks out on the green hills of Yorkshire, not so different from the land near Tendring. I heard a blackbird today, and it did put me in mind of you. I trust you know from Rob that Anne and I were married in the spring, and we grow to like each other more each day. I do not wish to hurt you with this, but I would like you to know that I am not unhappy. I hope this letter finds you in a similar state. As time goes on, we shall grow dim in each other’s memories, but I shall not forget you. I long to know how my children are faring. I am to be in London in October, but Anne stays here. You may write to me at Crosby Place, if you are inclined and give me news. I will instruct my secretary to watch for your seal and not disturb it. While I am in London, I shall think more on the matter of your remarriage. I will send you word when I am successful. Embrace the children for me, as I do you, ma belle. R. Gloucester.”

  She saw his signature through a veil of tears. With no word from him for so long, it had been hard not to imagine he had forgotten her. Now she knew he had not, and her tears were happy ones. “We grow to like each other more each day,” she read again. “I suppose I do not wish them to hate each other,” she muttered to herself, “and perhaps there will be love eventually. But, God forgive me, I wish it were me in his arms and not her.”

  She felt better after she had voiced her feelings, sniffed loudly and wiped her eyes. She stared again at the line about finding her a suitable husband and grimaced. It might be a reasonable solution for someone less independent than she, but she had grown used to managing her own affairs and raising the children without a mate. Martin provided her protection and was a fine example for her children. She sighed and placed the letter under her pillow to read again that night.

  Martin was in the solar working with his bailiff when she eventually went downstairs. He looked up and smiled.

  “Ah, Kate. Come and see what Walter is proposing for the new field. ’Tis a crop of saffron. He says it will be profitable, and this region is perfect for its cultivation.”

  For the next half hour, the three discussed the management of the property—Martin had enough confidence in Kate to explain its intricacies—until Walter took his leave.

  “So, do you have any news of import from the north?” Martin was curious but not prying.

  “Only that he and Anne go along well together and he is not unhappy.” She paused and then rushed on, “Father, I am loath to trouble you, but I need your advice.”

  “Never think you are troubling me. I admire you for your frankness, and I am happy to help you in any way I can, you know that.”

  Kate flashed him a grateful smile. “Richard seems to think I need a husband. He talked about it when we parted and asked me to consider a match if he found one. I told him I was perfectly happy here with you, and that you afforded more than enough protection for me and the children.”

  Martin looked surprised. “Aye, he need have no worries there. Those children are as precious to me as if they were my own grandchildren.”

  “He mentions it aga
in in this letter, and even though he tried to make me promise to consider any suitable man he threw my way, I am afraid I only agreed to think about the notion. He is in London now, and I fear he may send some dreary man down here to woo me.” She grinned at her father-in-law.

  “May the Lord help him”—Martin threw up his hands and raised his eyes to heaven—“for he will find a veritable virago.”

  “Father! I am no virago—whatever that means. I beg of you do not make light of this. I need a reason to reject any offer, for if I know Richard, he will find some whey-faced vassal to make one.”

  Martin laughed. “As I said, a virago. Hush now, I am only jesting. There is a way you can avoid being courted, but you may not find it suitable. You can take the vow of widowhood.”

  Kate stared at him in surprise for a moment as she absorbed his suggestion. “But of course! Why did I not think of this before? ’Tis because I forget I am a widow . . .” She put her hand to her mouth. “Pray forgive me, Father, that was offensive.” It was true, in her heart she was wed to Richard, and he was very much alive.

  “Nay, Kate. I am not offended. You did suffer much with George, but I would hardly call it a marriage. So, the idea of taking the order of widowhood is not distasteful? ’Tis a vow of chastity, in truth.” Martin looked concerned. “At twenty-two, you are still very young.”

  “I care not. I cannot conceive of sharing another man’s bed ever,” Kate admitted, shocking Martin. Discussing intimacy with anyone, and especially his daughter-in-law, was not something to which he was accustomed. “I beg your pardon, Father. I have offended you again. But in truth, I care more about motherhood than I do about being a wife, especially if I cannot be Richard’s. To whom must I make this vow? How soon may I make it?”

  Kate was elated. This would answer all her problems. She could remain quietly at Chelsworth, look after her children—and eventually Martin, she supposed—and treasure the memory of her one true love.

  “’Tis a bishop you will need, Kate. Perhaps we should travel to Bury. I will make an inquiry for you, but only if you have quite made up your mind.”

  By the time Richard’s next letter arrived, telling Kate he believed he had found a husband for her, she was wearing her widow’s wimple and ring.

  “My lord.” Kate did not dare address him as her love anymore for fear other eyes would see the letter.

  “I greet you in good health. I thank you for your consideration concerning a husband, but I am no longer free. This past month, I took the vow of widowhood in the presence of my father, Martin Haute, and his lordship, the Bishop of Ely. ’Twas my wish alone, and I am content. Katherine and John grow more beautiful every day. John is slower to speak than Katherine, but he displays a keen intelligence and practices sword fighting with a stick. Katherine talks of you often, and I think of you even more. I pray that you and your lady wife” (she could not bear to name Anne) “will be as fortunate in your children. Pray send my greeting to Rob and Francis. Your faithful Kate Haute.”

  “Oh, fickle feather!” she exclaimed, as her quill caved in while writing Richard’s name on the outer fold. She flung it on the floor. She spent the next five minutes trimming another quill, dipped it in the ink and tried again. The ragged edges to her lettering did not sweeten her mood. She already had ink stains on the thumb and fingers of her right hand, and now she had them on the palm of her left where she had rested it on a splatter. She sanded the parchment and closed it with some wax and her precious ring seal. She hoped Richard would still be at Crosby Place, although she doubted it. Richard seemed to be happier in the north, and she supposed he would want to be with Anne for the Christmas season. She wondered when their first child would arrive.

  “THE DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER was delivered of a son some time last month,” Margaret told Kate at Tendring late in May. “He is named Edward for his uncle.”

  “Richard must be overjoyed.” Kate’s response sounded anything but. “To have an heir is every man’s dream, I suppose.”

  They strolled through the orchard arm in arm; behind them the faithful Edith and Agnes kept a respectful distance. The ground was dappled with fallen apple blossoms, and the leaves on the trees were the fresh green of new growth.

  “Elizabeth will give Thomas an heir before long. She is heavy with child,” Margaret remarked. “Jack will feel comforted should it be a boy. When he lost Nicholas, he knew he should not tarry in finding a bride for Thomas and prolonging the Howard line. I must take some credit for pushing for a match with Bourchier’s widow. I think she will bear him healthy sons.”

  Kate did not want to talk about children. She had left Katherine and John at Chelsworth with Molly, and her heart still ached for Dickon. Unless Geoff paid a visit to the farm, no one there could write with word of her little son.

  “What other news, Margaret? I feel so isolated at Chelsworth.”

  Margaret told her of the continued bickering between Richard and his brother of Clarence over the Warwick inheritance. Now, it appeared, their mother-in-law was involved in the squabble. After the earl was killed, declared a traitor and attainted at Barnet, the countess had taken sanctuary at Beaulieu Abbey, where the king had kept her a virtual prisoner. Clarence was happy with the arrangement, while he helped himself to her inheritance. Richard, too, was benefiting from some of that inheritance, but he took pity on the lady and asked Edward to place her in his jurisdiction somewhere in the north, her home. Edward gave his assent, despite Clarence’s protestations.

  “’Tis said the king is not well disposed towards George at present,” Margaret continued, “for it seems he has been seen hobnobbing with that other Neville brother, the Archbishop of York. Jack suspects mischief, for it may be that the archbishop, for all his vows of loyalty to Edward, may be looking to put Clarence on the throne.”

  “You cannot mean it. Truly the man is boil-brained. How often and how far will George try Edward’s patience?”

  Margaret shrugged her plump shoulders. “Jack does not understand why Edward tolerates George’s antics. A lesser man than the king’s brother would have been called traitor and executed by now. Certes, he is truly a thorn in Edward’s side.”

  Kate snorted. “A dagger might be a better description. One more thrust and Edward may finally turn on him.”

  * * *

  MARGARET WAS FURIOUS with the king.

  “How dare he choose Jack!” she railed, as she and Kate sat under their favorite tree in the walled garden two years later. Cat, Katherine and John played hoodman blind in the warm September sunshine with Edith, Agnes and Molly, all unconcerned by Margaret’s raised voice.

  “He is getting too old for this sort of thing. His leg bothers him at night now—you remember the boar’s goring, Kate. Surely Edward could have picked a younger hostage.”

  England had declared war on France earlier that summer of 1475. Or rather, Edward had taken his army and invaded that country in order to regain the English possessions lost by the weak Henry a quarter-century before. Reminding the people of the glory of Agincourt, won in 1415 by the brave young warrior-king, Henry the Fifth, Edward had no trouble raising the money for the invasion. However, despite marshaling an army as large as Edward’s, Louis of France was loath to fight. As August dragged on, Edward’s money was running out. Louis cunningly laid waste to the countryside in Edward’s path, leaving the army hungry. Nevertheless, Edward was not giving up his quest and stubbornly dug in. A well-placed word in Louis’ ear was all the Frenchman needed to agree to a conference. Thus, at the end of August, the two kings met in the town of Picquigny and agreed to a seven-year truce. Edward and his chief councilors would leave France with a large annual pension and Edward promised to marry his daughter, Elizabeth, to the dauphin. The two kings also agreed to support each other against rebellious subjects. Jack Howard was one of those who helped draw up the treaty. To oversee its peaceful completion, he had been left behind in Paris when the army marched back to Calais and took ship for home in mid-September.

>   “I am sure he is well provided for. He is the king’s emissary. He is no prisoner. You should be proud the king looks to him.” Kate appealed to Margaret’s practical side. Margaret had become crotchety of late, she thought. Perhaps it was because she had had three teeth extracted in the last year. Kate hoped she was not ill.

  “Aye, I know you are right. Edward’s letter assured me Jack was perfectly safe. I just worry about him when he is away from me, ’tis all.”

  John Bliant put his head around the garden door and hurried over to Margaret with a letter. Margaret tore it open and smiled when she saw the familiar hand. Kate tactfully rose and went to play with the children, and Bliant bowed and left.

  Cat was a charming eight-year-old, intelligent and sweet natured like her mother. She was the apple of Jack’s eye. Despite the infrequency of the Haute visits, she and Katherine were best of friends. Katherine was a hoyden, but at almost seven, she was beginning to acquire the graciousness of a young lady of her class. Kate worked hard on the girl’s manners and etiquette but knew it was time for Katherine, daughter of a duke, to go to a noble household. Kate had promised Richard she would send the children to him when John was six, and that time was inching closer.

  Kate joined in the game just as John was being blindfolded. She watched him with a mother’s glowing pride. He was five and a half, and with his face covered, he looked every inch a Bywood. Robust was the word Jack had used. He reminded Kate of Johnny at the same age. Under his blindfold, though, his features and coloring gave away his father, the jutting jaw, thin mouth and gray-blue eyes a miniature version of Richard’s face. His temperament was a happy mixture of his mother’s cheerfulness and his father’s quick intelligence and equanimity. Very little upset John, and he was the darling of the entire Haute Manor staff. He was beginning to work his magic on the Tendring household, Kate noted, as Agnes allowed herself to be caught and covered him with kisses.