by E. H. Schutz
That evening as she lay in her bed, Helena’s thoughts turned, as they did increasingly often of late, to Katharine. The way the light played on her face, the look of concentration as she built them a fire, how impossibly soft her skin was, especially given her occupation. When she concentrated, her lips moved almost continuously; she would alternate biting gently on her lower lip—how Helena wanted to do that for her—with quirking one corner of her mouth if something amused her, and her eyes would keenly dart back and forth as she looked over her work. Muscles would occasionally jump in her jaw as she muttered to herself. Once the fire itself was lit and crackling, it lit up her Germanic cheekbones and gave a warmer cast to her pale skin. Helena could have sat watching her all evening, but Katharine eventually looked up and eyed her suspiciously. Helena averted her eyes, shy upon being caught, and the thoughts of what they almost did on the forest floor in the drenching rain set a blush upon her cheeks that she hoped Katharine did not notice.
Helena sighed. It was near to three in the morning and she was no closer to sleep than she had been for the last four hours. Katharine’s face, body, and voice haunted her. Helena shoved the blankets off of her overheated body and flipped over onto her stomach. Sweat drenched her back and the cool air whispering across her skin made her shiver as it evaporated. She stretched and imagined Katharine beneath her, whispering her name and gently running her fingernails up and down her spine. The bed linens moved beneath her as she slowly undulated against them, envisioning Katharine moving against her.
At last, the tension she had fought for the whole evening dissipated in a moment of blissful rapture. She was sure that she recalled a priest disapprovingly speaking of the pleasures of the flesh, but the memory was dim, as if in a mirror. Helena abandoned herself to the feeling and finally drifted into a deep and tranquil sleep.
Four
Early Sunday morning, Helena and Robert set out into the fog for the church in Tisbury. Though she wished she could avoid attending Protestant services—which was obviously out of the question as Parliament had recently made it explicitly illegal—Helena always enjoyed the three mile ride into town. She rarely saw people not of the estate, and always enjoyed seeing the village even in the quietude of pre-service Sundays. Robert always maintained a meditative state on these rides, so her thoughts were her own and uninterrupted. She also found comfort in the edifice of the parish church; it was an old medieval structure which had survived Henry and been reconsecrated for use in the new order of things.
At the gate to the churchyard, the coachman stopped the carriage and the footman helped her down onto the paving stones. Robert took her arm and led her toward the church. Other parishioners made their way from the yard into the building, and Robert followed, steering Helena somewhat unnecessarily toward the door. As they made their way to their usual pew, Helena noticed Katharine seated several rows ahead. She sat perfectly still on the bench, shoulders square and back straight, in her Sunday bodice and trousers. Helena seated herself directly behind Katharine and gazed at her as the ancient vicar entered the pulpit and began the service.
Ordinarily during services, Helena concentrated on remembering as much of the Mass as she could and then silently said her Hail Marys. On this day, however, her eyes wandered up and down Katharine’s back as she remembered caressing the curve of her waist and planting kisses along her clavicle. She imagined Katharine’s hair, not in the neat plait into which she had tamed it for service, but hanging in wet waves as it had been in the woods. Helena tightly folded her hands as she suppressed a groan at the memory of Katharine holding her tightly and whispering in her ear. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she began an Our Father. Her eyes snapped open when she detected movement about her; the congregation was standing for a prayer. She stood with them.
Now Katharine’s hips taunted her. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, Helena thought. The congregation finished the prayer and seated themselves for the homily. Helena refocused on her prayers as the vicar began speaking. She had decided some time ago that he was not a bad man, or even a particularly misguided man. Many of the older vicars had been raised Catholics, and this man had obviously decided to take a pragmatic approach; rather than dying for his faith, he chose to live and guide his flock in the new order as best as he could, much as she and Katharine chose to live and keep their own faith.
Soon, her thoughts turned to what she imagined Katharine looked like as she worked, in a heavy apron and covered in sweat, her hair coming unbound as it was wont to do, hammer in hand as she beat out some implement or other. In her mind’s eye, Katharine turned to her and smiled, and swung the hammer, creating a shower of sparks. Then she was no longer working, but instead embracing Helena and running her hands over her body. She unlaced Helena’s bodice and allowed it to fall to the floor before pulling her shift smoothly over her head. Helena’s skin glowed in the light from the forge and she broke a mild sweat from the heat in the shop. Katharine’s hands and lips were everywhere at once, then Helena found herself bent forward at the waist over the heel of the anvil. The combination of the heat and lightheadedness from her sudden movement made her feel as though she would topple over, so she grasped the horn of the anvil in her left hand and its waist in her right. Katharine ran her hand gently and deliberately up the inside of Helena’s thigh, and then—
“My dear girl, are you quite well?”
Helena started and looked up to see Robert peering down at her with concern, and, she was sure, mild contempt in his eyes. Nearly everyone had exited the church. She stood carefully, stiff from sitting on the bench for so long. “I do apologise, dearest. I suppose my prayers distracted me.”
He smiled at her indulgently and patted her shoulder. “You did seem rather distracted. Let us go outside. I have some business to attend.” Robert took her hand, tucked it under his elbow, and led her out of the sanctuary.
Outside, the bright blue sky greeted their eyes, the fog having burnt away during the service. The air no longer hung heavy with moisture, and a pleasant breeze wafted through the church yard. A group of perhaps half a dozen of Robert’s black-clad associates stood nearby, speaking seriously. He strolled over to them with Helena still on his arm, keeping a grip on her hand as they walked.
“Good day, gentlemen.”
“Good day, sir.” Several of them bowed slightly. Helena recognised two of them as local yeomen, and one as a squire from Dorset whom she had only met once before, at a dinner. She recalled that he was rather an important member of Parliament, and thought it a bit odd that he would be present instead of in London.
“What news?” Robert cocked his head toward the man from Dorset, who replied.
“Rather poor, sir. Neither Parliament nor the Queen have taken any of our suggestions into account, and the vile so-called via media has prevailed. The Church, in short, is going to be keeping the trappings of popery, and nothing of note shall befall the papists in the future, so far as we can tell.”
Helena did her best to look disinterested.
Robert frowned. “So, our voice in Parliament was not as effective as was claimed?”
“That does appear to be the case, sir.”
The men continued their conversation and Helena found her eyes drawn to Katharine, who had been in conversation with the wheelwright and baker and was now making to leave. She clearly had shined her high boots the night before; the scuffs and scorch marks which Helena had come to view as characteristic of Katharine’s footwear were all gone and they gleamed in the late morning light. She sighed inwardly as Katharine shook hands with the wheelwright and clapped the baker on the back. The wright said something to her as she turned to go and Helena’s heart beat faster when she laughed quietly in response. Her attention was temporarily drawn back to her husband when he bade his colleagues a good day.
“Fellows, we must discuss this further at a later time. I have some business to attend with the blacksmith.” To Helena he said, “Come, my dear.”
Helena s
tiffened with fear. How had he found them out? What would she say? What would Katharine say? What would they do? Would he challenge her to a duel right here in the church yard?
Katharine was already nearing the churchyard gate as they approached. Helena’s heart pounded, both at the sight of her, and in fear of the certain imminent confrontation. She was thinking of things to say to ward off any physical violence when Robert pushed his hat off of his forehead and called after her. “Smith! I say, Smith! May I have a word?”
Helena wondered at how Katharine could remain so composed as she turned to them. Her hair shone radiantly under her black Sunday hat, and her black bodice and shirt fit her ever so well. Helena’s eyes briefly met Katharine’s, and Katharine smirked before turning to address the earl.
“Yes, Milord? How may I help you?” Helena noticed that she did not dip her head to him, but rather briefly touched the brim of her hat.
“Smith, I have been told by reputable sources that you do fine work with wrought iron.”
“I do like to think so, Milord.” Helena could hear the unspoken words, it is my profession, after all, and suppressed a smile. Or rather, she tried to suppress a smile. Katharine glanced at her and almost imperceptibly raised an eyebrow, then redirected her attention to the Earl.
“Indeed, of course. I do apologise. At any rate, I require a new main gate for the manor as the current one is in rather poor shape, a repair to the main door, and some new decorative work in the house itself. When can you do it?”
Helena bristled at the proprietary manner he took with Katharine. Surely he realised that she had a great many demands on her time and could not simply be expected to drop what she was doing and be at his door with no notice.
Katharine remained expressionless. “Before I agree to do any work, particularly on a repair, I will need to first assess the extent of the damage as well as determine what materials I will need. I will also have to determine whether I have the time. Sir.”
The Earl raised an eyebrow and peered at her. “Very well, I suppose. When might you come by, then?”
Katharine glanced briefly at Helena. “I believe I shall have some time on the morrow, in the morning.”
“Very well. I shall see you then.”
Katharine nodded and touched her hat. “Milord.” She turned to Helena and bowed deeply. “Milady.” Then she turned and strode away. At that moment, the coachman appeared with their carriage.
Helena stared out the window as they set off. Katharine had disappeared, but they passed the forge, which was also Katharine’s home as the carriage made its ponderous way down the muddy high street. Helena fixed the appearance of it in her mind. The front was unassuming and tidy with a small enclosed yard. To Helena’s delighted surprise, a long box of colourful flowers hung from the wrought iron fence. Hanging from stout chains on the front eave was a large, well-kept iron sign shaped as a horseshoe, with “Palmer and Son, Blacksmiths” carefully painted upon it. Helena found the whole of the shop quite idyllic. She realised it was likely not the case during the week, but closed up as it was, it appeared positively tranquil.
As they left the high street and continued out onto the country road leading back to the estate, Helena settled back into her seat and enjoyed the sunshine slanting in through the carriage window onto her face. Katharine had not spoken a word to her, but she had acknowledged her, and it was not lost on Helena that she had received a bow whilst her husband had merely received a touch. Seeing Katharine interact with others, and in public, was such a pleasure. She moved with ease and grace, something which Helena would not expect from a blacksmith, but then she realised a smith would need to be rather graceful— after a fashion at least—in order to properly handle red-hot metal, a heavy hammer, and a blazing furnace. Of course, she would not expect a blacksmith to speak with the elocution of a Cambridge man, either. Helena sighed. She truly knew so little of Katharine and of her life, and could hardly suppose to understand her. How could she have any claim on her? Helena knew nearly nothing of love, and what little she knew was second hand, or from books, and spoken of derisively by her husband and his dinner guests.
One of the local squires—one of the men with whom Robert had just been speaking, in fact—had come for dinner of an evening several months ago and spoken of his pursuit of a woman who lived near Coventry. She had rebuffed him repeatedly over the course of months and, his frustration mounting, he had gone on at some length over the main course. Robert suggested that the young lady might merely need some time to consider his offer, and the young squire snorted in response.
“She speaks of love of all things, Robert! She told me that she would marry a farmer if it meant that she could have love. Then she went on to say that the example of the Queen shows that one does not need to marry! The bloody Queen!” He punctuated this by pounding his fist on the table hard enough to make the candelabra tremble. Helena had flinched away from him as Robert chided him for his table manners.
“Perhaps she finds your demeanour a bit abrupt and that is why she turns you down, hmm?” Robert had asked as he calmly cut into his roast.
Helena disliked several aspects of Robert’s carriage and demeanour, but she always had liked his calmness, so long as he was not calmly ranting. He did not thunder, he did not shout. He rarely raised his voice, in fact. Granted, they also rarely had a conversation of any import at all, but after services on Sunday, she often heard murmuring from the other women about their ill-tempered husbands. The majority of them assumed it was down to displeasure with the Queen and her religious policies, but a few admitted that their husbands had always been that way and that they had learnt to minimise or ignore it. Helena never brought up her husband as counterpoint, but she was never asked for her opinion on the matter, either. In fact, no one since her father had ever asked her opinion on anything—not until Katharine.
She treasured that aspect of her relationship with Katharine above all others. Katharine listened to her—truly listened—and spoke to her with respect and care. Her mother had only ever spoken to her in order to instruct her, and Robert only ever spoke to her to enquire after her health, which he was doing with increasing and infuriating regularity.
The carriage made the turn into the long drive up to the house, and Helena groaned inwardly. Now would come Sunday dinner with guests, and she would have to play hostess while Robert either entertained their guests with tales of his exploits in France or went on at length about how the reforms of the church did not go far enough to remove England from the “foul shadow of the Papacy” as he always—he thought poetically—put it. Helena always wanted to bury her head in her hands when he said it; it was such an awful turn of phrase she could hardly bear it.
They pulled up in front of the large, oaken front doors and the footman handed her down. Helena smoothly made her way into the front hall as Robert followed.
“My dear girl.”
Helena stopped and turned to face him. His hands were clasped behind his back and he had a serious look about him. Oh dear. He had worked out her infidelity in the carriage on the ride home. She ought not have looked at the smithy for so long. Or, perhaps Katharine’s bow gave it all away. Did they still smell of each other? No, it could not be that; he would not notice.
“Yes, dearest? What is it?” She smiled at him.
“Do wear that pale blue frock today. It looks well on you, and Lord and Lady Spencer will likely agree.”
Oh. Queen Vashti remained yet enthroned. Perhaps best to obey the King so that she might remain thus. “Yes, dearest. I shall.”
He smiled at her. “I shall see you at luncheon, then.”
She curtseyed slightly in return and made her way up the stairs.
In a half hour’s time, Helena entered the dining room, clad in the pale blue frock. Their guests had already arrived but were not yet seated. The Earl smiled at her, and she demurely curtseyed to him. Good, he was pleased with her timing. Her tendency to come in late or early often caused tension between them, b
ut Helena was not exactly certain how to come in at just the right moment. Providence was with her on this occasion, and therefore luncheon would be far more pleasant than it might have been. She pasted a smile on her face, walked over to Lady Spencer, and remarked as how they had not yet been introduced.
Katharine remained at the back of her mind for the rest of the afternoon and evening, even as she conversed with Lady Spencer. Helena and Katharine did not meet for prayers on Sundays—Katharine viewed it as a day of rest for her horse—and so Helena had to content herself with images of Katharine’s steady, gentle hands, blonde hair, and smooth skin. She managed to keep her head so long as she was in company, but lost herself in the images as soon as she returned to her room. Helena had not longed for morning so much in ages.
Five
Helena awoke just after sunrise the next morning with the sun streaming in her window onto her face. She wondered at the rare clear sky so early in the day and stretched as she thought of what she might wear for such fine weather, and considered whether she could convince Robert that she could go out for a constitutional on her own. Rising, Helena threw her window open to the pleasantly dry morning air as she thought of how she might go about persuading him. Lost in her thoughts, she did not hear the horse come cantering up the drive, nor did she hear the knock upon the door, though she did hear Robert’s jovial voice carrying into the morning.
“Good morning, Smith!” And then she heard Katharine’s more subdued reply.
“Milord.”
Helena leaned out her window to catch a glimpse of Katharine. Today, she had on no shirt under her black bodice. Helena giggled to herself; she could hear what Robert’s opinion of that might be. Katharine’s hair ran freely down her back and her boots yet maintained yesterday’s shine. Helena’s amusement continued as she stifled her mirth at Robert’s obvious discomfort with Katharine’s taciturn ways.