Catherine’s arms relaxed and she realized how tight her muscles had been.
William handed the child back and watched as Catherine loosened her shift and put the baby to breast. “There are nurses to do that for you.”
“Mm. And their charges die. You have made me a lady, but God made me a woman and I will be one.” She slicked back Veronica’s hair but it tufted into a curl again.
“Your own charges are gathered below, howling like a pack of wolves. It has been enough to make a man mad. I believe they mean to conjure the constable to our door.” He sat gently on the bed. “Catherine, you must disband them now. The time is ripe.”
Catherine glanced up. “Joan is still missing. It’s been three days. Someone must needs go look for her.”
William rubbed his forehead. “Which one is she?”
“Ruth’s convent sister. From the North. You know her. She’s thin and has a little sharp nose.”
“That one. She will be always in the village.”
“She’s good with the girls. You should see her help them form their letters.”
“Letters. People say she teaches them spells. Listen to me, Catherine. You have work enough for your hands with this child. And when others come, you will need your strength to manage me and my household. God’s foot, every hag and housewife between here and Durham is down there. They look like disease itself. Turn them out, I beg you, and give me some peace.”
“They are only a few. And they instruct the younger maids. What harm do they?”
“Eat my cupboards bare and look like Hell. There is talk, I’m telling you. I cannot be a man whose wife is on the tongue of gossips. They say you keep a herd of starving witches and their familiars in your kitchen. Men laugh at it.”
Catherine bit her lower lip. “Men will always find something in women to ridicule.”
“And if the king hears of it?”
“What does old Henry care who sits in our kitchen? They are just poor women. You would not have me put them out in dead winter, William, would you? Where would they go?”
“To the devil, for all I care.”
“Come, Husband. Show a little heart. They do good. It is what they are called to do. They give me hands to help with the raising of this little Overton.” She looked at him. “And with your son.”
He jumped up and walked to the hearth. “The fire is almost dead. I will send one of your sorceresses to tend it. Put them to some use for once. Before you rid us of them once and for all.” Slapping his thigh, he walked from the room, pulling the door to a booming close behind him.
The infant wailed and Catherine pulled it close. “Poor child. To be born a girl to such a world of men.” She lifted her eyes to the window. The snow came down like a quiet reprimand.
2
Catherine could hear the women talking as she came step by step down to the kitchen. At the doorway, she asked, “What news of Joan?”
Two women sat at the big plank table, a jug and pewter cups before them. A third, slight woman poked at a joint of meat over the fire. It sizzled, and drops of fat melted, splashing onto the stones. Catherine moved toward the warmth and took up the basting brush. “Ruth?”
“I didnae want ta wake thee in thy childbed but thou ought ta know. Sister Teresa has sought Joan in the fields all the way up ta her dovecote. She came in like ta die from the cold. She is gone, she is.” Ruth reached for the bundle. “Let’s see the bairn, now.”
Catherine uncovered Veronica’s head and the women gathered around her, touching the soft head and cheeks with their fingertips. They passed her from arm to arm, but old Hannah Hoskins refused. “These hands give way. You young ones take the babies. Why isn’t she swaddled? Her bones will bend.”
Veronica began to cry, and Catherine held her, gently wrapping the cold feet with her shawl. “It seems to me that swaddling stops growth. The Irish do not swaddle their babies, and their daughters are stronger than ours. Now tell me what you know of Joan.”
Teresa Trimble sat at the table, coaxing her pet hen into her lap with bits of coarse bread. “She is nowhere to be found, Sister.” Teresa burst into tears and buried her face into her hen’s feathers, and the bird settled further into her arms, as though awaiting the end of another unforeseen and unavoidable storm.
“You mustn’t call me that.” Catherine stroked the woman’s yellow hair. A few white strands showed, and Catherine was startled to remember that Teresa was twice her own twenty-four years.
“No, you mustn’t.” Margaret Overton stood like a quill in the doorway. She worked hard to maintain a girlish appearance, but her fair hair and white skin had darkened as she approached thirty years of age to almost the same color of dun. She was tightly corseted and had pulled back her combs so far under her coif that her eyebrows looked raised in alarm. Behind her was the maid Constance, a natural daughter of William’s dead older brother, Robert. Connie was a gloomy red-haired girl with a face like a horse and a waistline thicker than her hips, and she stuck close beside her mistress, never daring to call her aunt. Margaret stepped forward as though she meant to take the baby, but she only said, “Tch. A girl. Well, perhaps next time. Catherine, you will do better.” She screwed up her lips into a smile. “Come, Con,” she said, and spun on the heel of her slipper. The dumpling of a maid minced out behind her.
Catherine clenched her teeth. “We will not forsake Joan, Teresa,” she said. “Dry your eyes now lest someone hear you.” She went to the big window and scrubbed the leaded panes with her hand. The back courtyard was empty but for the falconer, uncoiling fresh jesses to check their strength, and a skinny hound that worried a striped cat until it swiped out with one paw and sent him howling around the corner of the dairy shed. Snow fell, more lightly now, laying a soft carpet on the flagstones. “Has anyone been down to the village today?”
“I just been this dawn.” It was Hannah Hoskins. “I went down to the baker and asked the women but no one will say a word of Joan. Good bread there. I brought a bite for our supper. And I haven’t brought it for that bird o’ yours.” She moved the loaf from Teresa’s reach. “I’ve got no mind to make that walk again to feed a chicken, unless you plan to drown her in a pot.”
Teresa tightened her grip on the hen. “She eats hardly anything.”
“Ach, you’ll have her, I reckon.” Hannah turned back to Catherine. “I asked after Joan at the tavern as well but they’ve not seen her neither.”
“Did anyone see Mistress MacIntosh? Talk to her face to face?”
“I walked out that way,” Hannah continued. “The woman has a cross to bear. Six of them, the eldest not ten. Five girls. And the husband a drunkard.”
“And Joan?”
“She was there. Made the three older girls embroider two lines from the psalms each. The little ones have got a cough, and the noise ended the lessons. Joan left needles for them each and new thread.”
“And when was this?”
“Morning three days ago,” piped Teresa.
“It’s not very long to be gone,” said Catherine. “She maybe had another errand and could not be bothered to walk back in the snow.” She spoke to Hannah. “Did you step into the church? Maybe she went in to get warm. Maybe to pray. Maybe someone saw her there.”
Hannah snorted. “I did not. I never known Joan to darken the door of that place since the king’s men went through it. She can’t bear to see the empty walls.”
“Maybe the anchorhold,” said Catherine. “It stands empty, doesn’t it? She could get in the side door.”
“No one goes nigh there,” said Ruth. “They say Moloch keeps his meditations in it. Some say the last anchoress comes through the roof and cries tears of smoke. If you speak to her, she vanishes.”
Hannah sliced a sliver from the roast and tasted it. “Your William brings home good meat.”
“But Joan is no simpleton. Children’s tales of demons would not frighten her.”
“But why would she want a cold room when she could come home?” sai
d Hannah. “Nothing in the church would keep her from us.”
“Teresa? Has she been down to the goose pens? She loved your geese.”
“No, Sister. I been down every morning and every night ta do the feeding. Had three of the young maids with me yesterday ta dress those big ducks for the christening. It took them three hours ta get the pin feathers out. Joan never showed her face.”
“Where else? Has she any family left anywhere?”
“Not a soul,” said Ruth. She and Joan had been left together at their convent ten years before, two little girls with too many older brothers and sisters. Ruth at twenty still had the look of a tightly groomed novice, and she kept a small bundle of tidy clean underclothes by her cot, along with her hand knife and one silver spoon. “The plague took ‘em all years ago. All in the same room, we heard.” She slapped down the hearth tools. “She’d’ve not have gone ta them if they’da been the kings of Yorkshire.”
“William says there is talk of us. Have you let anyone see the books?”
The women exchanged glances. “Not a soul,” said Hannah. She rose, but Catherine was already at the door to the still room to check on her private library. Hannah said, behind her, “No, Sister Catherine, you must not kneel. You should not be out of the bed. Ach. You see?”
Blood showed at the hem of Catherine’s robe, and she lifted it. The pad was still in place. “It’s just a trickle. I’ll be done before the week gets old. Reach me down the yarrow, will you, Hannah?”
The old woman handed over the herbs. “Let me help you to your bed. Ruth?” The younger woman was already wringing out a rag. “Step back, Sister, or your slippers’ll be all ruint.”
“No ‘Sister,’ I say. Sweet heart of Mary,” murmured Catherine. She leaned on Hannah and dried her legs with the clout then packed the fresh leaves onto a new pad. “My husband would faint at this sight. Are you certain no one has been at my books?”
The back door of the kitchen swung open, and they all leapt up at the chilly draft, but it was Ann Smith. The snow swirled into the room and Ann, the wind blowing her hair loose from her hood, held out a woolen cloth. It was brown, embroidered around the edges in red, and the other women cried out. Catherine, holding the pad between her legs, ran to her friend.
“That’s Joan’s, sure enough,” said Ruth.
“Where did you find it?” asked Catherine.
“Behind the pig trough. When I went to put out the slops.”
“What sign of Joan?”
“Nothing, Catherine. Not a hair of her anywhere.” Catherine took the cloak and held it up the light. They could all see the red stain, and Ruth began to wail.
3
“Joan never did harm to any soul,” Catherine said to her husband. She tugged her shawl closer. She had never liked this long gallery, with its dark, north-facing windows. “She wouldn’t have known how.”
William sat in his big oaken chair by the fire, turning the piece of cloak over in his hands, then laying it across the arm. The scrap seemed a sorry thing against the embroidered upholstery. A hairy mastiff lay at William’s feet, and he stroked it with the toe of his boot. “She likely dropped it. The cloth is rotted. I can almost pull it apart with my fingers.”
“It is perfectly good.” Catherine snatched the piece of wool. “And see here? If this is not blood, I am the queen of Sheba.” The cloth was smeared along one edge and she held it out for him to see.
“Didn’t you say it was in the hog pen? That’s probably shite and slobber.”
Catherine inhaled the cloth’s scent. “No, that it is not.”
William shoved himself up and threw a log on the fire so hard the sparks shattered into the air. The mastiff scuttled to a corner, and Catherine pulled her skirts back.
“If you didn’t keep them here this wouldn’t be your business at all,” William said. “Are you my wife? This is not a nunnery. Do I have to remind you?”
Catherine’s heart stiffened against him. “They have not the means to obtain the dispensation that we have. And your king is stingy with his pensions.”
“He is your king as well.”
“Yes, and he has been so very kind to me.”
“He gave me permission to marry you. What more do you want?”
Catherine’s cheeks stung as though he had slapped her. “Their pensions were almost nothing. They can read and write.”
William coughed out a bad-tempered laugh. “That Teresa couldn’t make a ‘T’ with two sticks of wood.”
It was true. “She has skills, even if her intellect doesn’t follow letters. Have you seen her with her birds? She can almost talk them into jumping onto your falcons’ talons. She has shown half the village girls how to raise their own hens and ducks. Some of their mothers, as well. Just yesterday she taught some of our younger maids to dress them for the table. They have knowledge, William, all of them. They could be useful. Even at court.”
“Don’t talk like a country girl. You and I both know better than that. If we get a summons, it will be you at court and no other. Riding by my side. And that Teresa had better be careful how she talks to her chickens. She will be accused of keeping familiars.” William suddenly put his arm around Catherine’s waist and, pulling her close, spoke into her hair. “Forgive me. No quarrels, my love. I am wrecked with waking. I have been walking the floors to splinters for worry of you.”
Catherine put her head on his shoulder and her anger unwound. “I am well enough. You feel me here. I mean to stay. The worst is past.”
“I know it, like enough,” he said, straightening. He put his finger under her chin. “My physician. You must rest and heal yourself so that we are ready when the call comes.”
“Will you let the women attend the christening? It will break their hearts if they are left out.”
“They may sit in the back. And will you let Margaret stand as godmother?” He glanced beyond her and Catherine turned from him. Margaret was standing outside the door, watching.
“Yes.” Catherine kept her eyes on Margaret’s. “Ann as well.”
“Ann as well,” said William. “But Margaret stands in the place of priority.”
Margaret simpered in triumph. She likely believes her mouth looks like a rosebud, thought Catherine. It looked more like an arsehole. She said to William, “Have Father stay until I can be churched, and Margaret may have the highest place at the christening.”
Margaret nodded, said “I thank you, Sister,” and went on upstairs.
William whistled softly and the dog came to heel. “By Christ’s sweet side, the rites women go through for a child. My brach Lady drops a half-dozen pups before dawn and goes out to the hunt in the afternoon. You women are a breed unto yourselves.”
“Oh, you. You, who were saying how wakeful you were for me.”
He chuckled and put his arm around her shoulder. “A hit. You have wounded me.”
Catherine lifted her hand toward the window. “The winter holds us fast anyway. Look there. It’s snowing again.”
He moaned at the whirl of white. “When you heal and the weather breaks, I mean to let the court see you. The king’s daughters need women. And Veronica will justify our union.”
Catherine held up the shred of cloak again. “Will you ride out and seek Joan? I know she was nothing to you, but she was part of our household.”
“Still harping on that wench?” William said, a knot in his voice. “She was part of your household.”
“They teach, William, nothing more. You want the girls of your village to grow up ignorant? We could have a city of learning here. The court could come to the moors and see our castle of knowledge.”
“It’s no wonder they will not stop calling the village Havenston. Your mother’s family still hangs over them like ghosts.” William stepped away. “You have the Havens blood. You may teach who you will, but the talk—”
He broke off when little Robert entered the room, clutching a squirming spotted cat. “Mother, Tom has pooped out kitties.” The mast
iff shoved its big head forward and sniffed wetly.
Catherine loosened the animal from the boy’s grip and it streaked away. The dog flopped down with a disappointed sigh. “Then Tom must be called Thomasina,” said Catherine. “Where has she put her babies?”
The boy toddled across the room and planted himself before William. “He has put them in the stables beside your Jupiter’s stall.”
William said, “Then Jupiter will have no mice in his hay. Is that not so, Robert?”
“Tom is a good mother cat,” the boy replied solemnly. “I will reward him with a dish of cream if I may, Father.”
“You may,” said William. The boy remained rooted in front of the man, and William squatted. “Have you sat your pony today, Robert? If you are to ride with me, you must make a horseman.”
“William, he is barely three years old,” said Catherine. She finger-combed his mass of black curls. “He has barely got his legs.”
“He will be four before you can blink. Then five. If he is to be an Overton, he will have horseflesh under him before he needs legs. I’ll have Geoff step up his lessons. Two hours. Every day.”
“Yes, Father.” A maid peered silently around the doorframe and Robert saw her. “May I be excused to my nap now, Father?”
“Yes, boy.” William extended his hand, and the child regarded the big fingers before shaking them. His tiny hand vanished into the man’s grip.
“He adores you,” said Catherine after Robert had run out.
“Where is our daughter?”
Catherine’s jaw muscle twisted and she took a breath to loosen it. “Eleanor is watching her. My new maid. The child already sleeps like an angel.”
“Thank God for that. Will you have Margaret hold her for the baptism? Since she will hold pride of place?”
“I would prefer Ann.”
William cocked his head. “You could hold her yourself.”
City of Ladies Page 2