City of Ladies

by Sarah Kennedy

  “She is a scholar and an excellent musician,” said Kat. “She is our king’s elder daughter and we treat her with the respect accorded her. She sometimes deigns to visit her sister but do not make the mistake of thinking that there is much love toward Elizabeth in her.”

  “Her days have been much troubled. It must be hard for her to look on the face of Anne Boleyn’s daughter.”

  The stiff shoulders sagged and Kat whispered, “The whole world is troubled. Mary Tudor must always be welcomed in this house, but she is rigid and fanatical. She would put the Pope’s foot on our necks thinking it would push aside the king’s. About that she is wrong.” The woman whisked her skirts around her and hurried down the hall, but at Elizabeth’s door she stopped again, one hand on the latch. “Mary Tudor is a bastard,” she whispered. “Her mother tore our island in two with her stubbornness. The Spanish mother’s reputation rides before the daughter’s, and its mount is lame. If you will be in her company, tread carefully, Catherine. Remember, in this house, the king of England rules. On this whole island, the king rules. Whatever he may choose to do.”

  27

  The stable man Hutchinson was back by mid-afternoon, hovering at the back door until one of the maids let him in and called for Kat Champernowne and Catherine.

  “Where is my chest?” asked Catherine. The horse, though lathered with sweat, was completely unburdened.

  “Master Davies says he doesn’t know nothin’ about no trunk but what ye took when ye went. Not my place to be sayin’ otherwise. Back I come, trunkless.”

  “You didn’t see it along the road?” asked Kat.

  “If I’d’ve seed it, I’d’ve brung it along. Saw nothin’. I come home. The horse’ll be wantin’ a rub-down, Madam. Don’t want ‘im tight’nin’ up.”

  “No, no, of course. Go on.”

  “Wait,” said Catherine. “Is there a light pony I might beg? I know the chest and I will ride myself to get it. Have you got a fresh cob?” She took Kat’s hands. “I must have that chest or know what has become of it. It is my life’s work.”

  “Life’s work,” said Kat, recovering her fingers. “A woman’s life work should be the care of her children.”

  “If that is the case, then I should pack up my daughter and my woman and go back to Yorkshire.” Catherine kept her eyes on Kat’s, and the other woman finally lowered her gaze.

  “Harness up Little Nick. He’s been in the stall all week and wants the exercise. Hutchinson, you ride with her.” Kat shook Catherine’s hand quickly. “Don’t ever ask me to play cards against you, Catherine Overton.”

  They rode like bandits, Hutchinson barely able to keep up with Catherine as she whipped the pony along. Benjamin’s manservant was at the door when they clattered up to the front door, a question on his face. The stable man leapt to the graveled circle and sullenly held both bridles.

  “What are you doing back here, man?” the servant said, but the stable man simply raised his hand at Catherine.

  “Ask the angry madam.”

  “One of my chests has been left behind and I mean to have it,” said Catherine. “You men seem unable to locate it. It is only as big as that pony.” She pointed at Little Nick, who nipped at Hutchinson’s shoulder, gaining himself a slap on the muzzle.

  Benjamin Davies appeared at the door, his thumbs hooked in the waistband of his breeches. “Have my songs to the skies drawn you back to me, Lady Catherine?”

  “Stop playing the courtier, Benjamin,” said Catherine. “It doesn’t become you. Your men have lost my best goods.”

  Benjamin backed into the doorway just far enough to let her pass. “Then we will have them beaten and you will walk over their carcasses to find what belongs to you.” He bowed after she went by and followed her inside, closing the door behind him.

  Catherine trotted up the stairs to the chamber she had used and flung open the door. There sat the trunk, in the middle of the floor. The clasp seemed unmolested, but she unlocked it anyway and began throwing out skirts and sleeves and gloves without seeing how they fell. A soft fist knocked at the door. Diana, already in her nightdress and cap, peeked in. “Lady Catherine, I am glad to see you. I have been thinking of our conversation.” She gathered up a handful of the discarded clothing.

  “I am not returned, Diana, just getting the rest of my things.” The chest was now half-empty, and Catherine lifted out the lightest of the books. “I will ride back this night.”

  The girl withdrew to the threshold, still clutching the skirts. Her heel scraped the floorboard, back and forth. “You’re leaving me.”

  Catherine pulled Diana inside by one shoulder. “I must. William is gone and people have already noticed me here, under your father’s roof. I cannot risk my name by staying another night.”

  “Have you told Father that you are leaving again?”

  “Not yet.” Catherine swept aside the brushes and combs and counted the volumes. Two were missing. “A horse is waiting for me in the courtyard. He cannot imagine that I mean to stay.”

  Diana began to weep silently, swiping the back of her hand across her cheeks.

  Catherine searched under the bed, behind the wall-hangings, and finally knelt to the drawer at the bottom of the large press. Under a stack of bed linens lay the missing volumes, and Catherine lifted them out. One was the old copy of Margery Kempe’s visions that she had taken from the convent. The other was her own For Women in Travail, which she always kept under the more common recipes for diet and healing. She took the clothes from Diana, arranged them back on top of the books, slammed the lid, and turned the key. She pulled the chest around to the candle and examined the clasp. In the light, she could see the scratches. “You may come with me, if your father will permit it. I have assurances that you can be given a trial.”

  “What could I do at Hatfield House? I know nothing useful.”

  “What you don’t know, you can learn. You have hands. You can work in the garden with me. Do you know how to read and write?”

  “I can read some. I can sign my name.”

  “A woman needs a great deal more. I can teach you to write. You can learn herbals. But you must have his word.”

  “I will go beg it of him.” Diana’s eyes were liquid with excitement, and Catherine took her hand.

  “Steady now. Convince him soberly.”

  “I fly,” said Diana, and she was gone.

  Before the girl’s footsteps had faded down the stairs, Benjamin Davies came to the door from the other direction. “I hear our house is too poor for you.” He hadn’t moved into the room, but Catherine backed a few steps away. He continued to stand where he was.

  “Not too poor,” Catherine said. “I’m much in your debt, and your hospitality has been impeccable. But William is gone and the women at Hatfield House know it. The way is tedious, anyway, and they worry what people will say of the Lady Elizabeth’s household. They cannot have a woman in their company who is not in their care or the care of her husband.” Catherine shrugged. “William will eat his heart out with grief if he returns to find I have marred his hopes with a misstep. They were unmistakable in their warning. It has nothing to do with you, Benjamin.”

  He stepped into the room and did a quick survey. His eyes stopped on the chest. “So you have found your lost lamb?”

  “Yes. And its missing limbs, too. I will have to polish the clasp to remove the scratches, though.”

  Benjamin’s fair skin flushed. “I confess it. A stupid stratagem to make you return.” He scuffed the rushes with his toe. “Can you forgive me?”

  “Benjamin. These are a young man’s tricks. You are too old to play the pining lover. Now, I do believe I have all of my belongings. Diana seeks you with a request, and then I must go.”

  “Will you not eat even a meal?”

  “No. I go.”

  “Well, those prissy little bitches certainly know how to frighten you, don’t they?” He now came fully into the room and closed the door behind him. Catherine felt the window
seat at the backs of her knees and sank onto it.

  “The king’s daughter suffers from the memory of her mother,” said Catherine. “It hangs over the whole place like a pestilence.”

  “One you have not the skills to cure?” Benjamin strolled to the window on the other side of the dressing table. He drew back the curtain and looked down, but there was nothing to see in the dusk that was settling over the yard, and he dropped the drapery again. “And I am a particularly infected part of this pestilence?”

  “You’re a man—”

  “Indeed. My daughter has already told me you would like to pack her along with you. Make her one of your brood.”

  “She’s been invited.” Catherine rose now, and Benjamin faced her. “Diana is coming into her womanhood, Benjamin. I would see to her reading and writing. I would have her by my side to learn healing.”

  “This is the very vein your husband warned me of,” said Benjamin. “He’s told me of this coven you run in Yorkshire.”

  “William would not say anything so foolish! He knows perfectly well that I maintain worthy women for the improvement of the minds and skills of girls. There is nothing of the devil about it.” Catherine’s voice had gone tense and she put her hand on her chest to cool her tone. “Only a simpleton confuses education with witchcraft.”

  Benjamin took a step closer. “Do you call your husband a simpleton?”

  “No, no, no such thing. You have misunderstood him. And me. He knows what I do. He has a full mind these days, with the bad harvests and wages so high.”

  “And a son who is not his own?” Benjamin now positioned himself right in front of Catherine. He smelt of golden hay and ale.

  She breathed in, breathed out. Held her breath altogether. Then, “What did he say to you?”

  “Men share their deepest fears,” said Benjamin, “but I think he has judged you harshly.” He edged forward, and Catherine stepped backward. She was in a corner. “I have tried to tell him that you would tempt any man, but he tears his soul to shreds with the thought of that Adam.”

  Catherine could not get a breath now at all. “He was armed. We were being dissolved. William was in the gaol. I had no protector.” Her throat closed up and her voice was almost a whisper. “I was a nun. He had no right and I had no weapon. I never lied to William. Or to any man.” She thought her knees would give way, and she leaned backward to find a wall.

  “I don’t judge you, Catherine,” said Benjamin. He was too close, but her back was against the wall. “Your husband doesn’t understand a woman like you. You require someone with more experience.”

  “I require no one,” said Catherine. He seemed to come forward an inch more, and she said, “Do not. Let me pass.”

  Benjamin stepped away, bumping against the table.

  Catherine slid around him. “You’re supposed to be William’s friend, not his betrayer.”

  “Forgive me.” He raised both hands. “I know your husband, but I have never called him my companion. I can tell you he’s no match for you. But I’m no brute. Will you show me mercy if I tell you that Diana will go with you? That I trust her to your care?”

  Catherine was brushing down her sleeves and skirt. “I suppose I must show you the charity I would show any person.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Not that you have deserved it.”

  “I’ll only ask this: that I be allowed to visit her. Will a father be given that favor?”

  “Of course. If you keep your hands to yourself.”

  Benjamin nodded. “Consider me scolded. I will send her to you. And I will order a wagon for your chest. If you will forgive me.” He bowed his head as though for a benediction.

  “I forgive you. Now you must give me leave to go.” Catherine waited until she heard his boots clopping down the big stairs then she bent and held her knees to stop them from shaking.

  28

  Diana was on her pony already, a small case on her lap. “I am set to ride.”

  “Now? Tonight?” Catherine directed her chest to be tied down in the small wagon, and the stable boy, yawning with the back of his hand against his mouth, nodded wearily. She looked back at the high façade of Davies House, but no one appeared. “Have you bid your father farewell?”

  Diana picked at the ribbon around her case. “He said he could not bear to watch me go. He means for me to learn. He wishes me well. He will send my things along later.”

  “Indeed.” The dark house put them in shade. All was still, but Catherine shuddered. Diana was watching her, and she maneuvered the movement into a reaction to the weather. “The night is turning too cold for me and I have forgot my heavy cloak.” Hutchinson came plodding around the corner with the cob, now pulling a wagon that bore the trunk. “We will be there before the rooster opens his throat.”

  The moon had lifted like a pale eyebrow on the face of the dark sky when they trotted into the courtyard of Hatfield House, and Catherine was dozing in her saddle. Eleanor came running from the house, squealing when she spotted Diana, and woke them all up. Kat Champernowne came behind, her hands knotted around her girdle.

  “You have brought her!” said Eleanor, jerking at Diana’s boot before they were completely stopped.

  “You have brought her,” repeated Kat without smiling. “I did not expect so speedy a delivery.”

  Diana stepped down and stared at the red wall of Hatfield House. One finger of torch, held by a manservant who came out after Kat, made the surface of the stone flame. Catherine put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Ask and ye shall receive,” she said to Kat.

  “You are more wit than I can bear,” said Kat drily. “Bring the child in. We have settled you and your woman on the first floor. There is a chamber attached that we can make up for your pupil. Hutchinson, take that trunk directly to Lady Catherine’s closet, will you? I hope we hear no more about it.”

  Diana and Catherine trudged upstairs. After Catherine nursed a hungry Veronica, she tried to sleep, but it was no use. Her head was too full and soon the house was too noisy. They all finally got up to put their things away. Eleanor undid their hair, then Diana took down Eleanor’s and brushed it out. Diana had brought several cakes of rose-scented soap, and they bathed with the fire burning hot, the green-smelling wood mixing with the smell of petals as they dressed for the morning.

  “What will we do now?” asked Diana, climbing onto Catherine’s large bed and tucking her bare feet up under her skirt. “Will we wait on the king’s daughters?” Her voice was tight and excited, and Catherine laid the baby in her cradle and sat next to the younger woman.

  “The king’s daughters are not sisterly, though they are sisters,” said Catherine. She lifted a damp strand of Diana’s hair and smoothed it up, under her coif. “Mary stays in her rooms most of the time, and when she walks in the garden, she prefers to be alone. The waiting gentlewoman keeps watch over Elizabeth much of the day and will call you if you are needed. Lady Bryan has been moved to the apartments of the little prince. I have only seen him once and that from a distance. We are not to tend on him. You must not push yourself into the matter, Diana. Indirection is the most direct way forward.”

  Diana fell silent, disappointment etching the skin between her brows. Catherine touched the spot and pushed. “No frowning, Your Majesty. It will wrinkle you before you are old.”

  Diana giggled, and, the tension snapped. Eleanor sat at their feet. “It will be just like home, Madam. We will teach the other women and each other. Ursula Baynham is lovely. You will meet her, Diana. She works in the dairy, but she has the best stories.”

  “Shh, nothing of home,” whispered Catherine, placing her finger on Eleanor’s lips. “They have heard of our little gathering, and I think Kat does not approve. It may be why we are here.”

  “Wild dogs will not drag a word from me,” Eleanor vowed.

  “And now to the kitchen.” Catherine flapped the cover, and the other two went running down the back stairs. Catherine followed more slowly, wondering if she had acted wisely.<
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  They quickly developed an easy routine. Catherine worked the herb garden into an intricate pattern for savories and medicinals and began seedlings, Eleanor and Diana setting the young plants with her. Spring blew in a few warm days, and Catherine showed Diana and Ursula how to fix lettuces and young onions for purging salads and how to choose the best rhubarb stalks and radishes for spring cathartics. Veronica squirmed on her blanket in the greening grass, reaching for the sun, and when Elizabeth escaped to the outdoors, she would run around the baby, stopping to play with her outstretched fingers.

  The three women continued to share their suite of rooms, and within a couple of weeks, Catherine had Diana and Eleanor practicing their writing at the side table while she oversaw the royal daughters’ meals down in the kitchen. While she selected the vegetables for Elizabeth’s fussy digestion and shook the oil and vinegar for Mary’s salads, Diana and Eleanor read out loud to each other. They spent their afternoons in the laundry or the garden. After Diana’s soap cakes dwindled, Catherine taught them to make more, and set them to the removal of stains from fabric with verjuice or heated urine. In the evenings, Catherine sat at the table beside them, correcting their letters.

  “Why do we waste our time with rhetoric?” whined Diana one night. She had been unable to write a summary of a passage from Christine de Pizan which Catherine had laid before her, and she shoved the paper aside. The evening was warm, and she flung open the back door. There was no wind, and the scent of damp grass spiced the air. Diana leaned on the doorjamb. “We are women. I should be helping with the laundry. No one cares what we think.”

  Catherine had been rubbing a liniment into her hands, which ached from weeding and transplanting. One of the scullery girls had cut her arm on the frayed edge of a bucket, running a sliver of wood clear to the bone, and Catherine had spent an hour seeking fresh wort to make her a poultice. The wound had been hot and angry, and Catherine worried that it would fester if she’d overlooked some bit trapped under the skin.