City of Ladies

by Sarah Kennedy

  Eleanor said nothing for a while. Catherine dozed, and in her dreams Mary Tudor stood in the doorway of Overton House, beckoning. In her fingers was twined a rosary, and Catherine was reaching for it when Eleanor blurted out, “But your station is higher than mine.”

  Catherine blinked and yawned. She was coming back from a long way away, but Mary Tudor was gone and she was sitting on a pony again, her haunches getting sore. “What’s that you say? My station?” She stretched and looked at her maid’s troubled face. “Fut, Eleanor, I was a bastard child of a nun and a priest. Where does that put me?”

  “I know, Madam. But I have thought on this. Your mother was from a landholding family. Your husband holds those lands now and has a title to go with them. I think on the king’s daughters. They are called bastards, too, but they have serving people and chambers of their own.”

  The countryside became wooded, and Benjamin rode closer. He called to the men to slow down, and one of them rode beside the women. Benjamin’s leather boot flexed in his stirrup, and Catherine eased up close to Eleanor to say, “That horse has people to bring him his hay and water, as well, but you would not call his station high, would you?”

  Eleanor laughed, and Catherine tapped her knee. “I speak in earnest, Eleanor. The king’s daughters have barely clothes for their backs. I have heard Kat Champernowne begging Lady Bryan to have the king send things for the girls as well as the prince. Mark me, a bastard’s place in the world is as unsure as the wheels on a cart. Any small stone can break it.” She sat back, biting her lip to stop herself from going on. She couldn’t be sure that William had cast her off. He wouldn’t. Surely he wouldn’t.

  Eleanor considered. “When you lived in the convent, it was better? You had a place?”

  “I suppose we did,” said Catherine. “There was a place for unwanted girls. We could learn to read. I was sought for and I used my mind as well as my hands.”

  “And you do not do that now?” The girl’s brown eyes were intelligent as well as curious.

  “Yes, I do. For now, I do. I would that you might do the same.”

  “Oh, Madam. You want the world to be a paradise.”

  “At least, perhaps, a garden.” They passed out of the woods into a clearing, and the sun glared across a wide, cut field of nettles and daisies. But at the far end she saw a mower, ruthlessly sweeping them down with the long arcs of his gleaming scythe.

  38

  The trip north took the small group five days. The women grew tired of talking, and the hours rolled forward. The men slumped in their saddles, even Benjamin, who had taken to riding with his fingers hooked in his beard and a dark look on his face. Catherine watched the road slide past and wondered what she would find in Yorkshire. Men had every advantage, she thought. They would have women give up their callings and their maidenheads to their husbands, but the husbands would reserve the right to set them aside. “As though we could restore ourselves to maids and sell ourselves off again,” she muttered, chewing her lip. She meditated on the unfairness of it, and whenever they stopped, Catherine ordered wine, hoping to flush the day’s bitterness from her heart. Benjamin always chose the far end of the table when they dined, then retired with a bow to a back room. Catherine and Eleanor, too worn down from the bouncing gossip, washed their feet and hands and faces and fell into bed, the baby often sleeping between them.

  Catherine did not dream again until the night before they were to arrive back home. She lay next to Eleanor, who was on her back, arms and legs flung out. Their clothes, hanging nearby, smelt of sweat and earth, and Catherine was caught in a fitful, hot sleep. She seemed to see William, covered with smallpox, but when she pulled back the sheet to examine him, he had the face of Robert, his dead brother. Catherine opened her eyes in the dark. The baby stirred, in a cradle this night, and Catherine took her to the window, where a gibbous moon hung, great-bellied, in the sky.

  Someone moved downstairs, and Catherine could hear men’s voices. She tiptoed to the door and listened. Benjamin was talking to someone, maybe the innkeeper, about the horses. The other man said something about “the women,” and Benjamin’s voice lowered. Catherine could no longer understand him. Soon, goodnights were exchanged and a light came up the stairs. Catherine held her breath, but Benjamin clomped on by and she heard him enter another room and close the door. Her heart suddenly felt hollow and swollen, and Catherine laid her forehead against the wood until the pounding in her chest slowed.

  They jangled through Havenston the next day with the sun still high above them, and the men urged the horses forward. Catherine could see the light of anticipation in Eleanor’s eyes. Her own guts were dancing a little, and she peered through the trees, in full leaf now, for the square grey towers of the House. Eleanor squealed as they came into view, and Catherine felt nauseous, though whether from excitement or dread she couldn’t determine.

  The small herb garden was visible from the front drive, and Catherine could see that it had overgrown itself into a wilderness of weeds. She wondered if there were any vegetables in the house. Her husband’s sister had never favored anything green and detested the idea of food that had been in the ground. But Catherine had little time for wonder. William was standing in the front door when they rode up, and he stared at Benjamin, who jumped off his horse and approached to shake his hand. William was thin as a quill, and when he recoiled slightly at Benjamin, he wavered, grabbing at the corner of the entryway to hold himself upright. His breeches hung around his hips, his hose were loose on his legs, and he had left his shirt hanging out. He looked greasy and worn out, as though he had been cutting hay or moving stones. Catherine leapt from the pony before it had fully stopped and ran to him, but Benjamin was between them, and she had to push him aside.

  “William.” Catherine pulled him into her arms, but she could feel his muscles stiffen at her touch. Even through the thick doublet, she could almost count his ribs under her fingers. His cheek was hot. His arms came around her, though, and he finally sagged against her.

  “I am not well, Catherine. I am glad to see you.”

  “Are you, then? Am I welcome here?” She pushed his hair from his forehead. He was perspiring slightly, and the old smallpox scars glowed white. “We will have you back to your old self in no time.”

  “If anyone can do it, your woman can,” called Benjamin, but William did not answer him, just staggered back indoors. Catherine followed, beckoning behind her for Eleanor to take Veronica around to the side. Reginald Goodall stepped forward and took his master’s right arm. Catherine supported the left and together they kept William upright.

  “Why have you brought him along?” said William when they were on the stairs. He leaned on Catherine’s shoulder as they went. Halfway up, he pitched forward and crawled the rest of the way.

  Catherine followed, horrified at his decay. At the landing, she helped him stand again. “It was not my choice. He provided the ponies, and the night before we were to go, he appeared. The Hatfield horses and servants were not made available.”

  William stopped. “The night before? You slept under the same roof with him?”

  “He slept on a different floor. I did not see him again until I stepped into the saddle.”

  “And you did not tell him you would go alone.”

  “Would you have wanted me to ride five days alone?” He didn’t answer, and she added, “Come, let’s get you into bed. You’re on fire.”

  He fell against the wall, shrugging off both Catherine and Reg. He began pulling himself along the hallway. “Let me do it myself.”

  “Very well.” Catherine walked beside him, and when they achieved the chamber door, Margaret came out of her bedroom.

  “I see you have brought a suitor with you,” she said, crossing her arms. “My brother did not expect to see his wife arrive accompanied by an unmarried man.”

  “What is wrong with this house?” Catherine said. She could taste the heat in her voice. “I did not bring Benjamin Davies. He gave us the use
of his ponies and his men. He rode alongside for fear of highwaymen and to see William. He is not my suitor. I wouldn’t even know him if William had not introduced us. Is this not the case?”

  Margaret slid her hand around William’s arm. “If you say so, Catherine.”

  William flung his sister away. “She speaks the truth, Margaret. I am at fault, and you should mind your tongue. I have a fever upon me. What ails you?”

  “I will not stay to be insulted in my father’s house,” said Margaret. “I suppose you have dragged the children along the road, as well?”

  Catherine said, “I brought Veronica rather than leave her to a wet nurse. Eleanor has taken her around to the kitchen.”

  “You have Robert?” William asked.

  Catherine hesitated, then said, “He has stayed at Hatfield House.” A breeze blew through her words, as easy as the truth. “I was surprised that you sent him, but he has settled in nicely. He plays with Elizabeth, and if he misses a day, she asks for him.” William began to speak, but he bit his lip, and Catherine rushed on. “The boy will surely have a place with her as she grows up. He is happy that you sent him.”

  William glanced at Margaret, whose face was patched with red, and said, “I am content if he has found a home. It would be better if he were at court.”

  “If I were at court, he would be. But he prospers where he is. I think he will be at court soon enough.”

  “And you? How do you do, Catherine?”

  “The work is not onerous. The child eats well, and I have enough women around me to be my gossips.”

  “Who? What women? Who are they?”

  “Eleanor, of course. Diana Davies, who has come to work at the house. Kat Champernowne, who seems to have become the chief lady. The three young kitchen maids.”

  “No one else?”

  He was waiting for her to mention Ann, but Catherine maintained their charade, as though they could both pretend that Robert had made his way to Hatfield alone. Perhaps he thought Margaret had sent the boy. She would not take the chance of a misstep. “They are enough.”

  “Enough, indeed. Don’t think of starting another school, Catherine.” William fumbled with the latch and stumbled into their large chamber, where he dropped onto the bed. Catherine knelt and removed his boots while Reg poked the fire back into life, and after she unfastened his doublet, he curled under the sheets. “You know what your school brought us. We need no more of that.”

  Catherine sat on the edge of the bed and adjusted the covers. “What news of the women? Have they been found?”

  “Speak to the constable. He has all the news. I cannot be bothered with it any longer.” He closed his eyes, and Catherine laid her hand on his forehead.

  “I will make a tisane for you.” She rose and stepped into the hall, shutting the door behind her. Margaret was standing there, as though she’d been waiting. Catherine said, “Have you just watched him get sicker all this time?”

  “Oh, and where have you been? Down with the royalty, entertaining your gentleman? Are you going to lay another bastard at my brother’s charge?”

  Catherine’s hand came out before she could stop herself, and she slapped Margaret hard across the mouth. The other woman went to her knees, screaming. “Stop your blubbering,” Catherine said. “Your brother is trying to sleep. Will you ever be a bitch, Margaret, even as he lies burning up with fever? You sent that message, didn’t you? Confess it.”

  The door opened behind them, and William glared out. “You two are at each other’s throats already?”

  Margaret put her head down on the rushes and whimpered. “She attacked me, Brother. You wife acts like the no-name that she is.”

  Catherine’s bitten thumb throbbed from the impact, and she clenched her fists to stop herself from repeating the blow. “Get up, Margaret, and shut your mouth.” She turned to William. “I am going to make you physic. You may see to your sister if you like, but I assure you she is as provoking as any woman I know.” She stomped back toward the stairs, and she could hear Margaret whining. The house felt cold. Behind her, Margaret said, loudly, “She struck me, Brother. She means to bring us all down. I’ve told you.”

  At the front door, Benjamin Davies was busy cleaning his nails with a small knife. He flicked something from one finger into the courtyard and watched Catherine descend. She said, “Come inside if you’re coming. You’ll let mice in.”

  Benjamin walked inside and pushed the door shut. “I think the vermin are already here.”

  “You heard all that, I suppose?” Catherine put her complaining hand against her cool cheek. “Christ, I have as bad a temper as Elizabeth.”

  Benjamin checked the stairs for eavesdroppers. “I have known your husband for more than fifteen years and I have never seen him act like this, even as a boy.”

  “I have known his sister since our convent days, and she has always been a sniveling bitch,” said Catherine. “But it doesn’t excuse me.”

  Benjamin laughed softly. “She does seem to have had some practice.” His face went sober. “I will go if you wish it, Catherine. This minute.”

  “No. But you will have to behave yourself.”

  Benjamin bowed. “You have my word. I was very bad. You are quite a temptress, though, Lady Catherine.”

  “Don’t blame me for your behavior,” said Catherine, “or I will be forced to rename you Adam.”

  “A hit,” said Benjamin, touching his chest. Then he looked up the stairs. “It is no wonder he worries over you. I suspect the sister in this divorce business, but by the blood of Christ he shames himself. I will stay if you allow it, but I reserve the right as a man to correct your husband if he does not mend his ways.”

  39

  Eleanor was in the kitchen, playing with the baby, when Catherine came in and slammed her hand on the table. “That cow. That lazy, conniving cow.”

  “Who, Madam?”

  “No one,” said Catherine through her teeth. “Everyone. Margaret. That puddle of muck. That pit of rotten bones. That sack of toad-guts.”

  Eleanor said, “Madam, I have never heard you curse anyone.”

  “I am not cursing her. I am painting her portrait.” Catherine shook her head and dragged her hood off. “The woman will drive me to a . . . to a . . . I can’t say what. She means to bring William to a divorcement of me, despite him. Despite me. Of that I am sure.”

  “And then what will you do?”

  Benjamin Davies had followed her. He strolled in and threw a leg over the bench at the table. “You will let your houseguests dry up and blow away. Have you got a cup of ale, girl?”

  Eleanor got a quick nod from Catherine and disappeared into the pantry. She brought out a jug of ale and set it before Benjamin. “I will take the baby out, Madam.”

  “Gather some green onions and mint from the far garden if there are any to be had,” said Catherine. “And see if the radishes are ready. And the lettuces, if they are not too woody or drowned in weeds.”

  “Yes, Madam.” Eleanor gathered up Veronica and fled through the back door.

  “You’ve frightened her,” said Catherine. “You heard my speech, Benjamin. I’m sorry.” She checked to see that her coif was in place. “I was horrid.”

  Benjamin drank and wiped his beard with the back of his hand. “My daughter can learn more than pots and potions from you, Lady.” He belched and grinned. “‘Conniving cow,’ eh, Catherine?” He chuckled. “Toad guts?”

  Catherine’s face went hot and she ducked into the pantry, furious with herself. Her stores had been swept away and the shelves lay empty but for a few wrinkled carrots and a half-dozen dusty bottles of wine. “God’s foot, what have they been eating?” Catherine muttered, gathering the wilted vegetables for the pigs.

  “What, indeed?” Benjamin stood nearby, cup in hand. “I was hoping for a bite of something, but I think I can wait.”

  Reg came in from the back stairs. “You may be waiting a long time, sir. The meals have become rather unpredictable late
ly.” He bowed to Catherine. “How do you, Lady? And how does Ann Smith?”

  So he knew. “She sends you her greetings,” said Catherine.

  “I am glad to hear it. Now I must return to my place.” He bowed again and turned to go.

  “Good man,” said Benjamin. “Now what will we eat?”

  “Must you follow me about? Go to, Benjamin, you cling like a plague. Can you not see that the household is in disarray? I have work to do.” She tried to push past him, but he wouldn’t give way.

  “Why? So that he can let his sister convince him to divorce you? You would put his house in order before he puts you on the road?”

  “I was speaking in heat,” said Catherine. “To my maid. It was not for your ears.”

  Still he did not move. “I am at your service, Catherine. We can ride south as easily as we rode north.”

  “Stop it.” Catherine put her hand on his chest. “Now. I am not jesting, Benjamin.”

  “Neither am I.” He took her hand. For the blink of an eye, she relaxed, then she stiffened, pulling away.

  “Stop. Now.” She shoved him, hard.

  “What’s this?” It was Margaret, behind Benjamin.

  “It’s nothing,” said Benjamin. “Catherine’s just taking care of her guest. Aren’t you?” He held out the cup.

  “She’s supposed to be taking care of her husband,” Margaret said frostily. Her maid Constance appeared like a wide apparition, slipping from behind her mistress and waddling toward the pantry.

  “Someone needs to,” said Catherine. “You certainly haven’t been doing it. Have you thrown away every herb on the property?” Her voice stuck in her throat and she shouted to get it out. “Do you two have nothing better to do than haunt me? Mother of God, you hover like a couple of hungry kites. Now step aside, both of you, and let me work.”

  Margaret moved in closer. “This household is under my command, and we can do fine without you.” She looked down her nose at Benjamin. “What are you staring at?”