Kate was allotted the muniment room because her eyesight was better than Lady Bonville’s and she did not get so afflicted by dust. She could hear Grandmother’s imperious voice cracking away in the great chamber, overseeing the emptying of the aumeries. Eleanor, the fittest of their tiring women, was on her knees in the best bedchamber, tucking rosemary and lavender into the folds of the coverlets and bedhangings before the servants interned them in boiled-leather chests. Every staircase, wooden or stone, resounded with grunts and shouts as the sweating menservants heaved coffers and chests down to the carts lined up in the courtyard.
There was an added urgency. While Lady Bonville had been negotiating with the abbot, a messenger had arrived from Exeter sent by one of the sheriff’s officers, who had been accepting Grandfather Bonville’s bribes for years. He confirmed Kate’s fear; the queen had issued orders to seize the lands and moveables of any local rebels, and Sheriff Dyneham, whatever his personal loyalities might be, was taking the royal decree seriously. Spiderlike, he was apparently working outwards from the city. It was estimated he would reach Shute Hall within two days. With luck, they might be permitted to live on at Shute as part of their dower rights.
Unless Henry Courtenay attacked it first.
Kate herded up books from all over the house and carried them to join the rent rolls in the muniments room. Two herbals and a bestiary, a Book of Hours given to Grandmother Bonville by the queen, several French romances, Will’s late mother’s Book of Devotions, two recipe books, some rather dusty religious treatises, a much-thumbed manual on hunting and several generations of prayer books were all queuing for packing like horses waiting at a mounting block. But the manor rent rolls were the most precious, her children’s future, and needed to be dealt with first. Some were on shelves, others stored upright in boxes, many of them over a hundred years old. Each had to be packed swiftly but with care, a task that must be done well away from any candles, and there was no fire in the room to warm her.
Maybe all this effort was in vain, Kate thought frantically, as she placed the last of the Devon rolls carefully in the iron-bound chest. Queen Margaret would hack the Nevilles down, every man jack of them, and the baby boy inside Kate – please God, it must be a boy – would have no strong man to defend his rights. Both her children could be given as wards to any one of the queen’s supporters and Kate might be barred from seeing them. Oh, she could just imagine how someone like Henry Courtenay would take great delight in slamming the gates in her face.
No, she resolved as she closed the heavy lid of the last chest and searched through the bunch of heavy keys, she would never let that happen! Will would have expected her to protect his children. And she must remember the good times for their sake and keep his memory burning for them like a well-tended flame. He would have loved them all so much.
With the most valuable parchments secured, she smudged the tears from the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand and hastened down to the courtyard. She informed Newton that the rent chests were ready to be carried down to the carts and sent one of the little serving lads to fetch mulled wine for Lady Bonville, Eleanor and herself, then she returned to deal with the books. She needed to keep busy. What she wouldn’t give for relief from the relentless, anxious thoughts hurtling through her head, but they kept her company like horseback demons.
The books needed to be packed with less care than the rolls. Some were already in their own cases. Each was valuable, much-loved by their various owners, and Kate could have wept anew as she ran her fingers across the leather cover of her father-in-law’s book on falconry before she placed it in the chest. The pain of all their bloody deaths lashed her anew.
I must bear this child fully to term for all their souls, she told herself, as she finally closed the chest and sat back on her heels for a moment’s respite before she strained the leather straps tight. Where was the mulled wine to restore warmth to her cold body? Maybe she should rest now. Common sense was needed.
And caution! There had been some light bleeding in the last few days, nothing of consequence, but this cramped pain in the belly that she was feeling now had come before. She should not keep her secret any longer, she decided. It was time she confided in Lady Bonville. The news would be like a torch in the darkness of the future for both of them.
‘Let me help, madame.’ Robert Newton had come back in from overseeing the carrying out of the rent chests. He must have heard her deep sigh for he heeled the door closed, strode across and came down on one knee beside her, his callused, capable hands taking over the leather strap. He notched it far tighter round the chest than she was capable of, then he looked sideways at her with one raised eyebrow. ‘Begging your pardon but you are driving yourself too hard, my lady.’
They were kneeling like a couple making their trothplight.
She stared at the shadow of stubble on his sun-browned cheeks and let her gaze rise freely to the young man’s silvery eyes. The light in them glimmered both hard and kindly at the same time. Idiotically, she glimpsed a fleeting look of Will about him. Imagination! But this was the second time.
‘Your pardon, what did you say, Master Newton?’
‘I said you are driving yourself too hard, my lady.’
‘Keeping busy helps. I am trying to forget the hurt that has been done to us, Master Newton.’
‘And if “us” had won, my lady? What then? There are widows aplenty on both sides, to my way of thinking.’
Kate swallowed and stood up. ‘I daresay you speak true, sirrah, but you speak out of turn.’
‘I beg your pardon, Lady Harrington.’ Contrition rimed his voice but he swiftly scrambled to his feet as though he had resented being on his knees before her.
‘Oh, it is I who should bite my tongue,’ she said wearily. ‘Indeed, more than that, Newton. I have to thank you for your care of my daughter yesterday. I understand from Master Gylle that it was your decision to post guards outside the nursery.’
‘It seemed sensible, my lady.’
And he had been a subtle presence in the hall, like a guardian angel, a presence that had given her strength to stand up to Henry Courtenay. Remembering the young man’s arms about her when he had carried her from the church, Kate’s heart began an unspurred, illicit gallop of its own. It was tempting to wish to be held and comforted, but, God’s mercy, she chided herself, from where were such wicked thoughts arising? It was because she could see Will in him, that was all.
‘Never show interest in a manservant,’ she remembered her mother lecturing her sister, Alice. ‘It is only foreigners who show such ill breeding. The English nobility never accepts and never forgets. Henry V’s French queen was never forgiven for marrying her horse-marshal – even if her sons by him are pleasant young men – and as for that disgusting Jacquetta creature marrying her steward, uuugh. Never make that mistake or you will pay for it for the rest of your life.’
The Neville women did not roll in the hay. She had never betrayed Will nor would she ever.
‘Lady Bonville and I are very grateful to you, Master Newton.’ She moved across to the chest closest to the door. ‘This needs locking then it can go as well. Oh, where’s the dratted key? I had it a moment since. Help me find it, I pray you, then they may take both.’ Why was she babbling so?
‘Madame.’ Too perceptive, she thought, recognising a swift glint of understanding in the young man’s eyes.
‘Try over there,’ she suggested, pointing to several bundles of letters. Newton must be a few years older than Will. Broader, taller, protective. Maybe that was why she felt an attraction.
Men’s voices echoed in the stairwell and several pairs of heavy feet laboured upon the wooden stairs.
‘That Lovidia, darn traper,’ scoffed a voice outside the door and there was the sound of a man spitting. ‘Nay, she’ll not look at me no more. Not now she has a nobleman’s brat to suckle her instead.’
‘Not much good wi’ the young lord dead, though. Only her word for it.’
A third voice joined in. ‘Nay, he good as owned she was carrying his babe an’ afore witnesses too, including her father. I saw his horse outside their place many a time. ’Sides, have you seen the babe? Has the Bonville chin.’
‘Half the shire has the Bonville chin,’ chuckled the first man.
Kate was aware of Newton taking charge, striding to the door and telling his fellows that the chests were not ready, and that they should sit on the stairs awhile. Having done that, he shut it against the outside draught and leaned back against its timbers, watching her.
She must have looked ill because he said quickly and quietly, ‘I hope you made nothing of that, my lady.’
Her voice sounded unfamiliar, bitter. ‘Oh no, Master Newton, I gathered that one and one can make one.’ She put out a hand to steady herself, waving him back from assisting her.
‘The Bonville chin,’ she echoed mockingly. How could she have been so blind? ‘Tell me, sir, isn’t yours a Bonville chin?’
‘Yes,’ he said, letting out a slow breath as though she was helping him back up a precipice. The comely, roguish grin was almost convincing. ‘Indeed it is. So you see, my lady, best not to listen to the gossip of fools nor share their conclusions.’ So you see. Oh, she saw all right. Only a fool would believe his noble attempt to save her feelings.
‘Then you are “the young lord’s” half-brother?’
‘No.’ He came forward slowly, as he might approach a wild creature, concern for her writ upon his face. ‘No, I’m his uncle. The old man’s by-blow.’
‘Ha! So the “young lord” is my husband.’
‘Oh, Jesu!’ Newton smacked his own cheek at his stupidity but it was too late, the truth was spilt like the filthy sediment from a forgotten slop bucket. ‘No, my lady, I didn’t mean that Will—’
Kate reached the door and wrenched the latch up, holding on to the doorpost for support. ‘In here, if you please! Help them, Master Newton!’ Somehow she reached the window and gripped the transom to keep herself upright, while the staggers and grunts went on behind her. She could not let go yet or the world would heave beneath her.
A few hours ago she had believed that life could not get much worse but now…Will should have been honest with her!
And the dream, the foolish fancy that all would be well once he returned home, the guilt she had felt at not pleasing him enough, not showing sufficient passion, when he…
He had been betraying her with Lovidia. Well, there would be no more garlanding his memory as though he were a blessed saint. He could find his own way out of Purgatory; copulate his way out! As for trust, she would never make that mistake again.
Behind her the bedchamber was silent. She was alone, at liberty to turn shakily from her refuge.
‘Oh Sweet Mother of God,’ she whispered, tears running down her cheeks. She’d been a trusting fool from the start, and everyone, everyone, knew it. The old game of master and maidservant and then the family’s swift removal of the thickening girl. No wonder the village had smirked at her good works.
It was needful to aim a kick at an innocent cushion. Better than denting a platter or breaking a windowpane. But God Himself could kick as well. A boot force of pain hit and she felt a trickle of blood seep from her womb.
‘Help me!’ she gasped, but her voice had no power to carry. ‘Mercy, God!’ she cried, staggering to the door.
St Margaret! Any saint!
‘Newton, help me!’
Kate
8th March 1461
Shute Hall, Devonshire
Letter in hand, Kate grabbed up her skirts and hurtled upstairs to the nursery. It was the first time she had actually hurtled since losing the baby. The wounds of betrayal and loss had not healed over but at eighteen you could not spend your life miserably huddled in bed with your feet on a petticoted hot brick, not when you had a live, sweet daughter who needed you. Cecily’s company had been a constant reminder that she must stay well to safeguard her child. And today, despite the snow that was besetting the inland shires, a party of exuberant clerics on their way to Exeter had interrupted their journey to bring her a missive from her youngest brother George (Bishop of Exeter in his spare moments).
‘Richard has crowned my cousin Ned at Westminster!’ she shrieked happily, bursting into the nursery where Grandmother Bonville was supervising the spooning of pottage into Cecily, who was more interested in using it either to enhance her complexion or prettify Joan’s kirtle.
‘King?’ exclaimed Grandmother Bonville, Eleanor and Joan Celer in unison. Kate grinned at their open-mouthed astonishment.
The wet nurse recovered first. ‘Beggin’ yurr pardons, but that be why Sir Henry Courtenay as gone skulkin’ ’ome, then. Master Newton ’eard yesterday that ’e waz gone and we wuz all a-wonderin’.’
‘Does this mean an end to the wars then?’ Eleanor asked.
‘Pah, you can crown an ass and call it a king, but it doesn’t mean it is one. Not that I’m saying your cousin is an ass,’ Lady Bonville added tersely for Joan’s benefit lest her words get misconstrued all across the Devon hills. ‘Let me read that, Katherine.’
Kate handed her George’s letter and turned excitedly to her tiring woman. ‘It’s all true, Eleanor. London wouldn’t open its gates to let in Queen Margaret’s army, but instead of attacking, she’s withdrawn her army northwards. And the city has opened its gates to Richard and my cousin of York – isn’t that wondrous? And Richard has crowned – crowned! – Ned king in St Peter’s Abbey, Westminster! So the attainder of treason will be reversed.
‘Oh, I want to ring the bells!’ She lifted Cecily into her arms and whirled her about the chamber. ‘Who has a clever uncle, poppet! Let us fetch everything back from Newenham and celebrate!’
‘Faugh! Enough! You are making the fire smoke.’ Grandmother Bonville gave up reading the letter at arm’s length and fanned the air with it. ‘Out!’ she ordered Joan and waited until the woman had gone before she added, ‘While I am exceedingly glad to see this news has brought colour back into your cheeks, Katherine, where’s the victory?’
‘Victory?’ Kate echoed in surprise. Heavens, how long was it since Grandmother Bonville had left the West Country? ‘If London, Grandmother, and that means our richest merchants, is fully supporting Richard and Ned against the queen, isn’t that a victory? By heaven, you cannot say permitting Ned’s coronation shows lack of enthusiam. Wheeee!’ She lifted Cecily above her head and blew a kiss on her middle.
‘I shall say what I plaguey well please, young woman. King Henry is still God’s Anointed!’
‘King-Henry-is-not-fit-to-rule,’ Kate countered in drumbeat tone, jiggling Cecily up and down.
‘Isn’t he?’ Grandmother Bonville’s tone was insulting. Then the old lady was even more infuriating. ‘Mad King Henry or young King Ned!’ she sneered. ‘I’ll say it again. Both of ’em are asses! Asses on leading reins even if they’ve each been sloshed with holy oil by a pack of bishops.’ She sucked in her cheeks smugly. ‘You’ll see, my girl. We’ll have no peace until either Queen Margaret is flung into the Tower or your rebel of a brother gets a sword through his heart. And until then, I’m leaving my jewel coffer with Abbot Hunteford. And, pray, don’t glare at me like that!’
Kate felt like more than glaring as she put Cecily back on her little wooden settle and grabbed a wet napkin from the bowl on the small table. ‘My brother is doing his best,’ she exclaimed angrily, swiftly cleansing the little cheeks and fingers. The napkin hit the water with the vehemence of a catapult. ‘He has risked everything – everything – because he believes we should have a king who is in command of his wits not some demented old man.’
A huge wail burst forth from Cecily’s little throat.
‘Now, see what you’ve done with your ranting, frightened the poor mite,’ snapped Grandmother Bonville. ‘Oh, give her here!’
Fuming, Kate passed Cecily to her.
‘Is Mama making lots of nasty loud noises, sweetheart? There, there.’ She s
at the child on her knee, jingled a belled lambkin in front of her and, once Cecily had calmed, dug out a further quarrel from her quiver. ‘What I do blame you for, Katherine Neville, is losing my great grandson.’ For a swift breath, Kate stared at her utterly mystified and then she realised who the old woman meant.
The baby she had lost! Although God alone knew what gender the child had truly been.
This was horrible.
‘Aye, you may look daggers at me, girl, but I’ll speak my mind. You should have taken more care. Good God! Heaving around those coffers like a young fool and not telling anyone you were carrying the Bonville heir!’ She gave a snort and swivelled round to glare at Eleanor, who had been sitting quietly with her sewing, trying to stay unobtrusive. ‘We should have taken better care of her!’
‘Madame, I—’
‘It’s not Eleanor’s fault,’ Kate exclaimed. ‘I desired to keep the news as a surprise for Will. I’ve told you that, madame.’
Grandmother Bonville shook her head angrily. ‘But even when he was dead, Katherine, you never told us. Oh, fie, girl, if something stinks, you air it.’
‘Stinks!’ exploded Kate.
‘Very well! I’ll allow it was a poor choice of words. However, if we are talking home truths, I’ll give you one more, Katherine Neville. Whether it’s your cousin and your brothers or Queen Margaret, whoever finally wins control of this wretched kingdom is going to take control of her.’ She bestowed a kiss on Cecily’s cheek. ‘And you and I will have no say. She’ll be given to some stranger in marriage and all this great inheritance will go to him. Whereas if you’d carried the boy-child full term…’
Kate sprang to her feet in indignation. ‘Well, if a boy is so precious, madame, go and fetch Will’s boy from Lovidia and make the bastard heir.’
Behind her, Eleanor gasped. ‘I didn’t know you knew, my lady.’
The Golden Widows Page 8