Finding Kate

by Maryanne Fantalis

  Master Lawry had been shifted down several places by the new arrivals and looked unhappy about this development. “Yes, that’s correct, Master Mulleyn.”

  “A tutor of….” Father left it dangling for him.

  “Languages, Master Mulleyn,” the young man said quickly. “He is called Master Cameron, a man of skill and wisdom, well versed in all the languages ancient and modern that you would wish your daughters to know.”

  “There,” Father said, gesturing toward him. “Master Lawry has brought a language tutor for my daughters. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Sir William?”

  The knight sat easily in Father’s big chair, clearly accustomed to wealth and comfort, though the strength of his form showed no signs of idleness. His large eyes—I cursed myself for not marking their color when we had met earlier in the street—took in the room around him, and I wondered how this house compared to his home. Bitterbrook Keep. It sounded impressive. Imposing. He must be used to the finest of everything.

  My racing heart slowed as plain truth washed over me. I pulled back from the open archway and fell back against the wall. Whoever this knight was, he was a person of rank and importance, the likes of which our town had never seen before. And if he was indeed seeking a wife, then it stood to reason that he would choose the most desirable partner—Blanche—for himself, leaving the others to fight over what—over whom—was left.

  Me.

  I swallowed bile and closed my eyes. I heard words, voices, but could not make out what was being said.

  For truly, who would choose the shrew over the gentle, lovely Blanche?

  Sounds began to cleave together again into words. “You were acquainted with my father, Sir Humphrey, I believe,” the newcomer was saying.

  “Indeed, sir, an excellent man,” my father replied in jovial tones. “You are most welcome for his sake. How is your father?”

  The knight paused before speaking. “My father is dead these many weeks.”

  The other men made sounds of sympathy. “An excellent man,” Father repeated, regretfully now.

  “I am just now returning from Westminster where I did homage to King Richard,” the knight continued. “I thought I would stop here in Whitelock on my way home and visit some of my father’s connections, such as yourself.”

  My ears pricked up. Westminster! Then perhaps he had news. The last we had heard—or to be more precise, the last Father had permitted me to hear—out of London was the news of Queen Anne’s death in the spring. Just over a year ago there had been an attempt to overthrow King Richard and put his rival Henry Tudor on the throne instead, but I only knew that from eavesdropping as I was now. If I hadn’t spent time listening in on his conversations with the men who moved his merchandise, I wouldn’t know anything about what was going on in the wider world. Perhaps I could find out something from this knight.

  “Well,” Father said, “I do hope you will find such things here in Whitelock as will help you to shake off your sadness.”

  “I have no doubt,” the knight murmured. Then he shifted in his seat, bending to the floor to retrieve something. “If it please you, Master Mulleyn, I would offer a gift to you and your daughters….” I peeked around the archway to get a look as the knight passed my father a stack of three or four books. Books! Whether hand lettered or from Master Caxton’s printing press recently set up in London—or so we had heard, none of us having ever journeyed so far—books were rare and costly things. I could imagine Father’s face, something between distaste and disinterest, as he weighed them in his hands for a moment before holding them out toward the beautiful Master Cameron.

  “And you, Master Holloway,” Father said, turning to the other gentleman. “What brings you to my door today?”

  “As you know, Master Mulleyn,” the mayor said in his most obsequious tones, “I have always held you in the highest regard, and when I heard you were once again looking for tutors for your lovely daughters, I thought to myself, ‘Master Holloway, surely you can be of service to such an excellent friend and neighbor, such a stalwart member of the Whitelock community—’”

  I could almost feel Father preening his feathers. Blanche was delighting in the praise as well, smiling to herself. I rolled my eyes at them both. No sense between the two of them.

  “—and so I have come to offer you the services of this good musician, Master Lucas, with whom I have been in contact many times over the years. He has served me well, and I trust he will do the same for you.”

  “A musician, eh?” Father mused.

  “Ah, yes,” Master Holloway went on. “He travels this way frequently and is well reputed from Westminster to Ludlow, but he has agreed to bide awhile with your family and teach your daughters to play and sing.”

  From the royal court in London to the Prince of Wales’ household: quite a claim to fame. I doubted every word of it.

  There was a stirring along the wall next to the fireplace, and a man came forward to bow to my father. I caught only a glimpse of him, but he was short and portly, dressed in colorful, loose-fitting robes, like a monk who had fallen into a dying vat and come out motley. His clean-shaven skin was darkly tanned, and one ear was pierced with a large, dangling pearl. Atop it all, he wore a liripipe hat—a long cone of fabric that wrapped repeatedly around and around his head and then draped down over one shoulder. It was meant to look jaunty and attractive, and on a more fashionable man it might have, but on him, it only looked ridiculous.

  “He can teach them to play?” Father asked.

  “Oh indeed, he is quite gifted in all types of musical instruments,” Master Holloway said confidently. The music master bowed again, but I thought I saw concern flicker across his face.

  “Harp?” Father queried as Master Holloway nodded vigorously. “Lute? Pipe?”

  “Virginal?” prompted the knight. Was he making a joke? I peered around the archway, but he held his expression perfectly neutral and I could not tell.

  Another pounding on the front doors set Andrew into motion. Conversation halted as the men waited to see who else would join them. I glanced across at Blanche, who was positively beaming. I marveled that the gentlemen could not see the glow of her emanating from behind the wall. She looked like a child who had been allowed to eat her fill of sweets. She caught me looking at her and smiled. “You see,” she whispered, “it is working.”

  “Master Greenwood,” Andrew announced.

  Blanche made a disgusted face and looked away. The gentlemen greeted him, a less than enthusiastic greeting from those who knew him, and he joined the circle.

  “Where,” he said almost immediately, “is Master Horton?”

  Now that his name was mentioned, I realized that his absence from this group of gentlemen was notable. Of all the men in town, he and Master Greenwood were Blanche’s most determined pursuers.

  There was a moment of silence, and then Master Holloway said, “I do believe Master Horton was called away on business.”

  Father cocked his head to the side. “So suddenly? Did I not see him at church this morning?”

  Master Holloway cleared his throat and repeated, “Business, yes, or perhaps it was his family. An illness. I don’t claim to know Master Horton’s doings, so pray, do not question me further.”

  How unfortunate for Master Horton that he happened to be called away, whatever the reason, when two such impressive new persons had arrived to woo Blanche. He would never forgive himself.

  Master Greenwood harrumphed and sat heavily in a chair, seeming aggrieved at having arrived so late.

  “So what have you come to offer me, Master Greenwood?” Father asked. He was enjoying this.

  “I have brought….” He paused, and I imagined he was sipping his ale, looking around at the other men who had so clearly staked a claim to the courtship of Blanche. I could imagine his thoughts: How had the field of battle become so crowded? Why had this happened, when he had been so diligent, so careful all these years, to position himself as a suitor?


  I stifled a wicked laugh in my sleeve.

  “I have brought a gift for you, Master Mulleyn, or rather for your daughters,” he finally continued in his slow, sonorous voice, “in the hope that it will be of benefit to them in their lessons with their tutors. As I understand that they will be engaging in lessons once again. With tutors.”

  “Indeed, Master Greenwood, I am pleased to provide the best for my daughters.” Father’s voice was sharp. He clearly intended for Master Greenwood to stop insinuating that this was all a sham, as it was.

  All of this playacting, all this falsehood, and for what?

  So that none of them had to court me outright.

  “A gift,” Master Greenwood said, thinking past Father’s cutting remark. “Yes, I have brought a gift for your daughters. A lute. A token of the honor in which I hold you—”

  “Ah, yes, thank you, Master Greenwood,” Father said, opening the lute case on his lap and half lifting the instrument. From my vantage point, I could just see the inlaid wood and lapis that ornamented it, the mother-of-pearl on the tuning sticks.

  “Well,” Father said, snapping the case closed and passing it across to the new music tutor. “This has been an afternoon of great surprises. I am humbled by your generosity, gentlemen, truly I am. But I must stress to you, as I was saying earlier to Master Lawry, that regardless of gifts or fancy speeches, I will permit no man to court my daughter Blanche at this time.”

  I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. In saying it so bluntly, in the presence of these men, my father was binding himself publicly.

  “But why, Master Mulleyn?” Master Lawry burst out, almost desperate. “It seems to me a terrible thing, that so lovely a flower should be shielded from the admiration of the world. That such a beautiful dove should be caged and not fly free….”

  Blanche sighed. Master Greenwood harrumphed. The knight coughed, though it might have begun as a chuckle; it was hard to know for certes.

  Father shook his head. “Nay, Master Lawry, your pretty words will not sway me. For Blanche is the younger sister, and I will not have her married before the elder.”

  Master Greenwood chimed in. “Quite right, Master Mulleyn. Against all tradition.” Master Holloway hurried to agree. His son had yet to utter a sound.

  I ignored Blanche’s pointed glare.

  My father smiled and spread his hands in an open, friendly gesture. His tone became congenial. “However, if one of you gentlemen would care to address my quandary….”

  Utter silence fell. I could imagine them all looking at one another: the local men wary, shifty; the newcomers perplexed. “Surely you would not expect one of us newcomers to make an offer without meeting her, Master Mulleyn; without even seeing her,” Sir William said, his tone light.

  “I assure you, Sir William, my elder daughter is…” Father paused, weighting his words with meaning. “…As endowed with other assets as my younger daughter is with beauty.”

  My gut boiled. It took all my self-control not to surge into the room and scream in fury at him. Here was a master merchant at work, and the chattel for sale was his own daughter.

  Across the archway, Blanche’s smile was ugly with gloating.

  Father rose, forcing the other men to rise with him. “Well, gentlemen, I do appreciate your calling upon me today. Perhaps you will call upon me again tomorrow and my daughters can commence their lessons then.”

  The gentlemen remained deep in convivial conversation as they crossed the hall. Walking behind them, the language tutor kept his hands clasped behind his back and his head down while the music tutor strummed the lute, one ear bent close to the instrument. Andrew opened the great doors and Father shook hands with the men, bidding them farewell.

  Once they were at the other end of the hall, Blanche rushed to me, pulling me into the archway. Her skin was flushed a delicate pink, her blue eyes alight with a greedy glee like a beggar who had just been invited to partake of a lord’s feast. I could see she was thinking hard and fast, inasmuch as that was possible for her. “All right,” she said, “which of my suitors do you want?”

  “What?”

  “You need to take one of them, and do it now. This knight is for me; you must see that.”

  “I see no such thing. Why must I see that?” Of course, I had already resigned myself to that idea, but there was no reason she had to know that.

  “Let us consider,” Blanche mused, ignoring my words. “How would Horton do for you? Too bad he is not here to claim you.”

  “Horton is a fool and a buffoon, a more fit companion for you than me,” I fired back.

  Why was I fighting so hard? The knight would soon hear tales of my tongue. He would be given choice words for me. Harpy. She-devil. Shrew. Compared to the sweet-tempered, gentle Blanche, why would he think of me, even for a moment? Everyone in this damned town, even the boys in the street, had a litany of curses for me and nothing but compliments for my beautiful sister, though they knew nothing of the real Blanche, and nothing of the real me.

  “Perhaps Greenwood could be convinced to take you,” Blanche continued as though I had not spoken. “He is rich and old. You wouldn’t have to be married for long, only a few years till he’s dead.”

  “That would please you more than me. The wealthy young widow? A perfect role for you to play. You’re the one who fancies riches, Blanche, not I.” I clenched my fists and squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to be drawn into this fight. “It matters not what you think, Blanche. The gentlemen do have a say in these choices.”

  She gave a snorting, dismissive laugh. “Who wins the prize at the fair, Kathryn? Do they give the cup to the last or the least? Nay, the reward goes to the best and the strongest and the fairest.” She pointed a finger right at me, jabbing at my breast. “I will have him. The best for the best. You will clear out of my way.”

  I raised a hand to slap her finger away but something held me back. The touch of eyes.

  I looked toward the door, expecting to see Father’s disapproving glare. But Father had his back to us, saying his farewells to the final visitor.

  It was the knight, his eyes dark and heavy as a night storm, who watched us. What had he seen?

  He bowed to my father and turned away. I watched him go, my cheeks aflame, but knowing—knowing—that as always, he had not been looking at me. Could not have been. Because no one ever looked at me when there was Blanche.

  Chapter 3

  Monday

  On Monday morning, the lessons began. I awoke quite early, just after dawn, and lay steeped in anticipatory misery of what the day would bring. Hours of useless lessons with unnecessary tutors; Father cutting bargains with the gentlemen for his daughters, body and soul, never thinking to ask what might make us happy; Blanche simpering and smiling, playing along with the charade in the hopes of drawing the eyes of men to her. I thought my skull would explode with the prospect.

  My wallowing was interrupted by the high whine of Blanche’s voice across the hall, like a mosquito just out of reach. I went across the landing to her bedchamber to find her in a dither, fussing with Margaret over the choice of chemise, kirtle, hair ornaments, perfume….

  “Blanche,” I said, leaning against the doorframe, “we are not meant to see the gentlemen today. We will only be with the tutors.”

  She sniffed at me, tossing a silk chemise to the floor. Aghast, Margaret dived for it and shook it out before it became crushed among the dozens of other items of clothing Blanche had already discarded. “What if you are wrong?” Blanche demanded. “What if the gentlemen return today? Even if I do not speak with them, they will see me, and I want to look my best.” She held up a pair of ruby earrings, then flung them back down on her dressing table. Margaret let out a tiny squeak as one bounced off and rattled around on the floor. “One must always be prepared, Kathryn.”

  I couldn’t bear to watch. “Margaret, when you get a chance….”

  Margaret squeaked again as she replaced the ruby ornament o
n the table, then bent to chase down a hairbrush that had landed with a thud on the floor. “Yes, Mistress Kathryn, as soon as I may….” Her voice trailed after me as I left Blanche’s room.

  I managed to dress myself almost entirely without Margaret’s assistance; I had so few choices, after all. Margaret brushed and fixed my hair, adorning it with jeweled pins. She scarcely breathed the entire time, but I could feel the desire to scream pent up within her. Poor thing. I knew exactly how she felt.

  The hall was already abuzz with voices when I stepped off the stairs. The tutors were clustered in one corner while their masters took their ease in the chairs by the hearth. Blanche, in one of her many fine kirtles, was enshrined in Father’s big chair, enjoying the attention of Master Lawry.

  Sir William leaned against the wall nearby, listening but not taking part in their conversation.

  My toe caught on the edge of a flagstone and I stopped still, arrested somehow by the mere sight of him, leaning. Then, clenching my fists, I forced myself to move on.

  The sideboard was covered with a rich, red cloth and set with shining silver platters and bowls. I couldn’t see what was in them, however, because of the men standing around, helping themselves to my father’s food. Today, it seemed that even more well-to-do local bachelors were determined not to be left out, though they had not contributed to the sham of our education. The eldest son of the candlemaker was filling a plate and chatting with the last unmarried son of Alderman Blaine, and young Master Holloway, the mayor’s son, had returned without his father and had brought his best friend, a fellow of French lineage named Ormond, for support.

  My hunger fled and I turned away. My father may have promised he would not allow Blanche to marry before me, but he had not promised he would not force me to marry someone I detested. And there was no man in this room I would ever consider…not even the one who trapped me with his gaze and made breathing a chore I had to think about.