“He left me be,” Catherine said, “but he could feel the child. And I acknowledged it. He is the law, Ann, don’t you know? We are at the mercy of the law. He will stand before any judge in the land and testify that I am a slut and then he will say that I tempted him or that he saw me take something from his bench and put it into my pocket. Such a man will say anything to preserve himself. All he wants is the praise of his keepers and the pleasure of his body’s desire. Such a man is no man at all. He is a cipher of the law of England. And the law is written in sand.” A blast of black cold seemed to overtake her, and she shook until Ann put her face down and wept, until they lay down together and fell into murmuring, trembling sleep.
The night spread its darkness into the chamber, and Catherine eased her aching hand over the cold floor, covering them both with the blanket. Ann swiped at a nightmare, and Catherine rolled her to her side. The stars blinked down through their dirty window, and Catherine lay, watching a frill of candlelight twist in the hallway where the gaoler lurked, until fatigue overtook her and she dropped again into a fitful slumber.
A pale spill of morning woke her. Catherine had her arm over Ann’s waist, and her hand was numb. She flexed and made a fist, and tiny constellations of pain lit up through her skin. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Ann rolled to her back and breathed steadily, and the strip of scar on her throat was a thin, ghastly smile in the early light. Catherine touched her friend’s shoulder, and Ann’s eyes opened. “Where are we?”
“Still in the gaol,” said Catherine.
Ann laid her arm over her face and groaned. “Benjamin,” she said.
“What?” Catherine bent closer.
“Benjamin. He will not come. The gaoler told me. He said, ‘Your lady’s suitor will go before the judge and he will be hanged for a thief himself.’ He meant to break me with the news.” Ann flung her arm away and sat up. “I believe he has done it.”
“You are not broken,” said Catherine. She got up and checked the door. No one was in the hall, as far as she could see. “You will be strong.” She went next to the window and looked as far either way as possible. “I see no sign of anyone.”
“So we are left alone to rot.”
Catherine sat again beside Ann. “No despair. Do you hear me? You will hold your head up. It is the only course to take.”
“High enough for them to fix a noose over it?”
Footsteps came crunching down the hall, and Catherine laid her hand on Ann’s arm to silence her. The gaoler’s dirty face appeared at the bars. “You awake?” he growled.
“You can see with your own eyes,” said Catherine.
“Go on, then,” the man said. The key rasped in the lock and the door opened. But it was not the gaoler who entered this time. It was Benjamin.
“Get you back, away from here,” he said, and the gaoler skulked off. In two steps, he was beside the women. “They would not give me leave yesterday. I waited outside the court until they drove me off.” The women did not move and he went on. “What is the matter? Are you ill? Have they given you aught to eat?”
“We have food,” said Catherine. “We suffer from a sickness of the soul, brought on by those beasts out there.” She pointed to the open doorway. “Martins was here. And then—”
“Enough,” said Ann. She rolled to her knees and pushed herself up. “I will be well in time.” She gave Catherine a direct stare. “Enough.”
Benjamin was looking at the door. “You will come with me.”
“Now? Where are we to be taken?” asked Catherine.
“Away. I have gotten the order to release you. You will come away to the old Davies House for now. The judge has appointed me your guardian.” Benjamin showed a paper from his pocket. “John Dudley sent his request to the court to free you. It arrived at dawn. It made an impression.” He shrugged. “I paid the fees. This judge was disposed to hold you, but he would not act against Dudley.”
“So we are to be your prisoners instead?” asked Ann. She was backing away from the man and when she hit the wall she sagged against it.
“No. What . . .? No. You are my guests.” He studied Ann, as though he thought she had lost her reason. Then he turned to Catherine. “I have your daughter. She is with my Diana, and they are on their way to my country house.”
Catherine could not stop herself from throwing her arms around him. “Thank God in heaven. Is she well?”
Benjamin closed her in. His face was on her shoulder. “As well as she can be without her mother.”
Catherine pulled free. “Robbie? What do you hear of Robbie? What has this done to my son?”
“He is still at the right hand of the prince, the last I heard. I will send a couple of men to be sure of it.” He glanced at Ann, but she was staring out the window, chewing on a nail. “I have horses outside.” Catherine bent to gather the bottles and cups into the basket, and he added, “Leave those things. They’re tainted with this place.”
“It is a place of death,” said Ann. She hadn’t turned. “It kills body and soul in equal measure.”
Catherine said, “Then let’s be shed of it together.”
Ann nodded, and, picking up her shawl, took Catherine’s arm and walked out without looking at Benjamin.
The clouds had torn themselves to bits and the sun peered wearily through, white and futile. In the lane, Ann hesitated, as though letting her body accustom itself to new air, and then let Benjamin lead them on. Catherine glanced up, but she could not determine which had been their window. She saw no sign of the gaoler, or any other man.
Three horses stood riderless down by the river, and two of Benjamin’s men were holding the reins. The women seized upon the smaller geldings and turned away from the sight of the dark lanes of Southwark. Benjamin threw himself up on his stallion Caesar, pointed toward the bridge, and they were off.
Ann was shifting in her saddle by the time they passed the northern city gate but she wouldn’t complain. They rode on, and Ann’s eyes remained fixed on the twitching tail of the horse in front of her. Catherine trotted up beside her, and reached for her arm, but Ann shook her head fiercely and kept her eyes where they were. No one suggested stopping for food or drink, even when the midday light shone over them.
It was barely dark by the time they were on the road that led up to Davies House. Here, it had rained, and the mud ruts from cart wheels caused the horses’ hooves to slip, but neither Catherine nor Ann cried out. Their mounts plodded on, and when the decayed crenellations of the house showed through the trees, Caesar nickered and stepped up his pace. The others flicked their ears forward and spoke back in snorts and soft whinnies, and Ann leaned forward to stroke her gelding’s russet neck. She huddled over the animal’s lathered neck until they turned the last corner.
The stable lads were already running up to take the horses, and the front door was opened by Benjamin’s boy, Little Jack Huff. Behind him, Catherine recognized Reginald Goodall. Reg stepped down toward Benjamin, but when he caught sight of the women he paused. A couple of maids ran out behind him, and as Catherine and Ann slid to the ground, the girls curtsied and took up the edges of their filthy cloaks.
“Where is my daughter?” asked Catherine, running into the big front room. A maidservant with a warming pan in her hand scurried upstairs, and before Catherine could remove her outer garments, Diana Davies was leading Veronica down. Agnes was with them.
“Mother!” the child cried, and Catherine knelt on the bottom step to catch her daughter. The girl smelt of grass and clean child’s sweat, and Catherine’s eyes leaked tears, though she tried to blink them away.
Diana sat on the step beside them. “It is good to lay eyes upon you, Lady Catherine.”
“And you,” said Catherine, swiping at her face and reaching for the young woman’s arm. “Agnes, what do you do here?”
“I was asked to go, when Diana came, and she took me
. Richmond felt empty as Christ’s grave anyway. No one talks now.”
Catherine twisted to look up at Ann Smith. “Ann, our Veronica is well and sound. Come, she aches to see her Auntie Ann.”
Ann sat on the other side of the steps, and Veronica slid onto her lap. She laid her head against Ann’s chest and sighed. “Auntie Ann, what have you brought me?” The girl felt along Ann’s ribs and hips. “Have you hidden a sweet for me?”
Ann’s mouth smiled. “I have brought you a lucky stone,” she said, digging into her pocket. What she brought out was a chunk of gravel. “This stone has great force in it, and you must hold it tightly in your hand, like this.” Ann made a fist. “When you feel that the world has grown too bold for you, you hold this and it will make you hard as granite, impossible to break.” She dropped the rock into Veronica’s hand.
Veronica lifted it to a nearby candle. Her blue eyes were fixed on the dull surface. “I cannot see its power,” she said.
“The power is deep within,” said Ann. “And only deep need will bring it forth. Use it wisely.”
“I must put it in my jewel case,” said Veronica. She pecked Ann on the cheek and hopped up. “May I be excused?”
“Go on,” said Catherine. The child ran, Diana scampering after, and Catherine looked at Ann. “What was that?”
Ann gazed up the stairs. “My fingers found it on the ground as he was upon me. I squeezed it so hard that it took my fear away.” Ann opened her right hand, revealing the bloody scab stigmatizing her palm. She shrugged. “It was all I had.” Catherine put her arms around her friend, and they sat in silence until the men clambered through the door.
Reg carried Benjamin’s cloak, and two dogs from the stables had followed them. One, a rangy hound with ears that flapped around its jaws, shuffled up and stuck its wet nose under Ann’s chin. Catherine jumped to her feet, but Ann laughed through her tears, and roughed up the animal’s sloppy jowls. The dog crooned and fell onto its side, raising a forepaw to expose its belly for scratching. Ann obliged until Reg whistled. The dog withdrew, and Reg helped Ann to her feet. “I won’t have you grovel on the floor to a badly-behaved animal,” he said.
“You don’t know how happy I am to feel even his dirty old fur.” Ann regarded her hands. The fingertips were blackened. “Don’t touch me, Reg. I’m not clean.”
“Clean enough for the likes of me,” he said. “Come on to the hall. Let’s have a bite of dinner.” He offered his elbow, and she backed away.
“No. I mean what I say. I’m dirty.” She looked around. “I must wash.” She ran up the stairs before they’d been assigned rooms.
Benjamin watched her go. “What has happened, Catherine?”
Catherine said, “A prison is an unkind place. That’s all.”
Reginald took a step up, then down again. “What’d they do to her? I’ve got to know.”
“You’ll have to ask her, then. In time.” Reg exchanged a long look with Benjamin. “Doesn’t matter. Not to me. She’s the same woman in my eyes.”
Catherine stepped between the men and forced Reg to shift his gaze to her. “You had better be sure of that, Reg. Think. Be sure. Be sure forever or be nothing to her at all. Do you hear me?”
His eyes softened. Then he turned away. “Your dinner’ll be cold, Lady. Let me get the maids to serve you.” And he walked off.
Benjamin stood close behind her, and Catherine could feel the heat of him. “I’ve sent two men on the run to bring news of Robbie,” he said.
She nodded, closed her eyes, and inhaled. Leather and horse. Old wet wool. It smelt like home.
“Catherine,” he said. She knew his arms were out, and she shook her head. “Come, let’s eat the food they’ve prepared.” She opened her eyes and walked into the dining hall. Benjamin followed without a word more.
33
Ann did not come down to eat, and Catherine sat at the table with the men until Reg finished his evening meal and, rising, ordered the kitchen girls to take away the unused dishes. He nodded to Benjamin and followed the maids out, pulling the doors closed behind him. Catherine let Benjamin fill her cup.
“Did they ravish her?” he asked.
Catherine drank. “He promised to take her out to feel the sun.”
Benjamin poured for himself but did not lift the cup. Instead, he pushed the meat around on the pewter plate with a slice of bread.
Catherine said, “You want to know what they have done to me.”
“Tell me if you want to.”
“I remained inside. A man was sent to guard me. He touched me. He felt it. I affirmed my condition to keep him off. He could undo me with this knowledge.”
Benjamin breathed out through his mouth. “Some men are worse than beasts. I have not forgotten Adam Hastings or that day at the convent.”
Resentment nagged at Catherine’s chest and her jaw clenched.
“You were not there. How could you remember it at all?”
The man drank. “William. Your husband told me what you told him.”
Her heart froze against her dead husband for a moment. “He should not have told it. He was broken by it and never loved my son. He could never quite clean his notions of the boy from the stain of his mother.” Anger bloomed up in her then. “And he did believe me stained. As though it was my sin. I will not see the same happen to Ann.”
“And you?”
“I am in danger of exposure. I will be called both thief and whore.”
“I call you neither. And not all men are alike,” said Benjamin. “We must get you away from here before anyone comes.”
He broke the bread and dropped it. “And I don’t believe it was the event itself that turned William. It was taking the place of his brother. He wasn’t bred for it.And his sister. She poisoned his mind more than his body.”
Catherine considered this. “He did not have to be in her company. He might have saved himself an infection and moved to cleaner air.”
“I don’t mean to speak ill.” Benjamin lifted a shoulder. “But blood will run together.”
“So it is said.” Catherine looked up. “And you. Have you spoken to her?”
“Margaret? Why should I speak to her?”
“She is claiming you for a husband. Saying she is with child. Or have you forgotten?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten. But I have nothing to say to it. I am not guilty of it. I wonder if she has gone mad.”
“Mad as a vixen,” said Catherine. “She will try to convince Lady Anne to force you to acknowledge her.”
“Let her try. I will not.” He had emptied the bottle into his cup. “You might show her a drop of pity.”
“Wherefore?”
He shrugged again. “She lies. She plots. But think of it. Parceled off to the convent to keep the family fortune for her brothers. And you, the favorite of your house. You were. I have heard you say it yourself. You have put her down, and she, the last legitimate Overton daughter. She has nothing. No house. No husband. No children. Nor like to have either. She has done everything according to king and church and her father all of her life and is empty-handed as a reward. It must look mightily unjust from her eyes.”
“You will defend her to my face?” Catherine burned. “She has also tried to poison my family.”
“I know.” Benjamin called for another bottle. “Go on to bed, now,” he said to the small servant, and Catherine was alone with him again. They sat, listening to the house settle into the soft night. The rafters above cracked gently. He said, “I am trying to be fair. And honest. I was not the one who freed you.”
“No? It looked like you, coming through the door.”
“I carried the order, and I spoke for you. I threw them a few coins, as I said, but that was nothing. It was John Dudley. He is the one who turned the key for you.”
Catherine stroked her forehead. “That man. That
. . . politician. Why would he?”
Benjamin lifted one shoulder yet again. “That I can’t say. He sent letters to Dover, as well. The man snaps his fingers and suddenly I discover myself undetained. And find I can take you home.”
“So you were not lingering there for the wool? Or to avoid me?”
Benjamin shook his head.
“Is that what you thought? I was not imprisoned exactly. But a dozen men with swords and a determination to keep a man inside an inn can work their wills quite easily.”
“But why?” Catherine asked. “Who wishes us such ill?”
“The judge said I had been mistaken for another man. I was told to go and I went. I saw no prudence in mincing the matter. If I were a guessing man, I would put in the name of that Martins. He seems to have had you much on his mind. But he also seems to have disappeared.”
Catherine laid her head back. A cat yowled from a distance, and Benjamin rose to pull the shutters closed, then sat again without speaking until Catherine said, “We will settle this business of the marriage and the child. In public. With you and Margaret in the same room.”
34
For a week, Catherine allowed herself to rest and wait for news from Margaret. She petted her daughter. She listened to Diana Davies prattle. She quietly visited Benjamin’s small still room. But by the eighth morning, she could wait no longer and came down, a fur thrown over her shoulders, as the sun rose. Benjamin was already up, directing the servants.
Catherine said, “We should be on the road.”
“I have ordered men to search her out. We will wait until we know where she is. What? Do you think you will ride the streets of London, shouting for her?”
Ann appeared at the top of the stairs. Catherine said, “Where would she be?”
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