They had eaten and were on their horses within the hour. The sun had been overtaken by clouds, and Joseph pulled off his coat and threw it over Catherine’s shoulders as she climbed onto her new mare. Veronica wormed her way into Ann’s cloak. Reg checked her reins, and Ann touched him briefly on the shoulder, but he simply nodded and took his own saddle. John Bridle shook Benjamin’s hand and kissed his daughter. Kit Sillon did not show.
“A rough coat sometimes covers a good dog,” said the priest, and Catherine smiled despite herself.
“Thank him again for the mare,” she said, and John Bridle nodded. They turned onto the high road toward Overton House.
They were all day riding, Catherine and Benjamin side by side, and Veronica chattering to Ann behind them. The wind blew in rain, and they bent into it, but it only lasted an hour, and the late sun dried them. They stopped once to eat their cold meat and bread, but the road unwound before their eyes, and no one wanted to stop.
Catherine’s eyes were drooping as they turned the corner and saw the grey tops of Overton House. “We’re home,” Catherine said.
“Home,” said Benjamin. “It’s finished.” He spurred Caesar and Catherine flopped her reins and galloped beside him. The others whooped behind and gave chase.
As she drew her mare to a walk, Catherine grew sober, seeing the chambermaids on the doorstep looking mournful. “Agnes,” she said, and Benjamin leaned over to squeeze her hand.
“We’ll respect the time.”
The stable boys came running as they dismounted, and the chambermaids dropped to their knees. Catherine said, “Up, girls.”
The eldest looked but did not rise. “There are men here. A fat man and his companions.” Eleanor came outside. She wore a frown.
The loyal Overton kites spiraled, low, over the House, and one by one they set their feet down on the air to slow themselves for landing. They disappeared into the gorse in the far field, and Benjamin said, “Just as I feared. Where are these men?”
Eleanor took the reins from Catherine, and Ann threw hers to Joseph.
“They were searching the house,” said Eleanor. “They’re armed. I don’t know where they’ve gone, but they’ve not gone far, I’ll wager my soul.”
“Ann, take Veronica to the back.” Catherine slid to the ground and shouted at the broad stone front,“Who is in my home?” No answer. “Go,” she said to Ann. “Lock yourself in the laundry.” She called again, “Where are you? Show yourselves.”
Not a sound. Benjamin said he would check the stable, and Catherine walked inside and up her own stairs to her old rooms. The air here was fragrant with lavender and rosemary, frost and fire. But the bed curtains were filmy with the dirt of disuse, and when Catherine shook a corner, a cloud burst from the fabric. One of the chambermaids had lit the hearth, but the winter scent hadn’t fully burned off. The bed was turned back, and Catherine let her hand wander over the musty linen, over the side where her first husband had slept. His favorite glass still stood on his side table, and the bed curtain was still torn where he had caught his heel one evening in a moment of passion. She put her nose to the pillow and inhaled. She fancied that she could still smell his hair from deep in the goose down, that woodsy savor of a man who liked the outdoors. Did the feathers recall the shape of William, who had lain here how many hundreds of times? The canopy above reminded her of the days when they’d been happy to be in bed together.
The house was too quiet, and when a branch slipped and exploded in sparks, Catherine jumped. She almost tripped over one of her old chests in the gloom, opened and half-emptied. “Who is here?” she shouted again, but again no one answered. When she opened her door, Benjamin grabbed her and covered her mouth with his hand.
“They’re coming back in,” he said, backing her in and shutting the door behind him. He cocked his head toward the door, then set her on the edge of the bed. “Listen, these men have a warrant that looks royal.”
Catherine’s throat had iced through. He let her loose and she rolled over the bed and ran to the window. The sun was tangled in the far trees. An Overton dog ran out of the stable, barking and whirling, and one of the horses nickered from inside. Men’s voices congregated somewhere below. Another dog, a strange one with long legs and a spiky coat, rushed out, growling. It leapt onto the Overton hound and the two dogs rolled in the dust. A group of men strolled from the stable, and one of them whacked the Overton dog with a stick and the thing fled, yipping. The stranger, whining, held his ground against the newcomers. Catherine felt the dirt ground into her plain green skirt and brushed at herself. She could feel the slick smudges of sweat that surely marked the underarms and back. She was afraid, and it made her filthy.
Joseph appeared from the stable and stood before the group with his hand readied on his hips. And there they were. Martin David Martins and Ciaran Barts and Ellers Chandler. Their servants lingered behind, staring up at the face of Overton House. Martins stood at the front of the pack, posing for a moment as though he knew he was being watched. Even in the gathering darkness, he was resplendent in red jacket and soft tan breeches. He wore pale silk hose and his codpiece featured gold embroidery and two small green tassels. The shining weapon was fixed to his side, just where his body began its alarming spread toward the ground. Barts was dressed in brown, more sober than his companion, with soft breeches and solid riding boots. Chandler was in black, like a hangman. He carried a whip and was trying to brandish it in competition with Martins’ shining wheel-lock.
Benjamin said, “They have been through the house once. They claim to have found what they sought.”
Ann came out of back door, and Catherine could hear her voice. “What do you here? You are out of your element.”
Martins’ face tightened. “Woman, have you come to claim your trouble? You must forgive me, but I’ve misplaced your name. I don’t keep the names of all the servants in my books.” He waddled forward. Barts stepped behind him, looking with his thin arms and skinny legs in the dark breeches like a spider stepping across its web. Chandler, as always,followed. Joseph looked from Ann to the men and finally deferred to the woman.
Catherine recoiled from the window and bumped against Benjamin, who put out a hand to steady her, but she could still hear them, Martin insisting “Your lady is a thief and a whore.”
“Get you gone,” said Ann. “Set yourselves back into your saddles and turn your faces toward London.”
“You are now mistress here?” said Martins. “I give my congratulations for your raising. But I have business. I come in the name of the king to arrest your lady for rank whoredom, against the king’s dignity. He takes pity upon his sisters who maintain their faith. Your lady should have submitted her will to his.”
“He cannot,” whispered Catherine. Her chest began to sing with pain, and she could not get her breath. The sun slipped downward, blazing out a flare to blind her. “Benjamin, he cannot.” Joseph seemed to be speaking, but Catherine couldn’t hear through the whistling in her ears. The men were arguing. The sun dropped another notch in the sky.
“I will meet them,” said Catherine.
“Not without me,” said Benjamin.
Catherine tiptoed to the corner, and flattening herself against the wall, peered down. The front hall was empty, the door standing open. The air twirled with dust, slowly working circles through the shafts of candle light. A small grey cat stood on the threshold, sniffing the interior as though trying to decide whether to enter. She stepped out, then down. The risers felt hard underfoot, and the click of Catherine’s soles seemed to echo. But no one showed. She reached the entrance hall, where the cat looked up and meowed once. Then it fled in a streak.
No one was visible in the long gallery to the left, and Catherine moved over the carpets as quietly as she could toward the back stairs. She bent and listened. Voices somewhere below. “Someone has arrived,” said Benjamin from the entry hall.
Ann came panting in. “Another man—” she said flailing her arm at the door.
“I heard,” said Catherine.
But it was only one, squinting into the dim hall. “Lady Overton,” said John LaBranche. “Madam. I’m here to save you. Master Benjamin. You are here.” He walked in and curled his soft fingers around her arm.
Catherine went bloody-minded. “You. You! Save me, you say? Save me? You might have done that weeks ago, and what did you do? Not a thing! How much of Benjamin’s money did you spend to sit at your writing desk and do nothing?” Her voice spilled out of her, shrill as a caught rabbit, and she put her hand on her breast.
“I followed Martins and Barts and Chandler all the way along, but you were not here,” LaBranche said. His spectacles were almost opaque with dust. He still wore the same worn boots and cheap jacket. “I have stayed at the Havenston inn. A very pleasant place. I have come for you.”
“You’ve come to sniff out a fee,” said Benjamin. “I do hope you have enjoyed the sights along the way.”
“You may hire another lawyer if it pleases you,” insisted LaBranche, “but I maintain that I am here to serve you.”
“Your service kept me in prison.” Catherine opened her mouth to go on, but Benjamin touched her shoulder. Martins and his men were behind the lawyer.
“We have found you out at last,” said Martins. “And you, LaBranche, I thought we had lost you back in Nottingham. Excellent navigation, man, to make it so far on your own. I hadn’t thought you had it in you. What a man will do for a handful of coins.” Barts sniggered, and Martins stepped around the lawyer to take Catherine by the elbow. Barts took her by the other arm. “You must come with us. LaBranche, if you mean to defend this woman, you may begin at any time. It will be good finally to see you practice your profession. You are a man of law, am I correct? That’s the rumor in London town though I have never seen the confirmation.”
“Let her go,” said Benjamin.
LaBranche glanced over at Catherine, but he didn’t move to disengage her. Benjamin took Martins by the shoulder. They were all crowded together, and Catherine felt the men’s breath like a choking fog about her head. “Get away from me,” she whispered, and tried to push Martin and Barts aside. But they wouldn’t go. The pair pressed in tighter, gripping her elbows so tightly she could feel their nails through her wool sleeves. Benjamin drew his dagger, but they were too close for him to take a safe aim.
“You have no authority,” said Catherine. “I have served in the household of the King’s Beloved Sister, and I will go with no one who does not come in her name.”
Martins coughed out a laugh. “The name of a woman is nobody,” he said, trying to shake Benjamin off. “The name of a woman signifies the master to whom she belongs and nothing more. The name of a woman is a hole into which a man must drop his meaning and his seed. A woman makes nothing happen.” He finally let himself stand, fastened between Catherine and Benjamin. “I might have helped you if you had wanted me. Had wanted me to.”
“You have your spies in Dover, too. Don’t you? Where is this warrant you claim to have from the king?” asked Benjamin. He backed a step, the dagger now fully out. “Let me see it.”
“I have the warrant upon me,” said Martins. “You have already seen such a thing. Many times, I think. The woman is a common whore. And a thief. I will maintain it.”
Catherine said, “I will not go.”
“You think to make a cipher of me, do you?” asked Martins. “No woman dirties my name and walks away.” He slid up close to her, and she could see the evil shine in his eyes, smell the sweaty clothes. He whispered, and spit gathered on his lip as he spoke. “A woman had better stick her head in the dirt than put me down. I am known in the court. No woman says no to me.” He unbuttoned his jacket and Catherine dropped her tired head.
He wore a silk belt. A green belt, woven with gold thread. “That is mine,” she choked out. “That was in—”
“In the closet of the King’s Sister?” said Martins. “You imagine that you own anything you see, Lady. It will not go well with you to show such avarice. Luxury is a woman’s sin.”
“It was in the case,” she said to Benjamin. “The case that was taken from us along the road.” She looked back at Martins. “And where do you hide your eye patch?”
Benjamin said, “You’re certain that’s yours?”
“I am sure as the grave.”
Benjamin’s face paled, then flamed. “You son of a dog,” he said, pushing Catherine aside. “I will kill you where you stand.”
“She is no innocent, and we will take her,” said Chandler.
Martins laid his hand on the wheel-lock as Benjamin swung back the dagger. Barts scrabbled at Benjamin’s arm, and they grappled, but Barts could not hold on and Benjamin slammed him to the floor. Martins straightened, the weapon aimed at Benjamin. “I have found the missing ring, and now we will go. It will be the two of us, like love birds, side by side. We know she likes a man.” He took her sleeve again with his left hand. Barts scrambled to his feet.
“Take your paws from the lady,” said Benjamin. “She is my wife. She is free by order of the court, and you will take her nowhere. Put down that damned thing.”
“Your wife?” said LaBranche. “She can’t be. It is against the king’s law.”
Martins said, “Get back, Davies, or we will take you along with her. A court order to a woman is like meat to a puppy. It’s offered to get it to behave.” He guffawed. “Don’t act the fool. You’ve taken a whore. It is no secret.” He paused, cleared his throat, spat on the floor. “A woman cannot be an heir to great lands nor order the king’s men to stay or go. The land will be entailed to the Overton boy who serves the prince. He is a great favorite, I hear. It is sad for us all that his mother is so . . . fallen. But then she is a woman, and sin is to be expected.” Martins turned again to Catherine and bowed as though he were her manservant. “I will see to it that your son’s interest in his properties is guarded well. I may have him appointed as my ward until he reaches his maturity. It will be of great profit to us both.”
“You will not.”Catherine smacked him, catching him unawares with her left hand, and sent him lurching against the wall. Two paces brought her to him again, and she hit him once more, this time with her left fist. He went to one knee, and blood spurted from his nose.
“You hyena!” he yelled, covering his face with his unencumbered hand. He pushed himself up the wall, the bulk of his wide haunches flattened against the plaster. “You are the harpy they say you are! You have all seen it!”
Barts and Chandler grabbed her and dragged her off the man, and Benjamin went for Barts. Chandler and Catherine struggled, but she couldn’t get herself loose from the man. He tore her left sleeve off, and tossing it behind him down, took her by the bodice and began shaking her. LaBranche was shrieking in short, high squeaks, and Catherine held onto Chandler’s hand, trying to keep him from stripping her before the whole company. Martins, reeling forward, staggered to get at her from the other side. The weapon wobbled. Benjamin stood to meet him, but Ann had followed Martins and was pulling at his shoulder. Martins reeled backward, and the wheel-lock’s surface flashed, brassy in the slant sun. Benjamin was trying to get Chandler’s hand free from Catherine, and now Reg was in the room, beside Ann, and Catherine was shouting, “That thing, that weapon,” but no one heard her.
They scuffled, and Catherine stumbled, pulled, dragged herself backward, still caught by Chandler and stuck between him and Benjamin, trying to land blows on each other. Catherine shoved Chandler with all of her strength, but he would not let go. Over his shoulder, she could see a golden wink in a narrow shaft of light as Martins raised the wheel-lock, braced it over his left forearm, and aimed at Benjamin. Reg grabbed at his arm. Catherine wrenched herself as hard as she could, but the men would not be moved. The shot went off, flooding the entire room in smoke.
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It was all arms and legs and shouting. Someone and then someone else had fallen on top of Catherine, and she cried out, “You’re breaking me! I cannot breathe!” The pressure of bodies was lifted from her, and she waved the smoke from her vision. “Benjamin? Where are you?”
“Here,” he said, sitting beside her. His dagger lay on the floor. He was feeling his doublet.
The sulphurous clouds twirled and twisted away, and Martins appeared, frozen a few steps from them, the wheel-lock dangling from his right hand. He was staring, open-mouthed, at Benjamin. LaBranche stood beside him, and as the air cleared, he covered his mouth and wheezed out something like a cry.
Catherine dragged herself to her knees. Ann was beside her, saying “Are you hurt? Where, where are you hurt?”
But Catherine was not shot. Chandler lay where he had fallen, and the blood had already stained the floor by his side. On the front of his shirt bloomed a black flower, fringed with red. Benjamin crawled over to the man, but his eyes were open, fixed on nothing in the world.
“You have murdered your own man,” said Benjamin. He pushed himself to his feet and regarded Martins, who still held the weapon. “You will answer for it.”
Martins lifted the wheel-lock and looked at it, as though he had only just then realized that it was in his hand. “You. It was you. You were preventing us from discharging our duty. Barts. You saw. And you, LaBranche. You saw.” He pointed at the lawyer, who was clinging to the door frame, with the wheel-lock, and LaBranche threw himself face down.
“Let me have that,” said Benjamin. “You have done enough harm for one day.”
“You will have to take it from me,” said Martins. He waved the weapon wildly, first at Benjamin, then Catherine, even at LaBranche, who screamed again and ducked his head.
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