However, she kept the phial in the chest. Just in case things changed.
The medicine for Richard had wrought miracles. The boy had recovered his healthy constitution; each day he was by the side of Caradoc, riding the estate, practicing the lance, perfecting his archery. They were practically inseparable, so much so that Kate had difficulty in drawing him away from Caradoc to attend to his Latin, his reading and writing skills.
Richard found a companionship better suited to his restored vigor. He no longer needed Kate as a companion. He was fast becoming a man and needed to do manly things.
Dame Caradoc no longer attended her lessons in household management and Kate new she should try to speak the lord on the matter but could not bring herself to seek him out.
“Your son will not be pleased with you,” Kate said to Dame Caradoc, finding her polishing pewter.
“He said that I need not bother. You and Edgar are well capable to do all that. It is not for me.”
“But I shall not always be here.”
“We will face that time when it comes,” the Dame said.
With Caradoc and Richard out for the whole day, Kate went up onto the battlements. It was cold and fresh, brushing the cobwebs from her, renewing her strength to carry on. The old ache was still there for King Richard, but it had lessened its hold with the passage of time. Now beautiful images of him came into her mind, sweet memories. The image of his violent death no longer tormented her. It was as if, she mused, he had climbed out of purgatory and had reached heaven, for wherever he was, she knew he was now at peace.
Instead of going down into the hall, she went to her chamber. Her tapestry had been moved there, but she was not getting far with it. She head threaded her needle when Edgar came into the room. Swallowing a sigh, she gave him a smile. It was always like that, the moment she stirred herself up to do some work on her tapestry something happened to disturb her.
“Lady a Peddler has come. He has buttons to sell.”
“Edgar, I have nothing to buy buttons with,” she said patiently.
“These are very cheap, merely imitation, silver…noting really expensive.”
Kate shrugged her shoulders. The coffers belonged to the lord. Whether legally or illegally did not matter. Whatever money she used was for household goods and each item was carefully accounted for in the ledger. She took nothing for herself or Richard. If she did, he might accuse her of stealing.
“It will entertain you to see him,” Edgar insisted.
“You believe so?”
Edgar nodded enthusiastically. He went to the doorway, put his hand onto the wall, then took hold of his ears and pulled them down. The comedy of mime made her laugh, but it was some moments before she realized what he meant. Walls have ears. She went to the doorway where two servants were sweeping the narrow passageway.
“Come then, Edgar I relent. I may yet buy a button or two.”
Her heart racing, she sped down the stairs, Edgar rushing to keep up with her. Freedom…freedom seemed close at hand. Elation chased away the ennui and sent the blood pounding through her veins.
“No,” Edgar caught Kate’s arm as she went to run into the hall. “Caution, lady.”
Of course, seeing eyes, watching and weighing, from every corner, people coming and going, ever observant for gossip of any kind, to lighten their lives.
In the dim light of Edgar’s room, she saw a man. His clothes were poorly mended but his nobility was barely disguised. A younger version of his father. Kate gasped at the sight of him. John of Gloucester, no doubting his parentage, for those who knew his father well, as she had. It was there in the tilt of his head, the way he carried his lean strong body, the dove-gray of his eyes, the thin nose.
“Lady,” he bowed slightly.
“John!” They clasped hands, holding each other tightly. John’s hands were rough and hard against her own.
“It is not good news, I fear.”
“Please sit down….” She urged him towards a chair. His appearance was a lie, for he was exhausted. No, more even than this, he was bone weary. It was there in the way he lowered himself carefully into Edgar’s chair. Kate knelt at his feet, still holding onto his hand.
“We planned an insurrection. Jasper Tudor offered an armistice, some of our followers accepted. We are done for Kate. Lovell and I escaped, lucky to have our lives. I know not what happened to Lovell afterwards, we went our separate ways.”
Thank God she had not allowed them to take Richard. She had made the decision emotionally, relied on her feelings and that strange intuition that she had been either blessed or cursed with. “I have to get to Burgundy, Kate, have to go to my aunt, to plan another campaign, I need money for passage. How is my cousin?”
“Well, he rides with the lord. They are close.”
“Not too close?”
“No, Richard is sly, he plays Mellor’s son well. It is just that he enjoys masculine pursuits.”
“You were so right Kate, insisting that the lad stays here.”
She saw that he agreed with the wisdom of what she had done. “Will we come to Burgundy with you, John?”
“There is too much risk. Edgar tells me that Caradoc allows you to stay.”
“Yes but….” Kate began to tell of the threat to them, that Margaret Beaufort might come, that the lord might yet cast them aside. Whatever direction they took was fraught with danger. Should they leave now with him, John reasoned, who was to say that the lord might not come in pursuit of them? They might all be captured. Then who could help them.
“It is better that I make my escape. I can take word to Richard’s aunt and see what she can do. It is almost certain that she would provide an army, especially if she knows that her brother’s son lives.”
“Perhaps you are right. I will give you money for your tray of goods and some more. Edgar fetch the ledger. I shall do some book-keeping. Then you must spend the night at the Abbey. I will take you there. The Abbot is one of us.”
“Thank God, for just now I feel I am in a nest of rats.”
Her conscience was not entirely swept free from guilt as she made the false entries in the ledger. It was a from of stealing no matter how justified the case. No matter that the lord was her enemy. Edgar offered to make the false entries, but she could not allow him to take the risk. The responsibility was to he hers alone. The King had entrusted the safety of his nephews to her. All decisions had to be hers.
One horse was taken from the stables. John waited for her behind a gnarled and crooked hawthorn tree, away from the castle gates. He mounted behind her and they rode to the Abbey.
The sly novice was on the gate, his eyes ever watchful, making Kate feel uncomfortable.
“I must ask you to give Jon sanctuary for the night,” she said, when they were welcomed by the Abbot. The Abbot held up a hand to stop any more words. “Many peddlers rest the night away within our walls. We ask no questions, require no answers. Welcome master Peddler.”
No more was said. Kate wished John a fond farewell and good fortune and, with a tremendous effort of will, prevented herself from crying. The tears came only as she made her return journey. She paused merely to dry her eyes and then rode on.
Caradoc and Richard had not yet returned. Kate went up to her own chambers and was hard at work on her tapestry before Richard came bouncing into the room.
She and Edgar had decided to say nothing to Richard about the failure of the insurrection. Better he did not realize that matters had deteriorated, better by far that no worry blighted his days, for those days had been happy and free an he had had so little happiness in his young life.
That night when she saw Caradoc in the hall, she could not look at him. There had been many times before when she could not meet his eyes, but that had been for another reason. Now awareness that she had stolen money from him made her feel ill at ease. That she knew her cause was justified was no consolation, for Kate had always prided herself on being honest, never telling lies, certainly never ta
king anything that had belonged to another. Now as well as a liar she was a thief. That really put her on a level with Caradoc, but even this did not stem the tide of guilt. It made it doubly worse that, where finances were concerned, he trusted her implicitly. It was not easy for her accept that she had broken that trust.
Chapter Five
Efan Caradoc looked fondly on the boy, watchful as, with a steady hand, he removed the hood from the falcon’s head. His hand remained perfectly still as it supported the bird, only the slight twist of his lips showing his tension. He gave the whispered command to the bird. It took flight, moving smoothly against a patch of bright blue sky, circling fields of new grass, then diving over the hilly dunes.
“Good lad,” Caradoc enthused, “that was perfect.”
“It was?” Richard glowed.
“I would not lie to you, boy. You have the gift of handling, not everyone can achieve that, you know. Not everyone can take to most things. You have a gift boy. Everything that you attempt you succeed at.”
“Learning things, Latin, writing, these I am not good at.”
“Oh,” Caradoc was dismissive. “Women’s work and old men’s too. Plenty of time to practice those when our bones start to ache, is it?”
“Kate would not agree. She believes it is the duty of all nobles to be educated,” Richard said, wishing to be loyal to Kate.
“But you are not a noble…anymore,” Efan could not resist pointing out and then regretted it as he saw the boy’s expression.
Richard’s cheeks flared instantly. “I shall always be a noble,” he said sternly.
Caradoc laughed. The boy’s spirit amused him. “I suppose you will,” he conceded mildly.
“It is something that no one can take away. My father and his father before him, way back in time, they were nobles.”
“The English nobility, I know, “ Caradoc said, not unpleasantly. “Descendants of a conqueror and his entourage. The English are a bastard race, whereas we have always been here.”
“There…,” Richard said smiling, “but not here.”
“There?”
“In Wales, not here.”
“Ah both foreigners, is it?”
“Yes, but some more foreign than others.”
“Which, the Normans or the Welsh?”
“As to that, you must decide yourself, my lord.”
Caradoc laughed, running his hands through the boy’s hair. His affection for Richard had been growing day by day. There was something about him that had wormed its way into his heart. He was proud and strong but with an engaging personality. Never forward or arrogant, it was a charm that came out of him quite naturally, the kind of charm that could never be acquired but which was an integral part of that personality.
“I must confess that I like it here,” Caradoc admitted, “but I do miss my mountains. Some days the mountains were shrouded in mist, on other days so clear in the bright sunlight that you felt as though you could put your hand out and touch them, every crag outlined. That is what I miss most of all.”
“Could they not find you land back home?”
“Who?”
“The Tudor.”
“Mine is not to question his will and you must not call him that Richard. You must call him King Henry.”
The boys lips thinned. Efan went on. “You know that he has married the daughter of a Yorkist monarch, all should now be well.”
“I hate her!” Richard said, and with such vehemence that Caradoc studied him with great care.
“You have met the lady?”
Richard grimaced. “Oh, aye I have met her.”
“Why do you hate her?”
“She is a flirt!”
Caradoc laughed. “Women are born to flirt,” he said lightly.
“Kate does not,” Richard said.
Caradoc turned away, staring up at the sky to where the hawk was making wide circles. “Does she not?”
“You know it is true. She is good and pure. She is the best woman I have ever met.”
There was so much fervor in the words, so much youthful passion and idealism. How he loved his stepmother, yet at the same time he did not cling to her skirts. He was his own man, making his own way, neither soft or weak, a masculine youth enjoying masculine pursuits. His love for her, that teasing jade, was then all the more intense. What would happen when he, Caradoc, sent her away to some convent? There would be trouble with the boy. The boy, Caradoc had decided, would stay by his side. The boy attracted him and warmed his heart. He should not have allowed feelings to enter into his dealings with him, but he had been unable to help himself.
When they arrived back, they saw Kate standing in the hall. The Packmen had been, there were rolls of rich fabrics, lawn and wool in a myriad of colors, reds and saffron, emerald green. She was looking at it all, her face pale, wringing her hands nervously. Edgar was fluttering round her. Then she saw them and her cheeks flooded red. She could not hold Caradoc’s gaze.
“What is it?” Richard cried, rushing to touch and finger the cloth. “How lovely,” he murmured, fingering the rich cloth. It had been so long since he had seen such a sight. Once he had taken such things for granted. Now he would never do that again. Deprivation had taught him a lesson.
“You look like a ragamuffin,” Caradoc said. “I would have you well dressed so the people can see that I do not reject you.”
“For me? Is all this for me?” Richard asked, wide-eyed.
“Of course not. For your stepmother and for me and my mother too.”
“Oh,” Kate exclaimed. “I cannot accept it. It is impossible for me to do so.”
“Kate exclaimed. “I cannot accept it, it is impossible for me to do so.”
The lord moved across the hall, coming to stand next to her. He bent his head. “You will do so. I seek no payment, if that is your concern. These after all are merely.…” He shrugged his massive shoulders. Kate could not meet his eyes, felt her guilt so powerfully that she was sure he would see it in her eyes. She had falsified the accounts, robbed him of money and yet he was offering her gifts. “Well, I am pleased with your endeavors on behalf of my Mother. It is my responsibility to cloth those who labor, and you Madam, whatever else you do or do not do, you do labor and I am well pleased with those labors.”
Kate could find no words. She nodded her head. All the while a small voice deep inside her spelled out the word. “Thief, Thief. Thief.”
Caradoc went on to say that tailors and seamstresses would come from York. There would be gowns for her and doublet and hose and cloaks for Richard. Some gowns for his mother, something for Edgar and the servants too would benefit. All should illuminate his position as Lord of Mellordale.
“Kate, you shall be splendid,” Richard came bouncing up to them. “Away with these grays and browns Kate, you shall have saffron and green and scarlet. There is no Lady Anne here wishing you to look plain.”
Kate’s cheeks colored and she heard Caradoc chuckle, but there was little joy in it. “So that is the reason, not modesty, but enforcement. Poor Lady Anne, she did not know that she had failed.”
Kate swallowed a tart reply. Let him think what he would. She could live with his wrong conclusion. Besides it was better that he thought her reasons for having a King’s cloak and ring, were to do with a love affair, rather than he should ever find out the truth; that she had been given these things because he had placed her in charge of the most precious child in the whole of England.
Tailors came from York; lively people who regaled the household with the doings of the rich and mighty, full of the kind of gossip that lightened the early Spring evenings. The King had married Elizabeth and already she was with child. A new beginning was in store, peace and prosperity had arrived at last. The bitter feud was at an end. Elizabeth Woodville graced the court. At this news Richard frowned, chewing his lower lip. His mother in the camp of the enemy, enjoying the success of her daughter, obviously quickly over the disappearance of him and his brother. She was now qui
te able to sup at the table of a man who had overthrown their uncle.
“So long as she sits near the seat of power she is happy. No matter where that power emanates,” he said bitterly to Kate.
“She is making the best of a terrible situation. She knows nothing Richard, you cannot condemn her.”
“She meddles always. You know this. How can you defend her? Your heart cannot be in it.”
“She is your mother Richard.”
“My brother and I were merely pawns in her game of power.”
“Richard!”
“My father had his harlots, his strong wine. My mother held the power.”
“She was not alone. Maybe she, too, was manipulated by her brother. Life is very difficult for a woman, Richard.”
“I am not saying that I hate her Kate, for after all, as you say, she is my mother, but I am saying that I know her, which is a different matter.”
“Do not be bitter, Richard, for you are very young.”
“It is hard not to be.” But then in moments his face lightened again and he became the boy. The transition was a joy to Kate. “The lord said he will give me my own peregrine, Kate. He promises and…and also a horse of my own, that dappled mare.”
A dress was made first for Kate. Slashed sleeves showing soft lawn flowing sleeves with lace cuffs. The waist was tightly fitted with a stiffened belt of heavy gold brocade, a matching cap and small, fine veil. The bright saffron colored velvet emphasized the pale, faintly golden tone of her skin. She looked so different, Richard exclaimed, she was actually quite nice looking. Dame Caradoc expressed agreement. Caradoc said nothing when he saw her at table, barely glancing her.
His lack of comment wounded her. She knew it should not have done so, but the grim depression that swelled in her stomach was disturbing. Kate had never sought attention or flattery from anyone, even from the late King. She had thrilled when he spoke to her, and blushed at his smile but had never purposely attempted to excite him. That would have been wrong. He was wed to another and what was more, he deeply loved that other.
Now she had to hold herself back, had to force herself not to tease some kind of response from Caradoc, a man who was a libertine, who had almost seduced her, used her, ruined her. She had to be unobtainable, if she fell into sin she would be done for. She would be branded a whore and would be banished from all society. She had never sought to be a temptress. The very idea had always been repugnant to her. Now she was having to control an urge that she knew was indecent.
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