A Rose for the Crown (4 page)

“They be here, they be here!” cried Geoffrey, jigging up and down on the doorstep. “Look, Johnny, they be coming.” He grabbed his brother excitedly.

Johnny called back to his parents, “Mam, Father, they be here!”

“I would never have guessed,” quipped Martha, winking at Kate and jumping as Fenris let loose with a fanfare of barking.

John came down from the bedchamber and strode to the front door. Kate gaped at her father in his dark green tunic trimmed at the hem with rabbit fur. The hood in a lighter shade of green that was draped over his shoulders had been pushed back from his head to show his neatly combed but thinning hair. She thought how handsome he looked. Martha wiped her hands on a cloth, moved the pipkin of vegetables to a cooler spot in the embers and joined him at the door. Her hand characteristically straightened her cap and pushed a stray strand of hair under the coarse linen. Kate ran to the window to watch the arrival.

“How now, boys, and how do they look?” John asked his sons, taking the younger by the hand and walking towards the small group on horseback making its way up the path.

“Grand,” said Johnny, staring at the rich cloak and tall hat of the leading rider.

“Greetings, John, I trust you are expecting us,” Richard Haute called.

“Expecting you?” John replied, taking Elinor’s bridle and helping her down. “Martha has prepared a banquet for an army!”

The Hautes, their maidservant and Richard’s groom dismounted and made their way into the kitchen. The Bywood family ushered them in as if they were royalty.

“Welcome, my dear Richard.” Martha beamed at her childhood playmate, who took her hand and then bent to give her a smacking kiss on her lips. “How glad I am to meet you, Dame Elinor,” she said, turning to the petite woman by Richard’s side.

Elinor’s sweeping gaze took in Martha’s plain dress, reddened hands, and white-capped head. “Delighted, to be sure,” she replied, pushing past Martha and surveying the scene with contempt. Martha fluttered behind her, dismayed by the haughtiness and unfriendly greeting.

“Why, I pictured you much younger, my dear,” was all Elinor said before turning her black, birdlike eyes on the three children standing awestruck at the end of the table.

“Pretty child.” She acknowledged Kate but ignored the boys completely. “She’s bound to be trouble when she is older, I warrant. Sweet heaven, is this where we are going to dine—in the
kitchen?”
she asked nobody in particular, eyeing with disdain the trenchers, crude horn cups and Martha’s pride and joy, a pewter saltcellar.

Kate’s dander was up. Though she was too young to understand the slight Elinor Haute had given her mother, she certainly did not like the way the woman looked as though there was a bad smell under her nose. What was wrong with eating in the kitchen? She knew nothing else and was proud of the stout, immaculately scrubbed table now covered by a spotless linen cloth, the earthenware pots that hung from a beam, the cheery fireplace and fresh rushes on the floor. Martha’s dried herbs were hanging in neat rows from another beam, and John’s pike stood in a corner,
a reminder of his service to the king. The bluebells she had arranged in pots gave splashes of color to the table, mantel and chest. And she knew her mother’s food was the best in the world.

“Where do
you
eat?” she asked Elinor, drawing a frown of warning from her mother and a “Hush, Kate” from her father. The woman was surprised but not offended by the girl’s question.

“Why, child, we have a banqueting hall at Ightham,” she purred with satisfaction. She turned to Martha. “Do you always allow your child to speak before being spoken to, goodwife?”

Martha bit her lip and neatly averted any more questions from her outspoken daughter by ignoring Elinor and inviting the group to sit down. John poured the wine he had been saving for a special occasion, and the three children took their plates and sat on a bench in a corner of the room with the trenchers in their laps.

Kate whispered to her brothers, “What a horrible woman. I wonder why Cousin Richard ever married her.”

Johnny and Geoff were much too intent on tackling the feast in front of them to bother responding. Kate could not help watching the adults surreptitiously. She noticed Master Haute appeared quite at home in his cousin’s kitchen, spearing slices of rabbit pie with his knife and smacking his lips at every bite.

“What can you tell us of the king and his court, Richard?” her father was saying. “We hear so little of politics here in Snoll’s Hatch.”

Richard Haute hesitated. He had hoped serious conversation could be avoided in the congenial atmosphere in which he now found himself. But he respected his cousin’s down-to-earth husband and knew him for a good man, albeit misguided in his loyalty to King Henry and his queen, Margaret of Anjou. Haute was secretly loyal to the duke of York, the head of the royal house that was rival to the king’s house, Lancaster. He was a renegade in his Lancastrian family. He had been at court during the duke of York’s protectorate and had been impressed by that lord’s governance. Looking now at John’s innocent expression, Richard Haute weighed his words carefully.

“The king, they say, has fits of madness,” he began. “His grandfather, Charles of France, was a madman, that is well known. It is unlikely this sixth Henry will ever rule us in the manner of his noble father. The
queen, on the other hand, has far too much cleverness to mean the country good. I warrant she fears the overthrow not only of her husband but also of her son, and she is therefore showing the claws of a protective lioness. You’d not lay blame upon the lady, in truth, but I fear her strength of purpose will mean more conflict.”

“But if she be so clever, Richard, why do you not think she would make a goodly regent and guard the throne for her husband and son?” John asked, still innocently. Disloyalty to an anointed king was not only treasonable but also a sin in the eyes of the church. In some quarters, Henry’s madness was equated with saintliness; it was believed that God touched those deemed simple-minded. To those God-fearing people, Henry was therefore doubly untouchable.

Richard took another mouthful of chicken and was trying to think of something diplomatic to say about the witch of Anjou when Martha inadvertently knocked over a cup of ale. A stream of the amber liquid slid across the table and sent a waterfall straight into Elinor’s lap. Everyone jumped up, dabbing at the spill with napkins and kerchiefs, while Martha ran around the table to help Elinor, who was on her feet, holding up the offending stain for all to see.

“You stupid woman! I fear my gown is ruined,” Elinor snapped, ignoring Martha’s ministrations.

Martha’s patience was at an end. “’Twas an accident, madam, as you well know, and you have no right to call me stupid!” she retorted.

Kate stared at her mother with new admiration. She had been the recipient of Martha’s sharp admonishments many times, but her mother had never raised her voice to John or any other adult before. Even the boys paused in their eating to turn around, and Kate saw her father smirk before lifting his napkin to his lips to cover his amusement.

“How dare you speak to me that way,” Elinor hissed. “Richard, tell her!” She glared at him, waiting for Martha to be taken to task. Kate held her breath.

“Enough, Elinor!” Richard barked, making Martha jump. “As Martha said, ’twas but an accident. Stand by the fire a piece, and your gown will dry soon enough.”

Elinor’s mouth dropped open, but then she closed it and acquiesced sulkily.

He thought it wise to change the subject. “Fine-looking boys, John. And from the looks of Martha, you’re expecting another.”

Martha shot Richard a grateful look, and he winked at her.

“Yes, we be fortunate to have three healthy young ’uns, and, God willing, the fourth will be as healthy,” John replied.

Richard beckoned to Kate, who was trying her best to remain unnoticed. “Come here, sweeting,” he called. She rose and went to his side. He put his arm around her waist, pulling her to him.

“What is your name, child?”

“Kate . . . Katherine,” she replied. His breath smelled of ale, like her father’s, but she could also detect a sweet perfume on his clothes. She raised her brown eyes shyly to his twinkling blue ones and asked what the smell was. Richard was amused.

“Why, it is perfume from across the sea—from Arabia,” he said, turning to his groom, who, at Martha’s insistence was sitting on a stool by the fire rather than alone in the stable. “Ralph, go fetch me the bottle from my bag. I will sprinkle a little on you, my fair Kate. Mother of God, I fear you will break many hearts when you are grown. John, you had best lock this one up!”

Kate was enjoying the attention. Mary, Elinor’s maid, smiled at her from the end of the table, and her father winked at her. Having witnessed Martha’s recent triumph, she was emboldened to say, “If my father locks me up, sir, how will I get me a husband? And as I am going to be a great lady, I will need a grand husband.”

Richard roared; her father frowned; her mother sighed.

“You will not get a husband with a speech like that, my girl,” said her exasperated father, waving a half-eaten chicken leg at her.

“Leave her be, John. I like her spirit. It reminds me of her mother,” Richard said mischievously. “You are quite right, sweetheart. Locking you up would deprive some poor devil of the pleasure of your company. I could wish my own Anne had more of your courage. She is a dear girl and the apple of my eye, but she is a mouse, in truth.”

Elinor swung round to face him, her brows snapping together, her thin lips pinching in parallel.

“Anne is an obedient and dutiful daughter, Richard. And I have worked hard to make her so for your sake. Now you complain of
her quietness. Am I to be again chastised about the rearing of our child?”

“Hush, Elinor. Not here, my dear,” Richard insisted and turned to John. “She is tired from our long journey today. We left at first light and stopped only once to break our fast.”

Elinor brushed down her skirts and sat down at the table. She glared at her husband but knew she should push him no further.

“You had business in Dover, Richard?” asked John, trying to smooth the waters. He caught Kate’s eye and jerked his head in the direction of the boys. She extricated herself from Richard’s hold and skipped back to her place, pulling a face at her brothers. They both stuck their tongue out at her.

“Aye, John, a shipment of tapestry I was expecting—for the great hall. Elinor traveled with me to be sure it is as she desires.”

Richard’s reply was delivered with a nonchalance that concealed his rapid pulse and heightened anxiety. He had, in fact, been meeting secretly with a messenger from the earl of Warwick, who was Captain of Calais and aligned with the Yorkists. There were messages flying back and forth between this powerful warlord and Yorkist supporters in England, and Richard knew it would not be long before the duke of York asserted his influence on the country once again.

John accepted his explanation without question, and the conversation turned to more mundane topics. Ralph came back with the bottle of perfume, and Richard was able to deliver on his promise to Kate by sprinkling the pungent potion on her bodice and sleeves. The boys wrinkled their noses in disgust, but Kate breathed in deeply and savored the exotic smell that made her feel so grown up. She had never been singled out before and certainly not by one of Richard’s rank. She smiled happily at him.

The visitors did not stay long but took their leave to catch the last of the daylight and reach the inn a little more than a mile from the farm.

“I thank you for a fine supper, dear Martha,” Richard said, embracing her. “It is right good to see you again. And someday maybe young Kate can come to Ightham and get acquainted with her cousin.” He turned to Kate, who was holding her scented sleeve to her nostrils and savoring the spicy smell. “Would you like that, sweetheart?”

“Aye, sir. I thank you kindly.”

“We shall arrange it, we shall arrange it, never fear,” he said, cupping her chin in his hand and giving her a kiss on the forehead. “Come, Elinor, ’tis time for us to leave.”

Elinor gave a polite nod of thanks to her hosts, took her husband’s arm and swept out of the house, followed by the two servants, the exuberant boys and the gamboling hound. The room seemed suddenly dull, robbed of the wealthy visitors’ bright colors and Richard’s cheery voice. John put his arm around his wife and complimented her on the success of the meal.

“And what of her ladyship?” Martha looked at him enquiringly. “She be comely enough, but her nature be sour, in truth. I be sorry if I spoke out of turn, husband, but she did provoke me as a stick stirring a wasp’s nest.”

“I think she be hateful,” pronounced Kate. The adults exchanged a look that expressed their agreement. “I pray I never set eyes on her again. Except . . .”

“Except what, Kate?” asked her mother.

“Except I do truly want to see the great hall at Ightham!” she cried.