A Rose for the Crown (18 page)

Kate noticed the healthy glow on the young woman’s cheeks and anticipated this birth would be very different from the last one that had taken place under this roof. In fact, John had added another chamber to the farmhouse with a doorway under the staircase, leaving the second floor to the children. It was in the new room that Joanna would give birth, she was told—a relief for Kate, whose memories of Martha’s lying-in and death would forever be associated with the loft.

Joanna was a picture of contentment, and she hugged Kate as best she could. “Aye, I be truly happy, Kate. And knowing you will be here to help with the birthing is good comfort,” she said, once again admiring John’s lovely daughter. “But first we must celebrate your birth date in style. It’ll be time for you to be married yourself ere long!” She went off into peals of laughter, at which Kate blushed, dismissing the idea as absurd.

John smiled to himself.

T
HE
DAY
OF
K
ATE’S BIRTHDAY
dawned gray and lowering. July 15th was St. Swithin’s Day, and the saying went, “If it be raining on St. Swithin’s Day, it will rain for forty days thereafter,” and the harvest might be ruined.

But though it threatened, it did not rain. Everyone took part in the haying except Joanna and Matty, who arrived at midmorning with bread, meat, cheese and barley water for the workers. Joanna had had one or two pains earlier in the day, but if she was worried about going into labor at any moment, she kept it to herself.

Later, she and Kate busied themselves with food for the evening feast in the farm kitchen, and Kate was glad she had learned a few things from helping in Ightham’s kitchens. The food was plain compared with the Mote’s, but Joanna knew how to make mouthwatering pies from the rabbits, quails and pheasants John and Johnny had shot or snared over the past few days. Joan would soon arrive to join her husband, bearing more food and her new baby, and when the table was ready, it was piled high with the best a small farm could prepare.

After the meal, John stepped forward and raised his cup. “I be right glad to see all of you on this joyous day. St. Swithin be praised we had no rain, and the Lord God be thanked for giving us of his bounty. I be blessed with a good wife and healthy children.” The shy man grinned at
his wife and was encouraged by a nod and a smile from her to go on. “Come, lift your cups and drink to my eldest, Kate, who today be thirteen years. I know her mam—God rest her soul—would be right proud of her, as I be.” He paused. “But I think now ’tis time our young lady had a husband. And so, it seems, does Master Haute.”

Everyone raised their cups in Kate’s direction and wished her well. Kate gracefully acknowledged their kindness, then turned her attention back to her father.

“What do you mean ’tis time I had a husband? And how do you know Cousin Richard’s wishes?” She tried not to sound too excited. Was Richard arranging for her to marry George?

On Richard’s instructions, Ralph had relayed a confidential message to John earlier in the evening. “’Tis private business, Kate, and you should not question me. Now attend to your guests.” John was firm, and Kate had to be satisfied. She looked around the room at these simple people who loved her for herself and not for her new finery or manners. Her father, his cheeks rosy from strong cider and pride in his hearth and family, had retreated behind Joanna, his hand resting on her shoulder. Joanna had Matty on her knees, and her arm encompassed Geoff. Innkeeper Ben sat on the other side of his daughter, enjoying an evening away from work. And Johnny was quietly whittling a stick, one eye on Kate and the other on his task. They were expecting her to say something, but she knew that if she tried, she would cry, so she smiled and nodded her thanks instead.

It was Ralph who broke the awkwardness. “Why! I forgot I have something for Mistress Kate.” Jumping up, he ran out of the door to his lodging in the stable.

Kate looked puzzled. “What could it be?”

“A gift?”

“I wonder what . . . ? ”

Ralph was back in a trice carrying a large velvet bag tied with a ribbon and held it out to Kate. The children moved closer as Kate tugged at the knot. She pulled out a hard object wrapped tightly in a length of wool cloth. As she removed it, they all heard the distinctive twang of a harp string. Squealing with joy, Kate drew off the cloth to reveal a polished, elegant harp of her very own. A vellum note was tied to the beautifully
carved head of an angel that formed the top of the instrument, and Kate read aloud to the awed company:

“It is Anne’s wish you should have this harp for your special day. For the many times you have brought pleasure to this house with your playing, dear Kate, we thank you. Think on us each time you play. Richard and Elinor Haute.”

Kate was flabbergasted. “I cannot believe . . . ’tis too generous . . . my own beautiful harp!” She turned the exquisite piece this way and that, examining its intricate carving and lovingly fingering the strings. The company insisted she sing to them. She tuned the strings for a few minutes, deliberating on an appropriate song. She caught sight of Joanna, so great with child, and chose a sprightly air, an old French song about a young girl’s fancy for a monk.

“Ah, si mon moine voulait danser

Un capuchon je lui donnerai—”

Joanna shot her a smile, and the others tapped their feet and listened, fascinated by the intertwining of the harp’s tinkling sounds and Kate’s high, sweet voice. Only Kate understood the French, but the group enjoyed the rhythm and spirit of the song. When it was over, they cheered and lifted their cups to her all over again. But it was getting dark, and the field hands needed to return home to rest for the next day’s labor.

Kate embraced her cousin. “Farewell, dear Joan. May God bless you and yours.” She feared it might be a long time before their paths would cross again.

W
HEN
J
OANNA
ROSE
from her seat on the bench to bid her guests farewell that evening, she felt her water break. As soon as Kate returned from the farmyard, Joanna whispered to her to put the children to bed. Then she went into her chamber to ready herself for the task ahead.

Kate was impressed by Joanna’s calm, which transferred itself to her, and she took charge of the house without delay. She told her father to
clean up the kitchen, which would keep him busy and his mind off the possibility of losing another wife or child in childbirth.

John was fortunate to have four healthy, living children. Many of his fellow farmers and neighbors had lost sons and daughters to plague, smallpox, sweating sickness, and lesser ailments that quickly developed into life-threatening conditions. However, Joanna came from healthy stock and had the girth for bearing children. By midday, Thomas By-wood was born with a minimum of fuss and much joy for both the parents and Kate. John now had a third son, a boon to a farmer.

Joanna glowed with pride as she showed her husband the lusty baby who was squirming in her arms. Kate discreetly tiptoed from the room, carrying the soiled cloths with her. Two days later, Joanna was up and about but grateful to have Kate there to see to Matty and feed the hungry men and boys when they returned from the haying.

At the end of the week, when the last haystack was piled, Ralph decided it was time for them to return to the Mote. This time Kate was impatient to be back. Her father had not yielded to her pleas to divulge the contents of Richard’s letter, but she was firmly convinced she and George Haute were the subject.

T
HE
SOUND
OF
K
ATE’S SOBBING
carried up from the stables and through the great hall, and the news of her fate spread like an autumn wildfire. Only a few romantic souls felt sorry for her; most of the household thought the poor cousin should thank her lucky stars for her good fortune.

Kate was to be married. It had been arranged during her absence at Bywood Farm. Elinor had made an initial promise unbeknownst to Richard several months earlier. However, he had had no objections and was one of those who felt Kate should be grateful for Elinor’s negotiations.

Kate had returned to Ightham in high good spirits to be greeted by Anne, who was waiting by the stables to break the bad news.

“But I do not even know him,” Kate wailed, when Anne told her of her intended bridegroom. “Thomas Draper? Who is he? I want to marry George! He is my one true love!”

She flung her bonnet on the ground and jumped on it. As Kate’s tantrum began to build, Richard arrived in the stable doorway. He watched for a moment and then he threw back his head and laughed.

“Ha! My fair little friend. So, you want to be an old maid, is that it?”

Kate stopped jumping and faced him squarely. Anne recoiled several steps, retreating from the impending fracas. Kate picked up her bonnet and resolutely walked up to Richard, her chin jutting forward and her mouth in a stubborn line.

“Cousin Richard, how could you agree to give me away to someone I do not even know? And I thought you loved me! I see you just want me to be unhappy! Oh, I am lost. I am miserable.” Her chin began to tremble, and great tears magnified her eyes, reminding Richard of some pieces of amber he had seen in a necklace.

He pulled the girl to him in a fatherly embrace.

“Why, Kate, I love you as I do Anne, I swear. Elinor and I want naught but the best for you, my child. Thomas Draper is a right wealthy merchant and is willing to take you without dowry. Certes, ’tis most unusual. I will send you with a dower chest, fear not, but you must understand that even though you are living here as our daughter, you are still Kate Bywood of Bywood Farm.” Richard was swaying Kate to and fro like a baby as he spoke, and the motion calmed her. Tears streamed down her face and dripped unceremoniously onto her gown, which was badly mud-spattered from the ride. “And you
do
know the gentleman. You danced with him on Twelfth Night the year your sweet mother passed away. What is more, he has since helped you choose fabric for your new gowns. Now do you recall? He is the silk merchant of Tunbridge, Kate, and he is besotted with you. He wants no more of me than your hand, and as your mother and father placed you in my care, I am bound to say it is a rare chance for you to raise yourself up from your beginnings, little cousin.”

She stiffened, her expression incredulous. “Him! But Richard, he is old! He is older than my father! He is like a grandfather! I cannot marry him, ’twould not be seemly. How can I be wife to an old man? I want to marry a young man.” She began to wail again. “I want to marry George! Oh, misery! What will become of me?”

“George? Do you mean George Haute? How ridiculous!” Richard
laughed, stroking her hair, and Anne crept forward and awkwardly patted Kate’s shoulder. Her father pulled her in and cradled them both to him.

“Sssh, sweeting, sssh! You will come to see how fortunate you are anon. I see that it shocks you now, but think, Kate, you will be rich. Master Draper is the finest silk merchant in all of west Kent. He has a shop and town house on the Bordyke. You will be the toast of Tunbridge!” He tried to make the proposition more attractive, but Kate had had enough. The ride had tired her and the news devastated her. She broke from Richard’s grasp, ran full tilt over the moat bridge and into the courtyard. She almost knocked Elinor over, who was coming to investigate the commotion.

“What is this, Kate?” Elinor sneered at the girl, grasping her wrists roughly and shaking her. Then she saw the tear-stained face and knew Kate had heard the news. “You ungrateful wench. Never forget you are naught but a peasant. Methinks Master Draper may not desire you so much if he sees you in one of your fits of ill temper. But,” she said quickly, not wanting Kate to get any ideas in that direction, “I do not doubt his head is so turned he will take you tantrums and all. If I did not know you better, I would swear you had bewitched him, he is so bound to have you for wife ere the New Year is rung in!”

Kate struggled to get away, but Elinor held on fast.

“Leave her be!” roared Richard, passing through the gateway. “Kate, if you must weep, go to your chamber. But then ’tis finished. I will brook no more rebellion. You must do your duty to Elinor and me. We only desire your happiness, is that not so, Elinor?”

“Certes!” replied Elinor, giving Kate’s wrists one more vicious twist before she let go. Kate ran into the house and up to her chamber. There she set up her weeping.

It was a subdued Kate who sat down to supper with the family later in the day. She had changed her muddy gown, washed away her tears and groomed her hair until its thick braids shone in the torchlight. It was as though she had shed her childhood in those simple rituals of cleansing. A new weight lay on her shoulders, and her usual bounciness was replaced with a heaviness of heart that moved Richard profoundly. But the
negotiations with the wealthy merchant were too far gone, and he knew from bitter experience that love matches were the stuff of fairy tales.

Lying in bed next to Anne, Kate spent a restless night contemplating her fate. She thought first of her betrothed and shuddered. She remembered the last time he had come to the Mote with his newest bolts of cloth. His large beak of a nose was running, and he kept wiping it on his sleeve. His spindly legs were not set to good advantage in the short robe he had chosen to wear, and his hands were long and thin—like chicken feet, she had whispered to Anne. The very idea of him kissing and fondling her, as she knew a husband had the right to do, was abhorrent to her. Tears welled again. She tried praying but decided God had no time for little girls who failed in their duty. She thought about running away to the farm, but knew she would not get very far on foot. Besides, she did not want to anger Elinor, for she knew Geoff would bear the brunt. Then she came up with a germ of an idea that finally blossomed into a plan, and then she fell into an exhausted sleep.