A Rose for the Crown Read online

  “Cousin! Cousin Richard!” Kate waved wildly. Her new champion, hearing her call out, cut short his enquiries and urged his horse over to Richard. Richard was embarrassed that he had lost his charge, but Howard disarmed him with his bluff manner and warm handshake. Between them they lifted Kate from one saddle onto the other. Kate cheered up and grinned at her benefactor.

  “I thank you kindly, Master Howard. I am in your debt, sir.” Then she made bold to ask, “Are you in London for the coronation, as we are?”

  “Aye, Mistress Bywood.” He bowed formally over her hand.

  At that, one of the others in his party informed her, “Jack Howard is as close to the king as a flea on a dog, young mistress. He is on the rise at court!”

  “Pshaw, Thomas,” retorted Howard. “Pray do not fill the lass’s head with such nonsense.” He lifted his arm as if to cuff his friend, who pretended to duck and laughed along with the group. He bowed to Richard. “Good day to you, sir. Mistress Kate—perhaps we shall meet again.” He wheeled his horse around for effect and, followed by his companions, rode off in the direction of Ludgate and Westminster, the tail of his liripipe flying out behind him.

  Kate’s arrival at Walter and Alice Cheney’s house generated first relief and then a tirade from Elinor. “You stupid girl, don’t you know you could have been murdered by these Londoners or at least violated,” she railed at Kate, who by now was quite elated by her adventure and had to resist a smirk.

  Anne had thought she might never see her friend again and ran to embrace Kate. “My dearest Kate, where did you go? I looked around and was afraid when I did not see you. No matter, I am so happy you are here!”

  Kate smiled and hugged Anne back. Richard admonished Kate sternly for not keeping up with them, although he was obviously happy that all had ended well. Ralph had even found Kate’s horse taking a drink near the conduit on Gracechurch Street, so other than a few bruises and a dirty dress, there was no harm done.

  “She did keep company with some well-chosen knights, my dear, so you should not fret,” Richard told Elinor, who was rather wishing Kate had been swallowed up indefinitely into the less desirable quarter of the city. “I have heard tell Jack Howard will receive honors at court once Edward is crowned.”

  “And you, Richard, do you expect to have the king’s favor?” Elinor moved on to a more pertinent subject, taking her husband’s arm and leading him to their chamber. She knew Richard had pleased Edward by his prompt response to the call to arms following the battle at Wakefield and was certain her husband would soon be rewarded.

  Elinor, Richard, Kate and Anne were to be among the guests at the palace of Westminster on the eve of the coronation, which was to take place on the last Sunday in June. Elinor was quite convinced that Richard would indeed be granted some honor, and Richard, whose ambitions were just as strong, hoped she was right. In the meantime, while Richard rode to and from Westminster to see and be seen, Elinor and the girls spent their days learning their way around the city with a groom in attendance.

  The Cheneys’ large town house was typical of merchants’ houses, with the shop and storerooms at the ground level and the family living above. Kate and Anne were sharing a chamber with Richard and Elinor, and their window looked out onto busy Cheapside. Alice was able to point out several landmarks to her young guests and explained that their street was one of the few paved streets in the city.

  “Anyone entering London at Newgate”—Alice pointed west—“and crosses to the east must pass by us. If you stand on tiptoe, you can just see the fork at the Poultry bird market. Go straight along Cornhill and you will come to the Aldgate. Or turn up to Bishopsgate to the northeast. A stone’s throw from our house is Mercers Hall, where Walter’s guild meets.” She pointed out several church steeples, including St. Mary-le-Bow, and warned the girls that they would find the bells of London noisy, but, “You will get used to them.”

  The houses were crowded together, rising up two and three stories. Each story jutted out farther over the street, and Kate told Anne she thought that someone in the attic of their house could almost reach the outstretched arm of a neighbor in his attic.

  The girls watched fascinated as waste from each household was dumped unceremoniously out of the window—sometimes onto a careless pedestrian in the street. London had some sanitation rules, Alice told them.

  “Piss buckets at the street corners are collected by cloth fullers to set dye,” she said, and the girls turned up their noses at the thought. “Don’t be foolish, girls, ’tis quite natural. And for those who do not have their own garden privy—like us,” she said proudly, “there are communal cesspits.”

  “Who cleans them?” Kate asked pertly, and Anne giggled.

  “Carters are well paid to take the dung outside the city walls,” Alice retorted.

  “Why are there so many rats, Mistress Cheney? Look, I can see two down there. And people leave their rubbish on the street.”

  “We have a moat at Ightham for that,” Anne said. “Why cannot the carters put it in the river?”

  “Enough of your questions! I have work to do.” Alice left the girls gazing out of the window.

  Walter Cheney was a successful mercer, dealing in silks, velvets and damasks and selling to the gentry and even one or two noblemen. His fabrics were displayed in the large room on the ground floor that served as his shop, its shutters opening onto the street allowing customers to view his wares. He knew Richard’s connections at the new king’s court could mean valuable business and so had judiciously offered to have new gowns made for his wife’s kin. Elinor, Kate and Anne spent a morning in the workshop, fingering silks and satins and trying to choose from a gorgeous assortment of fabrics. After the attention Kate had received at Twelfth Night, Elinor was determined Anne would be the one to shine at the court festivities. She was excited by the prospect of finding Anne a husband of rank, and not knowing what other chances she might have of presenting her daughter in such elegant company, she wanted Anne to look her best. She pushed Kate into a chair.

  “Keep out of the way, Kate. Why Walter must waste good money on you, I cannot fathom.”

  Kate knew her place and sat quietly by as mother and daughter perused the bolts of materials for the perfect shade and pattern. Walter had assigned his most experienced apprentice to help the ladies, and his taste was impeccable. He strongly suggested a delicate blue damask that did not overpower Anne’s mousy coloring, and indeed the fabric brought out the creaminess of her skin and made her eyes more luminous. Elinor was pleased, and Kate nodded vigorously when Anne turned to question her. Then it was Kate’s turn. The apprentice turned his attention to the more interesting of the two girls, but before he had a chance to suggest anything, Elinor stepped in briskly.

  “Mistress Bywood is naught but a companion to my daughter. I would not wish my cousin to lavish anything of quality on her. I daresay you can find something less fine. I shall leave it to you to choose. Mark what I say, my good man, the cheapest of all your stock for her. She is lucky enough to have a new gown.” She waved him away without even a word of thanks. “Girls, be off with you. ’Tis my turn to choose with Walter.”

  The girls needed no more encouragement to leave, though Kate looked longingly at a bolt of golden yellow satin across from her seat near the door. She rose, dropped a curtsy to Elinor and disappeared with Anne. Her look had not gone unnoticed. While Elinor and Walter were busy poring over velvets and satins strewn across the table, the apprentice quickly removed the yellow satin and put it with Anne’s blue damask. His instructions were to accommodate the visitors’ wishes, and after all, he was just following his master’s orders, was he not?

  THROUGH HIS ACQUAINTANCE with a fellow mercer, Walter rented the second chamber of a house on London Bridge to view the king’s entry into London. The lord mayor would lead the way along the south bank of the river from Lambeth Palace through the streets of Southwark, over the bridge and into the city to the royal apartments in the Tower. Looking down fr
om her vantage point high above the street, Kate gave an involuntary shudder as she remembered the unpleasant encounter she had had barely a week earlier. Today the crowd seemed less threatening, though hundreds more thronged the bridge. The mercer’s family and household made room for the guests at each window, gossiping and pointing at the crowd below. Kate watched a couple of barefoot boys in threadbare clothing tussling in the dirt for a coin. A large man dressed in the plain short gown of a townsman easily separated the squirming lads by picking them up by their belts and holding them at arm’s length. When they stopped wriggling, he dropped them, picked up the coin and pocketed it, grinning all the while. It reminded Kate of the many times she had separated her brothers. Street vendors were doing a roaring trade with their tasty offerings and thirst-quenching drinks. Unsure how long they had to wait and unwilling to lose their place along the procession path, people opened their purses and paid the inflated prices to whet their whistle and calm their growling stomach.

  Soon Kate heard music over the crowd. The king was coming! The strident voices of shawms and sackbuts almost overpowered the heralding trumpets, and she could make out pipes, tambourines and the steady beat of the accompanying tabors. And then the procession was beneath them, and the crowd’s cheering swelled to a crescendo. The musicians set the pace. They were dressed in greens and yellows, with jaunty caps on their heads and their instruments streaming ribbons. The people of London liked music with their occasions and acknowledged the sweating pipers and drummers with loud applause. Next the mayor and his aldermen, all clothed in scarlet, passed by on horseback, waving and smiling at their fellow citizens.

  “There he is!” Leaning far out of the window, Anne squealed with excitement. Kate joined her, and for once Elinor turned a blind eye to their childish behavior and was herself twittering with anticipation.

  As the heralds passed under them, spectators flung flowers from windows in the path of the solitary horseman who was slowly making his way along the street already strewn with sweet-smelling petals. Edward’s gold-red hair shone like firelight in the sun as he waved right and left and grinned at his rejoicing subjects. His handsome features and impressive, athletic frame were set off to perfection by his white horse caparisoned with the lions of England and his new sunburst insignia, or Sunne in Splendour. He looked every inch a king—a welcome change for the citizens of London after weak-minded, drab Henry. Edward’s brothers followed him, one an elegant, aloof youth with pale blue eyes and corn-colored hair, and the other, a small, shy boy of about nine.

  Kate inadvertently squealed with delight. “I knew his hair was that color! The color of the sauce!”

  As if the boy had heard her over all the din, he looked up at the window and his eyes met hers. She laughed and threw him a flower. He smiled back and gave her a mock bow. Kate was ecstatic and elbowed Anne out of the way. “Saw you his salute, Anne? He looked directly at me, I am certain of it!”

  “Of all things, Kate! Leave me some space, too!” Anne was clearly annoyed, surprising Kate with her tone. “Who are you talking about?” She had been riveted by the magnificent Edward and had not spared a glance for either of his siblings.

  “Why, Edward’s brother, Richard. The dark-haired one, did you not notice?”

  Anne shook her head. Kate shrugged. She was reveling in the fact that her fantasies about the York family were upheld by Edward, George and Richard.

  By now, the procession of four hundred of London’s most prominent citizens, all clothed in green, was filing past the window. Alice spotted Walter and blew him a kiss. Richard shouted a greeting, and Walter doffed his hat to them all. Anne clapped her hands, her cheeks rosy with all the excitement, and whispered to Kate that she could not wait to see the inside of Westminster Palace. Kate nodded, her eyes shining, too, and thought of the astonishing turn her life had taken since she had first heard of the Haute family and Ightham Mote a little more than two years ago.

  THE CITIZENS OF LONDON were not about to miss a moment of pageantry on that hot June weekend. Crowds thronged around the gate of Westminster Palace to watch the nobles and gentry arrive for the feast on the eve of the coronation. The marshes around the palace were thick with thieves, and many a pickpocket went back to his damp hiding place among the rushes with a satisfied smile that day. Carriages trundled up, discharging their splendidly attired passengers onto the cobblestones in front of the massive stone entryway. Many of the guests were ferried to the jetty by busy boatmen, who were making a killing on the river. Silks, satins, and damasks of every hue dazzled the eyes of the poorer folk gaping along the sides of the road, and the hems of the women’s gowns trailed in the dust as they swept inside the vast palace built by a previous Edward, called the Confessor. At that point, the onlookers’ imaginations were forced to take over, but it was impossible for them to conceive of the sumptuous scene awaiting the guests inside.

  The Haute party arrived in good time, Richard on horseback and the three females of the party carried in a litter Richard had hired for the occasion. Kate and Anne clung to the sides of the swaying vehicle as the litter-bearers jogged along the streets, but once they became accustomed to the movement, they stared out from behind the gauze curtains at the sights—huge, gothic St. Paul’s Cathedral, the Ludgate, the Fleet prison. Elinor showed little interest in the view. Instead, she stared at Kate’s back with a sour expression hovering around her primly pursed lips. Kate’s golden gown fit her to perfection. The apprentice had chosen a rich green with which to trim the V-necked bodice and belt, setting off Kate’s complexion and amber eyes. Elinor had refused to let her host waste any more money on making Kate a special headdress and was now regretting that decision. Kate’s magnificent chestnut hair was cascading down her back, restrained only by a simple headband of yellow satin anchoring a short dark green veil.

  “I am so happy with my gown, Kate,” Anne whispered. “In truth, I hated the red one Mother made me wear at Yuletide. Blue is better for me, do you not agree?”

  Kate was enthusiastic, for she had rarely seen Anne so comely. “Certes! It truly becomes you, cousin.” She was rewarded by a shy smile of satisfaction.

  When Elinor questioned Walter as to the quality of Kate’s gown, Walter had innocently responded that it was one of the choicest fabrics in his shop and that eleven-year-old Kate had good taste for one so young. There was nothing Elinor could do but thank him, for fear of offending Walter, but later she had words with the apprentice, words he would not soon forget.

  The small Haute party joined the other arrivals and entered through the big oak doors at the east side of the palace.

  Anne noticed the carvings above the doorway. “What a beautiful stag, Father. Do you see it, Kate?”

  “’Tis the White Hart of King Richard the Second,” Richard told them as they crossed the threshold into the great hall. “’Twas his badge.”

  Kate stared around her, stupefied. Majestically rising more than three stories from the chequered-marble floor, the brightly colored hammer-beam roof seemed a world away from her. The walls were covered with enormous, brightly colored arras, depicting scenes from the Bible and mythological tales. Between each beam strut was a stained-glass window in a gothic arch, through which the sun created patterns of light on the floor. Hanging from the beams were flags bearing the coats of arms of many royal and noble houses. At the opposite end, up a wide staircase, was a canopied dais and throne emblazoned with the royal lions.

  Kate stood stock-still, her head thrown back, her eyes taking in every angel carving, every molding along the walls, every window and every hue and tint in the palette set before her until she thought she would swoon. She was brought down to earth by Elinor roughly taking her by the arm and leading her and Anne through a doorway in the south wall to an antechamber, where the Haute family had been directed to proceed. Only the most important people in the land would be presented to the king, Richard told the girls, and they were only slightly disappointed that they were not to be among that elite. Kate manag
ed to wriggle out of Elinor’s grasp and take Anne’s hand as they followed Richard into the paneled room.

  “Do you see that lovely gown, Kate?” Anne nodded in the direction of a woman in a green silk dress that was shimmering in the light of the thousand candles. “What makes it shine so, I wonder?”

  But Kate was not listening. She was drawn to something more compelling than clothes. Her ear had caught the strains of harp and lute, and she was pulled toward the sound. The musicians were playing unobtrusively in one corner of the room, and she wended her way through the other guests to where she could listen more intently. Several people gave her admiring glances, for though she was still a child, there was a maturity about her face and body that belied her age. Her unaccompanied walk through the crowd to the music shocked some and amused others. She attracted the attention of some boys her age, who nudged one another and smirked at her. She tossed her head and ignored them, knowing that she could knock any one of them down in a fight if that was needed. She was unaware that these lads were looking at her in a very different way from that of her brothers. The musicians soon took a well-deserved rest, and the harper, who had noticed the young girl staring—not at him but at his fingers as he played—was intrigued enough to talk to her. He offered the instrument for her to touch.

  “Do ye ken the way of the harp?” He spoke with a soft burr she did not recognize.

  She looked at him puzzled.

  “Do ye play, lass?”

  Then she understood. “Aye, I am learning, sir. And that is a beautiful harp! May I really hold it?”

  The Scot held it out to her, and she folded it into her arms as if it were a babe. He looked around and saw the leader of the group disappear through a screen, presumably headed for a cup of ale. “Ye can pluck it, if ye’ve a mind. Go on, lass, play us a tune,” he urged her, amused.