A Rose for the Crown Page 21

  “You know him? How?” George raised himself up on one elbow, trying to divert the conversation. Kate ignored him.

  “Answer my question, George! Have you kept our marriage a secret from your lord?”

  George slumped down on his back and stared moodily at the canopy. “If you want the truth, I will tell you. But only if you swear not to tell my mother and father of my . . . my . . .”

  “Fondness for men?” Kate finished for him.

  George shot her an angry look. “Aye. If that is the way you think of it.”

  “There are no other words for it. Have you not avoided me in bed since the day we wed? You seem to forget I am not an innocent. I have been married before. No matter that Thomas was old and dried up, he knew his duty in bed!”

  She made it sound as though she had welcomed Thomas’s advances. She was not about to tell George how much she had hated the old man’s attempts at lovemaking. She did not need his mockery at this moment. “I pray you, answer my question before my patience runs out.”

  George closed his eyes and sighed. “Very well. Sir John was displeased with me before he left for his voyage on the Mary Grace. He threatened to dismiss me from his household if I did not perform my duties better.” He turned his eyes beseechingly on her. “But Kate, I hate them. They are too taxing—swordplay, jousting, wrestling—I cannot abide all the horseplay.” He was whining now.

  “So, you are on Sir John’s bad slate?” The sarcasm dripped. “And marrying in haste and without the required permission would further anger him, is that it?”

  George acquiesced with a grunt. But Kate was not finished. “Tell me, why did you tempt the fates and his possible anger by marrying me?” She was relentless.

  George did not answer. He climbed between the covers and turned away from her.

  There has to be more to it than this, Kate thought, but as George was evidently not about to divulge anything further, she gave up. She in turn got under the covers, leaving a physical and emotional gulf a league wide between them.

  “I will tell you tomorrow what I intend to do about this, husband, as I see you are in no more mood to talk. I pray you sleep well and have pleasant dreams. God knows I shall not. May He keep you until tomorrow, when you shall know my answer to our dilemma.” She was curt and dismissive. She did not want him to know she had not quite thought that far ahead. Any planning she might have done that afternoon in the clearing had been interrupted by the arrival of the huntsmen.

  “ANNULMENT! No, I will never agree to an annulment!” George yelled at the top of his lungs. “How dare you even ask!”

  He and Kate were sitting on the riverbank, well out of earshot of the house. Kate had purposely dressed as plainly as possible, hoping her more matronly appearance would make her seem older and wiser. She was calm, her nervousness showing only as she tore a reed into thinner and thinner strips on her lap.

  George jumped up, railing at her. “Where did you come up with such a ridiculous notion, wife! We have only been married these three weeks. No one would grant an annulment after only three weeks. And no one will believe your story—if that is the story you are going to use. I could just have been too tired or ill to consummate the marriage, which is the story I am going to use!” He shook his fist.

  Kate let him rant. She had lain awake for several hours, wondering how she could get out of this loveless marriage. Divorce was complicated, she knew, and would mean certain hellfire. Then she remembered an easier route: annulment. She would only have to get dispensation from somebody—probably the pope, she thought—and she would be free again without any stigma and could find a husband who would give her babies.

  She knew that love from a man was not always a part of marriage. Yet she had hoped for more than Thomas’s gropings in future intimacy with a husband. She knew she had much love to give someone—and she had dared to dream it would be George. Now that dream was dead. But it was the thought of not being able to have children that was anathema to her.

  By the time she fell asleep, she had made up her mind to ask for an annulment. The grounds would simply have to be revealed. She hated to hurt Philippa, for she was truly fond of her mother-in-law and knew her for a pious woman who would be horrified by her son’s behavior.

  “Suppose you confess to being impotent and I attest to the fact,” she proposed to George, who was staring at two moorhens chugging through the water. “That way we can go our separate ways in peace and you will not have to face your father and mother with your dark secret. I must tell you, George, I am bound to have the annulment, so you must accept one or the other reason.” Exasperated, she threw the emaciated reed into the river.

  “You are heartless, Kate!” George picked up a stone and aimed it viciously at the moorhens. He missed.

  “Me, heartless?” She pointed to the birds paddling furiously upstream. “Hark who calls the pot black! You are indeed mad.” She knew they were getting nowhere. This was proving far more difficult than she had envisioned. And what could she do? A woman had no rights. “’Tis unfair! And I am determined to get my annulment, even if I have to give up my last noble to pay for it!”

  That got George’s attention. “You cannot do that, not without your cousin’s consent. He holds your purse strings, does he not? And is he going to believe that you have stopped loving me so soon after swearing to love and obey me? You cannot claim I am impotent after such a short time. No one will believe it of me!” His tone was arrogant. “No, Kate. I fear you are just going to have to accept the situation as it is. You are in my country here, and my people will believe me before they believe you, a stranger.”

  Angry tears welled up, and she brushed them away, not wanting to appear weak. Kate feared he was right, but how could she endure year after year of a loveless, childless marriage?

  “Could you not at least bed me enough so I can bear a child?”

  George turned away abruptly.

  She sighed and tried again, more gently. “What is it about women that you do not like?” It was an audacious question but offered with a frankness that was not threatening.

  George turned back warily. He was mollified by the new tone but still suspicious of her motive. “I went to the stews with the other pages several times,” he began tentatively. “I could not find one woman I wanted to touch. It seemed . . . well, unnatural to me.” He flung his arms up in a gesture of despair. “Oh, why am I talking to you like this? You who will probably tell my secret and make a mockery of me. I know one cannot trust a woman.” A frightened look crossed his face. “Do you know what they do to my kind?”

  “Nay, but I daresay you will burn in hell!” Kate cried angrily.

  “Not only in hell, my sweet, but at the stake here on earth!” He was shouting now. “Do you hear? They could burn me alive! Don’t you understand why you cannot tell anyone?”

  The stake! Kate shuddered. This subject had never arisen in Ightham or Tunbridge, and so she had not known. However, she fleetingly wondered, which fate was worse, the fire set by man that might cleanse his immortal soul or the flames of hell for eternity? She knew she could not betray him, but she wished she could understand more.

  “Listen to me, George. I do believe you. I do believe you wish you were not so.” George nodded vigorously. “Then we must together find a way out of this marriage so I can be free to love another man. Surely you cannot be so cruel as to deny me that?”

  “No!” he whined. “I cannot face the consequences, Kate. I shall lose my position with Sir John. My family will shun me. Let us stay married, and I will not gainsay you if you find someone else to love. There, that is fair, is it not?”

  “But, George, that is adultery! God does not condone adultery any more than He condones your behavior. No, we have to find a way to an annulment that will not divulge the real reason.” She had no ideas, but now that they were able to discuss it without rancor, surely something clever would come to them. “For the moment, we shall remain as we are. We will share the same bed, act as
though nothing is amiss, but you will never violate our marriage bed with one of your . . . friends again! Is that understood?”

  She took his face between her hands and made him swear to her eyes. She rose, brushed off her skirts and walked sedately back to the house, feeling his troubled gaze on her back as she went.

  PHILIPPA WAS UNSUSPECTING when Kate begged leave to ride to Lavenham with Molly a few days later. She said she wanted to send letters to Anne and Richard by the next messenger and was also curious to visit that wealthy wool town. Philippa gave her blessing gladly and sent Kate off with a short list of weaving supplies to purchase on her behalf. That morning Kate had informed George it was her intent to visit a lawyer in the town and find out her rights to an annulment. George knew he could not forbid her but made her promise not to do anything without his knowledge. She acquiesced, and now Cornflower carried the two women easily on the short ride to Lavenham.

  The day was fair for October, but Kate and Molly were glad of their cloaks. They rode through Monks Eleigh and admired the Church of St. Peter with its large tower and fine west doorway. They could see the town of Lavenham on the hill as they trotted along Clay Lane, although Kate was disdainful of what Suffolk people considered hills.

  “’Tis naught but a bump, think you, Molly?” and Molly nodded with a laugh. The servant had not questioned the ride to Lavenham, but she knew her mistress well enough to know she would not forsake her work in the house for a jaunt. Kate usually told Molly everything, but for the past week or so, she had been unusually silent.

  If anyone had asked, Molly would have said she had been wary of George from the beginning, but having listened to Kate’s daydreams of him while she brushed her mistress’s hair at Draper House, she had to be glad when her dream had come true. The other servants knew Molly did not much like Suffolk and had given her the cold shoulder, even making fun of her birthmark. Molly never breathed a word of her discontent to Kate; she would follow her beautiful young mistress to the ends of the earth if need be.

  In the copses and woods, the leaves were turning gold and brown and the bracken had dried up, exposing the rich earth beneath. They saw field hands and shepherds alike pulling kindling and dead branches out by hook and crook. Country folk as well as nature were getting ready for winter.

  In the center of Lavenham, a peddler called, “Who will buy?” He was carrying his wares tied to strings around his body and trying to make his voice heard above the hustle and bustle and general clamor of the marketplace.

  Few noticed the two women, who dismounted to lead Cornflower through the melee, though Kate received a couple of lipsmackings and Molly felt someone pinch her rear. She turned and slapped the saucy young man nearest her, who pleaded innocence while a wicked grin spread over his face. Molly flounced off after Kate, not unpleased that she had at least elicited some attention from the opposite sex. The young man followed the pair all the way to the house from which the lawyer’s shingle hung. The scales of justice swung in the wind, promising Kate a solution to her problem. She was sure she would find justice in the law. She jangled the doorbell.

  Molly stood with Cornflower until Kate was inside. The young man sidled up to her and boldly asked her name.

  “None of your business,” she replied, trying to hide her surprise at being followed. His grin showed off uneven teeth, but only two were missing from his lower jaw. His hair, a nondescript brown and straight as cornstalks, hung to his shoulders like a poorly tended thatch.

  “Aw, mistress, I just want to know your name. No harm in that, is there? I be Wat, Wat Smith.”

  There was something devilish about him that intrigued Molly, but what made her let down her guard was his gaze. It was plainly admiring, and he seemed not to notice her disfigurement at all.

  “Molly,” she said, simply. “I be Molly Miller.”

  “Molly. ’Tis a beautiful name. I be sorry I pinched your arse back there.” He jerked his head in the direction of the marketplace and grinned sheepishly. “But ’twere very inviting.”

  Molly laughed. “’Tis of no consequence, Wat. But I be glad ’tweren’t my mistress’s arse you chose instead. You’d not be standing here smiling, my lad, I can promise you. You’d be in the stocks by now.”

  And thus they passed a pleasant half hour bantering together on the street outside the lawyer’s house.

  Inside, Kate was hearing bad news. Master Hugh Poynter was explaining the laws concerning marriage annulment, and they were strict. Infertility was not a reason for legal dissolution of a marriage. It was God’s will that a couple was unable to have children. This had been Kate’s first question. She was hoping to avoid the real reason behind her wish for annulment. She was veiled and had not given her name. She could not hide her speech or her dress, however, which told Master Poynter that she was not a citizen of Lavenham nor of the lower classes. She sounded very young, but that was not unusual. He suspected she was a young woman of good family who was hoping to rid herself of an older husband and marry her young lover. He was intrigued.

  “So, what would be grounds for an annulment,” Kate repeated, wondering if Master Poynter was able to see through her veil, so hard did he stare at her. His eyes were lashless and red-rimmed, presumably from so much peering at books, Kate thought. His round face, pudgy hands and ample belly told her that being an attorney in such a wealthy town as Lavenham afforded him a good living.

  “The inability to have . . .” He lowered his eyes to his hands, noticing for the first time how dirty his fingernails were. He removed them to his lap. “To have . . . have . . . intimacy with your husband, mistress. But”—he raised his eyes when heard her sigh of satisfaction—“ ’tis not as easy as it sounds. You must have proof.”

  “Proof? What do you mean? Is not my word good enough for the law?” Kate was indignant. “And that is exactly the problem between me and Geo—I mean us.”

  The lawyer rose from his seat and went to his bookshelf, taking down a large volume, which he proceeded to sift through at a leisurely pace. Kate tapped her fingers on the table and shifted in her chair.

  “How can they prove that the marriage is not consummated? I have been married before, so my virginity is not a factor. All I must do is confess to a priest that the marriage is not consummated, surely?” Kate wanted answers.

  “Be easy, mistress. I will find what I need anon. Impotence can be proved, and in a court of law, proof is what you need. A mere confession to a priest will not hold up in court.” He was not unkind, for he had heard the desperation in her voice. “Ah, I knew it was here somewhere.” He smoothed out the vellum page, which was covered with the tiniest script, and began to read. “’Tis from the manual of Thomas of Chobham,” he intoned reverently, and Kate inclined her head even though she had not the faintest notion who Thomas of Chobham was. The lawyer, however, knew it was accepted as canon law in the English courts. “ ‘A man’s genitals shall first be examined by wise matrons.’ ”

  Kate giggled irrepressibly. Master Poynter frowned and continued, “ ‘After food and drink, the man and woman are to be placed together in one bed and wise women are to be summoned around the bed for many nights. And if the man’s member is always found useless and as if dead, the couple are well able to be separated.’ There, ’tis written plain and simple. Are you and your husband willing to be tested?”

  Kate was aghast. “Sweet Jesu! No! ’Tis unseemly and unfair! My husband would never agree. ’Tis I who want the annulment, and he would fight it. Is this the only way? I cannot believe ’tis the only way.”

  “Aye, mistress. If you want a formal annulment blessed by the courts and the church, this is the only way. Unless . . .” He paused, looking down at the table again.

  “Unless what?” Kate lifted a corner of her veil to brush an errant tear from her cheek.

  Master Poynter shrugged. “Unless you have some influence with the Holy Father. You can petition him, but it will take many months—years, even—and you must know a petitioner in high places.�
��

  “God’s blood!” Kate swore, causing Master Poynter’s meager eyebrows to shoot heavenward and his lower jaw to slack. “I thank you for your time, master lawyer. What is your fee for this bad news?”

  She paid what was asked, rose and saluted him with a small nod of the head and swept out into the street, her mind a blank.

  What was she going to do?

  10

  Suffolk, Late Autumn 1467

  My dearest sister—Anne’s letters always began thus, and it would bring a smile to Kate’s face. This time, however, it brought tears, a welling up of the homesickness and despair that had accompanied Kate throughout the days since her visit to Master Poynter. She indulgently let a few roll down her face before she gave a loud sniff and wiped them away with her sleeve.

  “John and I have sweet news. I am with child. We are truly happy, and John will not let me become tired or overwrought. Such love is a blessing, and I am sure you are also feeling it with your George.”

  Anne also wrote that Geoff was making great progress with his studies and seemed to enjoy learning Latin as well as accounting. “Geoff is happiest when his nose is in a book. Methinks he has a future in this endeavor, dear Kate. He sends his warm wishes to you and George.” Kate was amused by the information. Geoff a bookworm? It hardly seemed possible. There was not very much other news to tell, Anne admitted, but she begged Kate to write as soon as possible.

  “Hah!” muttered Kate to herself. “If only Anne really knew how I am feeling about George, she would indeed be astonished.”

  “Kate! Are you up there? Do you hear me?” It was Philippa.

  Kate was curled in a woolen cover on her bed, where she had gone for sanctuary to read her letter. She folded the parchment carefully and placed it among her jewelry in the chest Richard had given her. Also in the box lay a letter from Henry saying he would send the first of her payments from the Tunbridge shop in a month.

  “I am coming, Mother! I shall be down in the shake of a lamb’s tail.”