Chapter 17
Months went by, and Kate was thankful that she had heard no more about the King visiting Greys Court.
By April, when the blossom was out and lambs were gamboling in the fields surrounding the park, she knew that she was with child again.
This time, she suffered badly from nausea and fatigue, and wrote to her mother, inviting her to come and stay.
It would be pleasant to spend some time together with their husbands busy at court, and Mother could take pleasure in her grandchildren.
Hal was now two, active from the hour he awoke to the hour he went to bed, and mad about horses and playing with the little wooden sword Will had crafted for him.
“You’re dead!” he would cry, thrusting it at anyone within range.
Mary was sitting up unaided now and talking, or rather, babbling.
With her chubby features and enchanting smile, she was a winning child, always wanting to be carried, holding her little arms up to Kate whenever she saw her.
Mistress Wellgood had her hands full, and Kate was grateful for her now, when all she herself seemed to want to do was rest. Fortunately, Bilkins—who was much more amenable these days, having come to respect Kate’s judgment—was able to run the household as she wished, without her help.
Mother did not reply for two weeks, and when she did, she sounded distraught.
Will was in the Fleet Prison, sent there by the Privy Council for eating meat on Good Friday.
Worse still, he had been dismissed from the King’s service.
“And all for such a small offense,” Mother wrote.
“It could not have happened at a worse time, for I am not myself these days. I suffer from my old malaise, and I do not need all this worry. I am sorry, but I cannot come to you at present.”
Kate’s spirits sank. She had counted on Mother being with her at this time, and she was worried about her. How unwell was she?
She wrote to Harry, who was now serving in the King’s household, and asked him if there was anything he could do to help. She also dashed off a letter to Francis, explaining the situation and asking if he could put in a good word for Will.
Back came a speedy reply. Will had known that he was breaking the law; Francis had visited him in the Fleet, where he had been gratified to see that he was at least allowed to take the air in the prison garden.
“I would willingly intercede with the King for him,” he wrote, “for he is very sorry for what he did, and he is concerned about your mother, but I do believe that it would come better from you, for his Grace manifests a certain tenderness toward you and often asks after your health.”
Why? Kate asked herself. Why me? Why couldn’t he manifest tenderness toward someone else?
But she had to put Will’s interests first, for her mother’s sake alone.
Reluctantly, she sat down and wrote to the King in the most groveling terms she could think of, begging him to show mercy to one who had long served him so devotedly and was bound to him by ties of love and loyalty.
Later that day, she received a reply from Harry. He was only a lowly usher, he explained, and had no influence with the King. But he was concerned about Mother and was going to visit her at Hever. He would let Kate know how he found her.
A week later, Kate was delighted to hear from Francis that Will had been freed from prison and was back in his old post at court.
Hard on the heels of that letter came a short one bearing the royal seal, in which the King informed her that he had been graciously pleased to grant her plea, for the love he bore her.
She shuddered at that, hoping that he would not want anything from her in return.
That was not the limit of his bounty. In May, Will wrote to Kate, letting her know that the King had at last granted him and her mother Rochford Hall and other lands once owned by her family.
It was wonderful news, he added, but it had come at a bad time, for Mother was unwell and not strong enough to cope with moving into Rochford Hall just now.
Could Kate possibly come to visit her at Henden Manor? It would be like a physick to her.
Kate’s immediate instinct was to go. She longed to be with Mother at this time.
Harry had been to see her twice now, and he was worried about her.
He told Kate she needed to judge for herself how serious this illness was, for he was no physician, and Mother would love to see her.
Kate understood what he was trying to tell her and was thankful that she was not so nauseous or tired now that she was coming to the end of her third month.
And the weather was fine, so the journey would not be arduous.
Mistress Wellgood was more than capable of looking after the children, and Kate could with confidence leave Bilkins in charge of Greys Court.
She wrote to Francis, telling him that she was going to be away, and why, and that she hoped to return home soon, but could not say when. Then she set her maids to packing everything she would need and departed in her litter for Kent, accompanied by Thomasina and two grooms.
It was a long journey, long enough for several good gossips with Thomasina, whom she was coming to value as a friend and confidante.
Without being sneaky or unkind, Thomasina willingly told Kate all about her fellow servants, their quirks of character, their loves, their feuds, and their grumbles.
She spoke of her family, how her father had been a small landholder who had relied on his grazing rights on the local common, but had lost them when the land had been enclosed and turned over to sheep.
“We had been comfortable until then,” Thomasina related, “but now it is a struggle to live, for I have many brothers and sisters, and there’s too many other men in the same situation as my father, all of them seeking work.”
Kate had not realized until then how badly the widespread of common land could affect people’s lives. But the practice had been going on across the land for decades. She promised herself that she would speak to Francis to see what could be done.
They journeyed in slow stages, stopping overnight at inns in Maidenhead, Windsor, Staines, and Kingston, then at a hostelry near Nonsuch Palace, and so on to Croydon, Westerham, and south into Kent.
Kate spent the whole time worrying about her mother, praying that she would be better when she saw her, and that she would not be too late if her worst fears were realized.
—
Will received her at Henden Manor.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said, as they exchanged kisses, “but I am glad to.”
“I have been granted compassionate leave while your mother is sick,” he told her, a catch in his voice.
“Is she very ill?” she asked, dreading the answer.
“I fear so,” he said, his kind eyes misting. “She will be thrilled to see you. I can’t thank you sufficiently for coming all this way.”
“I was worried about her. I had to come.” Kate found herself fighting back tears. She could not credit that her mother might die, could not bear the thought of losing her. How Will must be feeling she could not imagine.
Lying in her cheerful beamed bedchamber with its pretty embroidered hangings and latticed windows, Mother looked like a wraith of her former self. Whatever her malady was, it was eating her up. It was obvious that there was no hope.
Trying not to show how distressed she was feeling, Kate sat by the bed and took her mother’s thin hand. “It does my heart good to see you.”
“Oh, my daughter, I cannot believe that you are here!” The skeletal fingers gripped hers.
“I’m feeling better already.” She eased herself upward in the bed, then sank back against the piled-up pillows.
“Will, my love, fetch Kate some refreshment. She must be hungry after traveling so far. And I think I will have a little of that mutton broth, if there’s any left. I could manage it now.”
“Of course,” Will said, and left the room.
Mother gripped Kate’s hand again. “Oh, it is a joy to see you. I prayed that you would come. Now you are here—and just look at you! Blooming with health, with another little one on the way. How are the children?”
They fell to talking about family matters and—when Will came back with the broth and a servant bringing wine and cakes for Kate—news of the court.
“It’s wonderful that the King has granted you Rochford Hall,” Kate said.
“Yes.” Mother had taken a few spoonfuls and now looked as if she was about to drift into sleep. “He owes it to me.”
Kate exchanged looks with Will. “Does he?”
“It’s hers by right,” he replied. There was a silence, in which they both looked down on Mother. She had dozed off. “I’ll take you to your chamber, Kate. You can talk to her in the morning.”
With a heavy heart, Kate followed him to a comfortably furnished guest room. Leaving Thomasina to unpack, she joined him downstairs in the parlor, where a table had been set for two and laden with pewter platters of food.
“This is where we’ve always eaten together,” he said, his voice breaking.
He bowed his head, his shoulders heaving.
Kate hastened to him and put an arm around his shoulders.
“I doubt we will ever sit here together again,” he sobbed.
She knelt, and they wept together. By the time they had dried their tears, the roast meats had cooled, but neither of them was hungry.
—
In the morning, when Kate came to see her, Mother fell to reminiscing about her marriage to Kate’s father.
“Do you remember him?” she asked, her long graying hair spread out on the pillows.
“Not very well,” Kate replied.
“He was a comely young man, and on his way up at court when the sweating sickness took him. He was not thirty-three.”
“Did you love each other very much?” Kate ventured.