Chapter 6
June 1471
For the first time in her life, Kate wished she had something finer to wear.
Her best dress had seemed so lovely at home, its deep green reminding her of the garden at its summer prime. It seemed considerably less so in the palace at Westminster. Her half-brother William, in contrast, looked rather splendid, if one could ignore the malice in his face.
But if she acted correctly, no one would give her any thought. She would simply be a dutiful niece, there to act as a support if her uncle needed one. Not that she expected much difficulty. Anyone who glanced at Thomas could see he was sick and deserved to have his humble petition granted.
The inflammation in his eyes had worsened since he'd had to get rid of the Lancastrian traitors, to the point that he sometimes relied on Kate or Joanna to help him find his way. He struggled for breath, even from as little exertion as climbing the small hill in their pasture, and his hands and feet had begun to bloat, even as the rest of him grew thinner.
She'd known her brother had disagreed with some of Thomas' decisions about managing their estate – not least, allowing her to keep living there long past when she was old enough to send to a convent. But she couldn't believe he'd turn out his own blood.
They'd waited in the hall for some time as the other petitioners went their ways, grinning or cursing. She'd half-expected they'd all be turned away at the gate, but apparently the quarrels of distant Woodville relatives suddenly had some importance.
Katherine knew she wasn't expected to say anything, but still felt her knees knock and her throat go dry when it was time to walk past all those immaculately coiffed courtiers.
The King was sitting almost sideways in his throne, like a schoolboy waiting for the Latin teacher to stop droning. Her brother knelt and rose quite gracefully, while Thomas struggled to lower himself to the floor and stayed in place.
"Well, old man, who art thou and what hast thou come to ask of Edward?" the King boomed.
"Thomas Bly, Your Majesty, brother of Sir Geoffrey. He died in Your Majesty's service at Tewkesbury."
"And what dost thou want from us?"
"Merely the right to end my days at my ancestral hearth."
"And why dost thou need a king to decree this?"
"Because he wasted our property and made my father's house a den of immorality," William said.
"That's a lie," Katherine said, without quite deciding to speak. The King looked mildly amused. The Duke of Gloucester, who sat behind him, eyed her closely, as if trying to remember where he might have seen her before. She ducked her head and prayed the memory continued to escape him. "He slanders his own blood, Your Majesty."
"She slanders me," William responded. "Kate, thou knowst better than anyone how thy beloved uncle lived sinfully with a peasant. Come now, Thomas, canst thou deny it?"
"It was not so," Kate said, "and if Your Majesty gives permission, I will tell all." The King nodded. "They were married secretly. By our village priest."
"Lying bitch-"
She went on as if William hadn't spoken. "He could tell you, except he has gone to Heaven. I was quite young, but I remember making the flower crowns with Joanna. Everything smelled of lavender-"
It was all a lie, or at least a great stretching of the truth. She knew Thomas and Joanna had made private promises to one another, but those meant nothing to the rest of the world. So she kept going, embroidering the story with lovely, irrelevant details that made it all sound true, even as her uncle frantically tried to hush her without alerting the King that anything was amiss. He couldn't do anything more, not after she'd so completely condemned herself by lying to the King straight-faced.
The King raised his hand as she started to talk about the feast. "Thou hast explained enough."
"Even if she speaks true," her brother's tone suggested he considered that extremely unlikely, "there is still the matter of bringing our father's property to waste."
"As I recall, Sir Geoffrey never needed any help wasting his property," the Duke of Gloucester interjected. "I never knew a man with a greater devotion to dice." Katherine had no idea if the Duke had truly known her father well, or had simply decided to take her part. She looked up and tried to convey thanks with her eyes.
"Then go home, old man," the King said dismissively, then turned to her brother. "I doubt thou shalt have to shelter him long."
"It is as Your Majesty wills," William answered with a bow, but turned his head to glare at Katherine.
"Would Your Majesty permit a question to the girl?" the Duke of Gloucester.
The King looked surprised, but nodded. "Of course, brother Gloucester."
"What wilt thou do? Thy uncle is sheltered, but the King said nothing about thee, and thou hast not endeared thyself to thy brother."
Kate was taken aback. "I – I always knew I would go to a nunnery one day. We have nothing for a dowry. If my brother says I must go, I shall."
"Nothing sadder than a pretty nun," Gloucester said, and Kate blushed and ducked her head again. "Does Your Majesty not think so?"
"The saddest thing in the world," the King said. "What think you, Elizabeth? Might your cousin be destined for a slightly more glorious future?"
"If she has been brought up to become a bride of Christ, far be it from me to interfere," the Queen answered, then seemed to pick up some invisible signal. "But if Your Majesty deems her better suited for marriage to man, I shall find some small duties befitting her station."
"Edward wills it so," the King answered.
And so Kate found herself saying goodbye to her uncle as her brother paced and stewed nearby.
"That was dangerous," Thomas chided.
"I know. But once I started, I could hardly stop."
"That is the lesson, my child." He sighed. "Thou wilt face many temptations in court. Remember that whatever thou chooseth to start, thou must be prepared to finish."
"I would go home with you."
"I know thou wouldst. But thou couldst never stay a child forever. And I hardly raised thee to be an obedient nun. But I fear I have not prepared thee for this, either."
"I will be good. I'll govern my tongue. I will honor your name, uncle."
He took the wooden cross from his neck and hung it around hers. "Child, thou hast already shown me far more loyalty and honor me more than I deserve. See to it that thou dost not dishonor thyself. Nothing this court can offer thee is worth becoming base in thine own eyes."
"I'm not sure I understand."
"Thou wilt, one day. Thou art a good girl. If, perhaps, better at telling a tale than I might have hoped."
"Dost thou wish to return to thy ancestral hearth or not?" William snapped.
"Yes, yes, I come," Thomas answered. "Be brave, my child. Be good."
00000000
No one asked Richard why he had nudged the King into keeping the girl at court, and he wasn't sure how to answer even when he asked himself.
Needling the Queen was reason enough, of course. Elizabeth Woodville was approaching thirty-five years old, and her body had been stretched by childbearing six times. Edward wouldn't refuse her bed, of course – had Edward ever refused to touch any woman? – but there was no longer any thrill of the conquest with her. She seemed to accept her husband's wandering eye, but bringing yet another younger, prettier woman into the court was sure to make her sick with jealousy.
But that was not the reason, or at least not the entire reason. He wondered if the girl could be an ally. There was no love between him and the Woodvilles, but it could be useful to groom one of them to keep him abreast of their plans. And if it was to be anyone, it would be this child Katherine. She was one of very few people who had looked at him without fear or disgust.
That pleased him more than he liked to let on, and if he were to tell the truth, he would be forced to admit that was much of the reason he had wanted to keep her at court. Simply because she looked at him as a man. Not a man she desired – no, he hadn't fooled himself into believing that. But a man, bunchbacked or not. No doubt because of her devotion to her uncle. He sincerely doubted any of his nieces would tell a boldfaced lie to someone who had the power to have them executed, so that he might end his days in comfort.
Yes, Katherine Bly of the Woodvilles might prove useful one day.