harp, and I am mightily fond of its sweet sound. Well, Martha, John, have you come to a decision?” Richard turned to them.
“Martha and I do thank you with all our heart for your offer, Richard, and as much as it do sadden us to see her go, we are obliged to do what is best for Kate.” John turned to Kate. “Kate, Cousin Richard has asked us to allow you to live here at Ightham, be a comfort to young Anne and learn to be a lady. I know ’tis hard for you to leave your brothers and baby Matty, but, sweetheart, you must understand this is more than your mother and I could ever offer you.”
Kate looked from one parent to the other, her eyes wide with incredulity. God must have listened to her as she peered through the squint from the solar into the chapel during vespers that evening. Please, please, Lord, let me stay, she had prayed. I’ll never tell a lie or be angry with the boys again. And I swear I shall never go near the river again, if you but help me to stay. She had crossed herself twice for good measure.
And now her prayer had been answered. Thank you, sweet Jesus! She had to restrain herself from leaping to her feet and exulting.
When she saw the anguish flit across her mother’s face, her joy was doused in a shower of remorse. How could she bear to leave her family and the farm? She looked at her brothers gazing at her in awe. Her father’s fingers twirled the stem of his goblet, and he stared into its contents. He, too, would miss his favorite child and so could not look her in the eye. Kate’s lip trembled for a moment as she pondered the separation from those she loved. She caught sight of Anne’s radiant face and her sadness lessened. The thrill of a new life at the Mote must outweigh the loss, she concluded. She was aware of the heartache it would bring Martha, who forced a smile and wrung her napkin under the table so that she would not cry. Kate ran round the table and threw her arms around her mother’s neck.
“Mother, oh mother, I will sorely miss you. How may I find joy in stayingif you are so sad because of it? Tell me you be happy for me, or I cannot agree to stay.” She searched her mother’s face anxiously. “And how shall you manage without my help?”
Martha held her daughter close. “Of course I be happy for you. You are my first-born child and will always hold a special place in my heart. We shall manage, never fear.” She put the girl from her. “But you forget your manners, child. You must needs be thanking Master Haute and his lady for their great kindness.”
“Thank you, kind sir. Thank you, kind madam.” Kate curtsied humbly. “Anne and I be good friends already, is that not so, Anne?”
Anne dimpled, her shyness only allowing a soft “ ’Tis so, Kate!”
Richard beamed.
Kate turned to Martha. “Mother, if ’tis Cousin Richard’s pleasure, I will come to you at the birthing of the babe. If it please you, sir?”
Richard patted her hand. “’Tis settled, you shall go home for the birthing.”
“I will not tolerate any laziness!” Elinor announced suddenly. “She will ply her needle and learn her letters like Anne, and she will become familiar with all the medicines in the dispensary and the plants that make them.”
Kate nudged Anne under the table, but her solemn face betrayed nothing—not even the thumping of her heart.
3
Ightham, Autumn to Winter 1460–1461
O uch!” squealed Kate. “Ouch!”
Anne giggled but continued with her task. The two girls were seated in the window of the smaller of two upstairs solars which they also shared as a bedchamber. The gray rain slithered down the leaded panes, and the view of the courtyard below was a blur. The lambent light lent sweetness to Anne’s features as she concentrated on her work. Kate’s freckled nose was wrinkled and her eyes tightly closed in expectation of the next stab of pain. As gently as she could, Anne chose a single hair from Kate’s forehead and gave it a quick tug. There was a sharp intake of
“Martha and I do thank you with all our heart for your offer, Richard, and as much as it do sadden us to see her go, we are obliged to do what is best for Kate.” John turned to Kate. “Kate, Cousin Richard has asked us to allow you to live here at Ightham, be a comfort to young Anne and learn to be a lady. I know ’tis hard for you to leave your brothers and baby Matty, but, sweetheart, you must understand this is more than your mother and I could ever offer you.”
Kate looked from one parent to the other, her eyes wide with incredulity. God must have listened to her as she peered through the squint from the solar into the chapel during vespers that evening. Please, please, Lord, let me stay, she had prayed. I’ll never tell a lie or be angry with the boys again. And I swear I shall never go near the river again, if you but help me to stay. She had crossed herself twice for good measure.
And now her prayer had been answered. Thank you, sweet Jesus! She had to restrain herself from leaping to her feet and exulting.
When she saw the anguish flit across her mother’s face, her joy was doused in a shower of remorse. How could she bear to leave her family and the farm? She looked at her brothers gazing at her in awe. Her father’s fingers twirled the stem of his goblet, and he stared into its contents. He, too, would miss his favorite child and so could not look her in the eye. Kate’s lip trembled for a moment as she pondered the separation from those she loved. She caught sight of Anne’s radiant face and her sadness lessened. The thrill of a new life at the Mote must outweigh the loss, she concluded. She was aware of the heartache it would bring Martha, who forced a smile and wrung her napkin under the table so that she would not cry. Kate ran round the table and threw her arms around her mother’s neck.
“Mother, oh mother, I will sorely miss you. How may I find joy in stayingif you are so sad because of it? Tell me you be happy for me, or I cannot agree to stay.” She searched her mother’s face anxiously. “And how shall you manage without my help?”
Martha held her daughter close. “Of course I be happy for you. You are my first-born child and will always hold a special place in my heart. We shall manage, never fear.” She put the girl from her. “But you forget your manners, child. You must needs be thanking Master Haute and his lady for their great kindness.”
“Thank you, kind sir. Thank you, kind madam.” Kate curtsied humbly. “Anne and I be good friends already, is that not so, Anne?”
Anne dimpled, her shyness only allowing a soft “ ’Tis so, Kate!”
Richard beamed.
Kate turned to Martha. “Mother, if ’tis Cousin Richard’s pleasure, I will come to you at the birthing of the babe. If it please you, sir?”
Richard patted her hand. “’Tis settled, you shall go home for the birthing.”
“I will not tolerate any laziness!” Elinor announced suddenly. “She will ply her needle and learn her letters like Anne, and she will become familiar with all the medicines in the dispensary and the plants that make them.”
Kate nudged Anne under the table, but her solemn face betrayed nothing—not even the thumping of her heart.
3
Ightham, Autumn to Winter 1460–1461
O uch!” squealed Kate. “Ouch!”
Anne giggled but continued with her task. The two girls were seated in the window of the smaller of two upstairs solars which they also shared as a bedchamber. The gray rain slithered down the leaded panes, and the view of the courtyard below was a blur. The lambent light lent sweetness to Anne’s features as she concentrated on her work. Kate’s freckled nose was wrinkled and her eyes tightly closed in expectation of the next stab of pain. As gently as she could, Anne chose a single hair from Kate’s forehead and gave it a quick tug. There was a sharp intake of
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