The Queen's Grace

by Jan Westcott

 

Preface

September 20, 1548

The castle crowned the hill, its gray stone walls as foursquare and uncompromising as the rugged Westmorland moors and mountains. Beside the river Kent, at its foot, the man on horseback tipped back his head to look up at Kendal Castle.

His eyes searched the walls. They went up to the top of the rounded towers. He sat motionless.

So this was the land, this the castle that had bred her. Helm clouds scudded across the skies, laying a black hand on the hillsides. So this was Kendal, this the border country which accounted for the square shoulders, the small square hands, and the clipped, north-country accent.

"Katryn," he said aloud.

His hands lay slack on the reins. The horse lowered his head to sniff the grass. September's brown had begun to edge it. Slowly he turned the horse's head.

Refuge was near; Burneside was close by. For it is not possible, he thought, for me to enter Kendal's walls — not yet. The past recaptured at Burneside would be pain enough, and the manor house lay near.

He was inexpressibly weary. A weariness of the spirit, he knew, for all that real sleep had been denied him, even when every bone ached with fatigue; and yet, he thought, now when I see the manor house ahead of me, for the first time in two weeks I am conscious of some gladness, some relief. My presence will be a shock. Baron Thomas Seymour, Lord Admiral of England, come riding out of nowhere and out of the past.

And so it was. Dame Mary Bellingham looked incredulous.

"Tom, oh Tom," she whispered. She laid a hand on his arm.

She knows, he thought. I have just come, and yet where before there was bustle and talk and laughter, now all is silent and still, as if my very presence stills voices and laughter has no place on my ears. He said apologetically, "I was overthrown."

Dame Mary bit her lip. Fine lines drew down his mouth. The blue eyes were cloudy. Where had he been for these last two weeks? she wondered.

He answered the unspoken question. "Riding. I came north to Kendal. I tried to find" — he hesitated, hunted for a word — "some surcease. I don't think I've slain the dragon yet. Pray don't weep. You will undo me for sure."

Dame Mary attempted a smile. He said, "That's best."

Her eyes again searched his face. He was freshly shaved.

"I am clean, too," he said wryly, and the blue eyes glinted just a bit. "But I would ask a night's lodging from you, and pen and ink. I must write to my lord duke, my brother. He knows not where I am. Nor when I shall return."

"No food?" asked Dame Mary. A man as big as this should eat.

He patted her shoulder. "Thou'rt kind. Food, of course, later. I've had ale and bread at a tavern."

She heaved a sigh. "Sit you down then, my lord," she said, bethinking herself they were still standing close together in the winter parlor, where a small fire burned on the hearth. Dame Mary glanced about the room. "Daylight is fast fading," she said, "and I shall bring a fresh candle."

He stretched out booted feet toward the fire, leaned his dark head against the wooden back of the one chair. Her footsteps echoed in the passageway. Soon he would have in hand the pen and ink. And what should he say? Words formed in his mind. "My dear brother, I was so overthrown . . ." He closed his eyes. It should take a week to return to London. He reckoned the days. Had it been two whole weeks? The dragon, not slain, turned in his breast. How to explain to his brother, Ned, why he had gone forth to live like a hunted animal, to disappear, to sleep in caves on a lonely hillside, to avoid the haunts of men — to suffer thus alone.

The room darkened. Katryn, he thought, this is the same room, the very same room, where first we met.

The shadows stirred. Flame leaped from the logs on the fire. I can almost see her, he thought, in the plain gown of Kendal green, stiff with petticoats, in this same room. Almost could he hear her voice: "But I saw thee first!" she had said. "I saw thee standing by the hearth, just your back and the back of your head, as I came in from the garden."

Nineteen years ago, he thought, nineteen to the very day, mayhap the very hour, nineteen years ago . . .

Chapter 1

September 20, 1529

Katryn Parr sat demurely on the bench in the garden at Burneside, her slippers resting on the grass at her feet, peeking out from under the brilliant green skirt. The skirt was girdled in the same green, and a white shawl was over her shoulders, for even though the sun was warm the September day held a chill in its air. Her red curls, caught back under her cap, spilled over her collar. Against her white skin her dark, straight brows were startling. Her eyes were hazel, flecked with gold.

Katryn's white hands lay on her lap, but they were not idle. She was sewing and, as always, she used her sewing to keep her eyes on her needle; then occasionally she would glance up. She did glance up now, across the lawn toward the big manor house, from which there were coming all kinds of sounds and voices, but none of them the one she wanted to hear. She moved restlessly on the bench. Certainly he would come; he had said he could come. Her heart beat fast as she thought of it, and she wet her lips, and lowered her eyes so as to conceal the quick flash of triumph in them.

For this was triumph indeed. A year ago — nay, six months ago — he wouldn't have noticed her at all. Many had been the time he'd passed her by when she came to visit Joan Bellingham, her best friend. It had only been last week that he had said, in a surprised tone, "Why, by the mass, ye've grown up!" And, looking down, his blond head on one side, he suddenly smiled. "Why, Mistress Katryn," he said, and bowed.

She lowered her eyes to let him see the thick, bristly lashes, and she thought, Marry, Hugo is a man; he is twenty. For six months I've been dreaming about him, and now suddenly the knave thinks all he has to do is notice me.

"Marry, sir," she said haughtily, "thou'rt a very dolt not to have discovered it afore. I'm almost sixteen, the same as your sister Joan." She tossed her head and made a move to pass by him, for they were in a narrow passage between the scullery and the door to the garden.

"Hold on," he said, taking a step back. "I didn't mean to offend thee."

"Pray let me pass, Hugo," she said.

He did so, and she went out into the garden. "May I come, too, mistress?"

She stopped and they faced each other. She regarded him a long moment, raising her eyes to his face to see his sparkling gray eyes, and the good-humored face topped by a thatch of blond curls. "Hugo," she said softly, "I am not a child, and I mislike being treated like one." She ran her red tongue over her lips, for she was a bit nervous about talking with him thus. That's because I've known him so long, when I was so young, she told herself.

Then she saw that he was viewing her with misty tenderness and longing. "I swear I never will again," he said.

"Marry," she said under her breath, and looked quickly at the ground. In silence they walked together to the bench. That had been a week ago, and the seven days had passed in a sort of dreamy delirium.

He is such a gentleman, she told herself a thousand times a day. And he loves me so.

He paid her dizzying compliments, he lifted her onto her horse just as if she were weightless, and yet the touch of his hands lingered on her waist. She thought she could even feel them that night a week ago, in bed with Joan, as she made Joan hush talking so she could dream about Hugo, and repeat in her mind all he had said, and what she had replied. Now, as she waited in the garden, it seemed as though he would never come. "Marry," she said under her breath, and then drew it in sharply, for she could hear new sounds from the manor house — horses and men. She drew a long, satisfied breath. She would take five stitches and then, if she raised her eyes, she would see him coming. So when Hugo did arrive, he stood right over her, and she made an exclamation of surprise.

"I didn't see thee coming, Hugo," she said demurely.

He frowned down at her, squinting his eyes in the sunlight. He didn't answer immediately; he seemed to be hesitating. This was not usual, and his gravity was borne in on her, and she said, "Is aught amiss?" She laid down her sewing, and their eyes met for a long moment.

He said then, "Will you walk with me?" He extended his hand and she rose, laying her sewing down.

Hugo held Katryn's hand tight in his. Suiting her pace to his, she walked fast. Hugo was leading her through the orchards. Presently they would skirt the top of the hill, and she knew he would walk her to the burn. She was vaguely conscious of the odor of horses and leather as the errant wind blew down upon them. It would be fiercer when they reached the top of the hill, for here in the Border counties winter came early, and the thick, tough grass was already turning brown. It was a half after two. Hugo must have been riding hard, she thought tenderly. He was a typical north-countryman, rugged and sturdy; his callused hands were deft on a horse or a sick animal; kind, he was able enough with the long dagger he wore and as his wife she would need feel no fear. She would take her place in the manor house just as John's wife had, even though John was the eldest Bellingham and through the lucky accident of birth would inherit all these acres.

They had come to the top of the hill; on one side stretched the common lands, on the other the Bellinghams' park lands, thick with game, the colors of the trees russet and gold, and the burn sparkling blue. Hugo came to a stop.

"Look," he said, "look. For I shan't see this again for a long, long time!"

Katryn's whole high pile of dreams fell suddenly about her feet, and her eyes were wide and incredulous. Gone were the sparks, gone the long, level calculation only a close observer could catch; gone was everything but hurt and amazement.

"You are going away?" She drew the words out slowly, as though afraid to say them.

But he was not slow in replying. "Aye, I am," he said curtly. " 'Tis my father's wish, and I cannot gainsay him!" He struck his hand in his palm, and turned to face her, taking her hands again in his. "Katryn!" he said desperately. Then, "Come!"

Silently she followed him across to the edge of the burn, where a bit of grass grew, and there they sat. "I'll tell you about it," he began.

She sat dumbly, listening. He was going away into service with Sir Francis Bryan. It had been suggested by Sir John Seymour, a distant kin of his mother's, whose son Tom was in the same man's service.

"I never heard of any Seymours. They are not of Cumberland or Westmorland," she said definitely.

"They come from Wilts," Hugo said.

She dismissed Wilts. Hugo was going away. Instead of a November wedding — and November was the right month for weddings — she would have to go back to Kendal. Her hands felt cold; next month it might be snowing. She felt cheated and she blinked back a tear. There wouldn't even be the fun of looking forward to her visits with the Bellinghams, now that Hugo would not be home.

"I am a younger son," Hugo said, "and my father thinks I should see the rest of England, even mayhap the rest of the world." He took her hand again in his warm one. "I'll be going to London. Promise me that you will wait for me!"

It was the first real declaration from him. She drew in a long shivering breath, delighted and pleased with herself, but for some reason she did not know, she only said, "Mayhap, Hugo." She withdrew her hand and folded it under her other one, in her lap.

"I know I've no right to ask you to wait," he said. His voice was even, but his eyes betrayed his eagerness. He stumbled a bit. "I love you, Katryn," he told her. "I love you very much. Please promise to wed me!"

She turned her eyes on him. "You love me?" she asked, low, as though trying to judge the truth of his statement.

"I adore you," he said fervently. "You are much too beautiful and lovely for me, I know that well enough! I don't deserve you, Katryn, but I'll do my best to, and I'll make my fortune this winter, and bring you back all of it!" Clumsily he took a ring from his finger and held it out. "Will you accept it, sweetheart?" he asked.

"It is very pretty," she said. She hesitated. The face and figure of her mother floated before her eyes. What would Lady Parr say if she could see her daughter, sitting on the grass with Hugo Bellingham, and contemplating a precontract of marriage? She shoved the thought aside. The ring was heavy gold; she tried it on her finger; it was much too big. She could wear it around her neck on a little chain. She would be betrothed, and have a man in love with her. She looked up at Hugo, and his heart was in his eyes. She tucked the ring inside her bodice, and was unprepared for Hugo's reaction. He seized her hungrily, taking her action for acceptance of his suit; he folded her in his arms, and kissed her cheek, and the tip of her nose, muttering all the time how much he loved her.

"Hugo, Hugo!" She tried to remonstrate. In the back of her mind was the certain knowledge that a precontract could not be broken; that now she was committed, now she had affianced herself, without her mother's knowing aught, and for a moment fear weighed more heavy than excitement or joy or love, and she almost didn't realize she was being kissed on the lips.

"I love you," he said. He hugged her tight.

"Let me go, Hugo," she whispered.

"I wouldn't fright you for the world, Katryn," he said solemnly, and reluctantly released her.

She shivered. The ground was suddenly cold. The sun had gone in. She grasped Hugo's hand and struggled to her feet. It must be late, near suppertime. She caught her shawl close, inadequate as it was.

She glanced up at Hugo. And now of a sudden she wished she were back home at Kendal, safe within its gray encircling ancient walls. She wished she were in the huge hall with the fire blazing; she wished she were not the female she was, but the first-born son her father had wanted. Then she'd have no problems; Kendal would be hers, she its master and its lord. Instead she was a poor, silly wench, with no dowry, not quite sixteen years old, far away from home, and she had done something she shouldn't. She bit her lip.

"We should go back, Hugo," she said, low.

 

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