Nodding thoughtfully and with relief, the friar stood up. It went against his grain to carry tales that he had got by eavesdropping and he decided to wait for developments. It might well be too that the Duke would not receive him, since they had parted last on a discordant enough note.
This reminded him of something and he said, "How is't with Lady Swynford? What part has she played in all this coil of His Grace's?"
"None at all," answered the baron. "I doubt that he's seen her since it started." His face softened. "Poor fair lass, she moped here at the Savoy for days and then returned to Kenilworth, with the ladies Philippa and Elizabeth. And yet it seems he loves her dearly when he has a mind for love."
"A vile adulterous love," said the friar grimly, pulling up his cowl and adjusting the knotted cord at his waist. "God will scourge them for it."
CHAPTER XIX
Katherine kept Christmastide alone with the children at Kenilworth. The Duke divided his festivities between his father at Havering and his nephew, little Richard, who remained with the Princess Joan across the Thames at Kennington.
His establishment at Kenilworth was not, however, entirely forgotten. In February, the Duke sent belated New Year's presents to everyone, and a silver-gilt girdle for Katherine herself, but the accompanying note was stilted, though it indicated that she should return to the Savoy for a visit with the Lady Philippa, that there was an envoy coming from the Duchy of Luxembourg who wished to see Philippa with a view to possible marriage negotiations.
It was an official missive, dictated, and there was no private message to Katherine. He sent the note and the gifts by a new young squire Katherine did not know, a Robert Beyvill, who was to escort the ladies back to the Savoy.
Katherine received the letter while she sat amongst her household in Kenilworth's beautiful new Hall. She kept rigid control of her face as she read and thought, Dear Mother of God, he has then really ceased to love me or he could not write thus. I shall not go - I'll refuse. Even as she thought this, her heart began to deny it. His love had been buried but surely it was still there despite the evil demon, or whatever the incubus was, that drove him. She must not let her pride strike back at him, since he had again summoned her, no matter how coldly. She would go to London.
And underneath ran bitter realisation. What choice had she but to obey? This castle was his, the bread she ate, the clothes she wore came from his bounty. Like the hundreds in his retinue, like his children, like this young squire who stood waiting respectfully before her, she had no course but submission.
Suddenly she thought of Kettlethorpe. That place was wholly hers, her widow's rights had been confirmed. How small and mean it was compared to these lovely castles where she lived now here, now there, at the Duke's whim; and yet that crumb of far-off Lincolnshire was the only thing in the world entirely her own.
The thought was fleeting. She looked at her little Swynfords - Blanchette's golden curls bent over a grubby bit of embroidery while Philippa gravely helped her. Tom whittling an arrow on the hearth - both well grown, finely clad, and educated better than most nobles' children. And she thought how much they had profited by their mother's situation. She turned her eyes to the young squire and said quietly, "Then we must make ready to leave for London, must we not? What are you named, sir?"
"Robert Beyvill, my lady, but mostly I'm called Robin."
"Robin," she said with her sudden enchanting smile, thinking him well named. He had sharp eyes, a curly brown head, and his tunic was a bright rusty red. He was tall and merry-looking. Altogether far more pleasing a squire than Raulin d'Ypres had been - or Ellis.
Katherine rose abruptly and poured wine for Robin. She never allowed herself to think long of Hugh's erstwhile squire. She had seen Ellis once in Lincoln when little John was born. She had met him by chance as she walked up Pottergate to the house the Duke had leased for her. Ellis had stopped squarely in front of her, his heavy Saxon features twisted to a mask of loathing. "Whore!" he had cried, and spat directly into her face. She had not told the Duke the whole of it but she had seen to it that Ellis de Thoresby was sent off to his estates in Nottingham.
"I dare say Lady Philippa and I shan't be gone long," said Katherine, sitting down again and addressing her household. She spoke soothingly, for she knew there would be bad moments with Elizabeth, who adored the gaieties of London and resented being left out of anything. Worse than any tantrums Elizabeth might have was the stricken look in Blanchette's eyes as the little girl raised them to her mother. Plain as speech they said, And so you leave me again - for him.
"Come here, darling," said Katherine to her. "Shall we sing 'Havelock the Dane'? Will you play it on your lute?" That was the child's favourite ballad, and it used to be that to the point of weariness she begged Katherine for it.
But Blanchette shook her head and lowered it over the embroidery. "No, thank you, Mama," she said in a dull, flat little voice.
Katherine, Philippa and Robin Beyvill, the squire, left for London on the fifteenth of February, accompanied by the usual escort of men-at-arms, varlets and baggage carts, while Hawise and Philippa's waiting-women were stuffed into a wagon with the mistresses' travelling coffers.
Robin enlivened the way by telling the two ladies all that had been happening in London, but Philippa did not listen as she rode sedately along on her white mare. She was praying to the Blessed Virgin, supplicating that understanding Lady with conflicting petitions. First, that the marriage negotiations with Luxemburg would come to naught and second, that she would always have the will to obey her father. But Katherine listened eagerly to the squire and learned more about the Duke's activities than she had ever known. Robin had an uncritical admiration for his lord, whom he had served four years, though only recently promoted to be one of the Duke's own personal squires.
There was plenty of time for talk as they wended along the frozen muddy roads, and Catherine's interest was enlivened by feminine amusement when she discovered that Robin was casting her in the classic role of the unattainable lady fair.
He had too much humour to sigh and groan, as the love-stricken squire should do, but he demonstrated the other signs. His hand trembled when he helped her to dismount, he blushed when she looked at him, and once, when she dropped a sprig of holly which she had been wearing on her bodice, she saw him stealthily pick it up and, kissing the red berries, slip the whole twig into his pouch.
Katherine's sore heart was warmed by this adoration, in which she saw no danger; after all, the lad was barely twenty, and she full twenty-six. She relaxed with him and enjoyed his company, perhaps all the more so because Robin was not of high blood. His father was a franklin in Suffolk, a prosperous one, who farmed ample lands and owned a new half-timbered house.
Robin went on to say proudly that his father, Richard, was even now sitting in Parliament at Westminster, a new member of the Commons. "For," said Robin laughing, "the Duke has seen to it that this Parliament shall be properly packed with his own supporters, so there'll be no trouble like there was last spring."
They jogged out of Buckinghamshire towards Woburn Abbey, where they would sleep that night, while she considered what Robin had said, and she spoke thoughtfully. "So all goes well with His Grace now? He has no more enmities to fight against?"
"God's body, lady, I wouldn't say that!" Robin laughed again, then sobered and turned sharply in his saddle. "There's still the bishops! May the devil's pitchforks prick their fat rumps until they've bled out all the gold!"
"Robin!" cried Katherine.
Philippa looked up from her vague gazing at the road. "Are you a Lollard, Sir Squire?" she said stiffly; her long mild face showed a flash of Lancastrian hauteur. It was only in matters of piety that Philippa dared differ from her father's views.