The Confession of Katherine Howard by Suzannah Dunn

Author:Suzannah Dunn
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2010-08-17T04:00:00+00:00

Over the weeks, we girls–with the exception of Mary–grew relaxed enough in the boys’ presence to discard not only our hoods but our gowns, which left us sitting around in our soft kirtles–no less covered, of course, but more comfortable. Ed, I noticed, didn’t ever quite meet Kate’s eyes; everyone else’s, but never hers. He’d stop just short of looking directly at her, even as he kept talking, fast and funny. Which left Francis free to do so, and this–I saw–he did. Ed was all mouth; Francis, all eyes: his particular gift, those big riverwater-coloured eyes, and they were solely for her.

At some point, she must’ve reciprocated, she must’ve given him the look although I didn’t actually see her do it. I’d known that she’d do it sometime, because he was hers: I knew it, and I’m sure everyone else did. And, anyway, why would we mind? We had Ed, with his stories. Our evenings were Ed’s show. Francis’s comments, although sharp enough, were infrequent and brief; he was a mere debunker, detractor.

One evening, I saw that Kate was resting against Francis’s shoulder. Until then, I hadn’t even noticed that they’d been sitting side by side. I marvelled at how they’d got themselves to that point: what understanding had passed between them, how they’d reached it, how it had been broached. As far as I knew, they’d done it wordlessly. I was certain that was something I’d never learn to do: this language of no words was one that I’d never learn to speak. Not that I minded. It wasn’t for me, I felt.

Over the following few evenings, her resting against him became a laying of her head on his shoulder, and then, some evenings later, a leaning back on him. And then there she was, lounging back on him, between his knees, her eyes either half-closed or closed, as were his. They’d withdrawn from us, and we’d let them go. What choice, though, had we had? Sometimes he’d tease her hair with his fingertips, sometimes lay his lips down on to the top of her head, all of it as natural-looking as a flutter of breeze.

Then, one evening, when Ed rose to leave, Francis–eyes closed–didn’t move. Nothing unusual in that, but normally Ed would chivvy him: Come on, Sunshine, then a prod of his toes or a small, slack kick. This time, though, instead, he made a face–an expression of affection–to convey that he couldn’t quite bear to disturb his enviably peaceful friend. Then he was off, backing away through the doorway with a fingertip to his lips to keep us hushed. It was so unexpected that we were too slow to object. Mary was already asleep, anyway; Maggie, too. When the door had closed, Alice frowned and I shrugged back at her. Kate and Francis did look to be asleep: comfortably so, enviably so. Untouchably so. Waking them would take some doing, by the look of it, and it was late, I was tired. Easier to leave them be.

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