The Miracle at St. Bruno's (16 page)

I pressed his arm gently. I am sure that if Rupert had asked me to marry him at that moment I should have agreed to do so because I wished to please my dear good father more than anything else on earth.

One of the serving girls brought a message for me. Mother Salter wished me to go to her. When I arrived the old woman was seated as usual on the chimney seat, Wrekin at her feet, the sooty pot bubbling over the fire.

She rose and led the way up to the short spiral staircase. On the bed lay a body under a sheet and on the sheet was a sprig of rosemary. I gasped, and she nodded.

“It was as I said it would be,” she murmured.

“Oh, my poor Keziah!” My voice trembled and she laid a hand on my shoulder; her fingers were bony, her nails like claws.

I said: “And the child?”

She led the way downstairs. In a corner of the room was a crib which I had not noticed when I came in. In it lay a living child. I stared in wonder and Mother Salter gave me a little push toward the crib.

“Take her up,” she said. “She’s yours.”

“A little girl,” I whispered.

“Didn’t I tell you?”

I took up the child. It was unswaddled and wrapped in a shawl. Her face was pink and crumpled looking; its very helplessness filled me with pity that was close to love.

She took the child from me.

“Not yet,” she said. “Not yet. I’ll nurture her. When the time comes, she’ll be yours.” She laid the child back in the crib and turned to me. Her claws dug into my arm. “Don’t forget your promise.”

I shook my head. Then I found that I was weeping. I was not sure for what—for Keziah whose life was over, or for the baby whose life was just beginning.

“She was young to die,” I said.

“Her time had come.”

“But it was too soon.”

“She had a good life. She loved a frolic. She could never resist a man. It had to be. Men were the meaning of life to her. It was written that they would be the death of her too.”

“That man…the father of her child…I loathed him.”

“Yes, my fine lady,” she said. “But how can any of us be sure who fathers us?”

“I am sure,” I said.

“Ah, yes, you, but who else can be? Keziah never knew who her father was. Nor was her mother sure. My daughter was another such as Keziah. They couldn’t resist the men, you see, and they both died in childbirth. You’re a fine lady and you’ll make little Honeysuckle one too.” She squeezed my arm. “You’ve got to, haven’t you? Wouldn’t dare do aught else, would you? Remember, you gave your word. And if you don’t keep it, my fine young lady, you’ll have the curse of dead Keziah on you forever and what’s worse still, Mother Salter’s.”

“I’ve no intention of not keeping my promise. I want to. I long to have the child. My father has said that I may bring her up as my own if I so wish.”

“And you must so wish. But not yet…. She’s too young yet. I’ll keep her with me until the time comes. Then she shall be yours.” She had brought with her the sprig of rosemary which she pressed into my hand. “Remember,” she said.

I left the witch’s cottage mourning for Keziah, remembering so many scenes from my youth and at the same time I was thinking of the child and how happy I should be to have a baby to care for. I longed for children of my own. Perhaps, I thought, my father was right when he said I should marry.

A
N IMPERIOUS LETTER CAME
from Kate, brought by one of Lord Remus’s servants. We were at supper in the big hall where we took our meals at the long table at which places were always laid for any travelers who might call. There was usually someone—footsore and weary; they all knew of the benevolence of Lawyer Farland who had the reputation for never turning any away. Conversation at our table was usually interesting because as my father said it was stimulating to hear new views. In the kitchen there were always salted joints of pig hanging from the beams and Clement invariably had an assortment of pies to hand. Next to her garden my mother loved her stillroom and her kitchen. In fact one served the other. She dried her herbs and mixed them, experimenting with them, and was almost as excited by the result as she was by growing a new rose.

This was supper and it was six of the clock, and early summer, so the doors were wide open. As we sat at table one of the servants came in to say that there was a man at the gate who wished to see Father.

He rose at once and went out. He came back with a man whose clothes proclaimed him to be a priest. My father looked pleased; he always enjoyed giving hospitality but naturally to do so to some gave him more pleasure than to others.

The man was Amos Carmen and it appeared that he and my father had once known each other and the reunion gave them much pleasure. He did not take his place at the table where callers usually sat but a place was laid next to my father and the two of them talked together. They had at one time been together in St. Bruno’s and thought of taking up the monastic life. Amos had become a priest while my father’s intention was to found a family.

When Amos began to talk about the changes in the Church I could see that my father was growing a little uneasy. Although those at the table might be trusted there were the servants to consider and it was so easy in these days to betray oneself. To imply by word or deed that one did not consider the King to be the Supreme Head of the Church could mean death. When my father changed the topic of conversation I think the newcomer realized what was happening for he immediately fell in with the new subject and we were discussing the uses of herbs on which he had complimented my mother because of the manner they had been used in the pies which were being served to us.

It was a change to see my mother animated. It was usually when we had horticulturists to dine with us that she sparkled.

“It’s amazing,” she was saying, “how little use is made of the flowers and herbs which grow in our meadows and hedgerows. They are there for anyone’s taking and they can be so tasty. Primroses and marigolds make excellent garnish in pies and tarts.”

“I can see, Madam,” replied Amos with a smile, “that you are a past mistress at the art of cookery.”

Mother dimpled rather prettily. She was far more susceptible to flattery about her flowers and her household than her looks; and she was still good looking.

Father said: “She is the best housewife in England. I’d defy any to deny it. Why, when Damask here is snuffling with a cold it seems nothing will cure her mother gives her juice of buttercup. Following the dose there is such an attack of sneezing that the head is cleared at once. And I remember how when I had blisters on my feet she cured that with…crowfoot, was it?”

“It was indeed,” said Mother. “Oh, yes, there is a great deal to be learned from the roots and flowers and herbs.”

And so we discussed the herbs which could ease pain or delight the palate and it was while we talked thus that the letters arrived from Kate.

How grand her servants were in their bright livery! Ours seemed humble in comparison. One of the letters was addressed to Father and Mother, the other to me.

We did not consider it polite to read them at table, which was a trial to me as I was burning with impatience to have Kate’s news. The messenger was taken to the kitchens to be refreshed, although, said Father jocularly, one wondered whether such a fine-looking gentleman should be invited to sit at the head of the table.

The conversation continued concerning new plants and vegetables which my mother believed would shortly be introduced into the country. My mother was saying that like Queen Katharine she often longed for a salad, but unlike the Queen had been wont to do, she was in no position to send to Flanders or Holland that the proper ingredients might be acquired.

“And I believe,” said Amos Carmen, “that there is talk of bringing in Flemish hops and planting them here.”

“It is so,” cried my mother. “I should verily like to see more and more such things coming into the country. There are so many edible roots like the carrot and the turnip. It is ridiculous that we cannot grow them here. But we shall. Do you remember the visitor we had from Flanders?” She turned to her husband.

He remembered well, he told her.

“He told us, you may also remember, that plans are afoot to bring these edible roots into the country. They would grow very well here, so why should we be deprived of them? How I should like to make a salad of these things and take it to the Queen….”

She stopped for she remembered that Queen Katharine who had sent to the Low Countries for her salads was now dead. We were all silent. I was remembering how the King and Anne Boleyn had worn yellow as their “mourning” and had danced on the day of Queen Katharine’s death. And now Anne herself was dead and Jane was dead and the news was that the King was mightily dissatisfied with his new Queen.

It seemed impossible to speak of any subject without coming back to that one which was in everybody’s mind.

But what I wanted was to get away to read Kate’s letter.

“I have written to your parents to tell them they must do nothing to prevent your coming to me. I need your company. There was never any state so uncomfortable, humiliating and dull, if it were not enlivened by bouts of misery, as having a child. I swear it shall never happen again. I want you to come and stay with me. Remus is agreeable. In fact he is eager. He is so delighted at the thought of the child and so proud of himself (at his age!) that he would willingly put up with any tantrum I care to throw and I assure you I throw them constantly. I have been thinking what I can do to relieve the tedium and the
misery
and I suddenly thought the answer is Damask. You are to come at once. You will stay until the child is born. Only a matter of weeks now. Make no excuses. If you don’t come I shall never forgive you.”

Father came to my room. He was holding Kate’s letter in his hand.

“Ah,” he said, “you know the gist of this, I’ll warrant.”

“Poor Kate,” I said, “I think she was not meant to bear children.”

“My dearest child, that is what every woman is meant to do.”

“Every woman except Kate,” I said. “Well, am I to go?”

“It is for you to say.”

“So I have your permission?”

He nodded. He was looking at me in a quizzical, tender way. Afterward I wondered whether he had a premonition.

“I shall hate leaving you,” I told him.

“The birds have to leave the nest at some time.”

“It will not be for very long,” I assured him.

The next day Amos Carmen left and I was busy making my preparations. It would be the first time I had been away from home. I looked wryly at my clothes. I guessed they would seem very homely in Kate’s grand mansion.

We were to go by barge some ten miles upriver; and there we should be met by members of the Remus household. I should take two maids with me and Tom Skillen would be in charge of the barge. Then our baggage would be put onto pack mules and horses which would be waiting to take us to the Remus Castle.

I was so excited and eager to see Kate again. It was true that without her and Keziah—as she used to be in the old days—life was a little drab. Then there was Bruno whom in my heart I knew I missed more than any. I often wondered why. He had seemed so remote to me and I had often thought that it was only rarely that he remembered my existence. But I, no less than Kate, had felt this strong emotion for him—in Kate it was an imperious desire for his company; in me a kind of awed respect. Kate demanded it while I was glad when it came my way. I was eager for the crumbs which fell from the rich man’s table while Kate was seated at it as if she were supping there.

The day before I was due to leave Amos Carmen came back to the house. I came upon him with Father. They were standing by the stone parapet near the river in earnest conversation.

“Ah,” said my father. “Here is Damask. Come here, daughter.”

I looked from one to the other; I knew at once that they had something on their minds and I cried anxiously: “What is it?”

My father said: “You may trust this girl with your life.”

“Father,” I cried, “why do you say that?”

“My child,” he said, “we live in dangerous times. Tonight our guest will be on his way. When you are in the household of Lord Remus perhaps you should not mention that he visited us.”

“No, Father,” I said.

They were both smiling placidly, and I was so excited at the prospect of my visit to Kate that I forgot what their words might have implied.

The next day I set out. Father and Mother with Rupert and Simon Caseman came down to the privy stairs to wave me off. Mother asked me to take note of how the gardeners at Remus dealt with greenfly and what herbs they grew and to find out if there were any recipes of which she had not heard. Father held me against him and bade me come home soon and to remember that in Kate’s house I was not at home and to guard well my tongue. Rupert asked me to come home soon and Simon Caseman looked at me with a strange light in his eye as though he were half exasperated with me, half amused. But he implied at the same time that his great desire was to make me his wife.

I waved to them from the barge and I sent up a silent prayer that all would be well until my return.

Tom Skillen had changed; he was more subdued now that he had lost Keziah; skillfully he took the barge upriver; we passed several craft and I beguiled the time by asking Tom Skillen if he knew to whom they belonged. When we passed Hampton, the great mansion which was growing more and more grand every week, I thought often as I always did of the King’s sailing down the river with the Cardinal at his side.

Then I reflected how pleasant it would be to sail with the whole of the family on a barge like this which would carry us all miles away, right into the country where I believed people could be safe from the troubles which seemed to beset us all. I visualized a peaceful house, exactly like ours, but too far away to be involved in unhappy events.

Far away? But where was one safe? I remembered the men of Lincolnshire and Yorkshire who had risen against the reforms in the Church which the King and Thomas Cromwell had brought about. What had happened to them? I shuddered. I remembered the body of the monk outside the Abbey and that of Brother Ambrose, swinging on the gibbets. There was no peace anywhere. One could only pray that one was not caught up in danger. Had those men of Yorkshire and Lincolnshire known when they began their Pilgrimage of Grace that so many of them would end on a gibbet?