The Miracle at St. Bruno's (57 page)

“I mock no one. I merely state a fact. I looked from my window and saw the most beautiful ship I have ever seen.”

“The most beautiful ship you have ever seen is the
Rampant Lion
.”

“No, this was indeed more majestic and fine. She was so tall and lofty … like a castle afloat.”

He was looking at me intently. “Did you see how many masts she had?”

“Four, I think.”

“And her decks … were they high?”

“Why, yes, I suppose so. She was so tall … I did not know ships could be so tall.”

He seemed to have forgotten his interest in me. The ship of the night had driven all other thoughts from his mind.

He questioned me avidly. I answered as best I could, but my knowledge of ships was sparse. He made no protest as I walked my horse back to Trewynd stables; he merely kept pace with me, firing questions at me, exasperated because I could not describe in detail the ship I had seen.

He burst out suddenly: “It could not be. But by God’s Death, it would seem that you are describing a Spanish galleon.”

I had not realized how fervently religious Edward was. At the Abbey my mother had never instilled one doctrine into me rather than another. Her ideal had been tolerance and I knew that she did not think that the manner of worship mattered so much as that one lived as Christian a life as was possible. She had once said to me: “It is in people’s actions toward their fellowmen that we perceive their religion. What virtue is there in praising God if one is cruel to His creatures?”

Few people were in agreement with her. The last Queen and her ministers had burned people at the stake not because they had robbed or murdered but because they did not believe according to Rome.

And now we had turned around and the religious laws which had existed in Mary’s reign were abolished and those of her predecessor’s time were restored. The Protestant religion was in the ascendancy and although there might not be a recurrence of the Smithfield fires it was dangerous to go against the spiritual domination ordered by the Queen.

Whether our Queen was firm in her views or not, I could not be sure. The dangerous years when she had come close to losing her head would be remembered by her; then she had prevaricated, although perhaps she had leaned toward the Reformed Faith; and indeed had she not, she might not be on the throne this day.

Now of course she had a very good political reason for her firm Protestant views. Across the Channel was a Queen of France who was also a Queen of Scotland and who many believed was also the true Queen of England: Mary Stuart, the granddaughter of Margaret, sister of our late King Henry VIII. Thus many said she was the direct heir to the throne of England while Elizabeth—whose father had put aside his true wife, Catherine of Aragon, to marry Elizabeth’s mother, Anne Boleyn—was a bastard and had no real claim to it.

Mary Stuart was Catholic, so she was the figurehead of those who would wish to see England back in the Papal fold. Elizabeth therefore must set herself up as the leader of Protestantism. I felt certain that our Queen’s motives were not prompted by religion so much as by politics.

But these politics existed; and those who celebrated Mass and worshiped in the Roman manner were potential enemies of the Queen, for they would wish to lead the country back to Rome and if this were done, Mary Stuart, not Elizabeth Tudor, would be accepted as the Queen of England.

Therefore, in worshiping as Edward and Honey did, there was danger.

I knew that services were conducted in the chapel behind closed doors. I knew that beneath the altar cloth there was a hidden door, and I guessed that behind that door were images and all that was used in celebration of the Mass.

I did not join in this, but I was aware that several members of the household did. I had not thought very much about it until the night when the Pennlyons had talked so fiercely about the Dons. I thought how intolerant they would be of those who did not think as they did; and dangerous too.

I could not pass the chapel after that night without a twinge of alarm.

Jennet, the young girl whom I had brought with me from the Abbey, was putting my clothes away, smoothing her hands over the cloth of a velvet cloak with a sort of ecstasy.

Jennet was about a year younger than I was—small, lithe, with a tangle of thick dark curls. I had noticed one or two of the menservants follow her with their eyes and I thought Jennet must be warned.

Jennet’s eyes sparkled as she worked and I asked if she were happy in these new surroundings.

“Oh, yes, Mistress Catharine,” she replied fervently.

“So you like it better than the Abbey?”

She shivered a little. “Oh, yes, Mistress. ’Tis more open like. There was ghosts in the Abbey … everyone said. And you could never know what was going to come up next.”

Jennet was a great gossip; I had heard her chatter to the maids; if I gave her an opportunity she would have plenty to say to me.

“So you feel it’s different here?”

“Oh, yes, Mistress, why, at the Abbey … I’d lie trembling on my pallet at night even though the others was there. Young Mary swore she saw monks going into the church one day at dusk … long robes, she said, and chanting like. She said terrible things had happened there and where terrible things happen there’ll be ghosts.”

“But you never really
saw
a ghost, Jennet.”

“No, Mistress, but I felt ’em there and ’tis the same. ’Tis more as a big house should be here. Ghosts there could be, as most houses have their ghosts, but here it ’ud be a ghost like other ghosts—a poor lady as ’ad been crossed in love or a gentleman who had lost his inheritance and thrown himself from the tower like … something ghosts ’as always done—but in the Abbey they were terrible ghosts. Monks and evil… Oh, there was evil there all right. My Granny remembers when the men came and what they done… Here, though, ’tis different. There’s ships too. Oh, I like to see the ships.” Jennet giggled. “And that Captain Pennlyon, Mistress. I said to Mary: ‘I never did see such a fine gentleman,’ and Mary she says the same, Mistress.”

I felt angry suddenly. So the maids were discussing him. I pictured his swaggering past them, perhaps bestowing a kiss on the prettiest, marking her down as possible prey. The man sickened me.

And what was I doing chattering with Jennet!

I said: “Pray put those away quickly, Jennet. Don’t chatter so much. Have you nothing to do with your time?”

Jennet, naturally a little bewildered by my sudden change of manner, hung her head and flushed slightly. I hoped I had conveyed firmly my indifference to Captain Pennlyon.

Jennet had stopped in her work and was looking out of the window down onto the courtyard.

“What’s there, Jennet?” I asked.

“’Tis a young man, Mistress.”

I went and stood beside her. There was indeed a young man; he was dressed in a russet-colored doublet with green hose; his hair was very dark, fitting sleekly about his head, and as we gazed down at him he looked up.

He bowed elaborately.

I called down, “Who are you?”

“Good Mistress,” he cried, “if you are the lady of the house I would have speech with you.”

“Marry!” breathed Jennet. “But he’s handsome!”

I said, “I am not the mistress of the house, but I will come down and see you.”

I went down into the hall, Jennet at my heels, and I opened the iron-studded door. The young man bowed once more, very deferentially.

“The mistress of the house is not at home, I think. Perhaps you could tell me your business.”

“I seek work, my lady.”

“Work?” I cried. “What kind of work?”

“I am not particular as to its nature. I would be grateful for anything that came my way.”

“The management of the household is not in my hands. I am a guest here.”

“Shall I see if I can find the master?” asked Jennet eagerly.

He flashed her a look of gratitude and she colored prettily.

“Please,” he said.

Jennet ran off and I said to the young man, “What is your name?”

“It is Richard Rackell.”

“And from whence do you come?”

“I came from the North. I believed that in the South I could make my way more easily than in my native parts.”

“And now you wish to work here awhile and then go off for fresh adventures?”

“It would depend. Always I look for somewhere where I can settle.”

Men often came looking for work, particularly at the end of the summer at Michaelmas. There was work in the fields, threshing, winnowing, salting down cattle which could not be fed during the winter. But there was something about this young man which was different from those who usually came.

I asked him if he had any experience of harvesting; he said No but that he was good with horses and he hoped there might be a place for him in the stables.

By this time Edward had appeared. He rode into the courtyard, an elegant man who seemed to have grown more slight and delicate-looking in the last days. I suppose I was comparing him with the Pennlyons.

“Edward,” I said, “this young man is looking for work.”

Edward was always courteous and, I believe, eager to do a good turn. He was popular with the work people although I imagined they despised him a little. They were not used to such gentle manners.

He asked the young man into the winter parlor and sent for a tankard of ale to refresh him. Not many prospective employers treated work people thus, but Edward was something of a visionary. He did not believe his fortune placed him above others; he knew that he was more learned, more cultured, more graciously mannered than the farm laborers, but if a man had good manners and some education he would not consider him beneath himself because he was, say, the son of a doctor or lawyer and Edward was the son of a lord. Honey had often said to me: “Edward is a good man.”

She was right.

I did not accompany them to the winter parlor naturally; I went back to my bedroom, where Jennet had returned to her task of putting my clothes away.

“Oh, Mistress Catharine,” she said, “do you think the master’ll find a place for him?”

“He does not seem to me to be fitted for hard labor in the fields and that is what will be looked for at this time of year.”

“He did look a real gentleman,” said Jennet, smoothing my fly cape. “They make handsome men in the North.”

“You are far too interested in men, Jennet,” I said severely.

“Oh, but they’m interesting folk, Mistress.”

“I should warn you. You know full well what can happen to girls who don’t take good care of themselves.”

“Oh, Mistress, you be thinking of the sailors. Them that’s here today and gone tomorrow. If this young Richard Rackell do come he’s here to stay, and what he does will have to be answered for.”

“Jennet, I have noticed that you are inclined to invite attention.”

“Oh, Mistress.” She flushed deeply and giggled.

I went on severely: “And if this young man should be fortunate enough to be given work here you would do well to wait until he shows interest in you before you betray yours in him.”

“’Tis but a boy, Mistress,” said Jennet, her eyes sparkling, and I was angry with her because I knew that she was comparing the young Richard Rackell with Captain Pennlyon.

It was typical of Edward that he should find a place for Richard Rackell in the household. He came into the solarium where Honey and I sat together, she embroidering, I idly watching her, and sat down with us.

He said: “I’ve put him into the stables. They need an extra groom, though how he will fit in I don’t know. He has not the appearance of a groom, but he certainly has a way of handling horses. In time we’ll find something else for him. My opinion is that he would make an excellent scribe, though I have no need of a scribe.”

Honey smiled at her husband over her needle; she was always tender and gentle with him; he, of course, adored her. She looked beautiful with her needle poised thus and a quiet, dreamy look of contentment on her face.

“Let him serve in the stables then,” said Honey. “And if something other should arise he will be there to take it.”

“A pleasant young man,” said Edward. “Of some education, I believe.”

“He speaks with a strange accent,” I added.

“That is because he comes from the North. Their speech is oft so different from our own that it can be difficult to understand it.”

“One can understand Richard well enough.”

“Oh, yes, but he is a young man not without education … not the sort who normally come knocking at the doors begging for work.”

“He is reticent, Jennet tells me. She has lost no time in making his acquaintance.”

Edward cleared his throat and said, “Thomas Elders will be visiting us at the end of the week.”

Honey paused slightly, her needle poised. I knew that remark had made her a little uneasy.

I wanted to tell them both that they had nothing to fear from me. I would not betray what I knew, which was that Thomas Elders was a priest who traveled from one Catholic household to another, that he came as a guest who was said to be an old friend of some member of the household; and that during his stay in the house he heard confession and celebrated Mass; and at the same time ran the risk of incurring the Queen’s displeasure for himself and for the members of that household he visited.

He had been once before. I had thought little of his coming then although I had quickly assessed the purpose of it.

Everyone was expecting a more tolerant attitude toward religion with the new reign and indeed it could not be more severe than the last, but that extreme tolerance had not yet come; the Queen had her reasons and so did her ministers. It was, to say the least, unwise to entertain priests in the household.

When I remembered the fierce attitude of the Pennlyons I was apprehensive.

I changed the subject by talking of the newcomer Richard Rackell.

“He has gracious manners indeed,” I said. “I knew someone from the North once who came to visit my father. He did not speak or act as this young man does.”

“People are never cut to a pattern,” said Honey comfortably.

Then she began to talk about their neighbors and, fearing that this might lead to the Pennlyons, I rose and left them together.