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.
The Shadow of the Ax
AN 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?
Death, Destruction, Murder. It was everywhere.
I prayed fervently that it would never come to that house by the river which had been my home. But as my father had often said: We lived in violent times and the disaster which befell anyone concerned us all. We were all involved. Death could point its finger at any one of us.
Was it so in the reign of the previous King? He had been a stern man and a miser; he had never been the people’s idol as the present King had been. He was not a man of passion. As the grandson of Owen Tudor and Queen Catherine, widow of Henry V, his claim to the throne was somewhat dubious; and some said the marriage between the Queen and the Tudor had never in fact taken place. But to substantiate his claim he had married Elizabeth, eldest daughter of Edward IV—and thus by one stroke he had strengthened the royal stem and united the houses of York and Lancaster. A clever King—devious and unlovable, but he had made England rich. No doubt there had been dangers in his day, but there had never been so many pitfalls as at this time. There had never been so willful a man whose passions must be satisfied and his conscience placated all at the same time.
But enough of fear. I would think of Kate and her marriage and of my own, which I suppose could not be long delayed.
I had a choice—Rupert or Simon—and I knew it could never be Simon. Good as he was—a clever lawyer, said my father, an asset to his business and his household—he somehow repelled me. It would be Rupert, good kind Rupert, of whom I was fond. But his mildness made me feel indifferent toward him. I suppose like all girls I dreamed of a strong man.
Then I was thinking of Bruno. How little one knew of Bruno! It was never possible to get close to him. But ever since I had heard the story of the child found in the Christmas crib he had represented an ideal for me. His very strangeness attracted me as I am sure it had Kate. We believed then that he was aloof from us all and in our different ways we loved him.
This was why I could not contemplate marriage with Rupert with any enthusiasm. It was because deep within me I had this strange, rather exalted emotion for Bruno.
The two serving girls, Alice and Jennet, were giggling together. They had been in a state of excitement ever since they had known they were going to accompany me. I knew they believed that life in Kate’s household would be far more exciting than in ours.
It was very pleasant on the river and in due course we arrived at that spot where we were to disembark and there were the servants in the unmistakable Remus livery waiting to help us and there were the pack mules to which our baggage was tied. We said good-bye to Tom Skillen and rode off in our little party and two hours’ ride brought us to Remus Castle.
It was of a much earlier period than our residence which had been built by my grandfather. Its solid gray-granite walls confirmed the fact that they had stood for two hundred years and would doubtless stand for five hundred more. The sun glinting on the walls picked out sharp pieces of flint so that they shone like rose diamonds. I gazed up at the machicolations of the keep as we crossed the drawbridge over the moat. We passed through the gateway with its portcullis and were in a courtyard in which a fountain played; as we clattered over the cobbles I heard Kate’s voice.
“Damask!” And I looked up and saw her at a window.
“So you’re here at last,” she cried. “You’re to come straight to me. Pray bring up Mistress Farland without delay,” she commanded.
A groom took my horse and a servant came out to conduct me into the castle. I said that I would first wish to go to my room that I might wash off the grime of my journey and I was led through a great hall up a stone staircase to a room which overlooked the courtyard. I guessed it was not far from Kate’s. I asked that water be brought to me and the maid ran off to do my bidding.
I was soon to discover what an imperious mistress of the household Kate was.
She came to my room. “I told them to bring you to me without delay,” she cried. “They shall hear of this.”
“ ’Twas my orders that I first rid myself of some of the dirt of the roads.”
“Oh, Damask, you have not changed a bit. How good it is to have you here! What do you think of Remus Castle?”
“It’s magnificent,” I said.
She grimaced.
“It is just what you always wanted, wasn’t it? A castle, a place at Court—and you to flit twixt one and the other.”
“And how much flitting dost think I do? Look at me!”
I looked at her and laughed. Elegant Kate, her body misshapen, her mouth discontented; nothing the satin gown edged with miniver could do could alter that.
“And soon to be a mother!” I cried.
“Not soon eno
ugh for me,” grumbled Kate. “I dread the ordeal but I yearn for it to be over. But you are here and that is good. Here is your water so remove the dust at once. And is that your traveling gown? My poor Damask, we must do something about that.”
“Your ladyship looks very grand, I swear.”
“No need to swear,” said Kate. “I’m well aware of how I look. I have been so ill, Damask, so sick. I would rather jump out of this window than go through the same again. And the worst is to come.”
“Women are having babies every day, Kate.”
“I am not. Nor shall there be another day.”
“And how fares my lord?”
“He is at Court. Does that not make it even harder to bear? Though they say the King is in ill humor and it takes very little to bring a frown of displeasure. Heads are very insecurely balanced on shoulders these days.”
“Then should you not be glad that yours is in a firm position?”
“Still the same old Damask, still counting your blessings. It is good to have you.”
And she was certainly the same old Kate. She asked questions about what was happening at home and when we talked of Keziah she was a little sad.
“And it is that man’s child,” she said. “I wonder how she will grow up. Conceived in such a way…born of such parents.” And she put her hands on her body and smiled.
Kate was impatient for my company. There was so much to talk of, she told me. If I had refused to come she would never have spoken to me again. When I said I would unpack my baggage she told me there was no need for that: a servant would do it. But I wished to do it myself, so I unpacked and showed her a little silk gown for her baby that had been made from the silk produced by my mother’s silkworms. Kate was indifferent to it; she preferred a little charm bracelet I had brought and which had been put on my wrist by my parents when I had been born.
The Miracle at St. Bruno's Page 13