“When the child can no longer wear it, it must be given back to me.”
“So that you can put it on your own child’s wrist? Well, Damask, when is that to be?”
I flushed slightly in spite of my determination not to betray my feelings. “I have no idea,” I said sharply.
“You’d best take Rupert, Damask. He will be a good kind husband—just the man for you. He will care for you and never cast eyes on another woman. He is young—not like my Remus. And although he is poor in worldly goods you have enough for both.”
“Thank you for settling my future so easily.”
“Poor Damask! Oh, let us be candid one with the other. You wanted Bruno. Are you mad, Damask? He would never have been the man for you.”
“Nor for you either, it seemed.”
“Sometimes I wish I had gone with him.”
“Gone?” I demanded. “Gone where?”
“Oh, nothing,” she replied. Then she hugged me and said: “I feel alive now you’ve come. This place stifles me. When I was at Court it was different. There’s an excitement there, Damask, that you couldn’t understand.”
“I know I’m an ignorant country girl in your estimation—though may I draw your attention to the fact that my home is nearer London than yours—but I can certainly imagine how exciting it must be to wonder from one moment to another when you make some remark, perform some action, whether it will send you to the Tower, there to live—oh, most excitingly—awaiting the order for release or decapitation.”
Kate laughed aloud. “Yes, it is good to have you here. Bless you, Damask, for coming.”
“Thank you. I suppose your blessings are preferable to the curses I could have expected had I refused.”
I felt my spirits rising. I suppose we belonged together in a way, and although I disapproved of almost everything Kate did, and she was contemptuous of me, although we sparred continuously, I felt alive when I was with her. I suppose because we had grown up together, she seemed like a part of myself.
We supped together that night alone in her room. She had a little table there on which she often took her meals.
“I dareswear you and your husband dine and sup here alone when he is in residence,” I said.
She laughed again, her eyes flashing scornfully.
“You don’t know Remus. What should we talk of, do you think? He is getting deaf too. I should throw a platter at him if I had to endure him alone. No, we eat in style when he is here. We use the hall which you noticed when you came—or perhaps you didn’t. All Remus’s relics of past wars—halberds, swords, armor—look at us while we eat; I at one end of the table—and by the grace of God—he at the other. Conversation is lively or dull depending on the guests. We often have people from the Court here—then it can be very amusing; but often it is dull country squires who talk endlessly of plowing their lands and salting their pigs until I feel I shall scream at them.”
“I am sure Lord Remus finds you a most accommodating spouse.”
“Well, at least I am providing him with a child.”
“And he considers that the price he has to pay is worthwhile? You are”—I looked at her searchingly—“quite pleasant to the eye even in your present state of discontent. And you have doubtless renewed his youth by proving that he is still not too old to beget children.”
She said quickly: “I said I was providing him with a child. I did not say it was of his begetting.”
“Oh, Kate,” I cried, “what do you mean?”
“There! I talk too much. But you don’t count. I just like to tell the truth to you, Damask.”
“So…you have deceived Remus. It is not his child. Then how can you pretend it is!”
“You have not yet learned much of men, Damask. It is easy to convince them that they have the power to do what they fancy themselves doing. Remus is so puffed up with pride at the thought of being a father that he is ready to forget it might have meant his playing the cuckold.”
“Kate, you are shameless as you ever were.”
“More so,” she mocked. “You surely cannot expect me to improve with experience.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I am so glad,” said Kate with a grimace. “My indiscretion is forgotten.”
“And here you are about to undergo the greatest experience any woman can and you lie here puling about it.”
“For two whole months I have lived in solitude—save for the guests who have come here. I have had to endure the solicitude of Remus. I have had to behave like a woman who yearns for her child.”
“And in your heart you do.”
“I don’t think I was intended to be a mother, Damask. No. I want to dance at Court. I want to hunt with the royal party. To return to the Castle or the Palace—we were at Windsor recently and there we danced and talked and watched mummers or the play, and there is a ball. That is the life. Then I can forget.”
“What do you want to forget, Kate?”
“Oh,” she cried, “I am talking too much once more.”
The gardens at Remus were beautiful. My mother would have been delighted with them. I tried to remember details so that I could tell her about them when I returned home. There was one very favorite spot of mine—a garden with a pond in the center surrounded by a pleached alley; because it was summer the trees in this alley were thick with leaves. Kate and I used to like to sit by the pond and talk.
I was gratified that she had changed since I had come. The lines of discontent had disappeared from her mouth and she was constantly laughing—often at me, it was true, but in that tolerant, affectionate manner with which I was familiar.
It was in the pond garden that she talked to me of Bruno.
“I wonder where he went,” she said. “Do you believe that he disappeared in a cloud and went back to heaven? Or do you think it was to London to make his fortune?”
“He did disappear,” I mused. “He was found in the crib on that Christmas morning and Keziah did seem to lose her senses when she met Rolf Weaver. Her confession may have been false.”
“What purpose was there in his coming?”
“St. Bruno’s became rich after his arrival and it was due to him.”
“But what happened when Cromwell’s men came? Where were his miracles then?”
“Perhaps it was meant that they should have their way.”
“Then what was the purpose of sending a Holy Child just to make St. Bruno’s prosper for a few years so that greater riches could be diverted to the King’s coffers? And what of the confessions of Keziah and the monk? Keziah could never have made up such a story. Why should she?”
“It may have been some devil prompting her.”
“You have been visiting the witch in the woods.”
“I did because of Honeysuckle.”
“You are foolish, Damask. You have promised to take this child, you tell me. And your father agrees. You are a strange unworldly pair. The child of that beast and a wayward serving girl. And she is to be as your sister! What do you think will come of that?”
“I loved Keziah,” I said. “She was a mother to me. And the child could be Bruno’s sister. Have you thought of that?”
“If Keziah’s stories are true they would be half-brother and sister, would they not?”
“The relationship is there.”
“How like you, Damask. You fit events to truth as it pleases yourself. At one moment you want Bruno to be holy so he disappears up to heaven in a cloud; the next minute you want to make a reason for taking this child, so she is Bruno’s half-sister. You see you are not logical. Your thinking is muddled. How much easier it would be if you had simple motives like mine.”
“To get what you want from life and to make others pay for it.”
“It’s a good arrangement from the taker’s point of view.”
“It could never be a good arrangement—even if it worked.”
“It’s going to work for me,” said Kate blandly.
Whatever top
ic we started with, Bruno would find a way into our conversation. Kate would soften a little when she spoke of him. She often recalled details of those days when we used to go through the ivy-covered door and find him waiting for us. I was sure that at times she believed that Bruno was something more than human.
“Do you think we shall ever knew the truth about Bruno, Kate?” I asked.
“Who ever knows the whole truth about anybody?” was her reply.
I dispatched a messenger to my father to tell him of my safe arrival. I said I would be coming home shortly after the baby was born. I knew that Kate would not wish me to go. I had an idea that she visualized keeping me there as a companion for herself. She told me once that she needed me.
“And since you don’t altogether fancy Rupert I might arrange a grand marriage for you,” she promised me.
“My father would expect me to go home.”
“I am sure he is eager to see you married.”
But with the baby due to arrive at any time we were both awaiting the signs so that our conversation was often of the imminent birth. I went through the layette which had been prepared for the child and Kate and I discussed the names of boys and girls which we thought would be suitable for the infant.
Kate liked to talk about the Court and the King’s affairs and her recent adventures at Windsor made her feel that she was really very knowledgeable—particularly compared with a stay-at-home cousin.
The King’s marriage was the great topic for we all knew that he was greatly dissatisfied with his bride.
“It is a most unfortunate affair,” said Kate happily as we sat in the pond garden. I was stitching at a little garment I was making for the baby. Kate sat idly, her hands in her lap, watching me.
“Of course poor Anne of Cleves is a most unsuitable wife. The King would never have thought of taking her but for the state of affairs on the continent.”
I begged to hear more. I had heard rumors but I liked listening to Kate’s more racy version than those which had been vaguely alluded to at our dinner table.
“The King always hated the Emperor Charles and the King of France,” Kate explained, “and the thought of their joining up together was quite alarming. They say that he believed they were plotting a mischief against him. So he wanted allies on the Continent. Cromwell believed that the Duke of Cleves would be that ally; so why not make a firm alliance through marriage with the Duke’s sister?”
“And the lady was willing,” I said. “Did she know what had happened to Queen Katharine and Queen Anne?”
“Surely the whole world knows! It was bruited about Europe as I believe no other affair ever has been. The King’s Secret Matter was undoubtedly the world’s most well-known scandal. Ladies were not too willing. There was Mary of Guise—and she a widow. Very comely, said those who knew her. The King fancied her but she refused him for the King of Scotland. That is something he will not readily forgive the Scots. And now he is angry with Master Cromwell, because the lady of Cleves does not live up to his expectations. Remus saw the account which Cromwell’s man sent him of the lady. It compared her beauty with that of other ladies as being like the golden sun to the silver moon. She was said to surpass them all. And Holbein the artist made a portrait of her but omitted to put in the pockmarks. Her face is pitted with them. They say that when he saw her the King was horrified and disgusted and naturally furious with those who had brought her to him.”
“Poor woman!”
“She could not speak a word of English so she did not know what was being said about her.”
“She must have sensed the cold reception.”
“I was sorry for the King. I wondered whether he compared her with that other Anne. Do you remember her, Damask? How fascinating she was riding in her litter! Did you ever see anyone like her? So elegant…so attractive….She was a real Queen. I shall never forget her.”
“Nor I the day you blackmailed poor Tom Skillen into taking us up the river to see her pass by.”
“How grateful you should be to me. But for my astuteness you would never have seen Queen Anne Boleyn. No, I shall never forget her. She was unforgettable. How could the King have let her go for the sake of Jane Seymour! That is something I have never been able to understand. Jane was so simple, so dull….Compared with all that brilliance….”
“Perhaps men sometimes tire of brilliance and fancy a little peace.”
That made Kate laugh. “His Grace the King? Never! Well, he would have quickly tired of her had she lived, so, poor soul, perhaps it was as well she died. When I saw the new Queen at Shooters Hill whither we had ridden out with the King’s party to greet her, I was mightily astonished. I had insisted on Remus’s taking me, although he had feared I should not ride at that stage of my pregnancy. But I insisted and there she was. Damask, the pity of it. So plain! That dreadful skin and her clothes! If they had tried to make her look ugly they could not have succeeded better. She had some twelve or so ladies with her—all as ugly as she was. They are fat, these Flemings, and have no style. How different from the French. Anne Boleyn was Frenchified, was she not? Do you remember the way she held her head? And the King. He looked magnificent…although I will whisper to you that he no longer has that golden look he once had. His face is red and he is fat and his eyes have grown smaller and his mouth tighter…and when he frowns he is quite terrifying. But on this day he was in a coat somewhat like a dress—purple velvet, embroidered with gold thread and trimmed with gold lace. The sleeves were lined with cloth of gold and the coat was held together by buttons which were diamonds, rubies and pearls. His bonnet was a glitter. And his new Queen! She was in a gown of raised cloth of gold and on her head was a caul and over that a bonnet. How hideous are the Dutch fashions! To see them meet was most revealing. The people cheered and the King could not give vent to his real feeling, but those near him knew that the thunder was rumbling and those responsible for bringing Anne of Cleves to England trembled then and have been trembling ever since.”
“Surely that was Cromwell.”
“Cromwell, yes, and there are many who hate that man and will doubtless be pleased to see befall him that which has been the fate of many others.”
“He is too powerful a man to suffer because the King does not like the look of a woman.”
“Powerful men have fallen before. And they say that the King never loved Cromwell. He has accorded him scarce any dignity nor respect. ’Twas different with the Cardinal—yet look what became of him.”
“It is dangerous to serve princes.”
“You are not the first to have mentioned the fact,” said Kate with a wry smile. “Do you know that after he had seen her for the first time the King was so incensed that he cried out: ‘Whom shall men trust? I promise you that I see no such thing in her as hath been shown to me by her pictures or report. I love her not.’ ”
“Could he expect to love her on such a short meeting?”
“He meant he had no desire for her. And so long had he been without a wife that this was ominous. To tell the truth I believe he already had his eye on Katharine Howard and if this were so this would doubtless make Anne of Cleves seem even more repulsive than she might otherwise have been thought. Remus said that the King summoned Cromwell and demanded to be told how he could be released from the ‘great Flanders mare.’ Poor Cromwell, he is at his wits’ end. But should we say ‘Poor Cromwell’? Secretly I think not. Perhaps we are smiling a little because he is now himself in that danger in which he has placed so many. When we think of those days when his men came to St. Bruno’s….”
“He was but doing the King’s bidding.”
“Oh, a little more than that. He was the enemy of the monks. But for that man perhaps now Bruno would be living at the Abbey and you and I would be stealing through the secret door to have word with him. But that is all gone. It is as though it never was. And now it is Cromwell’s turn to face the wrath of his sovereign.”
“I pity any who must face that.”
“H
ave you forgotten? Do you remember the monk who hung on the gibbet…how limp was his body! It made me shudder to look at him. And Brother Ambrose….”
“Please don’t talk of it, Kate. I’d rather forget.”
“There’s the difference in us. I’d rather remember now and say “There, Cromwell, it is your turn now.’ ”
“But has it come to that? He has a great title bestowed on him, has he not?”
“Oh, yes, my Lord of Essex and Lord Chamberlain of England. Remus tells me that the King has bestowed thirty manors on him. Well, I suppose he deserved some to fall to him when one considered how many he has diverted to the King. But that was in April. It is now June. The summer skies are darkening for Master Cromwell and it is all due to this marriage.”
“How knowledgeable you are.”
“These are matters which are discussed at Court and sometimes here when people come from Court.”
“And you find it dull?”
“Not such talk. Not such people. It is the country squires who bore me. Moreover I would wish to be at Court and not merely to listen to what goes on there when good fortune sends us a visitor.”
“And what of Cromwell, Kate? What do they tell you of this man?”
“That the Cleves marriage has been a mistake from beginning to end. The King loves only attractive women and they procured for him a Flanders mare. The marriage was necessary, said Master Cromwell, because the King must placate the Duke of Cleves since the Emperor Charles of Austria and King François of France have put their heads together and have made an alliance which is surely to attack England. The German States could be brought to England’s side because of the union with one of them and the unhappy King could see that he must do as his statesmen bid; and so against his inclination he married Anne of Cleves but declared that he could not bring himself to consummate the marriage.” Kate began to laugh. “Imagine it! He went into the nuptial chamber but he had no inclination to go farther.”
“I am sorry for her,” I said.
“They say she was terrified. She feared that wishing to be rid of her he would trump up some charge against her. And now the Emperor Charles and King François have fallen out, and while this should be a matter for rejoicing, when the King knew what had happened he was furious, for it seemed he had married for no reason at all. He did not care now whether he had the support of the German States or not, for his two great enemies were even greater enemies of each other and while this state of affairs persisted he had nothing to fear. He demanded that Cromwell should extricate him. Cromwell does not know which way to turn. The clever man is caught in his own net.”
The Miracle at St. Bruno's Page 14