“Should I be grateful to him?”
“You have lived your life under his roof.”
“I prefer to think it has been under yours.”
“He provided it.”
“He never wanted me here. It was only because you insisted that I was allowed to stay. I know so much. I go to my grandmother in the woods.”
“Does she speak of these things?”
“She is a wise woman, Mother, and she speaks sometimes in riddles as wise people do. I wonder why. Is it because they are afraid that if they speak clearly we might learn as much as they know?”
“That could be a reason.”
“My grandmother has told me some truths. She says it is well for me to know of certain matters. I often think how different life might have been for me but for you.”
“My darling Honey, you have been a joy and a comfort to me.”
“I shall always endeavor to be that,” she answered fervently.
“My blessed child, you are my own daughter, remember.”
“But by adoption. Tell me about my mother.”
“Does not your grandmother tell you?”
“I would like you to tell me for people see others in different ways.”
“She was gay and in a way beautiful…though you are more so.
“Am I like her then?”
“No, not in your ways.”
“She was not married to my father. He came to disband the Abbey. What was he like?”
“I saw little of him,” I said evasively.
“And my mother fell in love with him and I was born.”
I nodded. So she had in a way and I could not tell Honey the horrible truth.
“I am his sister,” she said. “My grandmother told me. She said: ‘You are both my grandchildren.’ And when I heard it I could not believe it. My grandmother says it is why he hates me. He would rather not have to see me.”
“He does not believe it, because he will not accept the fact that your mother was his.”
“He believes himself to be divine.” She laughed. “Do divine people care so much that people shall adore them?”
“He believes he has a great mission in life. He has given homes to these people here.”
“He never gives without counting what will come back to him in return. That is not true giving.”
She was too discerning, my Honey.
“You should try to understand him.”
“Understanding does not increase my respect for him. Perhaps I understand too well, as might be expected since we came of the same mother.”
“Honey, I would like you to forget that. I think of myself as your mother. Could you not try to do the same?”
She turned to me and I saw the blazing devotion in her eyes.
“My darling child,” I said. “You cannot know how much you mean to me.”
“If I could have a wish,” she told me, “it would be that I were truly your daughter and Catherine was my own mother’s.”
“Nay, I would have you both my daughters.”
“I would liefer be the only one.”
Yes, Honey gives me twinges of alarm. Her hate would be as fierce as her love.
There could not be peace for long. My mother had come over to tell me that Simon Caseman had gone away “on business.” She was anxious, I could see, and I wondered what this business entailed.
Simon Caseman was clever. He had not come out openly on the side of Queen Jane but I was sure that had she succeeded in holding the Crown he would have supported her wholeheartedly. Now I wondered whether there was some fresh conspiracy afoot.
I was soon to discover. Sir Thomas Wyatt was leading a rebellion against Queen Mary.
My mother came hurrying over to the Abbey with the news that the Queen was in the Palace of Whitehall and Sir Thomas Wyatt’s men were marching on the city. The Queen was in despair.
“She knows that this is the end of her reign.” My mother’s voice rang out triumphantly.
I said: “Where is your husband?” She smiled secretly.
“I worry about you, Damask,” she said almost immediately. “I want you to bring the girls and come over to Caseman Court. When Sir Thomas Wyatt is triumphant I would not have you here.”
“And if Sir Thomas does not triumph?”
“You will see.”
“Mother,” I said, “where is your husband?”
“He has business to do,” she answered.
“Business?” I asked. “With Sir Thomas Wyatt?”
She did not answer and I did not press her to because I was afraid.
I said: “Sir Thomas would set Queen Jane or the Princess Elizabeth on the throne. And do you think that if he did so the people would stand by and let the rightful Queen be thrust aside?”
“I wish you would come with me to Caseman Court” was her answer.
But my mother was disappointed for on the cold February day which followed that when my mother had implored me to take care, the rebel forces marched in London and there was fighting in the streets of the capital. I heard that the Queen was intrepid and it was she who had to comfort her weeping ladies. Later I discovered how near Wyatt had come to success, and might have done so but when cornered in Fleet Street, surrounded and cut off from his fighting forces, he had given himself up believing the battle to be lost.
My mother was indeed distraught and knowing that Simon was not at Caseman Court I went over to see her.
“What has gone wrong?” she cried. “Why does the Papist woman always succeed?”
“Perhaps,” I answered, “because she is the true Queen.”
Shortly after that Jane, the Queen of nine days, was executed with her husband. That was a sad day for even those who were fanatically Papist were well aware that the innocent young girl of sixteen had been enemy to none; she had not desired the Crown which had been forced upon her by an ambitious father-in-law and husband; yet she had been led blindfolded to the dock and that fair head had been severed from her shoulders.
The Princess Elizabeth was implicated in the rebellion; and indeed it was said that the object of it was meant to place her, not Jane, on the throne.
Bruno said: “She is a wily woman and greedy for the throne. It is a pity that they did not take her head instead of Jane’s.”
“Poor Elizabeth,” I remonstrated. “She is so young.”
“She is twenty years of age—old enough for ambition. The Queen should not allow her to live.”
But the Queen did allow her to live for Sir Thomas Wyatt, who that April laid his head on the block, declared with his last breath that the Princess Elizabeth was innocent of any conspiracy against her sister.
Simon Caseman had returned to Caseman Court. I wondered what part he had played in the Wyatt rebellion.
It was a marvelous thing that he could be involved and extricate himself before the involvement became an embarrassment. I was convinced that what he wanted was to see the end of Mary’s reign, to prevent this return to Rome which was threatened and to see a Protestant ruler set up in the Queen’s place.
The obvious choice was Elizabeth.
It was Bruno’s belief that Elizabeth took her religion as she took her politics—from expediency. The Queen was Catholic and her proposed marriage to a Spaniard was unpopular; if Elizabeth were going to stand in contrast to her sister she must support the Protestant faith. And that was why she did so.
She had become important. People were looking to her more and more. There were many of Mary’s supporters who would have liked to have her head; but the Queen was not vindictive. Some said she remembered the days of Elizabeth’s childhood when she, Mary, had had a fondness for an engaging little sister.
And so although Queen Mary had placed herself firmly on the throne and strong men and factions surrounded her with the purpose and intention of keeping her there, there were uneasy moments. And the thoughts and hopes of many men and women were turned to the daughter of Anne Boleyn.
My mother came to th
e Abbey with the usual baskets full of good things. She had a story to tell. She had the twins with her for they seized the opportunity to come to the Abbey whenever they could and they carried her baskets for her.
The girls came to see what she had brought and to listen to her news.
“My word,” she said, settling down, “there are goings-on in the city.”
“Tell us, Grandmother,” commanded Catherine.
“Well, my dear, ’tis a haunted house in Aldersgate Street, though maybe it is not haunted. It may well be that it is an angel of God abiding there. Who can say?”
“Do get on,” cried Catherine. “Oh, Grandmother, you are so maddening. You keep us in suspense always with your stories.”
“She will tell it in good time,” I said. “Don’t harass her.”
“Good time,” cried Catherine. “What is good time? Now is good time in my opinion.”
“And who is wasting time now?” asked Honey.
“You!” cried Catherine. “Now, Grandmother.”
“It’s a voice that came from the bricks,” said Peter. “I heard it. Didn’t you, Paul?”
Paul agreed with his brother as he agreed in everything.
“What sort of a voice?” insisted Catherine.
“Well, if you had let me explain from the beginning,” said my mother, “you would know by now.”
“Which is perfectly true,” I added.
“Well, tell us,” cried Catherine.
“There is a voice which comes from the bricks of this house. And when the people cry, ‘God save Queen Mary,’ it says nothing.”
“How can it be a voice if nothing is said?” demanded Catherine.
“What an impatient child she is,” said my mother frowning. “You do not wait to hear. Now when the crowd shouts, ‘God save the Lady Elizabeth,’ the voice says, ‘So be it.’ ”
“Who is it then?” asked Honey.
“That is the mystery. There is no one in the house. Yet the voice comes.”
“There must be someone,” I said.
“There is no one. The house is empty. And when the crowds shout, ‘What is the Mass?’ the voice answers, ‘Idolatry.’ ”
Catherine had flushed scarlet. “It is some wicked person who is tricking people.”
“It’s a voice,” said my mother, “and no one there. A voice without a body. Is that not a marvelous thing?”
“If it talked sense it would be,” said Catherine.
“Sense! Who is to question the divine word?”
“I do,” said Catherine. “It is only divine for Protestants. To the people of the true faith it is…heresy.”
“Be silent, Cat,” I said. “You are disrespectful to your grandmother.”
“Is it disrespectful then to tell the truth?”
“Truth to one perhaps is not truth to another.”
“How can that be? The truth must always stand.”
I said wearily: “I will not have these conflicts in the house. Is it not bad enough that they persist in the country?”
Catherine persisted: “I must say what I feel.”
“You must learn to curb your tongue and show a proper respect where it is due.”
“Respect!” said Catherine. “My father would say….”
I said: “I will have no more of this.”
Catherine flung out of the room. “It is a pretty pass,” she muttered, “when one must pretend to agree with wicked lies…just to please people.”
“My word,” said my mother, “there goes a fierce little Papist.”
I noticed that Honey was smiling, as she always did when there was a difference between myself and Catherine.
With such frictions in the family, I wondered how one could hope for harmony in the world.
Catherine was triumphant when an investigation of the house revealed a young woman, named Elizabeth Croft, who had been secreted into a hole in the wall that she might answer the questions which were put to her and incite the people against the Queen and her Spanish marriage.
“There is your voice,” cried Catherine and hurried over to Caseman Court to tell my mother.
“She was so discountenanced, I couldn’t help laughing,” she told me when she came back.
“You should have had more compassion,” I told her.
“Compassion on such a bigot!”
“And you, my dear, do you perhaps suffer from the same complaint?”
“But I am in favor of the true religion.”
“As I said, a bigot, Catherine. I do not wish you to become involved in these matters.”
“I talk of them with my father…now.” Her eyes were shining. “It is wonderful to have discovered him. All these years I have been at fault.”
“He took no notice of you.”
“Of course he did not when I was young and stupid. It is different now.”
“I do beg of you to be careful.”
She flew at me and hugged me. “Dearest Mother, you must know that I am grown up…almost.”
“But not quite,” I reminded her.
Peter came in to tell us that Elizabeth Croft was in the pillory for playing her part in the hoax.
“Poor girl,” I said. “I hope she does not pay for this with her head.”
I thought then: A common price to be asked. And when I considered the religious conflict which seemed to have intensified rather than to have diminished now that we had a firmly Catholic Queen I continued in my apprehension and promised myself that if it must be there in the outside world it should be curbed in the family.
That July Prince Philip of Spain landed in England and the Queen traveled to Winchester where they were married.
We saw their entry to the capital. They crossed London Bridge on horseback and I was struck by the wan look of the Queen and the pathetically adoring manner which she displayed toward her pale-faced, thin-lipped bridegroom. She was nearly ten years older than he and I felt sorry for her.
The marriage was very unpopular but when the people saw the treasure which Philip had brought with him they cheered. Ninety-nine chests were needed to carry it and these chests were filled with gold and silver bullion. This accompanied the royal couple on their journey to the Tower and at least that met with the people’s approval. It was more loudly cheered than the bride and groom, but even in spite of this there were murmurings in the crowd.
Now we indeed saw the changes in the land. Under the Queen’s father life had been dangerous. He had been a tyrant who had been wont to demand a man’s head should he give offense; yet in that King’s day life had seemed colorful. There had been constant drama at Court where the King had changed his wives frequently; this Queen remained constant to her husband; she doted on him; but the solemnity of Spain had already taken possession of the Court.
There was something else. The laws of Spain were being brought into the country. We heard a great talk about the true church which was the Holy Church of Rome and the word “heretic” was constantly used.
And then the fires of Smithfield began to burn.
Often from the gardens we would see the pall of smoke, and when the wind blew westward would smell it; we would shiver and fancy we heard the shrieks of the dying.
The Queen had been given a new name. It was Bloody Mary.
It was on a cold February day in the year 1555 when they took Simon Caseman.
The first I heard was when Peter and Paul came running over to the Abbey. At first I could not understand what had happened. They were incoherent.
“They came…they looked everywhere….”
“They have taken books away with them….”
“They tied up their barge by the privy steps….”
I said, “Peter, Paul, tell me from the beginning. What is this?”
I think I guessed very quickly. After all it was not uncommon. And I had long known that Simon Caseman was flirting with the new faith.
Paul started to cry suddenly. “They have taken our father,” he said.
&n
bsp; “Where is your mother?”
“She is just sitting there…staring. She doesn’t speak. Come quickly, Damask. Please come with us.”
I hurried over to the house. I went into the hall where the table was set for a meal and I thought: It was to this hall they came to take my father…. Simon Caseman brought them to take him…and now they have come for Simon Caseman.
My mother was seated at the table. She looked as though she were dazed. I knelt beside her and took her cold hand in mine.
“Mother,” I said, “I am here.”
She spoke then. “Is it Damask? My girl Damask?”
“Yes, Mother, I am here.”
“They came and took him,” she said.
“Yes, I know.”
“Why should they take him? Why—”
“Perhaps he will come back,” I said, knowing full well that he would not. Had not the twins said they had found books and taken them away? He was doomed as a heretic.
“Mother,” I said, “you should lie down. I will get you one of your potions. If you could sleep a little…perhaps when you awoke….”
“He will come back?”
“Perhaps he will. Perhaps they have taken him for questioning.”
She clutched at my arm.
“That’s it,” she said. “They’ve taken him to question him on some matter. He will come back. He is a good man, Damask.”
“Mother,” I said, “let me help you to your bed.”
The twins watched me as though I were possessed of some power to soothe her. How I wished I had been! For the first time in my life I should have been happy then to see Simon Caseman walk in.
“What harm had he done?” she demanded.
“Let us hope he will soon be back to tell you all about it.”
She allowed me to help her to bed and I sent for that soothing draft; and I thought: Twice in her life a husband has been taken from her; and twice in the name of religion.
When she was sleeping I returned to the Abbey. I met Bruno as I came into the hall.
I said: “I have come from my mother. She is distracted with grief.”
“So they have taken him,” he said; and a smile played about his lips.
“You know!” I cried.
He nodded, smiling secretly.
I cried out: “You…arranged it. You informed against him.”
The Miracle at St. Bruno's Page 35