The Miracle at St. Bruno's

by Philippa Carr

  And as we joined the dancers I knew that he was telling me that he loved me now as he had in the beginning and whatever happened he would not change.

  As his hands touched mine in the dance, he said: “Always remember, whatever happens…I should be at hand.”

  It was a comforting thought.

  Lord Calperton and his family were guests at the Castle for several days and I began to notice that young Edward was always at Honey’s side. She blossomed; a radiance was added to her beauty.

  I was afraid for her. The Ennis family was a noble one, and my Honey, of doubtful parentage, would not seem a very good match, I was sure. I did not want the child to be hurt and she could be more easily than Catherine, who had the security of being my own and Bruno’s daughter.

  All the same I was sorry when it was time for us to go back to the Abbey; and it was not long after our return when I received an invitation to visit Grebblesworth, the Ennises’ place in Hertfordshire and to take the two girls with me. Kate was also invited. She wrote to me jubilantly.

  “Mistress Honey made quite an impression on Master Edward. I’m not surprised. That girl is a real beauty. She is fascinating. There is a kind of smoldering passion behind those glorious eyes of hers. But I must say I’m surprised. After all Edward is the Calperton heir. Well, we shall see.

  “Of course we all know that Bruno is very rich and his situation is very fitting to our present way of life. I am truly eager to see the outcome of this.”

  Honey was enchanted. I realized that for the first time in her life she was at the very heart of everything. It was because of her that we had received this invitation. Catherine had been invited too, but simply because she belonged to the family.

  I spent the next weeks with the seamstresses and we made gowns for Honey. She looked delightful in her riding habits with the little feathered caps we had had made for her.

  I said to her as we tried on a lovely brocade gown, “Are you happy, Honey?”

  She threw her arms about my neck and I had to protest that she was suffocating me.

  She said: “Everything I have had and shall have comes from you.”

  I was deeply moved and I replied: “Whatever happens you and I will love each other.”

  The night before we left for Grebblesworth she was not in her room when I went to consult her about a ribbon for her hair.

  I felt a twinge of alarm and went to Catherine’s room to see if she had seen her. Catherine was sitting disconsolately in a chair studying a book of prayers in Latin. She looked very pleased to put it aside.

  “Where is Honey?” I asked.

  “I saw her go out half an hour ago.”

  “Did she say where?”

  “No, but she goes often in that direction.”

  “What direction?”

  “To the woods, I think.”

  “I don’t like her being out alone. There are robbers about.”

  “They wouldn’t dare harm anyone from the Abbey, Mother. They would be afraid of what my father would do.” When she spoke his name a beautiful smile touched her lips. “It is wonderful to have a saint for a father.”

  I turned aside impatiently. I was asking myself often whether I was jealous of Catherine’s devotion to her father.

  I left Catherine and went back to Honey’s room. I waited there anxiously until she came back.

  “Honey,” I cried. “Where have you been?”

  “To see my grandmother.”

  “Mother Salter?”

  “I call her Grandmother. She is my grandmother, you know.”

  I recalled the time when Honey had run away from me because she thought I cared more for Catherine than for her.

  “I always go to her when something important happens. She wishes me to.”

  “And something important has happened?”

  “Is it not important that we should be asked to Grebblesworth?”

  “It could be, Honey.”

  “It is. I know it is.”

  “Honey, my dear child, does it make you happy…that they have asked you?”

  “As happy as I never hoped to be,” she answered.

  Lord Calperton received us warmly. He was a widower of some years’ standing and it was clear to me that this great mansion lacked a mistress. They were a good Catholic family and as Kate said “unworldly” but I for one liked them none the less for that.

  I fancied Lord Calperton, like most men, was a little in love with Kate; perhaps that was one of the reasons why he had taken so kindly to the family.

  It was not a large house party, which perhaps made it all the more enjoyable. We rode through the countryside; we danced a little; we played games and there were dinner parties when we met the local families. Carey sought out pretty Mary’s company and that left Honey to Edward. Catherine and Thomas, the younger son of the household, played rather rough games together, and it was a very jolly party.

  Kate was amused by the rapidly advancing friendship between Edward and Honey.

  She whispered to me: “I verily believe that Calperton is so enchanted with us that he would ask a very small dowry for Honey.”

  “Do you really think they would consider her?”

  Kate laughed at me. “How excited you are! Why, Damask, you are a matchmaking Mamma. I am surprised.”

  “I want Honey to be happy. She is very taken with Edward.”

  “And he with her.”

  “Oh,” I cried, “I believe she would be so happy. She has always felt that she was not of the same importance as Catherine. Heaven knows I have done my best to convince her. But if this in truth became a marriage…. Oh, I can see her mistress of this house.”

  “If Calperton does not marry again of course.”

  “Kate, you are not thinking—”

  “I have refused a Duke and two Earls. Do you think I should succumb to my Lord Calperton?”

  “You might possibly love the man more than a great title.”

  “There speaks the old sentimental Damask. I do declare you amaze me. A scheming matchmaking mother one moment, gloating over the fine match her daughter will make, and then sentimentally talking of love. Let me tell you this, Damask. I have no intention of taking Calperton. As far as I am concerned Honey shall have the scene all to herself. But I know my Calperton. He wishes Edward to marry. He wants a grandson. Young Edward is completely enamored of Mistress Honey—and I am not surprised. My Lord will reason that he is more likely to get healthy sons with a young woman who so enthralls him. “I’ll wager you that ere long there will be a discreet offer for Honey’s hand.”

  I was so delighted, because I knew the state of Honey’s feelings.

  And when the offer came, I myself saw Lord Calperton. I told him that Honey was my adopted daughter; I myself would provide her dowry. She was well educated, a lady in every sense. She was the daughter of a woman who had served me but been a friend; and her father had worked for Thomas Cromwell. He was satisfied.

  Honey was married on that June day in the year 1557 when war was declared on France.

  The marriage was celebrated at the chapel in Caseman Court. I had chosen this because after all it was my home and I made the excuse that it would do my mother good to supervise the celebrations. And it did; bustling about her garden, gathering herbs for this and that, practicing with her new salads and giving orders in the kitchen seemed to bring her alive again.

  Bruno attended the wedding but he was aloof. As for Honey she had little to say to him; she had always avoided him.

  We had the usual ceremonies with the bridecake and the mummers came in and performed. I was gratified to see my mother laughing merrily at their antics, and happy to pass Honey on to Edward Ennis, for it had given me the utmost pleasure to see her happily settled.

  After the wedding we all seemed faintly depressed. My mother, deprived of all the tasks which the wedding had entailed, sank into melancholy once more; what surprised me most was how much Catherine missed Honey, far more than I had believed
possible. She became moody—very different from the girl who had danced so gaily and teased Carey as Queen of Misrule.

  Kate came to the rescue by suggesting that Catherine should come to Remus Castle for a spell and this was arranged. I was surprised by the alacrity with which she went.

  It was soon after her departure that one of the servants brought me a message from Mother Salter. These messages were in a way like commands, and it did not occur to me to disobey them. I suppose deep down in me I was superstitious as most other people although my father’s teaching should have placed me beyond such primitive thinking. Mother Salter was a witch but she was the great-grandmother of Bruno, child of a serving girl and a monk, who had risen to become head of a community, and of Honey who had married into the aristocracy; and when I considered this I realized that it was Mother Salter who had made the fortunes of both her grandchildren.

  She was a power in her little cottage as Bruno was in his Abbey and the reason was that we all believed—in lesser or greater degree—in the extraordinary powers of these people. I no less than the most gullible of my serving girls.

  So I lost no time in going to Mother Salter in the woods.

  I was shocked when I saw her. She had always been lean, now she was emaciated.

  I cried out: “Why, Mother Salter, you are ill.”

  She caught my hand, hers was cold and clawlike; I noticed the brown marks on her skin which we call the flowers of death.

  “I am ready to go,” she said. “My grandson’s fate is in his own hands. I have provided for my granddaughter.”

  I could have smiled for was I not the one who had nurtured Honey and educated her so that she was a fitting bride for a noble gentleman? But I knew what she meant. She had insisted that I care for Honey; and if Keziah could be believed, it was Mother Salter who had planned that the child should be placed in the Christmas crib.

  “You have done well,” she said. “I wanted to bless you before I go.

  “Thank you.”

  “There is no need to thank me. Had you not cared for the child I would have cursed you.”

  “I love her as my own. She has brought great joy to me.”

  “You gave much—you received much. That is the law,” she said.

  “And you are unfit to be alone. Who cares for you here?”

  “I have always cared for myself.”

  “What of your cat?” I said. “I do not see it.”

  “I buried it this day.”

  “You will be lonely without it.”

  “My time has come.”

  I said: “I cannot allow you to stay here to die.”

  “You, Mistress, cannot.”

  “These woods are Abbey woods, and are you not my Honey’s grandmother? Could I allow you to stay here alone?”

  “What then, Mistress?”

  “A plan has come to me. It will do much good, I think. I shall take you to my mother. She will care for you. She needs help for she is a sad woman. You will give her that. She is very interested in herbs and remedies. You could teach her much.”

  “A noble lady with old Mother Salter in her house!”

  “Oh, come, old Mother Salter has not such a poor opinion of herself.”

  “So you give orders here.”

  “I care for the sick on my husband’s Abbey lands.”

  She looked at me slyly. “You would not take me to my grandson.”

  “I would take you to my mother.”

  “Hee-hee.” She had what I had always thought of as a witch’s cackle. “He would not be pleased to see me. Honey used to come to me. She confided in me. She told me of her love for you and how she feared you loved your own child more. ’Twas natural. I blamed you not for that. You have done your work well and I don’t forget it. But let those who heed me not take care.”

  My heart was filled with pity for this poor old woman, sick and near to death, still clinging to the powers which she had possessed or led people to believe she possessed.

  I said I would prepare my mother to receive her and I went to her immediately. She agreed to take in Mother Salter once she had grown accustomed to the incongruous idea; she commanded her servants to prepare a room, put fresh rushes on the floor, and make up a pallet as a bed. Then she and I went together and we set Mother Salter on a mule and brought her to Caseman Court.

  It was an unconventional thing to have done. Bruno was aghast.

  “To take that old woman to your mother’s house! You must be mad. Are you going to gather up all the poor and set them up in Caseman Court?”

  “She is no ordinary woman.”

  “No, she has an evil reputation. She traffics with the devil. She could be burned at the stake for her activities.”

  “Many a good man and woman has met that fate. Surely you understand why I must give this woman especial care.”

  “Because of her relationship to the bastard you adopted.”

  Then because I could not bear him to refer slightingly to Honey I cried out: “Yes, because she is Honey’s great-grandmother…and yours.”

  I saw the hatred in his face. He knew that I had never believed in the miracle and this was at the very root of the rift between us. Before I had implied my disbelief; now I said it outright.

  “You have worked against me always,” he said savagely.

  “I would willingly work with you and for you. And why should facing the truth interfere with that?”

  “Because it is false…false…and you alone whose duty it was to stand beside me have done everything you can to plant these false beliefs.”

  “I am guilty of heresy then,” I said.

  He turned and left me.

  Strangely enough I had ceased to care that all love was lost between us.

  I could not have done a better thing for my mother than take Mother Salter to her. When I next visited her I found the sick room fresh and clean. On a table beside the witch’s pallet were the potions and unguents which my mother had prepared. She was excited and important and fussing over the old woman as though she were a child, which seemed to amuse Mother Salter.

  Of course the old woman was dying; she knew it and she was amused to be spending her last days in a grand house.

  My mother told me that she had imparted to her much knowledge of plants both benign and malignant. She would not allow my mother to write them down perhaps because she who could not write thought there was something evil in the signs that were made on paper. My mother had a good memory for the things in which she was interested and she became very knowledgeable during that time, which I was sure was ample payment for all that she had done for Mother Salter. But here was more than that. Whether the old woman had powers to bless or curse I cannot say, but from that time my mother really grew away from her grief and while Mother Salter was in her house I heard her sing snatches of songs.

  Two or three days before she died I went to see her and was alone with her. I asked her to tell me the truth about Bruno’s birth.

  “You know,” I said, “that he believes he has special powers. He does not accept the story that Keziah and the monk told.”

  “No, he does not believe it. He has special powers. That is clear, is it not? Look what he has done. He has built a world about himself. Could an ordinary man do that?”

  “Then it was lies Keziah told?”

  She gave that disturbing witch’s chuckle. “In us all there are special powers. We must find them, must we not? I was born of a woodcutter. True I was the seventh child and my mother said I was the seventh of a seventh. I told myself that there is something different about me…and there was. I studied the plants. There was not a flower nor a leaf nor a bud I did not know. And I tried them out and went to an old woman who was a witch and she taught me much. So I became a wise woman. We could all become wise men or women.”

  “And Bruno?”

  “He is my Keziah’s son.”

  “And it is true that he was put into the crib by the monk?”

  “It is true. And
it was my plan. Keziah was with child. What would happen to the child? I said. He or she would be a servant, not able to read or write. I always set great store by writing. There’s a power in it…and what is written can be read. To read and to write—for all my wisdom I could not do that. Nor could Keziah. But my great-grandchildren did. And that was what I wanted for them. The monk should not be blamed. Nor Keziah. She did what was natural to her and he dared not disobey me. So I made the plan; they carried it out. My great-grandson was laid in the Christmas crib—and none would have been the wiser if Weaver hadn’t come. My great-grandson would have been the Abbot and a wise man and a miracle worker because these powers are in us all and we must first know that we possess them before we do.”

  “You have confirmed what I have always believed. Bruno hates me for knowing.”

  “His pride will destroy him. There is greatness in him but there is weakness too and if the weakness is greater than the strength then he is doomed.”

  “Should I pretend to believe him? Am I wrong in letting him know the truth?”

  “Nay,” she said. “Be true to thyself, girl.”

  “Should I try to make him accept the truth?”

  “If he could do that he might be saved. For his pride is great. I know him well though I have not set eyes on him since he was naked new-born. But Honey talked of him. She told me all…of you both. Now I will tell you this. The monk before his part in this were known, was heavy with his sin. He said that the only way he could hope for salvation after his sin was to write a full confession. He could write well. He came here now and then. It broke the laws of the Abbey but they were not my laws and I had my grandson to think of. I must see this monk who was his father; I commanded him to come to me and he did, and he showed me the wounds he had inflicted on his body in his torment. He showed me the hair shirt he wore. He felt his sin deeply. And he wrote the story of his sin and hid it away that in time to come it should be known.”

  “Where is this confession?”

  “It’s hidden in his cell in the dorter. Find it. Keep it. And show it to Bruno. It will be proof, and then you will tell him that he must be true to himself. He is clever. He has great powers. He can be greater without this lie than he ever was with it. If you can teach him this you will help to destroy that pride which in time will destroy him.”