The Miracle at St. Bruno's

by Philippa Carr

  There were the usual Christmas customs; we decorated the halls with holly and ivy; we gave presents at New Year; and on Twelfth Night ’Colas found the silver penny in the cake and was King for the night; he was carried around on the men’s shoulders and chalked crosses on the beams of our hall, which was supposed to be a protection against evil.

  I noticed my mother’s eyes as she watched him and I guessed she was thinking of Honey’s Catholicism and my unhappiness over Carey; and she was secretly praying for us both.

  Kate and Honey stayed with us for the coronation which was to be on January 15.

  Kate, as Lady Remus, and Edward, as the heir to Lord Calperton, were entitled to ride in the royal procession and Honey invited me to accompany her; so I was there. We assembled at the Tower whither the Queen came from Westminster Palace by barge. It was a marvelous sight, and it lifted the spirits in spite of the keen winter air. The Lord Mayor was there to offer his loyal greetings and with him were the city companies. We saw the Queen land at the private stairs on Tower Wharf.

  We went home after that and a few days later the Queen came into the City to receive the loyal greetings of her subjects before her Coronation. The pageants were exciting; and there was a change which was growing more and more apparent every day. No one would mention as they had freely during the last reign that Elizabeth was a bastard. It would be more than anyone’s life was worth to say such a thing. In the pageants the House of Tudor was praised. For the first time effigies of the Queen’s mother, Anne Boleyn, were displayed side by side with those of Henry VIII. Elizabeth of York, mother of Henry VIII, was represented adorned with white roses and she was handing the white rose of York to her husband, Henry VII, who offered her the red rose of Lancaster. All along Cornhill and the Chepe pageants were staged; and children sang songs and recited verses in praise of the Queen.

  Her coronation was inspiring. I was not in the Abbey, but Kate as a peeress was and she described it to us. How clearly the Queen had spoken, how firmly she had gone through the ceremony complaining, though, that the oil with which she was anointed was grease and smelled ill; but she had looked impressive in her Coronation robes and the trumpets had been magnificent. Kate was sure that the leading nobles had been ready and willing to kiss her hand and swear allegiance—particularly her handsome Master of Horse, Robert Dudley.

  “Rumor has it,” said Kate, “that she will marry him. She clearly has a fancy for him. Her eyes never leave him. We shall see a royal marriage ere long, mark my words. ’Tis to be hoped her fancies are not so fleeting as those of her father.”

  “Tell us about her gown,” said my mother quickly.

  So Kate described the dress in detail and they were all as merry as they had been on Twelfth Night.

  My mother, though, remained anxious and when we heard that Pope Paul had publicly declared that he was unable to comprehend the hereditary rights of one not born in wedlock, she was quite frightened. The Pope in his declaration went on to say that the Queen of Scots who was married to the Dauphin of France was the nearest legitimate descendant of Henry VII and he suggested that a court be set up under his arbitration to determine the justice of the claims of Elizabeth and Mary to the throne of England.

  This Elizabeth naturally haughtily declined.

  But my mother’s anxiety increased.

  She said to me: “There is going to be a conflict between Protestant and Catholic once more, I fear, and the Queen of Scots will represent the Catholics and Elizabeth the Protestants. Dissension in families … it is what I dread. I have seen too much of it.”

  “We shall not quarrel with Honey because she is a Catholic,” I soothed. “I believe she only became one because she wanted to marry Edward.”

  “I pray that there will be no trouble,” said my mother.

  She visited Honey for a week and when she came back she seemed in better spirits. She had talked to Lord Calperton.

  He was old and set in his ways, he had said, but he was going to send young Edward out to the West Country. He had an estate near Plymouth. Edward was fiercer in his beliefs than his father and if he was going to talk rashly—which he might well do—it was better for him to do it as far from the Court as possible.

  My mother was distressed at the thought of not seeing Honey so frequently, but she did agree with Lord Calperton that it was safer to be far from the center of conflict.

  So through that summer plans were made for Honey and her husband to leave for Trewynd Grange in Devonshire; and I was to go with them.

  I said to my mother: “You’ll be lonely without us both.”

  She took my face in her hands and said: “But you’ll be happier there for a time … just for a time, Cat. You’ve got to recover yourself and start afresh.” I hated to leave her, but I knew she was right.

  That June about a month before we were to set out, the French King Henri Deux was killed in a tournament and his son François became King. Mary of Scotland was his wife, so she became Queen of France. My mother said: “This makes it more dangerous, for Mary has taken the title of Queen of England.”

  Rupert who was there at the time—as he often was these days—said that while she was in France it was safe enough. The danger would be if ever she came to Scotland, which as Queen of France she would scarcely do.

  I was listless, not caring much whether I went to Devon or stayed at the Abbey. I wanted to remain because of my mother; on the other hand I thought it would be good not to have to see Aunt Kate so frequently and to get away from the scene of so many bitter memories. But I should be back in a month or two, I promised myself.

  It was a long and wearisome journey and by the time I reached Trewynd Grange the summer was drawing to its end. I think that from the moment I set eyes on the Grange I felt a little farther away from my tragedy; the house was a more comfortable house than the Abbey. It was gray stone, two centuries old with pleasant gardens. It was built around a courtyard and each end was a turret tower. From these windows there was the magnificent view over the Hoe to the sea and this I found interesting. The hall was not large by Abbey and Remus Castle standards, but there was something cozy about it in spite of the two peeps high in the wall through which, without being seen, people in the little alcoves above could spy on who was below. The chapel was dank and cold and rather repellent. Perhaps I had become rather fearful of chapels because of the conflicts in our family—and indeed throughout the country. The stone-flagged floor was worn with the tread of those long since dead; the altar was in a dark corner and the lepers’ squint was now used by those servants who were suffering from some pox and couldn’t mingle with the rest of the household. It was a long rambling house rather than a tall one; and its grandeur really lay in its four turrets.

  I was amused to see Honey chatelaine in her own house. Marriage had naturally changed her. She glowed with an inner satisfaction. Edward doted on her and Honey was the sort of person who demands love. She was unhappy without it; she wanted to be the one loved and cherished beyond others. She should have been contented, for I never saw a man so devoted to his wife—unless it was Lord Remus when he was alive with Kate.

  I could talk frankly to Honey. I knew that she hated my father as she hated no one else. She had never forgiven him for not wanting her in the household and ignoring her when she was a child.

  She wanted to talk of him, but I wouldn’t listen because I was unsure of my feeling for him. I knew now that not only was he my father but Carey’s too and that was why we could not marry; I knew that he, while posing as a saint whose coming had been a miracle, was in fact creeping into Kate’s bed at night—or she into his—in the very house where my mother slept. And all the time Kate was pretending to be her dear friend and cousin.

  I think Honey had been primed by my mother to treat me with care and Honey would always attempt to please my mother. Perhaps my mother had given her other advice concerning me; I was inclined to think she had, for since I had come to Trewynd Grange Honey had given several dinner part
ies and invited the local squires.

  It was the day after that disturbing encounter on the Hoe when she said: “Sir Penn Pennlyon and his son will be dining with us tomorrow. They are not very distant neighbors. Sir Penn is a man of power in these parts. He owns several ships and his father was a trader before him.”

  I said: “That ship that came in a few days…”

  “Yes,” said Honey. “It’s the Rampant Lion. All their ships are Lions. There’s the Fighting Lion, the Old Lion and the Young Lion. Whenever you see a Lion ship you can guess it belongs to the Pennlyons.”

  “I saw a man on the Hoe and heard him called Captain Lion.”

  “That would be Captain Pennlyon. I haven’t met him. I know he’s home, though. He’s been at sea for more than a year.”

  “So,” I said, “they are coming here!”

  “Edward is of the opinion that we must be neighborly. Their place is but a stone’s throw from here. You can see it from the west turret.”

  I took the first opportunity of going up to the west turret. I could see a great house, high on the cliff, looking out to sea.

  I wondered what he would say when he realized that the young woman whom he had insulted—because I insisted that was what he had done—was a guest of the Ennises. I was rather looking forward to the encounter.

  It was autumn and the valerian and sea pinks were still flourishing; it had been a mild summer and I had been wondering what winter would be like in Trewynd Grange. I could not make the journey back to London until the spring. This was a thought which depressed me; I was restless and uneasy; I wanted to go home; I wanted to be with my mother to talk endlessly of my troubles and receive her sympathy. I don’t think I really wanted to forget. There was a certain luxury in being miserable and constantly reminding myself of what I had lost.

  And because this man was coming to dinner I stopped thinking of Carey for a while—just as I had on the Hoe.

  What should I wear? I asked myself. Honey had brought many grand dresses with her, for she was mindful of her beauty, whereas I had gathered together my garments in a somewhat listless fashion; secretly I regretted that now. I chose a velvet dress which flowed from my shoulders in a graceful manner. It was not very fashionable, for in the last year people had begun to wear whaleboned busks and hoops, which I thought not only ridiculous but rather ugly; and I could not bear to be tight-laced, which was becoming the mode. Instead of wearing one’s hair in flowing curls fashionable, women were now frizzing it and wearing all kinds of ornaments in it.

  But this was not Court circles and so perhaps one could afford to be out of fashion. Honey herself always dressed in what was most becoming to her beauty. She had a great sense of this and seemed to pay a secret homage to it. She too had rejected the frizzy hairstyles and the whalebones.

  Just before six of the clock our guests arrived. Honey and Edward were in the hall waiting to receive them; I stood with them, and as I heard the horses’ arrival in the courtyard I felt my heart begin to beat faster.

  A big red-faced man was striding into the hall. He had a look of that other—who came after him—an extremely tall man with massive square shoulders and a booming voice. Everything that went with Sir Penn Pennlyon was big. I concentrated on him because I was not going to show the slightest interest in his son.

  “Welcome,” said Edward, looking slight and pale before these giants.

  Sir Penn’s twinkling blue eyes darted about him; he seemed to be amused by his host and hostess.

  “Marry!” he cried, taking Honey’s hand and drawing her to him giving her a loud kiss on the lips. “If this bain’t the prettiest lady in Devon I’ll eat the Rampant Lion, that I will, barnacles and all.”

  Honey blushed becomingly and said: “Sir Penn, you must meet my sister.”

  I curtsied. The blue eyes were on me. “Another little beauty, eh?” he said. “Another little beauty. Two of the prettiest ladies in Devon.”

  “It’s kind of you to call me such, sir,” I said. “But I’ll not ask you to swallow your ship if you should be proved wrong.”

  He laughed, great bellowing laughter. He slapped his hands on his thighs. He was more than a little crude, I guessed.

  And behind him was his son, who was now greeting Honey before it was my turn to stand face to face with him.

  The recognition was instant. He took my hand and kissed it. “We’re old friends,” he said.

  I thought contemptuously: In thirty years’ time he will be exactly like his father.

  Honey was looking surprised.

  “I saw Captain Pennlyon when I was on the Hoe,” I said coldly without looking at him.

  “My sister is fascinated by ships,” said Honey.

  “Well!” Sir Penn was regarding me with approval. “She knows a good thing when she sees it. Young lady, there’s only one thing I know more beautiful than a ship and that’s a pretty woman.” He nudged his son. “Jake here agrees with me.”

  “We want to hear about your voyage,” said Honey politely. “Let us go into the punch room. Supper will be served shortly.”

  She led the way up the three stone stairs past the dining room to the punch room and there we sat while Edward’s servants brought malmsey for us to drink. Honey was very proud of fine Venetian glasses, which were very fashionable and which she had brought with her. I imagined the Pennlyons had never seen anything so fine.

  We sat rather stiffly on our chairs, the tapestry back and seats of which had been worked by Edward’s great-aunt. I thought the chair might break under Sir Penn, for he sat with little thought for its fragility and Honey threw a glance at me as though to say, We have to get used to country manners.

  Sir Penn said what a fine thing it was to have neighbors of the quality to bring their fine Venetian glass for them to drink out of. His eyes twinkled as he spoke as though he were laughing at us and in a way despised us—except Honey of course and perhaps me. Both of them—father and son—had an insolence in their looks which suggested that they were assessing our personal attributes in a manner which was slightly disturbing.

  “And how long are you staying here?” he wanted to know of Edward.

  Edward replied evasively that so much depended on circumstances. His father had wished him to come and look after the estates here for a while. It would depend on what happened on the Surrey estate.

  “Ah,” said Sir Penn, “you noble families have your seats in every part of the kingdom. Why, young sir, there must be times when you wonder whether you’re a Surrey or a Devon man or maybe there is some other county to claim you.”

  “My father has estates in the North,” said Edward.

  “Marry! Why, you’ve a foot in every part of the Queen’s realm, young man.”

  “By no means,” said Edward. “And might I not say that your ships sail on every known part of the ocean?”

  “You can say it, sir, you can say it. And Jake will tell you that it’s so. Just back he is from a long voyage, but he’s too taken with the company to give voice.”

  Jake said: “The company delights me as you see.” And he was looking straight at me, mocking because here he was and I had said it was not likely that he would be invited. “But I’ll confirm it’s true that I have but recently returned from a voyage.”

  “My sister was excited when she saw your ship come in. She sees the ships come in from her window, and never seems to tire of it.”

  Jake had brought his chair closer to mine. They had not the manner which we had come to expect. These people were lacking the niceties of behavior; they were more frank than we were, coarser too.

  “So you liked my ship,” he said.

  “I like all ships.”

  “That’s the right spirit,” he said. “And you’ve never had the chance of seeing them before.”

  “We were close to the river. I often saw boats sailing by.”

  He laughed derisively. “Wherries and tugs,” he said.

  “And royal barges. I have seen the Queen on her w
ay to her Coronation.”

  “And now you’ve seen the queen of ships.”

  “Yours?” I asked.

  “The Rampant Lion, none other.”

  “So she is the queen, is she?”

  “I’ll take you out to her. I’ll show you. You’ll see for yourself then.” He leaned toward me. I drew away and looked at him coldly, which seemed to amuse him. “When will you come?” he asked.

  “I doubt I ever should.”

  He raised eyebrows rather darker than his hair, which made the blue eyes more startling.

  “You never thought to see me here, yet here I am. And now you tell me you never will come aboard my ship. I’ll warrant you’ll be my guest there within a week. Come, I’ll wager you.”

  “I do not wager.”

  “But you’ll come all the same.” He was bending toward me so that his face was close to my own. I attempted to look at him with indifference, but I was not very convincing. He at least was aware of the effect he had had on me. I drew back and his eyes mocked. “Yes,” he went on, “on my ship. Less than a week today. It’s a wager.”

  “I have already told you I do not wager.”

  “We’ll discuss terms later.”

  I thought I should not care to be alone with such a man on his ship.

  We were interrupted by the arrival of another guest, Mistress Crocombe, a simpering middle-aged woman, and when she had joined us in a glass of malmsey one of the servants announced that supper was ready and we went down the stairs to the dining room.