The Miracle at St. Bruno's

by Philippa Carr

  “I don’t think you are the stuff that slaves are made of.”

  “Sometimes I feel I’d like to make him understand that.”

  She looked at me oddly.

  “Are you a little attracted by him, Catharine?” she asked.

  “I loathe him so much that I get satisfaction in thwarting him.”

  “I think his wife would not be a very happy woman. He would be an unfaithful, demanding husband. I have heard stories of his father. There is not a girl in the village who is safe from him.”

  “I know that well. Such a man would never do for me.”

  We had come to the crest of a hill and were looking down on the little village of Pennyhomick, a charming sight with the little houses cluttering around the church.

  I said: “How peaceful it looks. Let us ride down.”

  We walked our horses down the steep hill and as we came into the winding street with its gabled houses almost meeting over the cobbles I called to Honey to stop, for I had seen a man crouching in a doorway; and there was that about him which was a dire warning.

  “Let us go back,” I said.

  “Why so?” asked Honey.

  “Look at that man. I’ll swear it’s plague.”

  Honey needed no more than that. Swiftly she turned her horse. At the foot of the hill we saw a woman coming toward us; she carried panniers on her shoulders and had clearly been to a brook for water.

  She shouted to us: “Keep off, good folks. The sweat has come to Pennyhomick.”

  We rode up the hill as fast as we could, and only at the top turned to look back at the stricken village.

  I shuddered. Before the night was out there would be bereaved households in that little hamlet. It was a sobering thought. And as we rode off the idea came to me. I realized then that I did not want to go home. I wanted the satisfaction of outwitting Jake Pennlyon and the stricken Pennyhomick had given me this idea.

  I said: “Listen, Honey, if I go home he can take two courses of action. He can follow me and perhaps catch me. Or he may have his revenge on you. He is cruel and ruthless. You can be sure he would show no mercy. I’ll not run away. I’ll stay here and I’ll outwit him at the same time. I am going to have the sweating sickness.”

  “Catharine!” Honey had turned pale.

  “Not in truth, my dear sister. I shall pretend to have it. I shall stay in my chamber. You will attend me. We have been to Pennyhomick, remember. We are infected. You will nurse me and my illness will last as long as the Rampant Lion remains in the harbor.”

  Honey had pulled up her horse and stared at me. “Why … Catharine … I think we could do it.”

  I laughed. “Even he could not come where the sweat was. He dare not. He has to sail away with the Rampant Lion. He could not risk carrying the infection on board his vessel. I shall stay in my room attended only by you. From my window I shall watch what goes on. Oh, Honey, it’s a wonderful plan. He’ll have to sail away without submitting me to his hateful lust. I shall die of laughing.”

  “It seems like tempting Providence.”

  “I would never have thought the great-granddaughter of witches would be so lily-livered. You shall make me some concoction—a mixture of buttercup juice and cinnamon and a paste. I shall look ill and I’ll appear at the window. If he passes by he will quickly fall out of lust with me.”

  “No one must know except Edward and the two of us.”

  “Honey, I can’t wait to begin. I shall go straight to my room, complaining of a headache. I shall go to bed and send Jennet for a posset. Then you will come in and from then on I have the sweat and no one must come near me except my beloved sister, who was with me at the time I was in Pennyhomick and may therefore be another victim.”

  We returned to the house. As one of the grooms took our horses I said: “I have such a lightheaded feeling and pains in my head. I shall go to my room.”

  “I’ll send up a potion,” said Honey. “You go and get into bed.”

  And that was the beginning.

  The news traveled fast.

  Ten people had died in Pennyhomick and the dread disease had crept into Trewynd Grange. The young mistress of the house was nursing her sister, with whom she, with great ill luck, had gone into Pennyhomick and they had brought the sweating sickness to the Grange.

  Honey had ruled that no one was to penetrate the turret wing of the house to which I had moved, the better to isolate myself. Food was brought and placed in a room at the foot of the spiral stairway; Honey would descend and bring it to my room.

  Edward did not come to us; for him to have done so might have betrayed us. We had to act as though I were in truth suffering from the sweating sickness and was being nursed by my sister, who might also be affected.

  The first day I found exciting because it was not long, as I had guessed, before Jake Pennlyon came riding over.

  Honey had ready the paste we had prepared and we coated my face with it. I looked into the mirror and did not recognize myself. I lay in my bed, the sheet pulled up to my chin. I heard his voice—resonant, suited to giving orders on the deck.

  “Stand aside. I’m going up. Sweat! I don’t believe it.”

  Honey stood by the door, trembling. I lay still waiting. He burst open the door and stood there.

  “For God’s sake go away,” muttered Honey. “You are mad to come in here.”

  “Where is she? It’s a trick. I’ll not be tricked.”

  Honey tried to hold him off. “We went to Pennyhomick,” she said. “Have you not heard? They are dying like flies in Pennyhomick. Don’t imperil your life and those of many others.”

  He came to the bed and looked down on me.

  “Good God!” he whispered, and I wanted to burst into laughter. How grotesque I must look. He will have done with me forever! I thought.

  I muttered as though in delirium, “Who’s that? … Carey… Is that you, Carey … my love … ?”

  And I wondered that I could laugh inwardly while I said his name. But I did and I was exultant because I could see the incredulous fear and horror on that bold and hated face.

  He had turned a different shade. It was visible even beneath the bronzed skin. He stretched out a hand and drew it back.

  He turned to Honey.

  “It is indeed … true …” he murmured.

  “Go,” said Honey. “Every moment you spend here you are in danger.”

  He went; I heard his heavy tread on the stairs. I sat up in my bed and laughed.

  The days began to pass. They were tedious, monotonous. There was little to do. We worked tapestry, but it was not much to my taste. Often I saw Jake Pennlyon. I had to be careful, though, for he always looked up at my window and if he had caught me there and guessed at the truth I couldn’t imagine what his reaction would have been. I used to laugh sometimes to think how I was deceiving him; and that was the only thing that made these days bearable.

  Once I suggested to Honey that we slip out at night and ride by moonlight. She pointed out to me that if we were discovered, even by one of the servants, all our efforts would have been in vain.

  So I resisted the temptation; but how dull were the days!

  My death was expected daily and it was considered something of a miracle that I was still alive. It was remembered that there had been an aura of mystery about my father. Honey was the great-granddaughter of a witch. The story went around that she had remedies which could cure even the sweat.

  Jake rode over every day, but he didn’t come into the house. He talked to the servants. He questioned them closely. Perhaps he was still suspicious.

  The plan was working satisfactorily in more ways than one, because it was giving John Gregory time to make his plans in comfort. Everyone was chary of visiting Trewynd when the sweating sickness was there.

  After three weeks of this life Honey brought news.

  Jake Pennlyon had decided to leave two weeks earlier. The weather would be more favorable and he would leave before the gales set in. There could
in any event not be a wedding for some time.

  From my window I surreptitiously watched the activity on the Hoe. They were loading fast; the little boats were going back and forth. I was fascinated. And at last came the day when the Rampant Lion drew up her anchor and sailed away, taking Jake Pennlyon with her.

  He had written to me and the letter was delivered while I was watching the ship fade into the distance.

  “The voyage will wait no longer, so I go earlier the sooner to be back,” he had written. “You will be waiting for me.”

  I laughed exultantly. I had won.

  As soon as the Rampant Lion had sunk below the horizon my recovery began. In a week I was about again. It was a long week, but we had to give our subterfuge some semblance of truth. The servants were amazed. Few people contracted the sweat and lived. Moreover, Honey had nursed me and come through unscathed.

  Jennet came back to me at the end of the week. It was good to listen to her gossip.

  She regarded me with something like awe. “They be saying, Mistress,” she told me, “that you have powers.”

  I was not displeased that this should be said.

  “They be saying that you be the daughter of him who was a saint. Didn’t he come not like others come and go in a mysterious way? And the mistress herself … she come from witches. That’s what they be saying.”

  I nodded. “Well, here you see me, Jennet, almost as well as I ever was.”

  “It be a miracle, Mistress.”

  The days were long and the zest had gone out of them. The Hoe had none of the old excitement when the Rampant Lion no longer rode the waves and there was no danger of Jake Pennlyon’s suddenly appearing.

  I began to think of going home to the Abbey. My mother would be pleased to see me.

  Perhaps because there was so little of interest I began to notice Jennet. She had changed in a rather subtle way. There was something a little sly about her, secretive; often when I spoke to her she would start as though she feared I would discover some guilty secret.

  She often went to the stables and I had come upon her once or twice in conversation with Richard Rackell.

  I was sure they were lovers. Jennet was not the sort to hold out for marriage. That hazy expression in the eyes, that slight slackening of the lips, that air of knowledge told its own story. I discussed it with Honey.

  “So Eve must have looked when she ate the apple,” I said.

  “Perhaps we should get them married,” said Honey. “Edward does not like immorality among the servants. And Jennet, if she has lost her virginity, is the sort of girl who would go quickly from one man to another.”

  I tackled Jennet. “I shall be going back to the Abbey very soon, Jennet.”

  “Oh, Mistress, and what when he comes back?”

  “Who?” I asked sharply, knowing full well to whom she referred.

  “The master … the Captain.”

  “Since when has he been master in this household?”

  “Well, Mistress, he be master wherever he be I reckon.”

  “That’s nonsense, Jennet. He is nothing here.”

  “But he have spoken for you.”

  “You don’t understand these matters. What I want to say to you is this. You go down to the stables often.”

  The deep red stain in her cheeks told me I had come to the right conclusion. She cast down her head and her fingers plucked at her gown. I was sorry for her. Poor Jennet. She was meant to be a wife and a mother; she would never be able to hold out against the blandishments of men.

  “Very well, Jennet,” I said, “you are no longer a virgin. You may well be with child. Have you thought of that?”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  “The master—the only master of this house—will be displeased if he hears of your conduct. He expects good Christian behavior from his servants.”

  Her lips trembled and I put my arm about her. I had been brusque with her because with the utmost ease Jake Pennlyon had persuaded her to betray me. But now that she had become the paramour of Richard Rackell I could see her predicament more clearly. Poor Jennet was the kind of girl who was burdened—some might say blessed—with an overpowering sensuality. She was born to take and give sexual pleasure; and the reason why she would be a perpetual temptation to men was that they were a perpetual temptation to her. It was very much harder for her to stay on the path of virtue than it was for many others; therefore, one must try to understand and help her.

  “Now, Jennet,” I said, “what’s done is done and there is no sense in mourning for virginity once it is lost, for that will not bring it back. You have been foolish and now you must make a decision. When I go back you would have come with me, but in the circumstances the man who has seduced you should marry you. I know who it is. I have seen you often together. Do not imagine that your creeping into the stables has gone unnoticed. If Richard Rackell is willing you shall marry him. It is what the master would wish. Does that not please you?”

  “Oh, yes, Mistress, it does in truth.”

  “Very well, I will see if I can arrange it.”

  I was pleased really to see how relieved she was, for I was fond of the girl and I wanted to see her married and settled.

  By the time Jake Pennlyon returned she would no doubt be big with child, for I imagined she was the kind of girl who would have a large brood of children. He would no longer be interested in her, so she would be saved from that ignominy; and by that time I should be at the Abbey.

  I spoke to Honey about Jennet.

  “It wouldn’t surprise me,” I said, “if she were pregnant already. Richard Rackell must marry her.”

  Honey agreed and she sent immediately for Richard.

  When he came into the punch room and stood at the table, that air of breeding struck me afresh. I could not believe that Jennet would be a very suitable wife for him. Still, if he had seduced her he must marry her.

  Honey said: “Richard, I think you might be eager to marry.”

  He bowed; his face was expressionless.

  “You and Jennet, I believe, have been overfriendly.” She stressed the word “over” and as he did not reply she went on: “In the circumstances the master would expect you to marry her. When will you do so?”

  He still hesitated. Then he said: “I will, in time.”

  “In time,” I said. “What do you mean by that?”

  “In … three weeks’ time. I would need that.”

  I wondered why, but there was such an air of dignity about him that it was not seemly to press.

  “Very well,” said Honey. “There shall be a wedding in three weeks’ time.”

  “We will have a celebration,” I said. I was very anxious to make up to Jennet for having been harsh to her.

  So it was arranged. A priest should come to the house—neither Thomas Elders nor John Gregory should perform this ceremony; it would be too public for that.

  I summoned Jennet and told her the news.

  “I shall give you your wedding dress and we will get Luce working on it immediately.”

  Jennet began to weep. “Mistress,” she said, “I don’t deserve such. I don’t indeed.”

  “Well, Jennet,” I said, “you have been a little too ready, but that is over. You must be a good wife to Richard and bear many children and then the fact that you did not wait for the ceremony will be forgotten.”

  I patted her shoulder, but that only had the effect of making her weep the more.

  Because the days were inclined to be tedious we talked a great deal about Jennet’s wedding. Edward had said the Morris dancers should come and we would play games and even have a cake with a silver penny in it that the one who found it might be King for the day.

  Since the departure of the Rampant Lion, Sir Penn had been laid low with some periodic sickness the nature of which no one was sure, and we felt safe from all the troubles which might come from that quarter.

  In the kitchen they had started to prepare for the feast we should have. Jennet
had never had so much made of her before.

  The days slipped away. I said to Honey: “As soon as Jennet is safely wed I will begin to make preparation for my journey home.”

  “The scene is set,” said Honey. “Jake Pennlyon is on the high seas; his father is laid low; there is great excitement about the wedding. It would not be noticed for some days if you decided to leave. Heaven knows I shall hate your going. It will be so dull here without you, Catharine. But if he cut short his voyage and returned then it would be too late and we could not hope to fool him again.”

  “If he ever knew how he had been fooled he would never forgive us.”

  “His vengeance is something I would not wish to encounter.”

  I shivered. “Yes, as soon as the wedding is over I will leave. Do you think Richard will be a good husband to Jennet?”

  “He is a quiet, good-mannered boy.”

  “He is strange. It is difficult to imagine his seducing Jennet.”

  “I’d wager most of the seducing came from her.”

  “Well, he is good and truly caught. I think she will be a good wife, though. She was overpersuaded by Jake Pennlyon to betray me, but I have forgiven her that, for I am sure she deeply regrets it.”

  “For a girl like Jennet, Jake Pennlyon would be irresistible,” Honey said.

  I changed the subject. I did not wish to think of Jake Pennlyon persuading Jennet. I had given too much thought to that matter already.

  There came the night when for the third time I saw the Spanish galleon.

  Such an ordinary day it had been—warm and sunny for the time of year, “unseasonable” they called it—a quiet, peaceful day. How was it that we could have lived through such a day unaware of the tremendous events which were awaiting us?

  I was pleasantly tired when I went to bed and was asleep almost immediately.

  I was awakened as I had been on other nights by unusual sounds below. I lay still listening. Shuffling footsteps, a scuffle. Some serving wench creeping out to meet a lover? I rose from my bed and went to the window.

  There she was in all her glory. Closer than I had ever seen her—the mighty and magnificent Spanish galleon.

  I must go down. I was not going to allow anyone to say that I had imagined my galleon this time. I would awaken Honey and Edward and insist that they look. I picked up a robe and wrapped it around me, but as I crossed to the door it was opened suddenly. John Gregory stood there.