He knew very well that her death had spared him from an agonizing choice when, later, the Tiger sailed in with Sir Richard Grenville. He had brought a group of men and women who wished to found a New World colony, and had chosen Secotan because of a report from the earlier ship. Grenville himself would be sailing back to England, and now Stephen was free to approach his countrymen, free to leave. And Philippa, his dear Philippa, had chosen to come with him.
Home. Home. He had been near tears when he’d seen Plymouth come up on the horizon. And now…
It was like eating an apple and coming across a wriggling white worm inside it. Tobias, whom he had never liked, had been paying visits to court and making undesirable friends there. Tobias had been consorting with Sir Anthony Babington.
Hidden in his room was the list Mistress Stannard had given him, of people in England who were under suspicion because, although they had as yet done nothing questionable, they had strong Catholic sympathies and contacts among doubtful characters, including Mary Stuart’s French agents, and certain priestly agitators in Catholic Europe.
Sir Anthony Babington was on that list.
A few doors away from Stephen, Jane Allerbrook was also awake. She was worried and puzzled. On the ride home, when she’d mentioned the name of Anthony Babington, Stephen’s face had changed, as though a shadow had crossed it. She did not know why, and before she could ask him what was wrong, he had begun to talk of Philippa’s music lessons and the dances Jane might teach her, and the fact that Philippa had a good sense of rhythm and back in Secotan had played the drums among the other women. The moment they were home, Stephen had gone to his room and she had seen him only at supper, when the whole household was gathered around the table to enjoy an excellent welcome-home meal. She had had no chance to question him.
But something was wrong. She knew it, though she didn’t understand it. She tossed restlessly, wondering what the time was. Probably not yet midnight. A long night lay ahead. She closed her eyes resolutely, courting sleep, but opened them again almost at once. Nearby, a door had softly opened and closed, and she rather thought it was Philippa’s.
Philippa! She and Robert had ridden together on the journey home today. Had Robert just gone into her chamber?
If those two wanted to wed, whatever Tobias might say, Jane would support them. But she didn’t intend to support any unlawful lovemaking before the ceremony. Sybil had suffered from that. She got out of bed, pulled on a robe and slippers and stepped out into the gallery, to come face-to-face at once with Stephen, who was holding a lit candle and staring in the direction of the stairs down to the hall.
“Stephen?”
“Softly. Don’t disturb Philippa.”
“Her door opened!”
“I know. That was me. I heard footsteps passing my door and glimpsed candlelight beneath it and I wondered if, well…”
“You wondered if Robert had gone to her room? So did I!”
“Well, he hasn’t. I looked in, and she’s fast asleep and all alone as a young maid should be. But someone went along this gallery and presumably went down to the hall. I’m wondering why.”
“Gone to the kitchen for something to eat?”
“After that enormous supper?” Stephen whispered. “Anyone who’s still hungry would have to be a gannet. No, someone’s prowling about and I want to know why. You go back to bed. I’m going downstairs.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“There’s no need, Aunt Jane. I’ll go down and…”
“This is my house,” said Jane with determination. “You may regard yourself as my escort.”
Aunt Jane in this mood was not to be gainsaid. Together they made their way downstairs. The hall was empty and dark except for the red glow from the banked fire. They made for the kitchen wing, just in case someone really had failed to eat enough at that laden supper table, but the kitchen was deserted. They were returning to the hall, puzzled, when Stephen put his hand on Jane’s arm and whispered, “Light. Coming through the door to the tower. Where the parlour and the chapel are. Over there.”
They stood still. Faintly, they heard the murmur of voices.
“It’s all right,” said Jane in a low voice. “Tobias has gone to the chapel to pray. He does that sometimes. Even at night, just occasionally. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“But I think someone else is with him.” Stephen blew out his candle. “I mean to know what’s afoot.”
“But Stephen…”
“Sssh!” said Stephen, softly and yet so commandingly that Jane fell silent. Like a shadow, he moved toward the tower door and Jane, bewildered, followed him.
Beyond the door was the foot of the spiral stair to the parlour, but beside it, recessed into an archway, was the chapel door. It was not perfectly closed, and the glimmer of light came from within. Stephen drew it open another inch and peered in.
There were candles and an embroidered cloth on the altar and the Catholic Mass was being said. Gilbert Mallow, Charles Dupont, Tobias, Blanche and Robert were all present, but Mallow was not officiating. Dupont, in priestly garb, was elevating the host.
So Dupont was a priest as well as a musician.
If holding religious services was all they ever did, the authorities would probably wink at it, but it isn’t. They talk of Mary Stuart’s rights and the duty of all good Catholics to uphold her. They imperil the peace and security of England.
“It’s just a Mass.” Jane, who had followed close behind him, whispered into his ear. “I…I guessed that Dupont was a priest. But there’s no harm in it, surely. Toby likes to hear Mass when he can.”
Stephen did not answer. There had been an uncertainty in Jane’s voice, and now Mistress Stannard’s words were repeating themselves relentlessly in his mind. Whatever was happening here, and even though this was his own home, his own family, he had to know whether it stopped at holding a Mass, or not. He gripped his aunt’s wrist to keep her still.
The service ended. Dupont removed his vestments and put the ornate candlesticks, the cloth and the chalice into an oak chest which lay against the chapel wall. The chapel was still lit, for those attending had brought their own candles, which stood in a row on a small table close to the chest. They were now picking them up.
“It has been a great pleasure to say this Mass for you,” Dupont said. He turned as he spoke, to address the others, so that he was facing toward the door, and though his voice was low, it came clearly out to the eavesdroppers. “I am more grateful than I can say for your promise of help. I shall leave here a week from today and go on to Salisbury. But you will not be forgotten. You will hear when the moment ripens. It will not be before next spring, which is some way off. But you will not change your minds? I have your word?”
“You have our word,” said Tobias. “My son and I will set out as soon as you summon us. Will we not, Robert?”
“Yes, of course.” Robert’s low voice was eager. “We can bring no force of men, but we can bring ourselves, and offer our services in any way that may be useful.”
“It will be dangerous,” said Blanche, “but I pray that all will go well. I shall be waiting in fear but also in hope. I am glad that Mallow is staying. It will make the household feel more normal.”
“God be with you all,” said Dupont, and Mallow said, “Amen.”
All five of them began to move toward the door and there was no time to get back across the hall and out of sight. Instead, swiftly and silently, Stephen, propelling Jane ahead of him, ascended the spiral stair, halting just around the first curve and sitting down on the steps, setting his unlit candle down beside him. Below, they all came out of the chapel, closed the door and went off across the hall toward the other stairway, and their beds.
“Did you know?” Stephen whispered. “Did you know, Aunt Jane, that Tobias—and Robert, too, it seems—are not just men of harmless piety who like to pray with candles and popish symbols around them?”
Jane was shaking—with the night chill which
came through her robe from the stone stair beneath her, but also with shock. For so long she had feared that something like this would happen, that Tobias’s convictions would lead him into danger, and now her fears seemed to be coming true and this nephew of hers, Stephen, sitting beside her on the steps, knew about it, too. He had been away for twenty years. She could not guess what he would do.
“I didn’t know,” she said. “I only…worried. But Stephen, they didn’t say much, did they? Perhaps it doesn’t mean anything very serious.”
Stephen put his face in his hands. It was true that they had not mentioned Mary Stuart, or Babington, or any other name of ill omen. He could not put his hand on his heart and swear that what he had overheard was part of a plot to enthrone Mary and thereby to destroy Elizabeth.
But to a Jesuit—and Dupont was surely that—what other ripening would matter? Would need the force of men which Robert was clearly sorry they couldn’t produce? Would be, as Blanche had said, dangerous?
And if this really were a plot, then the worm at the apple’s heart was big and greedy and might consume his own kin. Traitors died terrible deaths. He did not care what happened to Mallow or Dupont, but every instinct cried out to him to protect the others. As an agent he was, quite clearly, useless. Almost a traitor himself.
“Whatever you know, or fear,” he said, “understand this, Aunt Jane. You must never, never admit to knowledge of any kind, never admit that you suspected Tobias’s beliefs. You must be innocent, Aunt Jane. If…if the worst happens…”
“Stephen, don’t!”
“I will never betray my own kin,” Stephen said. “Don’t worry. But Philippa can’t marry Robert now. You realize that?”
“Yes. And tomorrow,” said Jane decisively, “I shall talk to Tobias.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Just a Simple Tournament
1585
“Yes,” said Jane, sitting wearily on her favourite parlour window seat. “Yes, Stephen, I have spoken to Toby. It was like talking to a stone wall.”
A carefully limewashed stone wall. Clean, superficially innocent and concealing God alone knows what.
“I didn’t mention you,” she said. “I said that I had been alone when I followed him downstairs and overheard what was going on in the chapel. He said I had misinterpreted everything. He said that his friend Sir Anthony Babington was organizing a tournament in London next spring and that he and Robert were going to take part. Sir Anthony has said he will lend them suitable horses, since none of our own horses are chargers. Blanche is worried because tournaments are dangerous and she doesn’t think that either her husband or her son will have time to get into practice. She means to pray for their safety. Gilbert Mallow much regrets that such sports are unsuitable for a chaplain and so he isn’t going.”
“And it’s natural, in a chapel, just after Mass, to start discussing arrangements for a tournament?” said Stephen grimly.
“I know. What are we to do? I know what I’d like to do,” said Jane. “And that’s to order Mallow and Dupont out of this house. At once.”
“Please don’t!” If she did that, it would alarm the quarry, the very thing that Mistress Stannard had insisted must not happen. “It could make Toby and Robert angry. In anger, they might plunge in deeper than they already are. Better wait,” Stephen said. “If we do nothing, it may all come to nothing.” He, too, was weary. He had not slept at all the previous night. “At least,” he said, “Tobias must now realise that you are—making guesses. Perhaps he and Robert will think twice. They mentioned next spring and that’s a long way off, as yet.”
A week later, the night before Dupont was expected to take his leave, Stephen, who was still sleeping badly, once more heard, some time short of midnight, the sound of feet going past his door. This time he let them go. No doubt Dupont was holding another illegal Mass before departing. Later he heard the feet returning. Eventually, he slept.
In the morning Tim Snowe, who now had a ring of thin white hair around an otherwise completely bald pate, but who was still remarkably active, rang the usual bell for breakfast and then stood ready to help serve it. Philippa and Robert came to the meal last, hand in hand, their eyes at once bright and bashful, and on the table before the rest of the household they laid the certificate of their marriage, carried out the previous night by Gilbert Mallow.
“I feared that you wouldn’t agree, Father,” Robert said as Tobias stared at the scroll and then at the couple, opening and closing his mouth as though unable to find words. “I know, Father, that you don’t like cousin marriages. But they are lawful.”
“Is that…?” Jane began.
“It’s a document declaring that they were married last night,” said Tobias, and then shot to his feet. “But it’s not lawful in my eyes! I can hardly believe this!” He picked up the certificate and brandished it. “How dare you, Robert? I will have this annulled! And you, Mallow—what were you thinking about? I am your employer!”
“Tobias!” Jane protested. “Please don’t. They look so happy!”
“It’s outrageous! What will folk say in Clicket? No banns were called, no feast held! They’ll say there’s scandal behind it!”
“Well, there isn’t, and it’s our business, not Clicket’s,” said Robert. “And it’s legal, banns or no banns. Even if you are angry, Father, it can’t be undone.”
“I am angry, very!” Tobias shouted. “And it shall be undone.” He had not even looked at Philippa, who was listening, motionless, impassive of face as ever. “I said,” shouted Tobias, “I’ll have it annulled!”
He turned to Blanche for support and Blanche promptly gave it. “How could you, Robert? How could you, Philippa? As for Gilbert, I’m ashamed of you, sir!”
“There are no grounds for an annulment,” said Robert calmly. “We are fully man and wife, and there is evidence.”
“You mean you…last night, after…?”
“Yes,” said Robert, and grinned and Philippa smiled, too, looking at him with affection.
Dupont, visibly embarrassed, rose to his feet, murmured something about leaving the family to its private affairs and left the hall. Jane’s maid Alice, who was at the table as well, stayed where she was, bright eyed and young enough to be rather thrilled by all the drama. Tobias turned to Mallow, who had been warily holding his peace.
“What have you to say for yourself? How dare you perform such a ceremony without my permission?”
“If I hadn’t,” said the chaplain, “I feared from what they told me that they might fall into sin. The marriages of second cousins are perfectly in order these days.”
Philippa turned to Stephen. “Father? Will you not give us your blessing? I am so happy.”
He should have known she might do something of this kind. She was his daughter and in her was a little of his own adventurous streak. Philippa, not her brothers, had been prepared to leave her birthplace behind and travel across the ocean to a new life. This was another adventure, another brave throwing of the dice.
“Philippa,” he said, rising from his place, “come with me. Don’t be afraid. I want to speak with you alone for a few minutes, that’s all.”
He took her into the chapel, as it was the nearest quiet place, and having closed the door, said, “My dear daughter, I was not against your marrying Robert until a week ago, but then I found out something.”
He hesitated. He couldn’t say to her, Your bridegroom is probably part of a treacherous plot against Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, though he knew at heart that he had not misunderstood those few words he had overheard. For one thing, he couldn’t calculate what she might do. Would she abandon Robert? Turn on him? Inform on him?
Or warn him.
It is Sir Francis Walsingham’s wish that if there is indeed a plot, it must be allowed to ripen, because that is the only way he will ever get the queen to put an end to Mary Stuart…until Mary’s head is off, there will be no safety in this realm. This is crucial, Master Sweetwater! Fail in this and you your
self would become a traitor.
The Algonquin, he thought bitterly, had more sensible gods. Their principal deity was Wakonda, who had made and watched over the forests and rivers, the plains and creatures and the Algonquin tribes. Stephen had long ago concluded that Wakonda had much to be said for him. He got on with maintaining the world he had created without having hysterics over whether people believed in him or not, or in the fine detail of how they worshipped him.
The only hope now was that the plot was only the feverish dream of a few foolish priests and their pious followers and that it would prove impossible and never be put into action. Or that the ringleaders would be caught before anything could happen, anyway.
But he couldn’t see the future. He was like a traveller picking his way, step by step, through lethal marshes, in a mist.
“Did you know,” he said carefully, “that Robert is a secret Catholic?”
“Oh yes,” said Philippa. “I know. So are his parents. Blanche has become Catholic to please Tobias. Robert told me. He says he doesn’t know if his mother is Catholic at heart, but she stands by his father, whatever he does. Robert said that his father would not consent to our marriage—because I’m not Catholic and because we are cousins—so we chose to wed secretly. I thought you would understand. Father, I can’t explain what happened, but from the moment I first saw Robert…well, it was the same with him. It was how things were, from what you’ve told me, between my mother and you.”
“Did the pair of you really threaten to become lovers if Mallow refused to marry you?”
“Yes,” said Philippa, looking him in the eyes. “We did. Side by side and hand in hand, we swore it. Robert has a sword with a cross-hilt. You told me, long ago, what the cross means to Christians. He had the sword with him and we swore on the hilt.”
“I hope to God,” said Stephen, “that no harm comes of this. Go back to your Robert. I daresay Tobias will soften, given time. I expect his mother will persuade him. Aunt Jane was always a peacemaker. But…”
The House of Allerbrook Page 36