Betty had brought me a wide-brimmed straw hat for walking out, so I put this on and followed Finn out the door. He led me down the hill toward the river Yealm, never touching me, but always near enough to let me feel his solid presence at my side.
“Has your family lived at this castle for a long time?” I asked, to distract him from gazing at me so intently.
“Less than one hundred years, which is not that long compared to some families. Our grandfather was gifted the castle by Henry VIII in 1544, after distinguishing himself at the Siege of Boulogne. It seems he had some grand idea of digging a tunnel under the walls of the city and packing them with explosives. Unfortunately, Henry did not give him a title to go with it. It would have been quite useful,” he said with a chuckle. “Titles go a long way at Court. The castle is actually called Yealm Castle after the river. The main part was built in the fifteenth century, and improvements made in later years by the nobleman who lived here before displeasing Henry and losing his head.”
“What was he guilty of?” I shuddered at the thought of someone being beheaded.
“He tried to prevent Cromwell’s men from destroying the Abbey and the Monastery during the Dissolution of the Monasteries. Of course, he did not succeed and they were ransacked anyway. He was arrested for treason and executed in 1541; his family turned out, and the castle seized by Henry. I cannot seem to recall the man’s name at the present.”
I tried to remember what the Dissolution of the Monasteries was, but had to admit that my English history was very hazy.
“Why did they destroy the monastery?”
Finn gave me a strange look, as if wondering how anyone could ask that question, but then proceeded to answer. “Henry wanted to divorce his wife, Queen Catherine, and marry his mistress, Anne Boleyn, but the Church would not grant him a divorce. Catherine was a good and pious woman, and he had no valid reason to put her aside as far as the Church was concerned. Henry petitioned the Pope, claiming that the marriage was not valid, since Catherine had been married to his brother before him, but the Pope would still not grant an annulment, forcing Henry’s hand. He passed the Act of Supremacy in 1534 declaring himself the Head of the Church, and forcing everyone to swear allegiance to him. Those who didn’t swear suffered greatly.
After a few years Henry broke with Rome for good and decided to weed out Catholicism altogether, accepting his minister Thomas Cromwell’s proposal to dissolve all monastic institutions. Cromwell’s men went around the country destroying all Catholic houses of worship, seizing their wealth and driving out the inhabitants. Those who resisted were either killed outright or arrested for treason. The monastery of St. Mary of the Mount was very close to here. The ruins are still there in the woods.”
“Is it possible to see them?” I’ve always had a thing for ruins, and was curious to see the old monastery.
“If you like, I can take you there when I get back from Plymouth. It is too far to walk, so Robbie can find you a horse to ride. Alec and I used to play there when we were children all the time. We fought some epic battles in front of the Abbey,” he smiled at the memory and led me down to the river. There were several boats moored on the river today, and I could see the small fishing village from our vantage point. One of the fishermen called out a greeting to Finlay, and he waved back, shielding his eyes against the bright sun reflecting off the muddy waters of the river. I looked at the spot where only yesterday I sat in the café by the harbor and shielded my eyes as well, but mostly to hide the tears.
Chapter 9
Finlay escorted Mistress Crane back to the castle and walked across the yard lost in thought. The stables smelled of hay, horseflesh and the tang of manure, and Robbie, who was supposed to be mucking out the stalls, was nowhere to be seen; doubtless in the kitchen trying to sweet-talk Cook into giving him some freshly baked buns. He saddled Dante himself and led him out into the sunshine, pulling his hat lower over his face to shield his eyes against the light after the dim confines of the stables. Finlay always did his best thinking on horseback, so he decided to take a ride into Compton Village to go visit Caleb Black.
Caleb was the most skilled blacksmith for miles, and Finlay fancied getting a new dagger made on account of losing his own in a card game last week. He had loved that dagger, and only overindulgence in drink could have induced him to risk it in a bet. As it was, he lost the dagger and a whole lot more, and went back to his room at the inn furious and ashamed of himself. His father had given him that dagger, and he would rather die than tell Alec that he lost it to some Irish captain. He would just have another one made; the exact replica, and no one would be the wiser.
Finn vaulted into the saddle and trotted through the gates on his way to Compton, his thoughts turning back to Mistress Crane. Alec would be expecting to hear his opinion on the matter, but he had to work it out for himself first. He was genuinely puzzled. Seeing her fear in the dining room, he had assumed that his brother was correct and the girl was just running away from something, most likely an abusive husband, but that theory was very quickly disproved. She went out for a walk with him willingly enough, and failed all his clever tests. She looked him full in the face when he spoke to her, which was not something a fearful woman did, and conversed easily and intelligently, not just responding to his questions and looking away in fright. He tried walking closer to her than was appropriate, but she did not seem to notice, and when he raised his hand suddenly to point something out to her, she didn’t draw back or cringe. A woman who had been beaten or raped would have run a mile from him. She didn’t reveal anything about where she came from, or who her people were, but Finlay would bet his dagger, if he still had it that is, that this woman had not been abused physically or mentally. She was not afraid of a person, but of her circumstances, whatever they were.
The idea that she was a Protestant sent to spy on them crossed his mind, but he dismissed it immediately. There was absolutely no reaction when he had mentioned the Dissolution of the Monasteries, and unless she was a very skilled actress, she seemed to be completely ignorant of the history of violence between the Catholics and Protestants during the turbulent years of Tudor reign. Anyway, who would want to spy on them and why? They said their prayers and not much else. There had not been a Catholic priest around Yealm Castle for years, and the only time they had to seek one out, was when funeral services needed to be performed. Father Paul had lived with them when they were children, posing as a footman for company, but he was long gone, as was his mother, who was the Jesuit’s benefactress.
Finlay thought of Mistress Crane’s violet-colored eyes and sweet smile. He would encourage Alec to let her stay. What was the harm? They certainly had the room, and there hadn’t been a woman at the castle for far too long. They could both use a little female companionship, especially Alec, who unlike Finlay, would not stoop to paying for it.
Chapter 10
Alec and Finn left for Plymouth the following afternoon, and were gone for several days. I didn’t have a clear idea of what they did, but I knew it had something to do with cargo that was coming into port and needed to be unloaded and disposed of. Alec gave strict instructions to the overseer, Mr. Dobbs, not to admit anyone who wasn’t expected, and not to reveal my presence at the castle. I was to stay inside and not venture outside the walls, my walks restricted to the walled garden behind the castle. I appreciated his efforts to protect me, but knew very well that no one would come searching for me. No one in this time and place knew that I existed, besides the inhabitants of Yealm Castle.
Once the brothers were gone and Betty finished her chores upstairs and went down to launder, I set out on my search. It stood to reason that if the clock was found in the village at the bottom of the hill, it might have come from the castle. I thought the clock had been made in France, and Finlay had mentioned that their grandfather had fought the French under Henry VIII. Granted, Boulogne was in Italy, but maybe he had fought in France before or after the Siege and acquired the clock as a souvenir. I starte
d with the rooms downstairs, hoping that none of them would be locked. The first floor held the dining room, library, drawing room, a very large hall, and Alec’s study, but I found no trace of the clock in any of them. Discouraged, I made my way upstairs.
There were several bedrooms on this floor, including my own, but they didn’t look as if they’d been used recently. The rooms looked like something in a hotel, beautiful, but impersonal. There were no clothes or other personal objects to be seen lying around left by their owners, no hair brushes on the dresser or bottles of perfume, no dressing gown carelessly thrown across the bed. The trunks at the foot of the bed were locked, but I highly doubted that a valuable clock would be there in any case. The corner bedroom on the opposite side of the hall had obviously been a child’s room. There was a wooden rocking horse and several other toys lying dusty and forgotten in the corner. It must have been a boy’s room, since there were no dolls, just carved wooden animals and swords. I wondered if this room belonged to Alec or Finn when they were younger, but I didn’t think so.
I walked up the spiral staircase to the third floor and continued my search with less hope. There were only a few more rooms, and I doubted that the clock would possibly be in one of the servants’ chambers on the top floor. The third floor held several bedrooms as well, but only two of them seemed to be occupied. They obviously belonged to the brothers and I couldn’t imagine either one of them having a cupid clock in their room. The bedrooms were masculine and sparse, with furniture made of dark wood and hangings and coverlets in somber colors. There were a few personal items lying around, but not much was out of place since Betty had already cleaned the rooms that morning. The rest of the rooms were empty and depressingly clock-less.
I felt a crushing disappointment as I went back down the stairs. I hadn’t really expected to find the clock, but I’d hoped that I might. There was nowhere else to search, and no other plan sprang to mind. The idea of being stuck in this place for the rest of my days made me feel sick to my stomach, so I decided to seek out some company to distract myself from the wave of panic rising in my chest. There was no one around upstairs, so I went down to the ground floor. I hadn’t been there yet, and I walked carefully down the narrow staircase that led down to the kitchen.
The kitchen was a cavernous space built of gray stone with a low vaulted ceiling, and a scrubbed oak table in the middle. Pots and pans of various sizes and polished to a shine, hung from the hooks screwed into the walls, and I felt my face break out in a sheen of sweat from the heat of the large wood-burning oven set into the wall. Cook turned around at the sound of my footsteps and beamed a welcome. She was of middle years, plump and gray-haired, with a few missing teeth and slanted blue eyes twinkling with good humor. It was hard to guess at her age since she could have been anywhere between thirty-five and sixty. These times were hard on women and they aged quickly, with no benefits of proper nutrition, medical care or beauty products. I knew that Finn had assumed I was around twenty, when in fact I was twenty-six, two years older than him. He told me that Alec was twenty-eight, but I’d initially thought that he was in his early thirties given the lines etched around his mouth and a few grey hairs silvering his temples.
“Ye must be Mistress Crane. I am Cook, but ye would have figured that one out already,” she said with a deep laugh and invited me to sit down at the table. “Would ye like a hot cross bun and a cup of ale, me dear? I just took ‘em out of the oven.” Truthfully, I would have killed for a cup of Starbucks non-fat latte, but I asked for tea instead. I didn’t like ale and tried to avoid drinking it when possible. Cook hung the kettle on an iron arm extending from the hearth and pushed it toward the flames to boil, while taking some loose tea out of a tin. She selected several buns and arranged them on a plate, setting this in front of me with great ceremony.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but what is your name?” I couldn’t just call the woman Cook.
“Everyone just calls me Cook, love, but me name is Mary. Mary Dobbs. I am married to John, the overseer.” Mrs. Dobbs made the tea and sat down across from me at the table taking a mug for herself as well. I could see she was eager for a chat, and I had some questions to ask. I started from afar.
“Where is everyone this morning?” Mrs. Dobbs was alone in the kitchen and I had seen neither Betty nor Nell this morning.
“The girls went down to the farm. I sent Nell for some butter and eggs, and Betty has reasons of her own for wanting to go. Said she fancied a walk, but I know better.” She gave me a conspiratorial smile. “That girl is sweet on Toby, Nell’s brother, or me name ain’t Mary Dobbs. Finds any excuse to go to the farm to catch a glimpse of the lad.”
“Does he like her?” I hoped he did. Betty was a sweet girl, and I couldn’t imagine that she would have too many young men to pick from in her current position.
“That he does. I reckon there’ll be wedding bells before Christmas.” Now that the small talk was out of the way, I got around to more prying questions.
“Mrs. Dobbs,” I began carefully, “Betty said that there were more people living at the castle before. Where did they go?” This obviously was a painful question, since the Cook’s eyes teared up, and she looked away for a moment before answering, needing a moment to compose herself.
“It was five years ago that it happened. July of 1600. The Mistress’s brother, Mr. Albert, stopped by to visit on ‘is way from London. Going to Truro, he was. He was just going to stay the one night, but by morning, ‘is coachman, Gregory had taken ill. He was a good man, Gregory, but very fond of the brothels, if ye’ll pardon me bluntness. Must have picked up the illness when he’d gone wenching. Mr. Albert postponed ‘is departure until Gregory improved, but he only got worse. It was the bloody flux, ye see.” Mrs. Dobbs whispered that last bit, and I could see the horror in her face as she recalled the events of that week. I thought that bloody flux was probably dysentery and could be fatal in this day and age.
“Mr. Alec and Mr. Finn were away at the time, seeing to their ship as they do. The Mistress forbade anyone to summon them home. Did not want them to take ill as well. Gregory was the first to die, followed by Mr. Albert, and then by Mistress Julia and Master Henry. Betty and Robbie’s mother died as well, and the groom, Will, who shared the room with Gregory while he was here. Mr. Charles and Mistress Violet were the last to get ill. Mr. Charles recovered, being young and strong, but Mistress Violet suffered the most. She was six months gone with her first babe and the sickness brought on her pains early. She was in agony, poor lamb. The baby was a boy and lived for a few minutes before dying in ‘is mother’s arms. She died the next day.” Mrs. Dobbs wiped a tear from her plump cheek and took a long pull of tea.
“Who were Mistress Violet and Mr. Charles?” I asked, feeling a little guilty for being so nosy.
“Mr. Charles is the younger brother of Mr. Alec and Mr. Finn. Six he was at the time, and Mistress Violet was Mr. Alec’s wife. Mad with grief he was when he got back. We thought he’d do himself an injury, poor man. He was that in love with her. They had been wed less than a year.” She reached for another bun, and I analyzed what she told me. It must have been a terrible tragedy to come back to find their servants, parents, uncle, and pregnant wife all dead. Unthinkable in my day. I couldn’t begin to imagine what Alec must have felt when he learned his wife had died along with his first child. I couldn’t help wondering what happened to Charles, and who Rose was. I was wearing her things, but no one seemed to ever mention her.
“What happened to Mr. Charles, and who was Rose?” Mrs. Dobbs finished chewing and took a sip of tea before answering. “Mr. Charles was very sad after it happened. He lost both ‘is parents, and he adored Violet. He took to ‘is room and cried every night from nightmares, calling out to ‘is mother. Said ‘is mother came to him, asking him to join her in Heaven. Mr. Alec did exactly the opposite and roamed the halls all night, unable to sleep. We’d find ‘im in the drawing room or the library in the morning, passed out with drink. ‘Twas the only way he c
ould go to sleep and escape ‘is grief.
Finally, Mr. Finn took matters into ‘is own hands. He took both of them to Virginia where their other uncle has a plantation. He went out there as a young man and never returned. Came back to England once to find a wife, ‘e did. Mr. Charles loved it there so much; he wished to stay, so they left him there with the aunt and uncle. They did not know how to care for a young boy and Mistress Lottie was only too happy to play mother to the poor mite. Now Miss Rose, that was another matter. She is their sister, and she is gone now.” With that Mrs. Dobbs rose from the table and turned back to the pie she was making. She obviously wasn’t going to elaborate on Rose, so I thanked her for the tea and buns and went back up and out into the garden.
So, Rose was the sister of Alec, Finlay and Charles. Mrs. Dobbs didn’t say that Rose had gotten ill and died along with the rest. She only said “gone.” That was strange. Where did a young woman these days go? She would’ve said if she had gotten married and left to live with her husband. Mrs. Dobbs sounded disapproving when she mentioned Rose, so it couldn’t be marriage, unless her husband was unsuitable and she eloped with him without the consent of her parents. That must be it. Strange that she seemed to leave her things behind. I sat down on my favorite bench and lifted a bloom to smell. I had to admit that I wished Alec and Finn would come back soon. The castle felt empty and lonely without them, and I missed Finn’s admiring looks and Alec’s solid presence. Betty mentioned that they might be back tomorrow, but she wasn’t sure. I had to admit that I was looking forward to going to see the ruins with Finlay. Getting out of the castle for a few hours seemed like heaven at the moment. I rose from the bench and began walking around the garden. Beautiful as it was, it was beginning to feel claustrophobic.
The Hands of Time Page 4