The Miracle at St. Bruno's

by Филиппа Карр

  'Treason one day, Mother, is loyalty the next." I was suddenly afraid for her, because she was so simple. She did not love a faith but a husband; she would have taken whatever he offered her.

  She proclaimed her beliefs in the Reformed faith because her husband had adopted them. Yet she could die for those beliefs as others had before her.

  I embraced her suddenly.

  "My dear child, you are affectionate today.”

  "How should I know whether I shall be in a position to be so tomorrow?”

  "My word, we are gloomy! What ails you, Damask? You are not sickening for something?

  I will give you a little draft which contains thyme. That will give you pleasant dreams and tomorrow you will wake up in love with all the world.”

  Tomorrow? I thought. What will tomorrow bring?

  But I must not alarm my mother. She was happy for today. Let her remain so. My father had once said that, living in such times as ours, we should take no thought for the morrow; we should savor each hour and if it contained pleasure, enjoy that to the full.

  I could not in any case speak to her of my anxieties. How could I tell her that the man she had married and on whom she doted as though he were some prophet from heaven was threatening to destroy us and had offered me security if I became his mistress?

  The day seemed long. I could settle to nothing. I went to the scriptorium as I sometimes did and listened to the girls at their lessons. What will become of them? I asked myself; and I wished, as my father had wished for me, that they were securely married and living somewhere far removed from the stresses caused by men's clashes of opinion.

  At dinner we sat at the family table on the dais and the rest of the household at the large one in the hall, and although when a sound was heard from without I was aware of furtive looks in the direction of the door and I knew some of the company were attacked by acute apprehension and some trembled in their seats, there was no outward indication of alarm and confident looks were cast in Bruno's direction.

  It was just as we were about to leave the table that a messenger did arrive.

  I shall never forget the awful consternation which filled that hall. I rose to my feet. I had taken the hand of Catherine who was seated next to me. Her startled gaze was turned toward me. I thought: Oh, God, it has come. What will become of us all?

  Bruno had risen too but he showed no apprehension. Calmly he left his place and went forward to greet the messenger.

  "Welcome," he said.

  "I bring ill news," said the messenger. "The King is dead.”

  I could sense the breaking of the tension; it was as though everyone present gave a long-drawn-out "Ah." The King was dead. Who could say what would happen next? The Lady Mary was in line for the throne. The Abbey was saved.

  I saw Bruno's complacent smile. I saw the look of wonder in the faces of those who had been with him in the church last night.

  He had promised them a miracle-for only a miracle could save the Abbey from Simon Caseman's treachery. And this was their miracle. The death of the King; the end of the Protestant rule. The Catholic Princess awaiting to mount the throne.

  Momentarily he caught my eye. I saw the triumph there; the enormous pride which I was beginning to think no one ever possessed in such strength as he did.

  And immediately I thought: He knew all the time. He knew the King was dead. He knew that if Simon Caseman's accusation against him was going to succeed he should have brought it months ago. He arranged for the messenger to bring the news at a time when it would create the greatest effect. I was beginning to know well this man whom I had married.

  There was no thought in anyone's mind now but what was going to happen next.

  When I heard that Edward had died two days before the fact was made known I was certain that Bruno had known of this and for this reason he had flouted Simon Caseman and decided to impress his followers by his miracle.

  I was building up such a cynical view of my husband that I began to wonder whether I hated him.

  But he was less complacent when the news came that the Duke of Northumberland had persuaded the King to set aside his two sisters, Mary and Elizabeth, on the grounds of their illegitimacy, and to declare his cousin Lady Jane Grey the true heir to the throne; but Mary had too much support for this to be accepted and immediately a Catholic faction began to form about her and the country was divided. Families were divided.

  The only aspect which made me rejoice was the fact that we had a respite. The affairs of the country were so much more important than those of a single abbey and no one was going to arrest people who, were Mary to come to the throne, would be considered true and loyal subjects while those who arrested them would be the traitors.

  The country was in a ferment of excitement.

  My mother came over to the Abbey trembling and apprehensive. Simon had gone to Northumberland to offer his services in the support of Jane Grey, whom my mother called the true Queen.

  I knew why Simon had gone. It was imperative to him that Jane Grey become the Queen of England that the Reformed faith might be preserved. He had come down too far on its side to withdraw. I suspected him of expediency but I was not entirely sure that this was all his motive. He had adopted the Reformed faith when it was not safe to do so and the greatest villains could be very firm in their views when it came to religion.

  "She is a virtuous woman, Queen Jane," said my mother. "She has lived a life of piety." "I believe the same can be said of those whom many call Queen Mary.”

  "She is no Queen. Her father's marriage was invalid," cried my mother. "Was her mother not first the bride of King Henry's brother, Arthur?”

  "There are many who will support her," I said.

  "They will be the Papists," my mother said bitterly.

  "It is a strange thing, Mother," I said, "but many Englishmen will be ready to support whomsoever they call the true Queen whatever their religion. I believe that to be so. And Mary has a great claim and after her Elizabeth.”

  "Bastards!" cried my mother, almost in tears, which showed me that she was afraid that Queen Jane's chances of holding the throne might not be good.

  "Hush, Mother, do not become embroiled. It would go ill for you if any heard you call one who may well soon be our Queen by that name.”

  "She never shall be," said my mother fiercely.

  The next day she came over to tell me that a vintner's boy had been deprived of his ears because he had declared in the Chepe that Queen Jane was not the true Queen and had shouted for Queen Mary.

  "You see," said my mother firmly, "what happens to those who would deny the truth.”

  There were many rumors. We heard that Jane was reluctant to take the crown. She was but a child-sixteen years old-not much older than Honey and this had been forced upon her by ambitious men. I felt sorry for poor Jane because the Princess Mary's case was growing stronger every day. She was after all the daughter of King Henry VIII whereas Jane was only the granddaughter of his sister.

  In the city people whispered together, afraid to voice an opinion openly, but I sensed that the majority of people were against Queen Jane, partly because they loathed her father-in-law Northumberland and were in no mood to accept his dominance but chiefly because they knew that Mary was the true heir to the throne.

  This was in fact a division between the new Protestants and the old Catholics and the Reformed religion being so new had not yet taken a firm hold of the people.

  Mary had fled to Norfolk and found thousands rallying to her cause. She was proclaimed Queen in Norwich. She crossed the border into Suffolk and set up her standard at Framlingham Castle.

  Each day we waited for news. When Ridley, the Bishop of London, preached in favor of Queen Jane my mother was delighted.

  “‘Twill all come right," she said. "Such a sweet good girl she is!”

  But a few days later the Earls of Pembroke and Arundel were proclaiming Mary Queen of England at Paul's Cross and we realized then that the nine days' rei
gn was at an end. Poor little Jane could not stand out against the might of right. Mary was the true heiress of England; poor pathetic Jane was cast out.

  I went to see my mother because I guessed she would be very anxious.

  "What is happening?" she cried, distraught. "What can people be thinking of? The Queen has the favor of the Bishop of London. Who can gainsay that?”

  "Many," I said, and I was filled with anxiety for her. "You will have to be very careful now. Do not talk freely to the servants. Heaven knows what this is going to mean." Then I realized that, as I with my family had moved into a certain security, my mother and hers had come close to danger.

  I took the books Simon had instructed her to read and hid them.

  "You should not keep them here. We are about to begin a reign of the sternest Catholic rule. You must live very quietly for a while. It must not be remembered that you support Queen Jane.”

  It was difficult to feign an indifference to the fate of Queen Jane. It seemed one must either support or reject. There was no middle way. I was sorry for the young girl, who had been such a reluctant Queen, knowing full well that she had no right to the title. I trusted she would be forgiven and not have to suffer for the ambition of others; but I could not help but rejoice that my home had been saved by her downfall.

  Her sad little story was reaching its tragic climax. Nine days after Jane's accession to the throne Mary was proclaimed Queen of England.

  Simon Caseman had returned unostentatiously to the house before that day, and was trying to pretend now that he had been away on business and had not gone to London to support Queen Jane. He was as ready as any to shout "Long live Queen Mary." At least he was wise in that.

  I hoped he would continue to be so.

  It quickly became apparent that the comparatively peaceful years of Edward's reign were over.

  Before the month was out Lady Jane and her husband, Lord Guildford Dudley, were committed to the Tower of London.

  Kate came to the Abbey from Remus, bringing Carey and Colas with her. She was excited as always by great events. She wanted us to ride out to Wanstead to see the new Queen come to her capital and the young people joined her in the clamor to go.

  I was glad to get away from the Abbey and we all rode out myself and Kate with two of the men of our household to guard us and Carey, Honey, Catherine and Colas.

  Kate was excited because the Princess Elizabeth was going to meet her sister at Wanstead and accompany her into London. Indeed everyone was gay and excited. It seemed incredible that such a short time ago I had had such fears. But even now I could not get out of my mind the thought of my mother at Caseman Court and I was wondering how she was feeling since her husband had lost what he had hoped for and if his Lutheran tendency were known would be in the kind of danger which had threatened my household such a short while ago.

  I could not help noticing the admiring glances that came the way of my girls. Kate of course would always dominate any scene by that incomparable charm and now that she had poise and a certain look of experience to add to it, it had in no way diminished.

  But Honey was a beauty-in her way even more so than Kate. She was of course a child as yet but ready to burst into womanhood, and in her russet-colored velvet riding suit and her jaunty little feathered hat I thought she was one of the loveliest creatures I had ever seen. As for Catherine, in a similar hat but of dark-green velvet, she sparkled with the love of life-in contrast to the rather brooding silence of Honey, so that what she lacked in actual beauty she made up for by her vital personality.

  And Carey, what a handsome boy he was-with a look of Kate and not unlike my girls either. As for eight-year-old Colas, the baby of the group, he was determined to enjoy every moment. They might well all have been sisters and brothers. Catherine and Carey sparred continuously and we had to reprove them once or twice, telling Carey to remember not to speak to a lady as he spoke to Catherine, and Catherine to be less provoking.

  And at Wanstead we saw the Queen's meeting with her sister Elizabeth. It was a historic moment, I thought-the daughters of Katharine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn meeting at Wanstead.

  I'll swear that more eyes were on the Princess Elizabeth than on the Queen. That red-haired young woman of twenty reminded me in some ways of my own Catherine. She was no beauty but possessed of vitality and charm which was in great contrast to the silent manners of the new Queen.

  Mary was dressed in violet-colored velvet which did nothing to enhance her aging looks, for she was thirty-seven years old. But the cheers were loyal and when the sisters kissed they rang out even louder.

  The sisters left Wanstead and rode toward the city. We joined in the press of people with our servants closing around us to ensure that we were given passage. I made the girls ride on either side of me, and so we came through the city portal at Aldgate and into London. Our young people chattered excitedly all the time. It was wonderful to see the streamers hanging from the windows and there were many groups of children to sing songs praising the new Queen; and in the Minories all the crafts of the city were represented in their appropriate costumes.

  We followed all the way down to the Tower; on the river gaily decked crafts seemed to prance with delight and sweet music could be heard everywhere as the guns boomed a salute.

  I wondered whether from some window in the Tower the Queen of nine days looked out on all this rejoicing and wondered what her fate would be. Of one thing there could be no doubt. London was welcoming the new Queen and heralding in the new reign.

  Catherine said suddenly: "What a pity that Peter and Paul did not come with us. How they would have loved the procession.”

  I shivered, and wondered how my mother was taking the news of the acclamation of a new queen while she who had reigned so briefly was awaiting her fate with dread.

  Kate stayed with us for a while at the Abbey. She talked continually of the changing world. Under the last reign the Reformed faith had been the favored one; this was a return to Catholicism, and those who had been in high places during the last reign now found themselves out of favor.

  Everyone was afraid to speak freely. It was seen how quickly one could fall out of favor and it was inevitable that after such a clash between two queens and two religions the blood should flow. Edward was buried at Westminster and the Queen had a solemn service performed for him in her private chapel with all the rites and ceremonies of the Church of Rome.

  A few days later the Duke of Northumberland was beheaded.

  Kate stayed for the coronation, which was in October, and we saw the Queen carried in her litter which was covered with cloth of silver and drawn by six white horses.

  Her gown was of blue velvet edged with ermine and she wore a caul of gold network on her head; it was set with pearls and precious stones, I glanced at Kate and wondered if she remembered that other Queen whom we had seen years ago when torn Skillen had been blackmailed by Kate into rowing us to Greenwich.

  How different that elegant radiant Anne from this aging, tired woman!

  Kate whispered that the caul must be weighty with all those stones; and indeed the poor Queen looked as though it made her head ache.

  And in an open chariot decorated with crimson velvet rode that other Queen's daughter-the young Elizabeth-and with her was her stepmother Anne of Cleves-the only one of Henry's poor sad queens to survive to that day.

  It was a great pageant, but I wondered, and I am sure many did on that day, what lay in store for us all.

  Of course I had known that a new reign would mean changes; for us at the Abbey it was as though we had a narrow escape from disaster. I was glad Simon Caseman remained subdued. He was wise in that he went about his estate neither condemning the new Queen nor praising her. Either would have been to call unwelcome attention to himself.

  An increased complacency was apparent in Bruno. He was regarded with an even greater wonder than before and I gathered from Clement that it was believed he had brought about another miracle which had saved th
e Abbey. It was the third. The first had been when he had come in the form of a baby in the crib and because of this the Abbey which had been in decline began to prosper; then he had returned to the Abbey after it had been disbanded and, lo, many had found it possible to return; and now when an enemy had threatened to destroy what he had built up, by a miracle the King had died in the nick of time and a new Catholic Queen was on the throne.

  Bruno had done this-Bruno the miracle worker.

  The first change was an act which abolished the Reformed liturgy, that which Edward and his Parliament had declared had been inspired by the Holy Ghost, and revived the old form which had been used in the days of Henry VIII. This was of greater significance than at first appeared because it was a pointer.

  At the beginning of the following year we heard that there was to be a marriage between Mary and Philip of Spain, that most fanatical of Catholics.

  There was an outcry about this and I knew that it gave great hope to those who wished to see the Reformed Church established. Mary was popular; she was the rightful heir; but the people of England had no desire to be dominated by Spain. The Parliament raised its voice to ask the Queen not to marry a foreigner, but this appeared to be of no avail.

  I rarely went to Caseman Court. I was afraid of meeting Simon Caseman, but my mother and the twins were constant visitors to the Abbey.

  Peter and Paul, so alike that one could not tell the difference between them, were about the same age as Carey and the children were almost as of one family. My mother had some time before asked that the twins should share my daughters' tutors and this had been arranged, and when Kate stayed with us Carey would join them in the scriptorium.

  I regretted that neither of my girls shone in the schoolroom. They were bright without being clever. Carey excelled far more at outdoor pursuits rather than lessons; Peter was the cleverest of the children; though this was not discovered for some time and both were thought to be clever children until it was discovered that Peter did most of Paul's bookwork for him and was always ready with a whispered answer for his twin.