Lion Triumphant

by Philippa Carr

I knew that services were conducted in the chapel behind closed doors. I knew that beneath the altar cloth there was a hidden door, and I guessed that behind that door were images and all that was used in celebration of the Mass.

  I did not join in this, but I was aware that several members of the household did. I had not thought very much about it until the night when the Pennlyons had talked so fiercely about the Dons. I thought how intolerant they would be of those who did not think as they did; and dangerous too.

  I could not pass the chapel after that night without a twinge of alarm.

  Jennet, the young girl whom I had brought with me from the Abbey, was putting my clothes away, smoothing her hands over the cloth of a velvet cloak with a sort of ecstasy.

  Jennet was about a year younger than I was—small, lithe, with a tangle of thick dark curls. I had noticed one or two of the menservants follow her with their eyes and I thought Jennet must be warned.

  Jennet’s eyes sparkled as she worked and I asked if she were happy in these new surroundings.

  “Oh, yes, Mistress Catharine,” she replied fervently.

  “So you like it better than the Abbey?”

  She shivered a little. “Oh, yes, Mistress. ’Tis more open like. There was ghosts in the Abbey … everyone said. And you could never know what was going to come up next.”

  Jennet was a great gossip; I had heard her chatter to the maids; if I gave her an opportunity she would have plenty to say to me.

  “So you feel it’s different here?”

  “Oh, yes, Mistress, why, at the Abbey … I’d lie trembling on my pallet at night even though the others was there. Young Mary swore she saw monks going into the church one day at dusk … long robes, she said, and chanting like. She said terrible things had happened there and where terrible things happen there’ll be ghosts.”

  “But you never really saw a ghost, Jennet.”

  “No, Mistress, but I felt ’em there and ’tis the same. ’Tis more as a big house should be here. Ghosts there could be, as most houses have their ghosts, but here it ’ud be a ghost like other ghosts—a poor lady as ’ad been crossed in love or a gentleman who had lost his inheritance and thrown himself from the tower like … something ghosts ’as always done—but in the Abbey they were terrible ghosts. Monks and evil… Oh, there was evil there all right. My Granny remembers when the men came and what they done… Here, though, ’tis different. There’s ships too. Oh, I like to see the ships.” Jennet giggled. “And that Captain Pennlyon, Mistress. I said to Mary: ‘I never did see such a fine gentleman,’ and Mary she says the same, Mistress.”

  I felt angry suddenly. So the maids were discussing him. I pictured his swaggering past them, perhaps bestowing a kiss on the prettiest, marking her down as possible prey. The man sickened me.

  And what was I doing chattering with Jennet!

  I said: “Pray put those away quickly, Jennet. Don’t chatter so much. Have you nothing to do with your time?”

  Jennet, naturally a little bewildered by my sudden change of manner, hung her head and flushed slightly. I hoped I had conveyed firmly my indifference to Captain Pennlyon.

  Jennet had stopped in her work and was looking out of the window down onto the courtyard.

  “What’s there, Jennet?” I asked.

  “’Tis a young man, Mistress.”

  I went and stood beside her. There was indeed a young man; he was dressed in a russet-colored doublet with green hose; his hair was very dark, fitting sleekly about his head, and as we gazed down at him he looked up.

  He bowed elaborately.

  I called down, “Who are you?”

  “Good Mistress,” he cried, “if you are the lady of the house I would have speech with you.”

  “Marry!” breathed Jennet. “But he’s handsome!”

  I said, “I am not the mistress of the house, but I will come down and see you.”

  I went down into the hall, Jennet at my heels, and I opened the iron-studded door. The young man bowed once more, very deferentially.

  “The mistress of the house is not at home, I think. Perhaps you could tell me your business.”

  “I seek work, my lady.”

  “Work?” I cried. “What kind of work?”

  “I am not particular as to its nature. I would be grateful for anything that came my way.”

  “The management of the household is not in my hands. I am a guest here.”

  “Shall I see if I can find the master?” asked Jennet eagerly.

  He flashed her a look of gratitude and she colored prettily.

  “Please,” he said.

  Jennet ran off and I said to the young man, “What is your name?”

  “It is Richard Rackell.”

  “And from whence do you come?”

  “I came from the North. I believed that in the South I could make my way more easily than in my native parts.”

  “And now you wish to work here awhile and then go off for fresh adventures?”

  “It would depend. Always I look for somewhere where I can settle.”

  Men often came looking for work, particularly at the end of the summer at Michaelmas. There was work in the fields, threshing, winnowing, salting down cattle which could not be fed during the winter. But there was something about this young man which was different from those who usually came.

  I asked him if he had any experience of harvesting; he said No but that he was good with horses and he hoped there might be a place for him in the stables.

  By this time Edward had appeared. He rode into the courtyard, an elegant man who seemed to have grown more slight and delicate-looking in the last days. I suppose I was comparing him with the Pennlyons.

  “Edward,” I said, “this young man is looking for work.”

  Edward was always courteous and, I believe, eager to do a good turn. He was popular with the work people although I imagined they despised him a little. They were not used to such gentle manners.

  He asked the young man into the winter parlor and sent for a tankard of ale to refresh him. Not many prospective employers treated work people thus, but Edward was something of a visionary. He did not believe his fortune placed him above others; he knew that he was more learned, more cultured, more graciously mannered than the farm laborers, but if a man had good manners and some education he would not consider him beneath himself because he was, say, the son of a doctor or lawyer and Edward was the son of a lord. Honey had often said to me: “Edward is a good man.”

  She was right.

  I did not accompany them to the winter parlor naturally; I went back to my bedroom, where Jennet had returned to her task of putting my clothes away.

  “Oh, Mistress Catharine,” she said, “do you think the master’ll find a place for him?”

  “He does not seem to me to be fitted for hard labor in the fields and that is what will be looked for at this time of year.”

  “He did look a real gentleman,” said Jennet, smoothing my fly cape. “They make handsome men in the North.”

  “You are far too interested in men, Jennet,” I said severely.

  “Oh, but they’m interesting folk, Mistress.”

  “I should warn you. You know full well what can happen to girls who don’t take good care of themselves.”

  “Oh, Mistress, you be thinking of the sailors. Them that’s here today and gone tomorrow. If this young Richard Rackell do come he’s here to stay, and what he does will have to be answered for.”

  “Jennet, I have noticed that you are inclined to invite attention.”

  “Oh, Mistress.” She flushed deeply and giggled.

  I went on severely: “And if this young man should be fortunate enough to be given work here you would do well to wait until he shows interest in you before you betray yours in him.”

  “’Tis but a boy, Mistress,” said Jennet, her eyes sparkling, and I was angry with her because I knew that she was comparing the young Richard Rackell with Captain Pennlyon.

  It was typical of Ed
ward that he should find a place for Richard Rackell in the household. He came into the solarium where Honey and I sat together, she embroidering, I idly watching her, and sat down with us.

  He said: “I’ve put him into the stables. They need an extra groom, though how he will fit in I don’t know. He has not the appearance of a groom, but he certainly has a way of handling horses. In time we’ll find something else for him. My opinion is that he would make an excellent scribe, though I have no need of a scribe.”

  Honey smiled at her husband over her needle; she was always tender and gentle with him; he, of course, adored her. She looked beautiful with her needle poised thus and a quiet, dreamy look of contentment on her face.

  “Let him serve in the stables then,” said Honey. “And if something other should arise he will be there to take it.”

  “A pleasant young man,” said Edward. “Of some education, I believe.”

  “He speaks with a strange accent,” I added.

  “That is because he comes from the North. Their speech is oft so different from our own that it can be difficult to understand it.”

  “One can understand Richard well enough.”

  “Oh, yes, but he is a young man not without education … not the sort who normally come knocking at the doors begging for work.”

  “He is reticent, Jennet tells me. She has lost no time in making his acquaintance.”

  Edward cleared his throat and said, “Thomas Elders will be visiting us at the end of the week.”

  Honey paused slightly, her needle poised. I knew that remark had made her a little uneasy.

  I wanted to tell them both that they had nothing to fear from me. I would not betray what I knew, which was that Thomas Elders was a priest who traveled from one Catholic household to another, that he came as a guest who was said to be an old friend of some member of the household; and that during his stay in the house he heard confession and celebrated Mass; and at the same time ran the risk of incurring the Queen’s displeasure for himself and for the members of that household he visited.

  He had been once before. I had thought little of his coming then although I had quickly assessed the purpose of it.

  Everyone was expecting a more tolerant attitude toward religion with the new reign and indeed it could not be more severe than the last, but that extreme tolerance had not yet come; the Queen had her reasons and so did her ministers. It was, to say the least, unwise to entertain priests in the household.

  When I remembered the fierce attitude of the Pennlyons I was apprehensive.

  I changed the subject by talking of the newcomer Richard Rackell.

  “He has gracious manners indeed,” I said. “I knew someone from the North once who came to visit my father. He did not speak or act as this young man does.”

  “People are never cut to a pattern,” said Honey comfortably.

  Then she began to talk about their neighbors and, fearing that this might lead to the Pennlyons, I rose and left them together.

  Every day Jake Pennlyon called. There was nothing subtle about him; he clearly came to see me.

  He noticed Richard Rackell on one occasion; he said: “I’ve seen that fellow before. I remember. He came to Lyon Court looking for work.”

  “And you had none for him.”

  “I don’t like the look of the fellow. More like a girl than a boy.”

  “Do you expect everyone to roar like a lion?”

  “I reserve that privilege for myself.”

  “Or,” I added, “bray like an ass.”

  “Which I leave to others, but I would look for neither a lion nor an ass in a servant. Some tale he had about coming from the North.”

  “Why should it be a tale? Edward believed him.”

  “Edward would believe anything. He has a mistaken idea that everyone else follows his fine mode of behavior.”

  “Perhaps it is more pleasant to believe the best than the worst of people before anything is proved against them.”

  “Nonsense. It is better to be prepared for the worst.”

  “As usual, I disagree with you.”

  “Which delights me. I dread the day when we are in complete agreement.”

  There was no doubt that he enjoyed our verbal battles. To my amazement, so did I.

  When he was late calling one day I found myself at the window watching for him, hoping, I kept assuring myself, that he would not come; but I couldn’t help the twinge of excitement I felt when I saw his white horse in the stableyard and heard his loud voice shouting to the grooms.

  We visited Lyon Court—that mansion which had been built by Sir Penn’s father. On either side of the porch were lions with ferocious expressions; and a lion’s face was molded over the porch. It was a younger house than Trewynd and its Gothic hall extended to the full height of the house; Lyon Court had its central block built around a courtyard and east and west wings; in these wings were the bedchambers and the living quarters. In the center block were the hall and the grand staircase leading to the gallery. It was impressive and rather ostentatious, what one would expect, I told myself, of such a family. The Pennlyons had not always been in possession of wealth and, therefore, that possession seemed something to boast of. It had been in Edward’s family for years and he had been brought up to accept it as a natural right.

  Still, I could not help being caught up in the enthusiasm of both Sir Penn and Jake Pennlyon for their magnificent house. In the Long Gallery there was a portrait of the founder of their fortunes, Sir Penn’s father, who sat uneasily in his fine robes, and of Sir Penn, very sure of himself; his wife, a rather fragile-looking lady with a bewildered expression; and Jake Pennlyon, jaunty, arrogant, his brilliant blue eyes the most startling feature on the canvas as they were in the flesh.

  The gardens were very fine. Sir Penn had numerable gardeners who were kept busy making his land the most outstanding in the neighborhood; the graveled paths were symmetrical; the flower beds immaculate, although less colorful than they would be in the heart of summer. There were still roses in the rose garden, though; and there was a herb garden which particularly interested Honey; I told Sir Penn that my grandmother was something of an authority on plants and herbs.

  “There was a witch in the village,” I told him. “My grandmother befriended her and before she died she gave her several recipes.”

  “Witches!” spat out Sir Penn. “I’d hang the Devil’s spawn.”

  “Well, this was a good witch, I believe. She cured people.”

  “My dear young lady, there be no such thing as a good witch. She’s damned and her purpose is to carry others to damnation. Any witch hereabouts and she’ll be strung up by her skinny neck, I promise you.”

  “I’d not hold you to the promise,” I said, wondering why I found it impossible not to spar with these Pennlyons.

  “Now don’t you start praising witches, me dear. There’s many a woman come to grief through taking sides.”

  “The only safe way I see is to take the right side, which of course is yours,” I said.

  But irony was lost on Sir Penn.

  We were shown the statues which had been erected, the sundials and the fountains, the yew trees cut into fantastic shapes. Sir Penn was very proud of his garden.

  It was during this visit that Jake invited us all on board the Rampant Lion. I wanted to refuse to go, but that was impossible when Honey and Edward accepted the invitation.

  A few days after that visit I went for my afternoon ride and when I came back Jennet was waiting for me in the stables.

  “Oh, Mistress Catharine,” she said. “Something terrible have happened. The mistress has taken a fall; she hurt her foot and wants you to go to her right away. I’m to bring you to her.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s on board the Rampant Lion.”

  “Of course she is not.”

  “But, Mistress, she is. She went for a visit.”

  “And the master?”

  “He couldn’t go like. He sa
id, ‘You go alone, my dear,’ and the mistress went.”

  “Alone on the Rampant Lion!”

  “Well, the Captain had asked them and was expecting them. It was all sudden like.”

  “But I was to go too.”

  “Well, they did say they’d go without you, Mistress. And so … the master he were called away and the mistress went.”

  I felt angry suddenly. What was Honey thinking of, to go alone to a ship where such a man was in command?

  “Then she tripped and hurt her leg and the Captain’s sent a messenger and I’m to take you out there without delay.”

  I wondered about Honey then. I had never really understood her. I often had a notion that she harbored secrets. Could it possibly be that this swaggering buccaneer of a man had attracted her in some way and had induced her to be unfaithful to Edward?

  It could not be. But if she were alone on his ship, and she had sent for me because she wished me to pretend that I had gone with her…

  That made sense.

  I thought of Edward’s sensitive face and a great desire to protect him from any unpleasant truth swept over me. I said: “I’ll come at once, Jennet.”

  She was very relieved; and we hurried down the drive and almost ran all the way to the Hoe, where a small boat was ready to take us out to the Rampant Lion. We bobbed about on the sea, and looking landward, I could see the turret of Trewynd, where I had often sat to watch the craft on the water.

  Jake Pennlyon was standing on the deck, clearly waiting for us. I clung to the rope ladder and was lifted up in his arms.

  He was laughing. “I knew you’d come,” he said.

  One of his men lifted Jennet on board.

  “You’d better take me to my sister,” I said.

  “Come this way.” He held my arm as though to pilot me across the deck.

  I said to him: “Why did she come here without Edward? I don’t understand it.”

  “She wanted to see my ship.”

  “She should have waited until we all came. We shall have to get her ashore. It won’t be easy if she’s hurt her foot. How bad is it? Oh, dear, I do hope no bones are broken.”

  He led the way up a stairway and threw open a door.

  “My cabin,” he said.