I nursed Keziah myself. It was something for me to do during that strange time. I think part of her trouble was that she could not face people. Ambrose was dead and she stood alone and as the perpetrator of that wicked hoax she was afraid to face the world.
She used to ramble in her talk sometimes as I sat by her bed. There was a great deal about Ambrose and the manner in which she had tempted him; she blamed herself; she was the wicked one.
“Oh, Damask,” she said, “don’t think too bad of me. It were as natural to me as breathing and there was no holding back. ’Tis like that with some of us…though ’twill not be with you maybe…nor with Mistress Kate. The men should beware of Mistress Kate…all fire on top and ice beneath…and them’s the dangerous ones. And you, Mistress Damask, you’ll be a good and faithful wife, I promise you, which is the best thing to be.”
Then she talked about the boy. “He never looks at me, Damask…or when he does it’s to despise me. He’ll never forgive me for being his mother. He’s dreamed dreams, that boy. He believed he was sent from Heaven. A Holy Child, he thought, and then he finds he’s the result of a win between a wanton servant wench and a monk who broke his vows.”
I begged her to be at peace. The past was over; she must start afresh.
“Mercy me,” she said with a return of her old smile. “You talk like your father, Mistress Damask.”
“There’s no one I would rather talk like,” I assured her.
I was a comfort to her strangely enough; and it was I who dressed her wounds with the ointments her grandmother had given me; I assigned her duties to another of the maids that she might rest in solitude until she could face the world.
She used to sit at her window and watch for a glimpse of Bruno. I believe he knew that she watched for him; but he never glanced up at her window.
Once I said to him: “Keziah watches for you. If you would look at her window and smile it would do her so much good.”
He looked at me coldly. “She is a wicked woman,” he said.
“She is your mother,” I reminded him.
“I don’t believe it.”
His mouth was grim; his eyes cold. I saw then that he forced himself not to believe this. He dared not believe it. He had lived so long with the notion that he was apart from us all that it was more than he could endure to accept it as otherwise.
I said softly: “One must face the truth, Bruno.”
“The truth! Is that what you call the words uttered by a wicked monk and a lecherous serving girl?”
I did not tell him that I had heard Ambrose talking to him a few moments before he had murdered Rolf Weaver.
“It’s lies!” said Bruno almost hysterically. “Lies, lies, all lies.”
In a way, I thought, he is like Keziah. She cannot face the world and he cannot face the truth.
How quickly one becomes accustomed to change. It was but a month since the last packhorse laden with Abbey treasure had departed and there we were adjusted to our new way of life.
The trees were in full leaf; the bracken plentiful; the shrubs green and bushy; the roses bloomed that year as never before and my mother was out in the garden through most of the day. Bruno had helped her make an herb garden because Ambrose had passed on his knowledge in this field. My mother was quite animated by this prospect and Bruno worked with her in a silence of which she did not seem to be aware.
Already weeds had started to grow in the Abbey gardens; no one interfered; they were unsure how such action would be regarded. Each day we had expected something to be done, but St. Bruno’s seemed to have been forgotten. At the end of each day several beggars would be at our gates and a bench with forms had been set up in the garden and on my father’s orders any beggar received a quart of beer and as many spice cakes as he could eat.
I sat one day in my mother’s rose garden—a delightful spot with a wall surrounding it and reached through a wrought-iron gate and I said to myself: “It won’t go on like this. This is a lull. Something will happen soon. Keziah could not stay in her bedroom; she would have to bestir herself. My father would return to a more normal life and not spend so much time in solitude and prayer. Someone would take over the Abbey. I had heard that the King made gifts of Abbey lands to those who had earned his favors. Oh, yes, it had to change.”
And while I was brooding on these matters the gate clicked and Bruno and Kate came into the garden. I noticed that their fingers were interlaced. They were talking earnestly. Then they saw me.
“Here’s Damask,” said Kate unnecessarily. I noticed that her eyes were brilliant and her expression soft; and I was sad because with Kate, Bruno could be different from the way he could be with anyone else. I felt shut out of a magic circle of which I so longed to be a part.
“The roses are more beautiful this year,” I said.
I sensed that they wanted to go away or for me to go; but I stood my ground.
“Come and sit down,” I said. “It is very pleasant here.”
To my surprise they obeyed me, and we sat Bruno between us.
I said, “This reminds me of the old days in the Abbey grounds.”
“It is not a bit like that,” retorted Kate. “This is my aunt’s rose garden, not Abbey land.”
“I meant the three of us together.”
“It’s a long time ago,” said Bruno.
I wanted to recapture the days when we were a trio of which I was a definite part.
I went on: “I shall never forget the day we went into the Abbey…the three of us and you showed us the jeweled Madonna.”
A faint color had come into Bruno’s cheeks. Kate was unusually silent. I guessed that they were, as I was, thinking of the moment when the great iron-studded door had opened and its creak had sounded loud enough to awaken the dead. I could smell the dampness, which had seemed to rise from those great flagged stones; I could feel the silence.
I said: “I’ve often wondered what happened to the jeweled Madonna. Those men must have taken her away and given her and all her jewels to the King.”
“They did not take her,” said Bruno. “There was a miracle.”
We both turned to him and I knew that this was the first time he had spoken of the jeweled Madonna even to Kate.
“What happened?” asked Kate.
“When they went into the sacred chapel the Madonna was not there.”
“Then where was she?” asked Kate.
“No one knew. She had disappeared. It was said she had gone back to heaven rather than let the robbers get her.”
“I don’t believe that,” said Kate. “Someone hid her away before the men could get her.”
“It was a miracle,” replied Bruno.
“Miracles!” cried Kate. “I don’t believe in miracles anymore.”
Bruno had stood up, his face flushed and angry. Kate caught his hand but he flung her aside; and then he ran out of the rose garden. Kate ran after him.
“Bruno!” I heard her call imperiously. “Come back to me.”
And I was left sitting there, with the realization that I could never be as close to him as Kate was and feeling lonely and sad because of it.
While I sat in the rose garden Simon Caseman came in. I thought he was looking for my mother and I told him I thought she was in the herb garden.
“But it was you I came to see, Mistress Damask,” he said; and he sat beside me. He studied me so intently that I felt embarrassed under his gaze, especially as the recent encounter with Bruno and Kate had upset me. He went on: “Why, you are growing into a beauty.”
“I do not believe that to be true.”
“And modest withal.”
“Not modest,” I said. “If I thought I were a beauty I should not hesitate to admit it, for beauty is not a thing to take credit for since it is bestowed and not earned.”
“And wise,” he said. “I confess to be a little overawed in your presence. Your father constantly speaks of your erudition.”
“You should take that as paternal pr
ide. To a father his geese are swans.”
“In this case I find myself in wholehearted agreement with the parent in question.”
“I can only believe that you have lost your sense of judgment then. I fear for your performance in the courts.”
“What a joy it is to talk with you, Mistress Damask.”
“You are easily content, Master Caseman.”
“There is one thing I would like to ask you, with your permission.”
“That permission is given.”
“You are no longer a child. Have you ever thought of giving your hand in marriage?”
“I suppose it is natural in all young women to think of eventual marriage.”
“He to whom you gave your hand would be doubly favored. A beautiful and clever wife. What more could any man ask? He would be fortunate above all men.”
“I have no doubt that any who asked my hand in marriage might well have his thoughts on my inheritance.”
“My dear Mistress Damask, he would be too dazzled by your charms to think of such a matter.”
“Or so dazzled by my inheritance that he might well be mistaken about my beauty and erudition, don’t you think?”
“It would depend on the man. If he were, he deserves to be….”
“Well? Hanged, drawn and quartered?”
“Worse than that. Rejected.”
“I had no idea that you had such a talent for gallant speeches.”
“If I have it is you who have inspired them.”
“I wonder why.”
“Do you? You, who are so clever, must have been aware of my intentions.”
“Toward me?”
“Toward no one else.”
“Master Caseman, is this a proposal?”
“It is. I should be the happiest of men if I might go to your father and tell him that you have consented to be my wife.”
“Then I am afraid I cannot give you that pleasure.”
I had risen. But my heart was pounding for I felt afraid; and I could not tell why this sudden desire to run should have come to me. I was here in my mother’s peaceful rose garden with a man who was a member of our household, a friend of my father and one of whom he thought highly, and yet I experienced this sudden revulsion.
Simon Caseman had risen too. He stood beside me. He was not a big man—only two inches or so taller than I, and his face was very close to mine. His eyes were warm, alert and golden brown; his hair had a reddish tinge too; and the lines on his face made it appear to me, seen so close, like a fox’s mask. I knew in that moment that I was afraid of him.
I turned to go but he caught my arm. His grip was firm as he said: “What have you in mind, Mistress Damask? Is it to marry someone else?”
I wished the color would not flame into my cheeks. I said: “I had not thought of marrying anyone.”
“You do not plan to enter a convent?” His lips curled slightly. “That would be an unwise plan….at this time when so many of our convents have gone the way of our monasteries.”
I withdrew my arm and said coldly: “I do not think I am of an age to consider marriage.”
His hand lightly brushed the front of my gown. “Why, Mistress Damask, you are a woman already. You should not delay your enjoyments of womanhood, I do assure you. Pray do not reject me without consideration. I do verily believe that your father would not object to our union. I know that he wishes to see you under the protection of one whom he trusts. For these are troublous times in which we live.”
“I shall make my own choice,” I said.
And I walked out of the rose garden.
I was very shaken. I was not yet seventeen and I had already had two proposals of marriage whereas beautiful Kate, who was two years older, had not had one.
Or had she? But who could have proposed to Kate?
It was strange that I should have had this thought about Kate because a week or so after that scene in the rose garden Lord Remus called at the house.
We had known that he was coming because my father had settled some matter of law for him and as he was a very rich and powerful nobleman my mother was making a very special occasion of his visit.
All that day Clement had been working in the bakehouse; he had made pies with fancy crusts and there was one in the form of the Remus coat of arms. Clement was delighted with it because in the Abbey kitchen he had not had the opportunity of indulging in such frivolity. My mother was in her element for if there was anything she liked better than working in her garden it was preparing for visitors in the house. She took on a new authority. It was clear that she wished we entertained more.
Kate and I watched the arrival of the visitors from the window of her room. We were disappointed in Lord Remus who was fat and walked with a stick, wheezing as he made his way up the slope of the lawn from the privy steps. But he was very richly clad and quite clearly a man of great consequence.
Father led him into the hall where we were all waiting to greet the visitors. Mother first and Lord Remus was very gracious to her, then myself as the daughter of the house and the others, Rupert, Kate, Simon and Bruno. (I was delighted to see he was included.) My family, Father called us.
Kate swept a beautiful curtsy which she had been practicing all day; her long hair was caught up in a gold net and she looked beautiful.
That Lord Remus thought so was obvious for his eyes lingered on her, a fact of which no one was more aware than Kate.
It was a banquet that was put before our distinguished guest. There was fish—dace, barbel and chub all served in herbs of my mother’s growing. Lord Remus congratulated her on her cook and she was delighted. Then there was sucking pig and beef and mutton followed by my mother’s own brand of syllabub. There was ale and wine in plenty and I saw my mother’s eyes gleam with satisfaction and I thought how easy it was for her to be happy in the moment; and how strange it was that such a short time ago we were living in terror of what would happen next and I could not get out of my mind the image of Brother Ambrose hanging from his gibbet at the Abbey’s Gate.
Kate, who was seated opposite Lord Remus, asked him when he was last at Court and he replied that he was there but a week before. He talked of the Court and the King’s dissatisfaction with his state and how his temper was such that it was apt to flare up if one were careless enough to rouse it.
“I’ll warrant you, my lord, are the soul of tact,” said Kate.
“My dear young lady, I have a desire to keep my head on my shoulders, for that I consider is where it belongs.”
Kate laughed a great deal and I saw my mother glance at her and I thought afterward she will be reprimanded for her forwardness; but for the time that could pass, for Lord Remus did not seem to object to it.
Lord Remus had drunk a great deal of the elderberry concoction which my mother admitted was particularly fine this year and he was inclined to be talkative.
“The King needs a wife,” he said. “He cannot be happy without a wife, even when he is looking for a new wife. He must have a wife.”
Kate laughed a great deal and the rest of us smiled; I guessed my parents were thinking uneasily of the servants.
“This time,” said Lord Remus, “he is looking for a Princess from the Continent, but some of the ladies are just a little reluctant.” He glanced at Kate. “Like me, young lady, they are anxious to keep their heads and in view of what happened to the unfortunate Anne Boleyn and even to Queen Katharine, the reluctance is understandable.”
“It is like the Arabian nights,” said Kate. “Perhaps if the King could find a Queen who could continue to amuse him she could continue to live.”
“That is what the new Princess will have to aim for,” said Lord Remus. “I hear that the sister of the Duke of Cleves has the King’s attention. Master Holbein has painted a beautiful portrait of her and the King declares himself to be enamored of the lady already.”
“So the new Queen is chosen.”
“That is what is being said at Court. Master Cromwell is eager
for the marriage. I never liked the man—a low fellow—but the King finds him clever. It would be a good marriage for politics’ sake, so they say. I’ll dareswear that very soon you will be seeing another coronation.”
“She will be the King’s fourth wife,” said Kate. “I should love to see her. I daresay she is very beautiful.”
“Princesses are rarely as beautiful as they are made out to be,” said Lord Remus. “I’ll warrant those who lack royalty can often make up for it in beauty.” He was smiling at Kate in somewhat bleary-eyed concentration. Our elderberries were very potent that year. They must have been or I am sure he would not have spoken so freely.
I think my father was rather relieved when the meal was over; then my mother led Lord Remus into the music room and she sang a very pleasant ditty to him which he applauded with delight and then Kate took her lute and sang.
She sang a love song and every now and then she would raise her eyes and smile in the direction of Lord Remus. Her long hair escaped from the gold net and fell about her shoulders; she pretended to throw it impatiently back but I knew her well enough to realize she was calling attention to it.
When Lord Remus left we all conducted him to the privy stairs and watched his barge sail up the river.
I noticed that Kate was laughing as though at some secret joke.
She came to my room that night. She had to talk to someone and she had always used me for this purpose.
She stretched out on my bed. She always did that while I was expected to occupy the window seat.
“Well,” she said, “what thought you of my lord?”
“That he eats too much, drinks too much and laughs too much at his own jokes and not enough at other people’s.”
“I know so many to whom those words could apply.”
The Miracle at St. Bruno's Page 10
