The Miracle at St. Bruno's

by Philippa Carr

  Jake Pennlyon, I thought. Everything comes back to Jake Pennlyon. I wished that I could shut out from my mind memories of him and Jennet together.

  I said: “Get out of my sight. You disgust me.”

  She crept away.

  I hated Jake Pennlyon. I hated Felipe Gonzáles. I hated my father and Kate for spoiling my life. So much hatred was like a sickness of the body. There was a tight feeling in my throat which was like a pain; I wanted to relieve it which I could only do by taking some action. I wanted revenge chiefly on Jake Pennlyon; but he was out of my reach. By comparison I almost felt a sympathy for Felipe Gonzáles. At least he was revenging himself on Jake Pennlyon. A feeble revenge perhaps. He did not understand that Jake was a different kind of man from himself. Jake could content himself with Jennet when he could not get me. Jake would never understand the devotion Felipe felt for his Isabella.

  But I hated Felipe for humiliating me and I hated him for not desiring me, for forcing himself to do what he did and tricking me out so that he could delude himself into thinking I was Isabella.

  Everything came back to Jake Pennlyon; but he was out of my reach and I could not revenge myself on him.

  I wanted to hurt someone. To beat Jennet was of no avail. Besides, she was pregnant and I had no wish to harm an innocent child even though it was the fruit of Jake Pennlyon’s lust. I thought of Felipe and wondering about this strange, silent man took my thoughts from my bedroom in Trewynd and Jake Pennlyon’s waiting there behind the door to seize Jennet.

  I began to consider those dark nights when Felipe Gonzáles came to me. I would not admit it, but they no longer shocked me. I had become accustomed to his visits. I received him passively and since I had seen Isabella my sympathy for him had grown.

  But a desire began to grow in me—perhaps I wished for my revenge on him, perhaps my feminine vanity was affronted. I was not sure, but I began to think of him more than I had and my attitude toward him was changing.

  Once when he came in I pretended to be asleep. I lay quite still. The room was always dark, but there was faint light from a crescent moon and the brilliant stars. I kept my eyes closed, but I was aware of his standing by the bed looking at me.

  He always left his candle outside the door. I fancied that he was ashamed and did not wish to be embarrassed by the light.

  Still keeping my eyes closed, I felt him get into the bed. I lay still. I knew that he was watching me. On impulse I put out a hand and touched his face. I let my fingers linger on his lips and I could swear he kissed them.

  I made no sign. I just lay there as though sleeping. He watched me for some minutes. Then silently he went away.

  I lay listening to his receding footsteps. My heart was beating wildly. I felt a certain exultation. Our relationship was beginning to change. Faint stirrings of a desire was in me—not for love but for revenge.

  Honey’s time was near and the midwife came to settle in.

  I went to Felipe’s escritorio ostensibly to thank him for what he had done for Honey, but in fact to speak to him and see if I could sense any change in his attitude toward me.

  He had returned on other nights, but not every night. I would never know when he was coming and would lie awake listening for his steps. I was angry when he came and angry when he did not. I could not understand myself.

  He rose from his desk as I entered and stood courteously.

  Then he indicated a chair.

  I sat down. “I have come to thank you. The midwife is here. My sister will have need of her shortly.”

  He bowed his head.

  “It is good of you to treat us as human beings.” I injected a little sarcasm into my voice, but he did not seem to notice it.

  “It is no fault of hers that she is here. Certainly she must have attention. She will bring a good Catholic into the world.”

  “I have a strong suspicion that I am with child.”

  “Suspicion is not enough. I must have certainty.”

  “How soon shall I leave when it is known?”

  “That is a matter which will have my consideration. Your sister will not wish to travel for a while. Your maid, I hear, is also soon to give birth.”

  I was not going to tell him who the father of Jennet’s child was.

  I said: “She was raped by one of your sailors.”

  “That is deplorable,” he said.

  He half rose in his chair, the gesture of dismissal.

  I went on: “We are kept as prisoners here. Are you afraid that we will find our way to the coast and swim home?”

  “There is no reason why you should be kept prisoners. Once you are with child you will have more freedom. You are kept in seclusion because the child must be of my giving.”

  I flushed hotly. “And you think I am a woman to take lovers here and there from your Spaniards of La Laguna? You are offensive, sir.”

  “I ask your pardon. I meant no such thing. Your serving woman was taken against her will. There is a strangeness about you … a foreign look … which might put you in danger. I might not be at hand to protect you.”

  “I trust soon that I shall be beyond your protection.”

  “You cannot wish for that more than I do.”

  I thought of his coming to me and how he had watched me and how he responded when I laid my fingers on his lips.

  I had imagined the whole thing. There was no moving this strange silent man.

  Honey had a long labor and it was day and night before her child was born—a puny girl, small but living.

  It was not to be wondered at after all she had endured.

  She lay back in her bed, looking unbelievably beautiful with her dark hair flowing loose and the maternal look in her lovely violet eyes.

  She said: “I shall call her Edwina. It’s the nearest to Edward. What do you think of that, Catharine?”

  I liked the name, but I was so relieved that Honey had come through the ordeal safely that anything would have sounded good. There had been times when I had begun to fear for her and then I realized how much she meant to me. I had gone over our childhood together in the Abbey and wondered what my mother was doing and whether she was thinking of us—her two daughters lost to the Spaniards.

  The baby occupied our time and our thoughts. Its arrival was a turning point, I think. I had to rejoice when I looked at those miniature fingers and toes, and the child became the center of our lives. We ceased to think of revenge and home while we asked ourselves how much the baby had grown since yesterday.

  A week or so after the birth of Edwina I was sure that I was pregnant.

  Triumphantly, I faced him in the escritorio.

  “There is no doubt,” I said. “I have seen the midwife. Your unpleasant duty is finished.”

  He lowered his head.

  “Now is the time for us to return home.”

  “You shall do so at a convenient time.”

  “You said this is all you wanted of me. You have defiled me, humiliated me, impregnated me with your seed. Is that not enough? Am I not free now?”

  “You are free,” he said.

  “Then I wish to go home.”

  “You will need a ship.”

  “You have ships. You sent for me, now take me home.”

  “There is no ship in the harbor at this time.”

  “Yet you sent the galleon.”

  “It was convenient to do so.”

  “Then pray find it convenient to keep your bargain.”

  “I made no bargain with you. I made a vow to the saints.”

  “You have promised that I shall go home.”

  “In due course you will sail for your barbaric land and you can tell your pirate lover what you have seen here. You can tell him of what happened to a noble lady and what has happened to you. You can tell him that he ruined her life and that I have had my revenge on him. You will take your bastard to him as he left his here with me.”

  I stood up. “So when a ship comes, I shall go?”

  “It sh
all be arranged,” he said. “But I want to be sure that there is a child.”

  “He never saw his. Why should you see yours? Is that in the vow?”

  “His child was born,” he said. “I must be sure that mine is.”

  “You have not gained your revenge completely,” I said. “I am not as Isabella. You have insulted and humiliated me, but you have not robbed me of my reason. Your revenge is incomplete.”

  “You will have this child,” he said. “You will not leave this island until that child is born. I will make sure that there is a child and then you shall be taken back.”

  I walked out of the escritorio. I thought: He said that I might leave when I was with child. But he does not wish me to go. I laughed exultantly and I thought: He is vulnerable. When I can discover how vulnerable I can have my revenge.

  Revenge is sweet, there is no doubt. It gives one a reason for living when life becomes too tragic.

  I was beginning to understand Felipe.

  Our lives had undergone a change; it was due mainly to the fact that he no longer came to me; I felt as though I was in complete possession of myself again. And the fact that there was a baby in the household was not without its effect.

  A certain normality had come upon us. Strangely enough we had settled down, which was something I now and then marveled at. But such is human nature that it can become accustomed to anything however extraordinary. One adjusts oneself—or at least we seemed to.

  I now had the bedroom to myself—and a pleasant room it was. Since it was no longer the scene of my nightly humiliation my feelings changed toward it. I could enjoy the tasteful, yet somber decorations: the tapestry which hung on one of the walls; the heavy arras which shut out the light; the arch with the curtains across it which led to the toilet room with its sunken bath. There was an Eastern touch about it and I learned later that Felipe’s family had lived in that part of Spain which was dominated by the Moorish influence.

  Perhaps it was because I was pregnant that a certain serenity had come to me. I had noticed this in both Honey and Jennet though with Jennet it was a constant attitude. I was surprised that I was excited by the thought of bearing this child which had been forced on me. But already I was forgetting the means of its begetting and was conscious only that a new life was stirring inside me and that I should be a mother.

  I would dream of my child and be eager for its arrival … not only because it meant that when I had it I should go home, but because I longed to hold it in my arms.

  We were allowed to go into the town. Honey left the baby in Jennet’s care and she and I set out riding on mules, accompanied by Richard Rackell and John Gregory, who, because they spoke English perhaps, had been made our guards.

  They rode one in front and one behind and I felt my spirits lift as we saw the town lying in the valley. The sun was brilliant and it shone on the white houses and the Cathedral, which John Gregory told us had been built at the beginning of the century. We could not see the great mountain peak from this spot, but we had seen it at sea when we had approached the island—the great Pico de Teide which the ancients had believed supported the sky and that the world ended just beyond it. Perhaps one day, he suggested, we should be permitted to go farther inland and there we should see this miraculous mountain.

  We left our mules at a stable and we went on foot into the cobbled streets, closely guarded by the two men. The women mostly wore black, but on the balconies of some of the houses there were ladies who leaned on the wrought-iron balustrades to take a close look at us, and some of those wore colored skirts and mantillas.

  “They are interested in us,” said Honey.

  “They know you are foreigners and come from the Hacienda,” said John Gregory.

  “Do they know,” I asked, “how we were brought here?”

  John Gregory replied: “They know you have come from a foreign land.”

  He took us into the Cathedral. The three of them crossed themselves before the magnificent altar while I looked at the sculptures and the fine ornaments that decorated it. I had never seen such a great cathedral. The smell of incense hung heavy on the air. The figure of the Madonna was the most startling object, though; she was in an enclosure of wrought iron and wore a dress of some silken material on which sparkling gems had been sewn. On her head was a crown of jewels and on her fingers diamonds and brilliantly colored stones of all kinds.

  John Gregory was beside me. He said: “People give their wealth to the Madonna. Even the poorest will give what they have. She refuses nothing.”

  As I turned away he whispered: “It would be better if you acted as a good Catholic. It would not be wise for it to be seen that you are what would be called a heretic.”

  I said: “I have had enough of the Cathedral. I will wait outside.”

  He accompanied me and I left Honey on her knees with Richard Rackell beside her. I wondered what she was thanking the Virgin for—the death of her good husband; her abduction; the safe arrival of her child?

  Outside the sun was brilliant.

  I said to John Gregory: “So you are a devout Catholic. I wonder have you confessed what harm you have done to two women who did nothing to hurt you?”

  He flinched slightly. He was always uncomfortable when I upbraided him, which I did often. He folded his hands together and as he did so I noticed again the scars on his wrists and wondered how he had acquired them.

  “I did what I was obliged to do,” he said. “I had no wish to harm you.”

  “So you thought we could be dragged away from our homes, ravished and humiliated and no harm done?”

  He did not answer and we were joined by the other two.

  There was such a sense of freedom in walking in those streets; there was an air of excitement in the town too. The shops enchanted us. It was long since we had seen shops. They were open onto the streets, like enchanted caverns. There was spicy food and hot bread, different from the variety we had at home; but what fascinated us most were the bales of various sorts of cloth which we saw in one shop.

  We could not resist handling them. Honey ran her hands over them ecstatically, and a dark-eyed woman in black came to us and showed us materials—one was velvet, deep midnight blue.

  Honey said: “Why, Catharine, that would become you. What a gown that would make you!”

  She held it up against me and the woman in black nodded her head sagely.

  Honey draped the material around me. I said: “What are you doing, Honey? We have no money.” I was conscious then of wearing Isabella’s gown and I determined that I would do so no longer. Honey had made gowns for herself. So should I, but how I should have enjoyed wearing the velvet!

  “Come away, Honey,” I said, “this is absurd.”

  And I insisted on walking away.

  At the inn we were given a beverage which had a strange flavor of mint. We were thirsty and drank it eagerly and after that we mounted our mules and returned to the Hacienda.

  It was later that day when going to my room I found a package on my bed. I opened it and there was a roll of velvet. It was the material I had seen in the shop.

  I stared at it in amazement. I held it against me. It was beautiful. But what did it mean? Did the woman in the shop think we had bought it! It would have to be returned at once.

  I went to find Honey. She was as surprised as I was and we decided that the woman had misunderstood and thought we had purchased the material.

  We must find John Gregory at once and explain to him. When we did so he said: “It is no mistake. The material is for you.”

  “How can we pay for it?”

  “It will be arranged.”

  “Who will arrange it?”

  “The shop woman knows you come from the Hacienda. There will be no difficulty.”

  “Does it mean that Don Felipe will pay for this?”

  “It would amount to that.”

  “I shall certainly not accept it.”

  “You must.”

  “I have been
forced to come here. I have been forced to submit, but I will not take gifts from him.”

  “It would be impossible to return it. The woman believes you to be under the protection of Don Felipe. He is the first gentleman of the island. It would be a slight to him if you returned the velvet. That would not be allowed.”

  “It can be taken to him then, for I shall not use it.”

  John Gregory bowed and took the material which I thrust into his arms.

  Honey said: “It’s a pity. It would have made a most becoming gown.”

  “Would you have me accept gifts from my seducer? It would be tantamount to giving him my approval of what has taken place. I shall never forgive him for what he has done to me.”

  “Never, Catharine? That is a word one should use with care. It could have been so much worse. He has at least treated you with some respect.”

  “Respect! Were you present? Did you witness my humiliation?”

  “At least it was not what Isabella suffered at the hands of Jake Pennlyon.”

  “It was the same … the method may have been slightly different. She bore Jake Pennlyon’s child and I am to bear his. It nauseates me, Honey, to think of it.”

  “Still,” said Honey, “it’s a pity about the velvet.”

  A summons came for me to dine with Don Felipe. It was the first time since that other occasion when he had told me for what purpose I had been brought here.

  I wondered what it meant.

  I dressed myself with care. Honey and I had made a gown for me from the material we had found in the sewing room. As I put it on I thought how illogical it was to accept that material and haughtily decline the velvet which had come from the shop. Everything in this house belonged to him, so naturally did anything in the sewing room. We lived on his bounty.

  But the velvet was a kind of gift direct from him and that I would refuse.

  He was waiting for me in the cool dark salon in which we had dined before, and as on that other occasion I sat at one end of the table, he at the other. In his black doublet trimmed with that dazzlingly white lace he looked every bit the fastidious gentleman. When we had last dined thus, none of those embarrassing encounters had taken place; now they stood between us—memories which I imagined he no more than I could efface.