“And quickly consoled yourself with my mother.”
“I did it to keep a roof over your heads.”
“You are so considerate.”
“Do not goad me too much—you and that husband of yours. If it is true that you are gathering the monks together there, you should beware. I know that Clement and Eugene are not the only ones you have there.”
“Those two came from this house, remember. You accuse us of harboring monks, what of yourself? Did they not work for you? Take care that you are not proved guilty of that of which you accuse us. My husband has good friends at Court. He has even been honored by the King.”
With that I bowed and left him. I knew that he was staring after me with that look of mingled anger and desire which I knew so well. He would never forgive me for refusing him and marrying Bruno, any more than he would forgive Bruno for gaining the Abbey which he had so desired.
His words kept ringing in my ears: “Beware.”
Without consulting Bruno I engaged two serving girls. They were sisters of two of the servants at Caseman Court who had been reckoning on going to my mother, but when I asked them to come to the Abbey they readily accepted.
I explained to Bruno that it made us seem a more normal household, which amused him.
A few weeks after their arrival one of them—Mary—came to me, her eyes round with awe. She had been to Mother Salter’s in the woods; she blushed a little, so I guessed it was for a love potion—and Mother Salter had sent a message for me. She wished to see me without delay.
That morning I called at the old woman’s cottage. The fire was burning as I had seen it before; the blackened pot was simmering. The black cat sprang up on the seat beside her and watched me with its yellow eyes.
“Be seated,” said Mother Salter, and I sat in the fireside alcove opposite her. She stirred what was in the pot and said: “The time has come, Mistress, for you to keep your promise. You have a fine house now. An Abbey no less. You are ready to take the child.”
She rose and drew aside a curtain—lying on a pallet was a child asleep. I calculated that she must be almost two years old for she was the daughter of Keziah and Rolf Weaver whom I had promised to care for.
So much had happened since I had made that promise that I had forgotten it. Now it gave me a few qualms of uneasiness. When I had promised to take the child my father had been alive; he had agreed that she might come to our house.
Mother Salter sensed my uneasiness. “You cannot go back on your pledge to a dying woman,” she said.
“Circumstances have changed since I made that pledge.”
“But your pledge remains.”
The child opened her eyes. She was beautiful. Her eyes were a deep blue, the color of violets, her lashes thick and black as her hair.
“Take her up,” commanded Mother Salter.
The child smiled at me and held out her arms. When I took her she placed her arms about my neck as Mother Salter commanded her to do. “Honeysuckle child,” said the witch, “behold your mother.”
The child looked wonderingly into my face. I had never seen such a beautiful creature.
“There,” said Mother Salter, “remember your vow. Woe to those who break their promises to the dead.”
I took the child and carried her out of the witch’s cottage and I took her to the Abbey.
“What child is this?” demanded Bruno.
“I have brought her to live here,” I replied. “She will be as our own.”
“By God,” he cried. “You do strange things, Damask. Why do you bring a child like that into our household? Ere long you will have a child of your own, I trust.”
“I pledged myself to take her. Then it was easy. My father was alive. I told him of my pledge and he said I must keep it.”
“But why make such a pledge?”
“It was to a dying woman.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “The servants will care for her.”
“I have promised to treat her as my own.”
“For whom should you have made such a promise?”
“Bruno,” I said, “it was to Keziah on her deathbed.”
“Keziah!” His face darkened with anger. “Keziah.” He said the name as though there was something obscene about it. “That creature’s child! Here!”
Oh, Bruno, I thought, are you not that creature’s child? But it was for that reason of course that he felt so angry.
“Listen to me,” I said. “Keziah was dying and she asked me to care for this child. I promised. I will not go back on my word.”
“And if I will not have the child here?”
“You will not be so cruel.”
“You do not know me yet, Damask.”
I stared at him. Now he was different from ever before. The angry passion distorted his face. It was as though a mischievous boy had drawn a mask over that irresistible perfection of features which had so enchanted me. Bruno looked almost evil in his hatred of Keziah’s innocent child.
As usual when I was alarmed my tongue was at its sharpest. “It seems I have something to learn which will not be pleasing to me,” I cried.
“You will take the child back where she belongs,” he said.
“Her place is here.”
“Here! In my Abbey!”
“Her place is with me. If this is my home, it is hers.”
“Take her back without delay whence you found her.”
“To her grandmother—Mother Salter’s cottage in the woods?”
Oh, God, I thought, she may well be your grandmother too.
I wished that I could shut out the thoughts which came to me. It was because this beautiful innocent little girl was his half-sister that he could not bear to have her in his house. Where was the godlike quality I had so much admired? It was replaced by a vile human passion—Pride! I sensed fear too. I knew Bruno in that moment better than I ever had before and I sensed that he was afraid. I had believed I could love him in his weakness even as in his strength; but my feelings had changed for him in those moments. My adoration had gone; yet in its place was a deep maternal tenderness.
I wanted to take him in my arms and say: “Let us be happy. Let us forget that you must be above all other men. We have each other; we have most miraculously this wonderful Abbey!” (Yet when I thought of that I was uneasy for I realized then that I did not entirely believe his glib explanation of how he had come into possession of it.) “We have the future. Let us build our Abbey into a sanctuary for ourselves and those in need. Let us bring up our children in a good life and let this little one be our first.”
“I had thought you would do anything to please me,” he said.
“You know it is my great desire to please you.”
“And yet you do this…. Such a short time we have been married and you go against my wishes.”
“Because I made a pledge…a sacred pledge to a dying woman. You must see that I cannot break my word.”
“Take the child back to whoever has cared for her so far.”
“That is her grandmother, Mrs. Salter. She has threatened me with curses if I do not take the child. But I will have to keep her, though not from fear but because I gave my word and I intend to keep it.”
He was silent for a few moments. Then he said: “I see that you made this rash promise. It was unwise. It was foolish. Keep the child out of my way. I do not wish to see her.”
He turned away and I looked after him sadly. I was unhappy. I wished that I were like my mother—placid and uncritical. But I could not stop my thoughts. I could not prevent myself from knowing that he was afraid to offend the witch of the woods.
There was a rift between us now. Nothing would ever be the same again. Bruno was aware that he had allowed the mask to slip for a moment and had shown me something of the man beneath it. The child had done this. She had forced him to show himself vengeful and, worse still, afraid; and it was inevitable that our relationship must change from that moment. We were together less frequently. The child took up a great deal of my time. She was intelligent, quick and mischievous, and each day I was startled by her incredible beauty. She sensed Bruno’s antagonism though they had scarcely seen each other since her arrival. In her mind I was sure he was regarded as some sort of ogre.