It was not that I had a dog-in-the-manger attitude toward him; but I had come to regard him as very important in my life, and I suddenly realized what comfort the devotion he had shown me for so long had meant to me. Sometimes when I had been deeply perplexed I had thought of his existence, a close neighbor, someone to whom I could turn in trouble—always there, always delighted to be called on.
If he married, he would remain so—but I knew it would be different. I used to tell myself perhaps overemphatically how pleasant it would be if he married and had children. Some of the happiest times were when I had all the children at the Abbey—my own two girls, Kate’s two boys and my mother’s twins. I loved to hear their noisy games and sometimes join in. Kate watched me with cynical amusement, but these were some of the happiest hours of my life at that time.
I faced the fact now that my marriage was not what I had dreamed of. I looked around and wondered whose was. Kate’s and Remus’s—my parents, my mother’s with Simon Caseman? I verily believed that my mother was the happiest wife I knew. But I had Catherine and I must be grateful to the union which had brought me her.
I took Rupert into my winter parlor and sent for wine and the cakes we served with it. Clement always had a batch fresh from the oven.
“You have news, I can see,” I said.
He looked at me earnestly. “Damask,” he said, “how much do you know of what is going on?”
“Here, you mean? In the Abbey?”
“Here and in the country.”
“Here. Well, I live here. I know they are always busy producing something and we would seem to be prospering. In the country? Well, Kate keeps me informed, you know, and I hear many rumors. Travelers are constantly bringing news. The last I heard was that the poor King was very ill with the smallpox and measles and although he recovered it has left him with consumption.”
“It will be a miracle if he lasts out the year.”
“Then it will be a new Queen. It will be a Queen, won’t it? Queen Mary, I suppose.”
“There is always danger in the air when a monarch dies at such an age as to leave no heirs of his body.”
“Is this what concerns you, Rupert?”
“You concern me,” he answered.
I averted my eyes. I did not want a declaration of his devotion which I knew full well existed. It would have been an embarrassment to us both. I think I realized then that I loved Rupert. Oh, it was no wild searing passion. It was not like that which I had felt and could still feel for Bruno. Rupert had not that strange beauty which Bruno possessed; there was no mystery surrounding Rupert. He was just a good man. I loved him differently from the manner in which I loved Bruno. It was as though love were a fruit to be divided into half—one half gave passion and excitement, the other enduring love and security. I could see that what I longed for was both.
My thoughts were running on and I wanted to know what anxiety had brought Rupert here.
“There are rumors about this place,” said Rupert. “You are unaware of this. The last to hear rumors are those whom they most concern. As yet they are whispers but many people are watching St. Bruno’s Abbey. There is a mystery surrounding this place.”
“It is prosperous because we have worked hard here.”
“I want you to be on your guard, Damask. If there should be danger, stop for nothing. Take the girls and ride over to me. If need be I could hide you.”
“The children are in danger?”
“When a house is in danger all the inmates could well be.”
“What is this danger, which has suddenly loomed up?”
“It is not sudden, Damask, it has been there for a long time. Ever since Bruno came back and took the Abbey it has been said that the place is being reformed….It is known that many of the monks have returned. Talk to Bruno. There should be no assemblies…no private services…no monkly practices. It is inevitable that people will say that the monastery has been reformed in defiance of the law.”
I said: “The King is sick, is he not? I hear that the Lady Mary when she is Queen may well restore the monasteries.”
“It would not be possible, but she would certainly not frown on those who practiced the monastic way of life. Remember though, Damask, she is not Queen, and in some quarters it is said she never will be.”
“She is the heir to the throne.”
“Is she? Was not her mother’s marriage to King Henry declared to be no marriage? In which case she is a bastard.”
“The King is not dead and we should not be talking of his death. Would that not be construed as treason?”
“We wish him no ill. We wish him long life. But if we must talk dangerously then so we must, for you could well be in danger. Lord Northumberland has just married his son to the Lady Jane Grey. For what purpose think you? Edward supports the Reformed faith; so doth Lady Jane. If Lady Jane became Queen with Lord Guildford Dudley as her consort the Reformed religion would prevail and those who were suspected of Papistry and living the monastic life would be regarded as enemies of the state.”
“Rupert, it is good of you so to concern yourself for us.”
“No, not good, for there is nothing I can do to stop myself.”
“But how could this be? Who would accept the Lady Jane as Queen? Who now believes that the late King’s marriage to Katharine of Aragon was no marriage? We know full well that it was declared so that he might marry Anne Boleyn and for this he had to break with the Church, which is where all our troubles started.”
“Forget not Guildford Dudley’s powerful father. Northumberland could bring force of arms to support the claims of his daughter-in-law.”
“But he could not succeed, for surely Mary has the true claim.”
“How much will true claims count against a force of arms? Who do you think is the most powerful man in our country today? It is not the King. He is but a child in the hands of Northumberland, and if Northumberland succeeds in putting Jane Grey on the throne the danger you are now in would not be diminished, I do assure you. But I think of now. There are enemies of St. Bruno’s Abbey very close to you, Damask.”
“I believe you are thinking of my mother’s husband.”
“He is an ambitious man. From humble beginnings he has become the owner of your father’s house. He has done you a great wrong and people who do wrong very often bear great resentment against those whom they wrong.”
“You think that he would wish to take revenge on me for the wrong he did me? You believe then, Rupert, that he was in truth the man who betrayed my father?”
“I think it likely. He profited much. He could only have been in his present position through marriage with you and you made it clear, did you not, that that was out of the question?”
“You know so much, Rupert.”
“I have concerned myself closely with all that touches you.”
“What should I do now?”
“Warn your husband. Beg him to stop these men who were once monks and lay brothers assembling together. It would be better if he sent them away.”
“To where could he send them?”
“He could separate them. Perhaps I would take one or two. Kate could have more at Remus…anything rather than that it should be seen that a community of men who were once monks still live at St. Bruno’s Abbey.”
“I will speak to him on his return, Rupert.”
He was very anxious but that satisfied him a little.
I sent for the girls and I was so proud of them. Honey was now thirteen years old and a real beauty; she had outgrown that acute jealousy of Catherine; and Catherine was of course my precious darling, my own child, and I loved her as I had not loved any since my father. My feelings for Bruno I set apart—I knew it now for a bemused fascination. It could have grown into overwhelming love, perhaps greater than anything, but I had for some time now realized that was not to be so.