“Having been assured by your husband?”
“He has studied these matters.”
“Others have studied them. There are clever people on both sides. You must know that.”
“It is easy for these people to be mistaken and your stepfather has given a great deal of time to it.”
I smiled at her indulgently. How try to explain to her! But the fact that she was aware of these matters showed how firmly they must have a hold in my old home.
It was a June night—there was a full moon and I sat at my window and thought of what Rupert had said of our dangers and I wondered whether Bruno would join me that night when I saw dark figures moving toward the church. I knew what this meant. They were going to Mass. Bruno would be with them.
I shivered a little. They knew that if this were known they would be in danger, and yet they continued to act in this way. Perhaps they believed that Bruno with his supernatural powers could save them from any disaster which might threaten them. Some of the ex-monks were simple, I thought. Clement for one had clearly convinced himself that there was no truth in Keziah and Ambrose’s story. Bruno had that power to convince people in the face of facts. The only one with whom he could not succeed was myself.
Clement was happy working in the bakehouse. He would sing Latin chants as he worked. It was clear to me that he almost believed that he had never left the Abbey.
The figures had disappeared into the church and I sat for some time thinking of the significance of this when suddenly I saw another figure. It was not one of the monks this time. I stared for the man who was making his way stealthily toward the church had a look of Simon Caseman.
Impulsively I put a cloak about my nightdress and ran downstairs.
I sped across the grass past the monks’ dorter to the porch of the church. I went in. A figure moved forward. I had not been mistaken. It was Simon Caseman.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
“You may well ask.” His eyes were alight with excitement. I had never seen the fox’s mask so clearly.
“Trespassing!”
“In a good cause.”
“You have no right to be here.”
“Yes, every right.”
“In whose name?”
“In the name of the King.”
“You speak fine words.”
“I speak the truth. What is going on in there? This has become a monastery once more. It was dissolved but here it is again.”
“Do you not know, Simon Caseman, that many abbey lands have been bestowed?”
“I know it well. There is, mayhap, always a reason for such bestowals.”
“A very good reason, and one which is the concern only of the bestower and the bestowed.”
“That I agree, but when the place is used to break the King’s law….”
“The King’s law has not been broken here.”
“Not when that which has been abolished is slyly brought back.”
“There are many workmen here, Simon Caseman.”
“There are monks, too. They who have been dispossessed by the Crown now reinstate themselves against the laws of the land.”
“What is happening here?” A voice cool, curt and authoritative was demanding. Bruno had come into the porch. From the church came the sound of chanting.
“This is happening,” replied Simon Caseman. “I have witnessed that which could send you to the gallows. Rest assured I shall do my duty.”
“Your duty is to go back to your house and live quietly there—although you do not deserve to, having taken that which would never have been bestowed on you but for ill justice.”
“Do not talk of justice, I pray you. What is happening in this place? How is it that you have rebuilt it as you have? Do you think I do not know? Do you think you can draw the wool over my eyes with your talk of miracles? Miracles forsooth! It is clear indeed from what quarter came your wealth.”
I saw that Bruno had turned pale. He was very uneasy.
“Yes,” cried Simon Caseman, “I know full well. Where does the money come from to build a fine Abbey to gather together your monks and lay brothers? Where indeed. From the enemies of England. From Spain and Rome, that is where the money comes from.”
“You lie!” cried Bruno.
“Then if it is a lie, where? Answer that, Bruno Kingsman. Saint Bruno…answer that. From whence came the money to rebuild the Abbey, eh? To start everything in motion, eh? Are you going to tell me it comes from the profit of the farm? I would not believe you. Great riches have been showered on this place and I am asking you whence they came. That is all I want to know.”
The singing in the church had ceased. I saw the figures of the men within the church hovering not far from the porch.
“Lie to me if you wish!” cried Simon Caseman, his face working with passion. “You won’t deceive me. I know. I have always known. The money came from Spain and Rome. It comes from our country’s enemies. It comes from those who would bring the Pope back as Supreme Head of the Church against the laws of this land.”
“You lie,” cried Bruno.
“Then where, eh? Whence came the money to build this place? How much has been spent on it? Who has such money…apart from His Majesty the King and the richest families in the land? Tell us this, Bruno, Saint Bruno…weaver of miracles, tell us! Did it come from on high? Was it poured into your coffers from heaven?”
“Yes,” answered Bruno soberly.
Simon Caseman burst into loud laughter. “You would call it from heaven since it comes from Spain. I and many with me would call it treason.”
There was a hush in the porch at the mention of that dreaded word.
Then Bruno said: “Get you gone from here. We have no need of your kind.”
“Indeed you have not. You would not find me breaking the law of the land. This is meant to be the beginning of the restoration of the monasteries. I know there are such schemes afoot. They come from Rome and Spain…where your masters are. Think not that I shall allow this treason to continue.”
Bruno went back into the church. I drew back into the shadows and Simon Caseman walked past me. I had never seen such a look of set determination in his face. I thought: Tomorrow he will inform on us. Perhaps by tomorrow night Bruno will be in the Tower.
Then my thoughts went to the girls and I wondered what would become of them.
I ran after Simon Caseman.
He heard my footsteps and turned slowly.
“So?” he said.
“What are you going to do?”
“My duty.”
“I believe it will not be the first time you have informed.”
He pretended to misunderstand. “It may not be the last, mayhap. I am a dutiful man.”
“Particularly when there is much to be gained.”
“Gained? What should I gain?”
“Revenge.”
“You are dramatic, my dear Damask.” His eyes surveyed me and I remembered that I had only my nightgown under my cloak.
I felt very frightened and that made me reckless, I suppose.
“Is revenge as satisfying as a fine house which you had no hope of attaining while my father was alive?”
“What has that to do with this?”
“A similar situation. You did your gainful duty once before, did you not?”
He was silent, taken aback; and I was certain then that I stood face to face with my father’s murderer for that is what his betrayer would always be to me.
“I know,” I said, “that you informed against my father. You murderer.”
“Is this the way to talk to one who has your life in his hands?”
“I would not think that life worth having if I were not true to myself.”