The Miracle at St. Bruno's (30 page)

“Monks!” he said, his eyes narrowing. “And others too. All monks.”

“The lands are extensive,” I said. “There is the farm which of course must be productive. If there are one or two monks there it is because there are many seeking work.”

“I trust,” he said, “that you are not becoming involved in lawlessness.”

“I do not understand you.”

“St. Bruno’s was disbanded. It would be unwise to found it again even if it is under the name of Kingsman.”

“Many abbeys have become as manor houses since the King and his ministers have bestowed them, I take it you have no objection to that?”

“Providing those on whom they have been bestowed do not break the law.”

I felt certain in that moment that he had betrayed my father and I hated him.

I blatantly tormented him. “Owners of such abbeys as ours must of course make full use of all they have to offer. I had no idea how large it was and how much was contained in it. We have our farm, our mill, and fishponds in which are hundreds of fish. There is great wealth in the Abbey. We must make sure that full use is made of it.”

I could see the lights of envy in his eyes. His lips tightened. “Take care, Damask. There is so much that is strange going on, I fear. You may be walking into danger.”

“You fear! Nay, you hope.”

“Now I understand you not.”

“You wanted to add the Abbey to your possessions. You told me so. You were too late. It is ours.”

“You misunderstand me. Have I not always been good to you? Did I not allow you to make your home here?”

“My home was already made.”

“You are determined to plague me. You always have. Desist, Damask. It is better so. If you had been my friend….”

“I don’t understand what that term implies.”

“I offered you marriage.”

“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.

She would toddle around after me so that it was not easy for me not to be with her; I sensed that she was always a little uneasy if I were not present because her eyes would light up with a relieved pleasure when she saw me, which was very endearing.

Naturally the coming of a child had changed the household. It had been a very unusual one before but now it became more normal. Bruno consulted me about the building which had started and behaved as though there had never been the disagreement between us, but I realized that as the time passed he would have to see a great deal of Honey and it was no use trying to hide her from him.

He seemed to realize this and to accept the inevitability of the child’s presence. I was glad of this although the antagonism between them was apparent. In Bruno it showed in a feigned indifference but the child was too young to hide her feelings; she ran from him and when he was near kept close to my side.

So it remained an uneasy situation; but each day I loved the child more. I loved Bruno too, but differently. I found a strange sort of pity creeping into my emotions.

My mother announced that the christening of her twins was to take place and Kate wrote that she would be present, leaving Carey with his nurses and Remus to his business affairs. She would stay at Caseman Court of course, but her first call would be at the Abbey to see the bride.

Within a few days she had arrived and true to her word came at once to the Abbey. She looked as elegant as ever in her fine velvet gown and beautiful too, flushed with the October wind which had caught little tendrils of hair escaping from under her headdress.

She came into the hall of the Abbot’s Lodging and looked about her. I was on the landing at the top of the first flight of stairs and saw her a few seconds before she was aware of me.

“Kate,” I cried. “You are more beautiful than ever!”

She grimaced. “I was fit to die of boredom. Even the Court has become deadly dull. I have much to tell you, Damask. But first there is so much I wish to know.”

She looked at the great hall with its beautiful open timber roof, its molded arches and its carved pendants and corbels.

“So this was the old Abbot’s Lodging. Very fine. I’ll swear it compares favorably with Remus Castle. But what does it all mean?” She caught my hand and looked at the ring on my finger. “You, Damask. You.”

“Why should you seem so surprised?”

“That he should marry at all. It had to be one of us, of course. And I was already married to Remus, so there was only you. But this mansion…how did he acquire it? He who was so poor. How did the Abbey fall into his hands?”

“It was a miracle,” I said.

Her eyes were wide; she looked at me searchingly. “Another miracle?” she asked. “Impossible! We were deluded about the first, weren’t we? Do you know, Damask, I don’t think I believe in miracles.”

“You were always irreverent.”

She gazed up at the carvings in the spandrels. “But it’s beautiful. And this is your home now! Why did you not write and tell me what was happening? Why did you keep it to yourself? You should have warned me.”

“There was no time.”

“Well, I wish to hear everything now. This your home, Damask. Our old Abbey your home. Do you know they are saying, Damask, that the Abbey is becoming what it once was?”

“I know there are rumors.”

“Never mind rumors. Let us be together and talk. There is so much to tell.”

I took her up the great staircase with its beautifully carved balustrade to the solar where I had been sitting doing a piece of needlework—in fact making a dress for Honey—when she arrived. Although it was October the afternoon sun streamed into the long room and I led her to the window where I had been seated.

“Do you need refreshment, Kate?” I asked.

“Your mother’s stillroom provided all I needed. How proud she is of her twins. Where is your husband?”

“He is very occupied during the day. There is so much to be done here. We did not know the Abbey in the old days, Kate. I was astonished when I realized its spaciousness. There is going to be a great deal of work if we are to make it flourish as it did in the days of….”

She was watching me closely. “But it must not flourish as an abbey, must it?”

“Indeed it is no abbey in the sense that St. Bruno’s was. But there is the farm and the mill and the land has to be prepared for next year’s harvests.” I was talking because I was afraid of what questions she would ask me if I stopped. I said, “There will be the hay to be cut and baled; the corn; the animals….”