Lion Triumphant

The Spanish Galleon

FROM MY TURRET WINDOW I could watch the big ships sailing into Plymouth Harbor. Sometimes I would get up in the night and the sight of a stately vessel on the moonlit waters lifted my spirits. When it was dark I would sometimes watch for lights on the sea which would tell me there was a ship out there, and I would ask myself, What sort of ship? A dainty caravel, a warlike galleass, a three-masted carrack or a stately galleon? And wondering, I would return to my bed and imagine the kind of men who would be sailing on that ship; and for a while I would cease to mourn for Carey and my lost love.

My first thought on awakening in the morning would not be for Carey (as I had such a short time ago promised myself it would be every moment of the days to come) but of the sailors who were coming into port.

I would go alone to the Hoe—although I was not supposed to do this, it being considered improper for a young lady of seventeen to go where she could be jostled by rough sailors. If I insisted on going I must take with me two of the maids. I had never been one to accept authority meekly, but I could not make them understand that it was only when I was alone that I could capture the magic of the harbor. If I took Jennet or Susan with me they would be eyeing the sailors and giggling, reminding each other of what had happened to one of their friends who had trusted a sailor. I had heard all that before. I wanted to be alone.

So I would choose the opportunity to slip down to the Hoe and there discover my ship of the night. I would see men whose skins had been burned to the color of mahogany; whose bright eyes studied the girls, assessing their charms, which I imagined depended largely on their accessibility, for a sailor’s stay on land was a short one and he had little time to waste in wooing. Their faces were different from those of men who did not go to sea. It may have been due to the exotic scenes they had witnessed, to the hardships they had endured, to their mingling devotion, adoration, fear and hatred for that other mistress, the beautiful, wild, untamed and unpredictable sea.

I liked to watch the stores being loaded—sacks of meal, salted meats and beans; I would dream of where the cargoes of linen and bales of cotton were being taken. It was all bustle and excitement. It was no place for a young, genteelly nurtured girl; but it was irresistible.

It seemed inevitable that something exciting must happen sooner or later; and it did. It was on the Hoe that I first saw Jake Pennlyon.

Jake was tall and broad, solid and invincible. That was what struck me immediately. He was bronzed from the weather, for although he was about twenty-five years old when I first saw him, he had been at sea for eight years. Even at the time of our first meeting he commanded his own ship, which accounted for that air of authority. I noticed immediately how the eyes of women of all ages brightened at the sight of him. I compared him—as I did all men—with Carey and by comparison he was coarse, lacking in breeding.

I had no idea who he was at that moment, of course, but I knew he was someone of importance. Men touched their forelocks; one or two girls curtsied. Someone called out, “A merry good day to ’ee, Cap’un Lion.”

The name suited him in a way. The sun on his dark blond hair gave it a tawny shade. He swaggered slightly as sailors did when they first came ashore as though they were not yet accustomed to the steadiness of land and still rolled with the ship. The King of Beasts, I thought.

And then I knew that he was aware of me, for he had paused. It was a strange moment; it seemed as though the bustle of the harbor was stilled for a moment. The men had stopped loading; the sailor and the two girls to whom he was talking appeared to be looking at us and not at each other; even the parrot which a grizzled old seaman had been trying to sell to a fustian-smocked farmer stopped squawking.

“Good morrow, Mistress,” said Jake Pennlyon with a bow, the exaggerated humility of which suggested mockery.

I felt a sudden thrill of dismay; he must clearly think that because I was alone here it was in order for him to address me. Young ladies of good family did not stand about in such places unchaperoned and any who did might well be awaiting an opportunity to strike some sort of bargain with women-hungry sailors. Was it not for this very reason that I was not expected to be here alone?

I pretended not to realize that he addressed me; I stared beyond him out at the ship with the little boats bobbing around it. My color had heightened, though, and he knew that he disturbed me.

“I think we have not met before,” he said. “You were not here two years ago.”

There was something about him which made it impossible for me to ignore him. I said: “I have been here but a few weeks.”

“Ah, not a native of Devon.”

“No,” I said.

“I knew it. For such a pretty young lady could not be around without my scenting her out.”

I retorted: “You talk as though I am some beast to be hunted.”

“It is not only beasts who must be hunted.”

His blue eyes were penetrating, they seemed to see more of me than was comfortable or decorous; they were the most startling blue eyes I ever saw—or ever was to see. Years spent on the ocean had given them that deep blue color. They were sharp, shrewd, attractive in a way and yet repellent. He clearly thought that I was some serving girl who had come out because a ship was in and was looking for a sailor. I said coldly: “I think, sir, you are making a mistake.”

“Now that,” he answered, “is a thing I rarely do on occasions such as this, for although I can be rash at times my judgment is infallible when it comes to selecting my friends.”

“I repeat that you are mistaken in addressing me,” I said. “And now I must go.”

“Could I not be allowed to escort you?”

“I have not far to go. To Trewynd Grange in fact.”

I looked for at least a flicker of concern. He should know that he could not treat with impunity one who was guest at the Grange.

“I must call at a moment convenient to you.”

“I trust,” I retorted, “that you will wait to be asked.”

He bowed again.

“In which case,” I went on as I turned away, “you may wait a very long time.”

I had a great desire to get away. There was something overbold about him. I could believe him capable of any indiscretion. He was like a pirate, but then so many seamen were just that.

I hurried back to the Grange, fearful at first that he might follow me there and perhaps faintly disappointed because he did not. I went straight up to the turret in which I had my rooms and looked out. The ship—his ship—stood out clearly on a sea that was calm and still. She must have been of some seven hundred tons, with towering fore and after castles. She carried batteries of guns. She was not a warship, but she was equipped to protect herself and perhaps attack others. She was a proud-looking ship; and there was a dignity about her. She was his ship, I knew.

I would not go down to the Hoe again until that ship sailed away. I would look every day and hope that when I awoke next morning she would be gone. Then I started to think of Carey—beautiful Carey, who was young, only two years older than myself, darling Carey with whom I used to quarrel when I was a child until that wonderful day when the realization came to us both that we loved each other. The misery flooded over me and I lived it all again; the unaccountable anger of Carey’s mother—who was a cousin of my own mother—when she had declared nothing would induce her to consent to our marriage. And my own dear mother, who had at first not understood until that terrible day when she took me into her arms and wept with me and explained how the sins of the fathers were visited on the children; and my happy dream of a life shared with Carey was shattered forever.

Why should it all come back so vividly because of a meeting on the Hoe with that insolent sailor?

I must explain how I came to be in Plymouth—this southwest corner of England when my home was in the southeast only a few miles from London itself.

I was born in St. Bruno’s Abbey—a strange place in which to be born, and when I look back on my beginnings they were clearly anything but orthodox. I was lighthearted, careless, not in the least serious like Honey, whom I had always thought of as my sister. There we were in our childhood living in a monastery, which was no monastery, with that ambience of mysticism about us. That we were unaware of this in our early years was due to my mother, who was so normal, serene, comforting—all that a mother should be. I told Carey once that when we had our children I would be to them what my mother had been to me.

But as I grew older I became aware of the tension between my parents. Sometimes I think they hated each other. I sensed that my mother wanted a husband who was kind and ordinary, rather like Carey’s Uncle Rupert, who had never married and I suspected loved her. As for my father, I did not understand him at all, but I did believe that at times he hated my mother. There was some reason for it which I could not understand. Perhaps it was because he was guilty. Ours was an uneasy household, but I was not as much aware of it as Honey was. It was easy for Honey; Honey’s emotions were less complicated than mine. She was jealous because she believed my mother loved me more than she loved her, which was natural because I was her own child. Honey loved my mother possessively; she didn’t want to share her; and she hated my father. She knew exactly where her loyalties lay. It wasn’t so easy with me. I wondered whether she was as fiercely possessive of her husband, Edward, as she had been of my mother. Perhaps it was different with a husband. I was sure I would have been as eager that all Carey’s love and thoughts should have been for me.

Honey had made a grand marriage—to everyone’s amazement, although they were ready to admit that she was just about the most beautiful creature they had ever seen. I had always felt plain by comparison. Honey had beautiful dark blue, almost violet eyes, and her long, thick black lashes made them startling; her hair was dark, too, curling and vital. She was immediately noticed wherever she went. I always felt insignificant beside her, although when she was not there I was quite attractive with my heavy mid-brown hair and green eyes which my mother used to say fitted my name. “You are indeed a little Cat,” she would be fond of pointing out, “with those green eyes, and that heart-shaped face.” I knew that in her eyes I was every bit as beautiful as Honey, but this was a mother looking at her beloved child. However, Edward Ennis, son and heir of Lord Calperton, had fallen in love with Honey and married her when she was seventeen years old on her first appearance in society. Her obscure and humble birth made no difference. Honey had triumphantly achieved that which many a girl richly endowed with worldly goods had failed to do.

My mother’s delight was great, for she must have feared that it might have been difficult to find a husband for Honey. She had expected Lord Calperton to raise all sorts of objections, but Carey’s mother, whom I called Aunt Kate, had swept away any obstacles and she was the sort of woman who usually got her way because although she must have been about thirty-seven years old she had some indestructible charm so that men fell in love with her and Lord Calperton was no exception.

In November of the glorious year 1558, the old Queen had died and everywhere there was great rejoicing because new hope had come to England. We had suffered through Bloody Mary’s reign and because the Abbey was not far from the river and a mile or two away from the Capital the pall of smoke from Smithfield would drift our way when the wind was in a certain quarter. My mother used to feel ill at the sight of it and she would shut the windows and refuse to go out.

When the smoke was no longer visible my mother would go into the garden and gather flowers or fruit or herbs, whatever was in season, and send me with them over to my grandmother’s house, which bordered on the Abbey.

My mother’s stepfather had been burned at the stake as a heretic in the reign of Queen Mary; that was why the fires of Smithfield were particularly poignant to us. But I don’t think my grandmother continued to suffer as much as my mother believed she did. She would always be very interested in what I brought and she would call the twins in to talk to me. Peter and Paul were a year older than I—my mother’s half brothers and therefore my uncles. We were a complicated family. It seemed strange to have uncles a year older than oneself, so we never considered the relationship. I was fond of them both; they were identical twins—always together and looking so alike that few could tell them apart. Peter wanted to go to sea, and as Paul followed Peter in everything he wanted to go too.

When Aunt Kate arrived at the Abbey I would go to my room, lock myself in and stay there until my mother came to persuade me to go down. Then I would do so just to please her. I would sit at my window and look out at the old Abbey church and the monks’ dorter, which my mother was always talking of turning into a buttery; and I remembered how Honey used to tell me that if you listened in the dead of night you heard the chanting of the monks who had lived here long ago and the screams of those who had been tortured and hanged at the gate when King Henry’s men had come to dissolve the monastery. She used to tell me these stories to frighten me because she was jealous on account of the fact that I was my mother’s daughter. I retaliated, though, when I heard rumors about Honey. “You,” I had said, “are a bastard and your mother was a serving girl and your father a murderer of monks.” This was cruel of me because it upset Honey more than anything. It was not so much that she minded being a bastard as not being my mother’s own child. At that time her first possessive love had been centered on my mother.

My nature was to let my temper flare up, to make the most wounding comments I could think of and very soon after hate myself for doing so and try hard to make up for my cruelty. I would say to Honey: “It’s just a tale. It’s not true. And in any case you’re so beautiful that it wouldn’t matter if your father was the devil, people would still love you.” Honey didn’t forgive easily; she went on brooding on insults; she knew that her mother had been a serving woman and that her great-grandmother had been known as a witch. She didn’t mind the latter at all. To have a witch for a great-grandmother gave her some special power. She was always interested in herbs and how they could be used.

Honey came to the Abbey for the Coronation. When I asked my mother if my father would be home by then her face became a mask and it was impossible to know what she was feeling.

She said: “He’ll not be back.”

“You seem so sure,” I replied.

“Yes,” she said firmly, “I am.”

We went to London to see the Queen’s entrance into her Capital in order to take possession of the Tower of London. It was exciting to see her in her chariot with Lord Robert Dudley, one of the handsomest men I had ever seen, riding beside her. He was her Master of Horse and they had, I heard, become acquainted when they were prisoners in the Tower during the reign of the Queen’s sister, Mary. It was thrilling to hear the tower guns boom out and listen to the loyal greetings which were delivered to the young Queen as she rode along. We had taken up our position close to the Tower and we saw her clearly as she rode in.

She was young—about twenty-five years old—with fresh-colored cheeks and reddish hair; she sparkled with vitality; yet there was a great solemnity about her which was very becoming and greatly admired by the people.

We were all very moved when we heard her speak as she was about to enter the Tower.

“Some,” she said, “have fallen from being princes of this land, to be prisoners in this place; I am raised from being prisoner in this place to be prince of this land. That dejection was a work of God’s justice; this advancement is a work of his mercy; as they were to yield patience for the one, so I must bear myself to God thankful, and to men merciful for the other.”

This was a speech of wisdom and modesty and determination which was greatly applauded by all who heard it.

I was thoughtful as we rode back to the Abbey, thinking of Queen Elizabeth—not so very much older than myself—who now bore a great responsibility. There was something inspiring about her and I fell to thinking of her remark about the imprisonment she had suffered and how God had been merciful and brought her from her troubles to greatness. I pictured her as a prisoner entering the Tower by the Traitors’ Gate and wondering, as she must have, when she would be taken out to Tower Green—as her mother had been—and commanded to lay her head on the block. How would one so young feel with death imminent? Would she, this bright young woman burning with zeal for her great task, have felt as wretched at the prospect of losing her life as I did at the loss of Carey?

But she had come through her troubles. God had been merciful; out of the great shadow of the Tower she had walked, to return as mistress of everyone and everything in this land.

Witnessing the entry of the new Queen into her Capital had lifted my spirits.

I listened to the conversation at dinner, which was led by Kate. She scintillated, and hating her as I did, I had to admit to her undeniable charm. She was the center of attraction at the table. She chattered on indiscreetly, for who could be sure what the new reign would bring forth and what servants who listened would report? At least they had during the reign of Mary. Why should we all think that Elizabeth’s was going to be so different?

“So at last she has safely reached the throne,” Kate was saying. “Anne Boleyn’s daughter! Mind you, she has a look of her royal father. The same high temper. It’s in the color of their hair. It’s almost identical. I once danced with His Majesty, her royal father, and do you know I verily believe that if he had not at that time been absorbed by the charms of Catherine Howard he would have cast his eyes on me? How different everything might have been if he had!”

My mother said: “Your head and shoulders might have parted company by now, Kate. We’d rather have you in one piece.”

“I was always fortunate. Poor Catherine Howard! It was her head instead of mine. What a man that was for dispossessing himself of wives.”

“You speak too freely, Kate,” said her brother Rupert.

Kate lowered her voice and looked conspiratorial. “We must remember,” she said, “that this is Harry’s daughter—Harry’s and Anne Boleyn’s, what a combination!”

“Our last Queen was his daughter too,” put in Kate’s son Nicholas, whom we called ’Colas.

“Oh, but then,” said Kate, “all that mattered was that one was a good Catholic.”

My mother tried to change the subject and asked my grandmother about some herbs she wanted. Grandmother was very knowledgeable about anything that grew and she and my mother were immediately deep in a horticultural discussion, but Kate’s voice soon rose above theirs. She was talking about the dangers through which the new Queen had passed, how when her mother had gone to the scaffold her future had been in great danger, how she had been declared illegitimate, and how with the death of Jane Seymour she had been kindly treated by the King’s three last Queens and had lived at the Dower House with Queen Catherine Parr after the death of the King.

“And I think,” said Kate mischievously, “it would be unwise to discuss what happened there. Poor Thomas Seymour! I met him once. What a fascinating man! It’s small wonder that our little Princess … but of course that is gossip. Of course she never really permitted him to enter her bedroom. That was all gossip about the Princess’ being delivered of a child. Who would believe such nonsense … now! Why, those who perpetrated such evil tales should be hung, drawn and quartered. It would be treason to repeat them now. Imagine when they brought the news to her that he had died on the block. ‘This day died a man with much wit and very little judgment,’ she said. And she said it calmly as though he were just an acquaintance. As if there could have been anything deeper between them!”

Kate laughed and her eyes sparkled, “I wonder what it will be like at Court now. Gayer than under Mary. That much is certain. Our Gracious Lady will be so eager to show her gratitude to God, to her people and to Fate for preserving her for this great destiny. She will want to be gay. She will want to forget the alarms of the past. Mercy me, after the Wyatt rebellion she came as near to the block as I am to you now.”

“It’s all in the past now,” said my mother quickly.

“One does not escape from the past, Damask,” retorted Kate. “It is always there like a shadow behind us.”

But, I thought, your miserable sins have cast a shadow over my life and you never look back to see the shadow behind you.

“Why,” went on Kate, “did you see Lord Robert beside her? She dotes on him, they say.”

“There’ll always be gossip,” said Rupert.

“He has sprung quickly into the saddle,” laughed Kate. “And what would you expect of Northumberland’s son?”

I watched Aunt Kate with growing resentment. How reckless she was, how frivolous! She could bring trouble to our household with her careless talk. And she would doubtless slip out of it unscathed. Whatever was said brought me back to my tragedy.

When Kate and ’Colas left for Remus Castle I felt better—not happy of course, only relieved that Kate had gone.

As it was November there was little to do in the garden. I remained listless. The Abbey seemed to me a gloomy place. The house itself—built like a castle resembling Remus, which was Carey’s now—was gradually becoming more like a home since my father had gone away; it was when one looked out of the windows and saw the outbuildings, the refectories and the dorters and the fishponds that it seemed so alien.

My mother’s interest was now focused on me. Her great desire was to end my misery and to show me a new way of life. To please her I used to pretend that I was getting over it, but she loved me too well to be deceived. She tried to interest me in the uses of herbs which she had learned from her mother, embroidering and tapestry; and when she found that I could not give my mind to these things she decided that she would tell me of her anxieties, which was the greatest help she could give me.

I was in my room when she came in, her face grave. I rose in alarm and she said: “Sit down, Cat. I’ve come to talk to you.”

So I sat down and she said: “I am concerned, Cat.”

“I see that, Mother. What worries you?”

“The future. … I heard today that the Bishop of Winchester has been arrested.”

“For what reason?”

“You can guess that the religious conflicts will continue. He supports the Pope. It is the old tug of war. Oh, God, I had hoped that we had passed through those evil times.”

“They say the new Queen will be tolerant, Mother.”

“Monarchs are not often so when their thrones are in danger. They are surrounded by ambitious men. There has been much tragedy in our family, Cat. My father lost his head for harboring a priest; my stepfather burned at Smithfield for following the Reformed Faith. You know Edward is a Catholic. When Honey married him she embraced his faith. That was safe in the last reign; but now we have a new Queen on the throne.”

“So you are worried about Honey.”

“All my life there have been these persecutions. I fear that will continue. As soon as I heard that the Bishop of Winchester had been arrested I thought of Honey.”

“You think that the new Queen will begin to persecute the Catholics?”

“I think her ministers may well do so. And then we shall have all the old fears returning.”

Then we talked about Honey and how happily she had married and my mother’s apprehension was eased when she thought of Honey’s happiness.

That helped a little.

It was Christmas time and we celebrated it in the great hall at the Abbey. The smell of baking filled the house and it was going to be a merry Christmas, said my mother, to celebrate not only the birth of Our Lord but the accession of our new Queen. I believe she thought that by acting as though she were sure everything was going to be wonderful, it would be.

My father had been gone so long now that we no longer expected him back. Most of our servants had been monks and had known him from his childhood. They believed there was something mystic about him and they did not question his disappearance. Nobody mourned him as they did a dead person; they never had. Therefore there was no reason why we should not celebrate Christmas with all customary rejoicing.

The festival would go on for the twelve days of Christmas and what pleased my mother was that Honey and her husband would be with us.

They came a few days before Christmas. Whenever I saw Honey after an absence her beauty struck me forcibly. She was standing in the hall; it was snowing slightly and there were tiny sparkling flakes on her fur hood. There was faint color in her cheeks and the wonderful violet eyes were brilliant.

I embraced her warmly. There were at moments great affection between us and now that she had her doting Edward she was no longer jealous of my mother’s special love for her own daughter. Her name was Honeysuckle. Her mother, who had entrusted her to my mother’s care, had said that she smelled the honeysuckle when her baby was conceived.

My mother had heard the arrival and hurried into the hall; Honey threw herself into her arms and they looked long at each other. Yes, I thought, Honey still loves her passionately. She will still be jealous of me. As if she need be, she with her glowing beauty and her loving husband, and I with Carey lost to me forever.

Edward stood behind her, rather self-effacing, gentle; he would be a good husband.

My mother was saying that they should have Honey’s old room, for she was sure that was where they would wish to be, and Honey said yes, it would be lovely; and she slipped her arm through my mother’s and they went up the great staircase together.

It was a merry Christmas for all except me; and at times even I found myself dancing and singing with the rest. Kate came with ’Colas, and Rupert came too; and my grandmother and the twins were of course with us. We spent the day at Grandmother’s house, which was within walking distance of the Abbey. She was rather vain of her cooking, for she excelled in the kitchen. She had roasted pigs and turkeys, great pies and tarts, and everything was flavored with her special herbs in which she took such a pride. Grandmother had lost two husbands, both murdered by the State; but there she was, red-faced, puffing and purring from the kitchen where she had been scolding her maids. One would never have guessed there had been any tragedy in her life. Should I be like that one day? Oh, no, Grandmother would know nothing of love as I knew it.

There were the usual Christmas customs; we decorated the halls with holly and ivy; we gave presents at New Year; and on Twelfth Night ’Colas found the silver penny in the cake and was King for the night; he was carried around on the men’s shoulders and chalked crosses on the beams of our hall, which was supposed to be a protection against evil.

I noticed my mother’s eyes as she watched him and I guessed she was thinking of Honey’s Catholicism and my unhappiness over Carey; and she was secretly praying for us both.

Kate and Honey stayed with us for the coronation which was to be on January 15.

Kate, as Lady Remus, and Edward, as the heir to Lord Calperton, were entitled to ride in the royal procession and Honey invited me to accompany her; so I was there. We assembled at the Tower whither the Queen came from Westminster Palace by barge. It was a marvelous sight, and it lifted the spirits in spite of the keen winter air. The Lord Mayor was there to offer his loyal greetings and with him were the city companies. We saw the Queen land at the private stairs on Tower Wharf.

We went home after that and a few days later the Queen came into the City to receive the loyal greetings of her subjects before her Coronation. The pageants were exciting; and there was a change which was growing more and more apparent every day. No one would mention as they had freely during the last reign that Elizabeth was a bastard. It would be more than anyone’s life was worth to say such a thing. In the pageants the House of Tudor was praised. For the first time effigies of the Queen’s mother, Anne Boleyn, were displayed side by side with those of Henry VIII. Elizabeth of York, mother of Henry VIII, was represented adorned with white roses and she was handing the white rose of York to her husband, Henry VII, who offered her the red rose of Lancaster. All along Cornhill and the Chepe pageants were staged; and children sang songs and recited verses in praise of the Queen.

Her coronation was inspiring. I was not in the Abbey, but Kate as a peeress was and she described it to us. How clearly the Queen had spoken, how firmly she had gone through the ceremony complaining, though, that the oil with which she was anointed was grease and smelled ill; but she had looked impressive in her Coronation robes and the trumpets had been magnificent. Kate was sure that the leading nobles had been ready and willing to kiss her hand and swear allegiance—particularly her handsome Master of Horse, Robert Dudley.

“Rumor has it,” said Kate, “that she will marry him. She clearly has a fancy for him. Her eyes never leave him. We shall see a royal marriage ere long, mark my words. ’Tis to be hoped her fancies are not so fleeting as those of her father.”

“Tell us about her gown,” said my mother quickly.

So Kate described the dress in detail and they were all as merry as they had been on Twelfth Night.

My mother, though, remained anxious and when we heard that Pope Paul had publicly declared that he was unable to comprehend the hereditary rights of one not born in wedlock, she was quite frightened. The Pope in his declaration went on to say that the Queen of Scots who was married to the Dauphin of France was the nearest legitimate descendant of Henry VII and he suggested that a court be set up under his arbitration to determine the justice of the claims of Elizabeth and Mary to the throne of England.

This Elizabeth naturally haughtily declined.

But my mother’s anxiety increased.

She said to me: “There is going to be a conflict between Protestant and Catholic once more, I fear, and the Queen of Scots will represent the Catholics and Elizabeth the Protestants. Dissension in families … it is what I dread. I have seen too much of it.”

“We shall not quarrel with Honey because she is a Catholic,” I soothed. “I believe she only became one because she wanted to marry Edward.”

“I pray that there will be no trouble,” said my mother.

She visited Honey for a week and when she came back she seemed in better spirits. She had talked to Lord Calperton.

He was old and set in his ways, he had said, but he was going to send young Edward out to the West Country. He had an estate near Plymouth. Edward was fiercer in his beliefs than his father and if he was going to talk rashly—which he might well do—it was better for him to do it as far from the Court as possible.

My mother was distressed at the thought of not seeing Honey so frequently, but she did agree with Lord Calperton that it was safer to be far from the center of conflict.

So through that summer plans were made for Honey and her husband to leave for Trewynd Grange in Devonshire; and I was to go with them.

I said to my mother: “You’ll be lonely without us both.”

She took my face in her hands and said: “But you’ll be happier there for a time … just for a time, Cat. You’ve got to recover yourself and start afresh.” I hated to leave her, but I knew she was right.

That June about a month before we were to set out, the French King Henri Deux was killed in a tournament and his son François became King. Mary of Scotland was his wife, so she became Queen of France. My mother said: “This makes it more dangerous, for Mary has taken the title of Queen of England.”

Rupert who was there at the time—as he often was these days—said that while she was in France it was safe enough. The danger would be if ever she came to Scotland, which as Queen of France she would scarcely do.

I was listless, not caring much whether I went to Devon or stayed at the Abbey. I wanted to remain because of my mother; on the other hand I thought it would be good not to have to see Aunt Kate so frequently and to get away from the scene of so many bitter memories. But I should be back in a month or two, I promised myself.

It was a long and wearisome journey and by the time I reached Trewynd Grange the summer was drawing to its end. I think that from the moment I set eyes on the Grange I felt a little farther away from my tragedy; the house was a more comfortable house than the Abbey. It was gray stone, two centuries old with pleasant gardens. It was built around a courtyard and each end was a turret tower. From these windows there was the magnificent view over the Hoe to the sea and this I found interesting. The hall was not large by Abbey and Remus Castle standards, but there was something cozy about it in spite of the two peeps high in the wall through which, without being seen, people in the little alcoves above could spy on who was below. The chapel was dank and cold and rather repellent. Perhaps I had become rather fearful of chapels because of the conflicts in our family—and indeed throughout the country. The stone-flagged floor was worn with the tread of those long since dead; the altar was in a dark corner and the lepers’ squint was now used by those servants who were suffering from some pox and couldn’t mingle with the rest of the household. It was a long rambling house rather than a tall one; and its grandeur really lay in its four turrets.

I was amused to see Honey chatelaine in her own house. Marriage had naturally changed her. She glowed with an inner satisfaction. Edward doted on her and Honey was the sort of person who demands love. She was unhappy without it; she wanted to be the one loved and cherished beyond others. She should have been contented, for I never saw a man so devoted to his wife—unless it was Lord Remus when he was alive with Kate.

I could talk frankly to Honey. I knew that she hated my father as she hated no one else. She had never forgiven him for not wanting her in the household and ignoring her when she was a child.

She wanted to talk of him, but I wouldn’t listen because I was unsure of my feeling for him. I knew now that not only was he my father but Carey’s too and that was why we could not marry; I knew that he, while posing as a saint whose coming had been a miracle, was in fact creeping into Kate’s bed at night—or she into his—in the very house where my mother slept. And all the time Kate was pretending to be her dear friend and cousin.

I think Honey had been primed by my mother to treat me with care and Honey would always attempt to please my mother. Perhaps my mother had given her other advice concerning me; I was inclined to think she had, for since I had come to Trewynd Grange Honey had given several dinner parties and invited the local squires.

It was the day after that disturbing encounter on the Hoe when she said: “Sir Penn Pennlyon and his son will be dining with us tomorrow. They are not very distant neighbors. Sir Penn is a man of power in these parts. He owns several ships and his father was a trader before him.”

I said: “That ship that came in a few days …”

“Yes,” said Honey. “It’s the Rampant Lion. All their ships are Lions. There’s the Fighting Lion, the Old Lion and the Young Lion. Whenever you see a Lion ship you can guess it belongs to the Pennlyons.”

“I saw a man on the Hoe and heard him called Captain Lion.”

“That would be Captain Pennlyon. I haven’t met him. I know he’s home, though. He’s been at sea for more than a year.”

“So,” I said, “they are coming here!”

“Edward is of the opinion that we must be neighborly. Their place is but a stone’s throw from here. You can see it from the west turret.”

I took the first opportunity of going up to the west turret. I could see a great house, high on the cliff, looking out to sea.

I wondered what he would say when he realized that the young woman whom he had insulted—because I insisted that was what he had done—was a guest of the Ennises. I was rather looking forward to the encounter.

It was autumn and the valerian and sea pinks were still flourishing; it had been a mild summer and I had been wondering what winter would be like in Trewynd Grange. I could not make the journey back to London until the spring. This was a thought which depressed me; I was restless and uneasy; I wanted to go home; I wanted to be with my mother to talk endlessly of my troubles and receive her sympathy. I don’t think I really wanted to forget. There was a certain luxury in being miserable and constantly reminding myself of what I had lost.

And because this man was coming to dinner I stopped thinking of Carey for a while—just as I had on the Hoe.

What should I wear? I asked myself. Honey had brought many grand dresses with her, for she was mindful of her beauty, whereas I had gathered together my garments in a somewhat listless fashion; secretly I regretted that now. I chose a velvet dress which flowed from my shoulders in a graceful manner. It was not very fashionable, for in the last year people had begun to wear whaleboned busks and hoops, which I thought not only ridiculous but rather ugly; and I could not bear to be tight-laced, which was becoming the mode. Instead of wearing one’s hair in flowing curls fashionable, women were now frizzing it and wearing all kinds of ornaments in it.

But this was not Court circles and so perhaps one could afford to be out of fashion. Honey herself always dressed in what was most becoming to her beauty. She had a great sense of this and seemed to pay a secret homage to it. She too had rejected the frizzy hairstyles and the whalebones.

Just before six of the clock our guests arrived. Honey and Edward were in the hall waiting to receive them; I stood with them, and as I heard the horses’ arrival in the courtyard I felt my heart begin to beat faster.

A big red-faced man was striding into the hall. He had a look of that other—who came after him—an extremely tall man with massive square shoulders and a booming voice. Everything that went with Sir Penn Pennlyon was big. I concentrated on him because I was not going to show the slightest interest in his son.

“Welcome,” said Edward, looking slight and pale before these giants.

Sir Penn’s twinkling blue eyes darted about him; he seemed to be amused by his host and hostess.

“Marry!” he cried, taking Honey’s hand and drawing her to him giving her a loud kiss on the lips. “If this bain’t the prettiest lady in Devon I’ll eat the Rampant Lion, that I will, barnacles and all.”

Honey blushed becomingly and said: “Sir Penn, you must meet my sister.”

I curtsied. The blue eyes were on me. “Another little beauty, eh?” he said. “Another little beauty. Two of the prettiest ladies in Devon.”

“It’s kind of you to call me such, sir,” I said. “But I’ll not ask you to swallow your ship if you should be proved wrong.”

He laughed, great bellowing laughter. He slapped his hands on his thighs. He was more than a little crude, I guessed.

And behind him was his son, who was now greeting Honey before it was my turn to stand face to face with him.

The recognition was instant. He took my hand and kissed it. “We’re old friends,” he said.

I thought contemptuously: In thirty years’ time he will be exactly like his father.

Honey was looking surprised.

“I saw Captain Pennlyon when I was on the Hoe,” I said coldly without looking at him.

“My sister is fascinated by ships,” said Honey.

“Well!” Sir Penn was regarding me with approval. “She knows a good thing when she sees it. Young lady, there’s only one thing I know more beautiful than a ship and that’s a pretty woman.” He nudged his son. “Jake here agrees with me.”

“We want to hear about your voyage,” said Honey politely. “Let us go into the punch room. Supper will be served shortly.”

She led the way up the three stone stairs past the dining room to the punch room and there we sat while Edward’s servants brought malmsey for us to drink. Honey was very proud of fine Venetian glasses, which were very fashionable and which she had brought with her. I imagined the Pennlyons had never seen anything so fine.

We sat rather stiffly on our chairs, the tapestry back and seats of which had been worked by Edward’s great-aunt. I thought the chair might break under Sir Penn, for he sat with little thought for its fragility and Honey threw a glance at me as though to say, We have to get used to country manners.

Sir Penn said what a fine thing it was to have neighbors of the quality to bring their fine Venetian glass for them to drink out of. His eyes twinkled as he spoke as though he were laughing at us and in a way despised us—except Honey of course and perhaps me. Both of them—father and son—had an insolence in their looks which suggested that they were assessing our personal attributes in a manner which was slightly disturbing.

“And how long are you staying here?” he wanted to know of Edward.

Edward replied evasively that so much depended on circumstances. His father had wished him to come and look after the estates here for a while. It would depend on what happened on the Surrey estate.

“Ah,” said Sir Penn, “you noble families have your seats in every part of the kingdom. Why, young sir, there must be times when you wonder whether you’re a Surrey or a Devon man or maybe there is some other county to claim you.”

“My father has estates in the North,” said Edward.

“Marry! Why, you’ve a foot in every part of the Queen’s realm, young man.”

“By no means,” said Edward. “And might I not say that your ships sail on every known part of the ocean?”

“You can say it, sir, you can say it. And Jake will tell you that it’s so. Just back he is from a long voyage, but he’s too taken with the company to give voice.”

Jake said: “The company delights me as you see.” And he was looking straight at me, mocking because here he was and I had said it was not likely that he would be invited. “But I’ll confirm it’s true that I have but recently returned from a voyage.”

“My sister was excited when she saw your ship come in. She sees the ships come in from her window, and never seems to tire of it.”

Jake had brought his chair closer to mine. They had not the manner which we had come to expect. These people were lacking the niceties of behavior; they were more frank than we were, coarser too.

“So you liked my ship,” he said.

“I like all ships.”

“That’s the right spirit,” he said. “And you’ve never had the chance of seeing them before.”

“We were close to the river. I often saw boats sailing by.”

He laughed derisively. “Wherries and tugs,” he said.

“And royal barges. I have seen the Queen on her way to her Coronation.”

“And now you’ve seen the queen of ships.”

“Yours?” I asked.

“The Rampant Lion, none other.”

“So she is the queen, is she?”

“I’ll take you out to her. I’ll show you. You’ll see for yourself then.” He leaned toward me. I drew away and looked at him coldly, which seemed to amuse him. “When will you come?” he asked.

“I doubt I ever should.”

He raised eyebrows rather darker than his hair, which made the blue eyes more startling.

“You never thought to see me here, yet here I am. And now you tell me you never will come aboard my ship. I’ll warrant you’ll be my guest there within a week. Come, I’ll wager you.”

“I do not wager.”

“But you’ll come all the same.” He was bending toward me so that his face was close to my own. I attempted to look at him with indifference, but I was not very convincing. He at least was aware of the effect he had had on me. I drew back and his eyes mocked. “Yes,” he went on, “on my ship. Less than a week today. It’s a wager.”

“I have already told you I do not wager.”

“We’ll discuss terms later.”

I thought I should not care to be alone with such a man on his ship.

We were interrupted by the arrival of another guest, Mistress Crocombe, a simpering middle-aged woman, and when she had joined us in a glass of malmsey one of the servants announced that supper was ready and we went down the stairs to the dining room.

It was a beautiful room, one of the loveliest in the Grange I thought it. Through the leaded windows we could see the courtyard; the walls were hung with tapestries depicting the Wars of the Roses; the table was tastefully laid with more of the Venetian glass and gleaming silver dishes. Honey had made a centerpiece of various herbs which she grew in her herb garden and the effect was gracious.

Edward sat at the head of the table and Honey at the foot. On Honey’s right was Sir Penn and on her left Jake; on Edward’s right I sat and Miss Crocombe on his left, which meant that I was seated next to Jake and Miss Crocombe next to his father.

Could it be that this Captain Pennlyon is being brought forward as another possible suitor for me? I wondered. The thought angered me. Did they think they were going to make me forget Carey by producing a succession of men who could only remind me of Carey because of the differences between them?

Honey had certainly some very fine cooks. The food was excellently served; there was beef and lamb as well as sucking pig, a boar’s head and an enormous pie; and she had taken the trouble to introduce that pleasant custom of honoring the guests which we followed at home. One of the pies was in the form of a ship and on it had been placed by thin layers of paste the words “The Rampant Lion.” The delight of the Pennlyons when they saw this was almost childish; they laughed and ate great chunks of it. I had never seen such appetites as those two men had. The food was washed down often noisily with muscadel and malmsey, those wines which came from Italy and the Levant and were growing so fashionable.

They talked too, dominating the conversation. Miss Crocombe clearly adored Sir Penn, which was strange considering she was a somewhat prim spinster in her late thirties and certainly not the kind to attract such a man as Sir Penn whose appetites in all things I could imagine would be voracious. He was regarding Honey in a manner which I thought quite lascivious and occasionally he would throw a glance at me, amused, half-regretful, and the implication I put on that was that he was leaving me to the attention of his son. I thought his manners unpardonable. It seemed of no importance to him that Honey was the wife of his host.

Honey, however, seemed not to notice, or perhaps she was so used to blatant admiration that she accepted it as normal.

I asked Jake where his last voyage had taken him.

“Out to the Barbary Coast,” he said. “What a voyage! We had our troubles. Gales and seas enough to overturn us and such damage done to the ship that at one time it seemed we would have to limp home. But we braved it and we got into harbor and we tricked ourselves out to continue as we had meant.”

I said: “You must face death a thousand times during one voyage.”

“A thousand times is true, Mistress. That is why we love life so much. And do you not face death on land now and then?”

I was grave. I thought of my mother’s anxious face and I remembered that my grandfather had lost his head for no reason than that he had sheltered a friend and my grandmother’s second husband had died at the stake because he held certain opinions.

I said: “’Tis true. No one can be completely sure on one day that he or she will live to the next.”

He leaned toward me. “Therefore we should enjoy each day as it comes along and the devil take the next.”

“So that is your philosophy. Do you never plan for what is to come?”

His bold eyes looked into mine. “Oh … often. Then I make sure that what I wish for comes to pass.”

“You are very certain of yourself.”

“A sailor must always be certain of himself. And I’ll tell you another thing. He’s always in a hurry. You see time is something he cannot afford to waste. When will you come to see my ship?”

“You must ask my sister and her husband if they would care to make the inspection.”

“But I was inviting you.”

“I should like to hear of your adventures.”

“On the Barbary Coast? They don’t make a pretty story.”

“I did not expect they would.” I looked across the table at Mistress Crocombe, who was coyly begging Sir Penn to tell her of his adventures on the high seas. He began to tell fantastic stories which I was sure were meant to shock us all. It seemed that he had more adventures than Sinbad himself. He had struggled with sea monsters and fought with savages; he had landed his craft on the coasts and brought natives ashore to work in his galleys; he had quelled a mutiny, ridden a storm; there was nothing he had not done, it seemed; and everything he said was overlaid with innuendo. When he led a little party of his men into an African hamlet I saw those men seizing the women, submitting them to indignity, pillaging, robbing.

Miss Crocombe covered her eyes with dismay and blushed hotly. She was a very silly woman and made her designs on Sir Penn too blatant. Did she really think he was going to marry her? I found it embarrassing to watch them together.

Tenerife was mentioned. It was the largest of what were called the Dog Islands because when they were first discovered so many dogs were there. Now they were known as the Canaries.

Tenerife was in the hands of the Spaniards.

“Spanish dogs!” growled Sir Penn. “I’d beat them all out of the ocean, that I would, aye and will … I and a few more like me.” He became fierce suddenly, all banter dropped. I saw the cruel gleam in his eyes. “God’s Death!” he cried, hitting the table with his fist so that the Venetian glasses trembled. “These dogs shall be swept off the seas, for I tell you this, my friends, it is either them or us. There’s no room for us both.”

“The oceans are wide,” I said, for there was something about these men which made me want to contradict them and prove them wrong if possible, “and much may yet be discovered.”

He glared at me and his eyes had narrowed—little pinpoints of blue fire between the weather wrinkles. “Then we’ll discover them, Madam. Not they. And wherever I see them I’ll bring my guns out; I’ll blow them off the sea; I’ll take their treasure ships from them and bring them where they belong to be.”

“Treasure which they have discovered?” I said.

“Treasure!” It was Jake beside me. “There’s gold in the world … it only has to be brought home.”

“Or filched from those who have already found it?”

Honey and Edward were looking at me in dismay. I didn’t care. I felt some tremendous surge sweeping over me. I had to fight these men, father and son, brigands and pirates both, for that was what they were; and when I talked to them I was excited, alive as I hadn’t been since I knew that I had lost Carey.

“By God,” said Sir Penn, “it would seem the lady is a friend of the Dons.”

“I have never seen one.”

“Swarthy devils. I’d cut the liver and lights out of ’em. I’d send ’em down to the deep sea bed, for ’tis where they belong to be. Don’t side with the Spaniards, child, or you’ll be going against what’s natural.”

“I was siding with no one,” I retorted, “I was saying that if they had found the treasure it was theirs just as if you had found it it would be yours.”

“Now don’t you bring schoolroom logic into this, me dear. Findings bain’t keepings when it comes to Spanish gold. Nay, there’s one place where treasure belongs to be and that’s in an English ship and we’re going to drive the Spaniards from the sea with might and main.”

“There are many of them and I believe they have made great discoveries.”

“There are many of them, true, and we are going to see that there are not so many, we are going to take their discoveries from them.”

“Why do you not make some yourself instead?”

“Instead! We shall make them, never fear; we shall make and take. Because I tell you this, little lady, the sea belongs to us and no poxy Don is going to take one fathom of it from us.”

Sir Penn sat back in his chair red-faced, almost angry with me. Mistress Crocombe looked a little afraid. I felt the color in my cheeks; Honey was signaling with her eyes for me to be silent.

Jake said: “The old Queen died in time. Our Sovereign Lady Elizabeth is of a different temper.”

“By God, yes,” cried Sir Penn. “We’ll defend her on sea and land. And if any poxy Don turns his snout toward these shores … by God, he’ll wish he never had.”

“We can guess what would have happened had Mary lived,” went on Jake. “We’d have had the Inquisition here.”

“We never would have. Thank God there are men of Cornwall and Devon who would have stood together and put a stop to that,” declared Sir Penn. “And God be praised we have a new Queen and she understands well that the people of this land will have nought of Papists. Mary burned our Protestant martyrs at the stake. And by God, I’d burn alive those Papists who would attempt to bring Popery back to England.”

Edward had turned pale. For a moment I thought he was going to protest. Honey was gazing at her husband, warning and imploring. Be careful! she was saying; and indeed he must be. I wondered what would happen if these fierce men knew that their host and hostess were members of that faith which they despised.

I heard myself say in a rather high-pitched voice: “My stepfather was one of those martyrs.”

The tension relaxed then. We had suffered such a death in the family; the implication was that we were of one belief.

Sir Penn lifted his glass and said: “To Our Sovereign Lady who has made her intentions clear.”

We could all drink to the Queen and we did so. Equanimity was restored.

We talked of the Coronation and the two men were ready to listen for a few minutes; and after that we went on to speak of local affairs, of the country and the prospects for hunting the deer; and an invitation was extended to us to visit Lyon Court.

It was late in the evening when the men left; and when I was in my room I found that I was wide awake and I sat at my turret window, knowing it was useless to try to sleep.

There was a knock on my door and Honey came in.

She was dressed in a long blue bedgown and her lovely hair was loose about her shoulders.

“So you’re not abed?” she said.

She sat down and looked at me.

“What did you think of them?”

“Crude,” I replied.

“They are far from London and the Court. They are different of course.”

“It’s not only their ill manners. They are arrogant.”

“They are men who command rough sailors. It would be necessary for them to show authority.”

“And intolerant,” I said. “How fierce the father was when he talked of the Spaniards. How foolish they are. As if there is not enough of the world for them all to have what they want.”

“People always want what other people have. It’s a law of nature.”

“Not of nature,” I said. “It’s a man-made custom, indulged in by the foolish.”

“The Captain was impressed by you, Catharine.”

“It is of no moment to me if he was.”

“He is a disturbing fellow … they both are.”

“The father looked as though he would carry you off under Edward’s nose.”

“Even he would not go as far as that.”

“I think he would go as far as it is possible to go—his son too. I wouldn’t trust either of them.”

“Well, they are our neighbors. Edward’s father said we must be neighborly and particularly with the Pennlyons, who are a power in these parts.”

“I hope we don’t see them again in a hurry.”

“It would surprise me if we did not. I have an idea that the Captain may come courting you, Catharine.”

I laughed derisively. “He would do well to stay away. Honey, you have arranged this.”

“Dear Catharine, do you want to mourn forever?”

“It is not what I want, Honey. It is what I must do.”

“If you married and had children you would forget Carey.”

“I never should.”

“Then what do you propose to do? Mourn all your life?”

“What I propose to do is ask you not to parade these country boors to inspect me. Please, Honey, no more of it.”

“You will change. It is just that you have not met the right one yet.”

“I certainly did not tonight. How could you imagine that such a man could arouse any desire in me but to get as far from him as possible?”

“He is handsome, powerful, rich … at least I imagine so. You could look far before you found a more suitable parti.”

“There speaks the smug matron. Honey, I shall go home to the Abbey if you make any more attempts to find me a husband.”

“I promise not to.”

“I suppose Mother suggested that you should.”

“She grieves for you, Catharine.”

“I know she does. And it is no fault of hers, bless her dear heart. Oh, let us not speak of my miseries. Shall we indeed be obliged to visit this Lyon Court? They would seem to be obsessed by their connection with that animal.”

“They have taken the figure of the lion as their insignia. They say there is a lion on all their ships. They are an amazing family. They have come to great power in the second and third generation. I heard that Sir Penn’s father was a humble fisherman plying his trade from a little Cornish fishing village. Then he made several boats and sent men out to fish for him; and he had more and more boats and became a sort of king of his village. He crossed the Tamar and set up business here. Sir Penn grew up as the crown prince, as it were, and he acquired more ships and gave up the calling of fishermen and went out into the world. He was given his knighthood by Henry VIII, who himself loved ships and foresaw that adventurers like the Pennlyons could bring good to England.”

I yawned.

“You are tired?” said Honey.

“Tired of these Pennlyons.”

“I doubt it will not be long before they are at sea, the son at least.”

“It will be a pleasure not to see him.”

Honey stood up and then she gave the real reason for her visit.

“You gathered they are fanatical in their religious beliefs.”

“I did, and what astonished me was that they should have any.”

“We shall have to be careful. It would not be wise for them to know that we celebrate the Mass in this house.”

“I am so weary of these conflicts,” I assured her. “You can rely on me to say nothing of the matter.”

“It would seem,” said Honey, “that there is a movement from the True Religion.”

“Which is the true?” I said angrily. “You say the road to Rome is the right one because Edward believes that and it was necessary for you to before you married him. We know that members of our own family take the Protestant view. Who is right?”

“Of course Edward is right … we are right.”

“In matters of religion it seems all people believe they are right and all who disagree with them wrong. For this very reason I refuse to side with either.”

“Then you are without religion.”

“I think I can be a better Christian by not hating those who disagree with me. I do not care for doctrines, Honey. They bring too much suffering. I will go along with neither. I’m tired now, and in no mood for a theological discussion tonight.”

She rose.

“All I beg of you, Catharine, is be careful.”

“You may trust me.”

She kissed me lightly on the cheek and went out; and I thought how fortunate she was with her adoring husband, her startling beauty and her certainty that she had found the True Faith.

But my thoughts were almost immediately back with our visitors. I looked out across the sea and there was his ship at anchor; soon I thought, I shall be at this window watching it sail away. And I pictured him on the deck, shouting orders, legs astride, defying anyone to disobey him; I saw him with a cutlass in his hand boarding a Spanish ship; I saw the blood run from the cutlass; I heard his triumphant laugh; and I saw him with the golden coins in his hands, letting them run through his fingers while his eyes gleamed as covetously as they had when they had rested on me.

I shook myself. I went to bed and was vaguely irritated because I could not get the man out of my mind.

I awoke. My room was full of moonlight. I was not sure how long I had been asleep. I lay very still listening to the sounds of the countryside—the sudden rustle of leaves; the hooting of an owl. Why had I who usually slept so soundly awakened in this way? Had something startled me?

I closed my eyes preparing to drift back into sleep when I heard the clock in the tower strike three. It was an unusual clock and all callers at the house went out into the courtyard to look at it. It was adorned with the figure of a man who resembled the late King Henry VIII, father of our Sovereign; he struck a bell to give the hour. It was quite a curio here—although at home we had one or two unusual clocks.

Three o’clock. I rose and put on my fur-edged wrap. I went to the window and looked out. My gaze went at once to the Rampant Lion, but it did not stay there, for farther out to sea was a magnificent sight, such a ship as I had never seen before. She towered above the water. She was majestic. I knew little of ships except what I had learned since coming here; but I did not notice that the forecastle instead of projecting over the bows rose straight up from the jutting forepeak.

I had never seen such a stately ship. Beside her the Rampant Lion looked small and insignificant.

I sat for some time watching this beautiful ship, and as I did so I saw a bobbing light on her and then on the water a dark speck. It disappeared and then appeared again. It was coming nearer. I watched. It was a small boat which was being rowed to the shore.

I looked at the Rampant Lion again. I thought: I wish he could see this fine ship. I wish he could compare his precious Lion with that one.

I saw quite clearly the little boat bobbing about on the water. Then it disappeared and I could see it no more; I looked in vain for it. The great ship remained and I watched and waited, but nothing more happened.

I heard the clock in the courtyard strike four and I realized that I was cold.

The ship was still there, but there was no sign of the little boat. I went back to my bed; I could not get my feet warm. I did at last and then I slept. It was late when I awoke. I remembered at once and went to the window. There was no sign of the ship or the little boat. The Rampant Lion was riding the waters proudly because there was no majestic stranger ship to dwarf her.

What a ship it had been! I had never seen the like before; and when I looked out across the water I asked myself: Did I truly see that glorious ship, or did I imagine it?

No. I had wakened in the night. What had awakened me? Some instinct? Some premonition? And then I had looked and seen the ship.

Or had I dreamed it? There had been such talk of ships on the previous night; those men—and particularly the young man—had forced themselves into my mind so that I could not forget them. Perhaps it had been a dream. But of course I had awakened. I had seen the ship. But because of the pictures those two men had conjured up in my mind had it seemed so grand and glorious?

I knew of course what I had seen, but I was not going to mention it. Honey and Edward would think I had been too impressed by the Pennlyons and that was the last thing I would admit.

At Trewynd I rode a frisky little mare. I had been completely at home on a horse since I was a child. We were all taught to ride at an early age, for if one were to rely on one’s legs one would never get far from home.

I liked to ride out every day and alone. I hated to be accompanied by a groom, which I suppose I should have been. My little Marigold knew me well; she had traveled with me from the Abbey; we understood each other and the sound of my voice could both soothe and command her.

On that morning after the Pennlyons’ visit I rode out, but as I left the stables I heard Jake Pennlyon’s resonant voice. So he had called already. I congratulated myself on having escaped him. I loved the countryside; it was different from that around the Abbey. Here there were steep hills, winding paths, pinewoods and the foliage was more lush because it was warmer than in the southeast and there was so much rain. I imagined what flowers there would be in the springtime, and was looking forward to that season when I asked myself if I intended to stay away from home for so long.

While I was musing I heard the sound of horse’s hoofs behind me, and turning my head, I saw Jake Pennlyon galloping up, riding a powerful white horse.

“Oh,” I said flatly.

“They told me you had gone out, so I trailed you.”

“Why did you do that?”

“To have speech with you, of course.”

“We talked only last night.”

“But we have a great deal to say to each other.”

“I did not think that.”

“Well, mayhap it is I who have a great deal to say to you.”

“Perhaps some other time.” I pressed my heels into Marigold’s flanks and she started off, but he was beside me; I knew at once that Marigold could not outdistance his powerful steed.

“A sailor can’t afford to beat about the bush. One thing he is short of … is time.”

Realizing that I could not escape him, I slowed up.

“Well, pray say what it is and I will continue my ride.”

“We can chat comfortably as we continue our ride.”

“I did not ask you to accompany me.”

“What matters that? I asked myself.”

“You don’t hesitate to press your company even though it may not be wanted?”

“I don’t hesitate when I’ve made up my mind that I want something.”

“And what pray do you want now?”

“You.”

I gave a short laugh. “You have strange desires.”

“Very normal ones, I do assure you.”

“I know you scarcely at all. We have met but once.”

“Twice,” he corrected me. “Have you forgotten our encounter on the Hoe? That was when it all began.”

“I was not aware that anything had begun.”

He seized Marigold’s bridle. His face was grim, cruel suddenly. “You must not deny the truth to me, Mistress,” he said. “You know what has begun.”

“And you it seems know more of me than I know myself—or so you would have me believe. I am not one of your friends who comes when you beckon and pants with glee when you whistle her as you would your dog.”

“I should always call you by your name and you could always have a higher place in my estimation than that I reserve for my dogs.”

“When do you sail?” I asked.

“Two months from now.”

“So long?” I asked.

“So short,” he replied. “There is much to be done in those two months. I have to victual my ship, overhaul her, make her seaworthy, get my crew and woo a lady … all at the same time.”

“I wish you good fortune.” I turned Marigold toward the Trewynd estate. “And now I will bid you good-bye, for I am not going your way.”

“Indeed you are, for your way is my way.”

“I am going back to the stables.”

“You have just ridden out.”

“Nevertheless, I am going back,” I said.

“Stay and talk with me.”

“I must say good-bye.”

“You are afraid of me.”

I looked at him scornfully.

“Then if not,” he retorted, “why won’t you stay and talk with me?”

“Certainly I am not afraid of you, Captain Pennlyon. But pray say what it is you have to say and I’ll be gone.”

“I was taken with you the first time I saw you and I don’t think you were unaware of me.”

“There are several ways of being aware.”

“And you were aware of me in many ways.”

“I thought you insolent … arrogant…”

“Pray don’t spare me,” he mocked.

“The sort of person I have no great wish to meet.”

“And yet whom you cannot resist.”

“Captain Pennlyon,” I said, “you have too high an opinion of yourself and your ship.”

“My ship at least is the finest that sailed the ocean.”

“I saw a finer last night,” I was goaded to say.

“Where?”

“In the bay.”

“You saw the Rampant Lion.”

“She was there, but there was this other which dwarfed her and was twice as magnificent.”

“You may mock me but pray not my ship.”

“I mock no one. I merely state a fact. I looked from my window and saw the most beautiful ship I have ever seen.”

“The most beautiful ship you have ever seen is the Rampant Lion.”

“No, this was indeed more majestic and fine. She was so tall and lofty … like a castle afloat.”

He was looking at me intently. “Did you see how many masts she had?”

“Four, I think.”

“And her decks … were they high?”

“Why, yes, I suppose so. She was so tall … I did not know ships could be so tall.”

He seemed to have forgotten his interest in me. The ship of the night had driven all other thoughts from his mind.

He questioned me avidly. I answered as best I could, but my knowledge of ships was sparse. He made no protest as I walked my horse back to Trewynd stables; he merely kept pace with me, firing questions at me, exasperated because I could not describe in detail the ship I had seen.

He burst out suddenly: “It could not be. But by God’s Death, it would seem that you are describing a Spanish galleon.”

I had not realized how fervently religious Edward was. At the Abbey my mother had never instilled one doctrine into me rather than another. Her ideal had been tolerance and I knew that she did not think that the manner of worship mattered so much as that one lived as Christian a life as was possible. She had once said to me: “It is in people’s actions toward their fellowmen that we perceive their religion. What virtue is there in praising God if one is cruel to His creatures?”

Few people were in agreement with her. The last Queen and her ministers had burned people at the stake not because they had robbed or murdered but because they did not believe according to Rome.

And now we had turned around and the religious laws which had existed in Mary’s reign were abolished and those of her predecessor’s time were restored. The Protestant religion was in the ascendancy and although there might not be a recurrence of the Smithfield fires it was dangerous to go against the spiritual domination ordered by the Queen.

Whether our Queen was firm in her views or not, I could not be sure. The dangerous years when she had come close to losing her head would be remembered by her; then she had prevaricated, although perhaps she had leaned toward the Reformed Faith; and indeed had she not, she might not be on the throne this day.

Now of course she had a very good political reason for her firm Protestant views. Across the Channel was a Queen of France who was also a Queen of Scotland and who many believed was also the true Queen of England: Mary Stuart, the granddaughter of Margaret, sister of our late King Henry VIII. Thus many said she was the direct heir to the throne of England while Elizabeth—whose father had put aside his true wife, Catherine of Aragon, to marry Elizabeth’s mother, Anne Boleyn—was a bastard and had no real claim to it.

Mary Stuart was Catholic, so she was the figurehead of those who would wish to see England back in the Papal fold. Elizabeth therefore must set herself up as the leader of Protestantism. I felt certain that our Queen’s motives were not prompted by religion so much as by politics.

But these politics existed; and those who celebrated Mass and worshiped in the Roman manner were potential enemies of the Queen, for they would wish to lead the country back to Rome and if this were done, Mary Stuart, not Elizabeth Tudor, would be accepted as the Queen of England.

Therefore, in worshiping as Edward and Honey did, there was danger.

I knew that services were conducted in the chapel behind closed doors. I knew that beneath the altar cloth there was a hidden door, and I guessed that behind that door were images and all that was used in celebration of the Mass.

I did not join in this, but I was aware that several members of the household did. I had not thought very much about it until the night when the Pennlyons had talked so fiercely about the Dons. I thought how intolerant they would be of those who did not think as they did; and dangerous too.

I could not pass the chapel after that night without a twinge of alarm.

Jennet, the young girl whom I had brought with me from the Abbey, was putting my clothes away, smoothing her hands over the cloth of a velvet cloak with a sort of ecstasy.

Jennet was about a year younger than I was—small, lithe, with a tangle of thick dark curls. I had noticed one or two of the menservants follow her with their eyes and I thought Jennet must be warned.

Jennet’s eyes sparkled as she worked and I asked if she were happy in these new surroundings.

“Oh, yes, Mistress Catharine,” she replied fervently.

“So you like it better than the Abbey?”

She shivered a little. “Oh, yes, Mistress. ’Tis more open like. There was ghosts in the Abbey … everyone said. And you could never know what was going to come up next.”

Jennet was a great gossip; I had heard her chatter to the maids; if I gave her an opportunity she would have plenty to say to me.

“So you feel it’s different here?”

“Oh, yes, Mistress, why, at the Abbey … I’d lie trembling on my pallet at night even though the others was there. Young Mary swore she saw monks going into the church one day at dusk … long robes, she said, and chanting like. She said terrible things had happened there and where terrible things happen there’ll be ghosts.”

“But you never really saw a ghost, Jennet.”

“No, Mistress, but I felt ’em there and ’tis the same. ’Tis more as a big house should be here. Ghosts there could be, as most houses have their ghosts, but here it ’ud be a ghost like other ghosts—a poor lady as ’ad been crossed in love or a gentleman who had lost his inheritance and thrown himself from the tower like … something ghosts ’as always done—but in the Abbey they were terrible ghosts. Monks and evil… Oh, there was evil there all right. My Granny remembers when the men came and what they done… Here, though, ’tis different. There’s ships too. Oh, I like to see the ships.” Jennet giggled. “And that Captain Pennlyon, Mistress. I said to Mary: ‘I never did see such a fine gentleman,’ and Mary she says the same, Mistress.”

I felt angry suddenly. So the maids were discussing him. I pictured his swaggering past them, perhaps bestowing a kiss on the prettiest, marking her down as possible prey. The man sickened me.

And what was I doing chattering with Jennet!

I said: “Pray put those away quickly, Jennet. Don’t chatter so much. Have you nothing to do with your time?”

Jennet, naturally a little bewildered by my sudden change of manner, hung her head and flushed slightly. I hoped I had conveyed firmly my indifference to Captain Pennlyon.

Jennet had stopped in her work and was looking out of the window down onto the courtyard.

“What’s there, Jennet?” I asked.

“’Tis a young man, Mistress.”

I went and stood beside her. There was indeed a young man; he was dressed in a russet-colored doublet with green hose; his hair was very dark, fitting sleekly about his head, and as we gazed down at him he looked up.

He bowed elaborately.

I called down, “Who are you?”

“Good Mistress,” he cried, “if you are the lady of the house I would have speech with you.”

“Marry!” breathed Jennet. “But he’s handsome!”

I said, “I am not the mistress of the house, but I will come down and see you.”

I went down into the hall, Jennet at my heels, and I opened the iron-studded door. The young man bowed once more, very deferentially.

“The mistress of the house is not at home, I think. Perhaps you could tell me your business.”

“I seek work, my lady.”

“Work?” I cried. “What kind of work?”

“I am not particular as to its nature. I would be grateful for anything that came my way.”

“The management of the household is not in my hands. I am a guest here.”

“Shall I see if I can find the master?” asked Jennet eagerly.

He flashed her a look of gratitude and she colored prettily.

“Please,” he said.

Jennet ran off and I said to the young man, “What is your name?”

“It is Richard Rackell.”

“And from whence do you come?”

“I came from the North. I believed that in the South I could make my way more easily than in my native parts.”

“And now you wish to work here awhile and then go off for fresh adventures?”

“It would depend. Always I look for somewhere where I can settle.”

Men often came looking for work, particularly at the end of the summer at Michaelmas. There was work in the fields, threshing, winnowing, salting down cattle which could not be fed during the winter. But there was something about this young man which was different from those who usually came.

I asked him if he had any experience of harvesting; he said No but that he was good with horses and he hoped there might be a place for him in the stables.

By this time Edward had appeared. He rode into the courtyard, an elegant man who seemed to have grown more slight and delicate-looking in the last days. I suppose I was comparing him with the Pennlyons.

“Edward,” I said, “this young man is looking for work.”

Edward was always courteous and, I believe, eager to do a good turn. He was popular with the work people although I imagined they despised him a little. They were not used to such gentle manners.

He asked the young man into the winter parlor and sent for a tankard of ale to refresh him. Not many prospective employers treated work people thus, but Edward was something of a visionary. He did not believe his fortune placed him above others; he knew that he was more learned, more cultured, more graciously mannered than the farm laborers, but if a man had good manners and some education he would not consider him beneath himself because he was, say, the son of a doctor or lawyer and Edward was the son of a lord. Honey had often said to me: “Edward is a good man.”

She was right.

I did not accompany them to the winter parlor naturally; I went back to my bedroom, where Jennet had returned to her task of putting my clothes away.

“Oh, Mistress Catharine,” she said, “do you think the master’ll find a place for him?”

“He does not seem to me to be fitted for hard labor in the fields and that is what will be looked for at this time of year.”

“He did look a real gentleman,” said Jennet, smoothing my fly cape. “They make handsome men in the North.”

“You are far too interested in men, Jennet,” I said severely.

“Oh, but they’m interesting folk, Mistress.”

“I should warn you. You know full well what can happen to girls who don’t take good care of themselves.”

“Oh, Mistress, you be thinking of the sailors. Them that’s here today and gone tomorrow. If this young Richard Rackell do come he’s here to stay, and what he does will have to be answered for.”

“Jennet, I have noticed that you are inclined to invite attention.”

“Oh, Mistress.” She flushed deeply and giggled.

I went on severely: “And if this young man should be fortunate enough to be given work here you would do well to wait until he shows interest in you before you betray yours in him.”

“’Tis but a boy, Mistress,” said Jennet, her eyes sparkling, and I was angry with her because I knew that she was comparing the young Richard Rackell with Captain Pennlyon.

It was typical of Edward that he should find a place for Richard Rackell in the household. He came into the solarium where Honey and I sat together, she embroidering, I idly watching her, and sat down with us.

He said: “I’ve put him into the stables. They need an extra groom, though how he will fit in I don’t know. He has not the appearance of a groom, but he certainly has a way of handling horses. In time we’ll find something else for him. My opinion is that he would make an excellent scribe, though I have no need of a scribe.”

Honey smiled at her husband over her needle; she was always tender and gentle with him; he, of course, adored her. She looked beautiful with her needle poised thus and a quiet, dreamy look of contentment on her face.

“Let him serve in the stables then,” said Honey. “And if something other should arise he will be there to take it.”

“A pleasant young man,” said Edward. “Of some education, I believe.”

“He speaks with a strange accent,” I added.

“That is because he comes from the North. Their speech is oft so different from our own that it can be difficult to understand it.”

“One can understand Richard well enough.”

“Oh, yes, but he is a young man not without education … not the sort who normally come knocking at the doors begging for work.”

“He is reticent, Jennet tells me. She has lost no time in making his acquaintance.”

Edward cleared his throat and said, “Thomas Elders will be visiting us at the end of the week.”

Honey paused slightly, her needle poised. I knew that remark had made her a little uneasy.

I wanted to tell them both that they had nothing to fear from me. I would not betray what I knew, which was that Thomas Elders was a priest who traveled from one Catholic household to another, that he came as a guest who was said to be an old friend of some member of the household; and that during his stay in the house he heard confession and celebrated Mass; and at the same time ran the risk of incurring the Queen’s displeasure for himself and for the members of that household he visited.

He had been once before. I had thought little of his coming then although I had quickly assessed the purpose of it.

Everyone was expecting a more tolerant attitude toward religion with the new reign and indeed it could not be more severe than the last, but that extreme tolerance had not yet come; the Queen had her reasons and so did her ministers. It was, to say the least, unwise to entertain priests in the household.

When I remembered the fierce attitude of the Pennlyons I was apprehensive.

I changed the subject by talking of the newcomer Richard Rackell.

“He has gracious manners indeed,” I said. “I knew someone from the North once who came to visit my father. He did not speak or act as this young man does.”

“People are never cut to a pattern,” said Honey comfortably.

Then she began to talk about their neighbors and, fearing that this might lead to the Pennlyons, I rose and left them together.

Every day Jake Pennlyon called. There was nothing subtle about him; he clearly came to see me.

He noticed Richard Rackell on one occasion; he said: “I’ve seen that fellow before. I remember. He came to Lyon Court looking for work.”

“And you had none for him.”

“I don’t like the look of the fellow. More like a girl than a boy.”

“Do you expect everyone to roar like a lion?”

“I reserve that privilege for myself.”

“Or,” I added, “bray like an ass.”

“Which I leave to others, but I would look for neither a lion nor an ass in a servant. Some tale he had about coming from the North.”

“Why should it be a tale? Edward believed him.”

“Edward would believe anything. He has a mistaken idea that everyone else follows his fine mode of behavior.”

“Perhaps it is more pleasant to believe the best than the worst of people before anything is proved against them.”

“Nonsense. It is better to be prepared for the worst.”

“As usual, I disagree with you.”

“Which delights me. I dread the day when we are in complete agreement.”

There was no doubt that he enjoyed our verbal battles. To my amazement, so did I.

When he was late calling one day I found myself at the window watching for him, hoping, I kept assuring myself, that he would not come; but I couldn’t help the twinge of excitement I felt when I saw his white horse in the stableyard and heard his loud voice shouting to the grooms.

We visited Lyon Court—that mansion which had been built by Sir Penn’s father. On either side of the porch were lions with ferocious expressions; and a lion’s face was molded over the porch. It was a younger house than Trewynd and its Gothic hall extended to the full height of the house; Lyon Court had its central block built around a courtyard and east and west wings; in these wings were the bedchambers and the living quarters. In the center block were the hall and the grand staircase leading to the gallery. It was impressive and rather ostentatious, what one would expect, I told myself, of such a family. The Pennlyons had not always been in possession of wealth and, therefore, that possession seemed something to boast of. It had been in Edward’s family for years and he had been brought up to accept it as a natural right.

Still, I could not help being caught up in the enthusiasm of both Sir Penn and Jake Pennlyon for their magnificent house. In the Long Gallery there was a portrait of the founder of their fortunes, Sir Penn’s father, who sat uneasily in his fine robes, and of Sir Penn, very sure of himself; his wife, a rather fragile-looking lady with a bewildered expression; and Jake Pennlyon, jaunty, arrogant, his brilliant blue eyes the most startling feature on the canvas as they were in the flesh.

The gardens were very fine. Sir Penn had numerable gardeners who were kept busy making his land the most outstanding in the neighborhood; the graveled paths were symmetrical; the flower beds immaculate, although less colorful than they would be in the heart of summer. There were still roses in the rose garden, though; and there was a herb garden which particularly interested Honey; I told Sir Penn that my grandmother was something of an authority on plants and herbs.

“There was a witch in the village,” I told him. “My grandmother befriended her and before she died she gave her several recipes.”

“Witches!” spat out Sir Penn. “I’d hang the Devil’s spawn.”

“Well, this was a good witch, I believe. She cured people.”

“My dear young lady, there be no such thing as a good witch. She’s damned and her purpose is to carry others to damnation. Any witch hereabouts and she’ll be strung up by her skinny neck, I promise you.”

“I’d not hold you to the promise,” I said, wondering why I found it impossible not to spar with these Pennlyons.

“Now don’t you start praising witches, me dear. There’s many a woman come to grief through taking sides.”

“The only safe way I see is to take the right side, which of course is yours,” I said.

But irony was lost on Sir Penn.

We were shown the statues which had been erected, the sundials and the fountains, the yew trees cut into fantastic shapes. Sir Penn was very proud of his garden.

It was during this visit that Jake invited us all on board the Rampant Lion. I wanted to refuse to go, but that was impossible when Honey and Edward accepted the invitation.

A few days after that visit I went for my afternoon ride and when I came back Jennet was waiting for me in the stables.

“Oh, Mistress Catharine,” she said. “Something terrible have happened. The mistress has taken a fall; she hurt her foot and wants you to go to her right away. I’m to bring you to her.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s on board the Rampant Lion.”

“Of course she is not.”

“But, Mistress, she is. She went for a visit.”

“And the master?”

“He couldn’t go like. He said, ‘You go alone, my dear,’ and the mistress went.”

“Alone on the Rampant Lion!”

“Well, the Captain had asked them and was expecting them. It was all sudden like.”

“But I was to go too.”

“Well, they did say they’d go without you, Mistress. And so … the master he were called away and the mistress went.”

I felt angry suddenly. What was Honey thinking of, to go alone to a ship where such a man was in command?

“Then she tripped and hurt her leg and the Captain’s sent a messenger and I’m to take you out there without delay.”

I wondered about Honey then. I had never really understood her. I often had a notion that she harbored secrets. Could it possibly be that this swaggering buccaneer of a man had attracted her in some way and had induced her to be unfaithful to Edward?

It could not be. But if she were alone on his ship, and she had sent for me because she wished me to pretend that I had gone with her…

That made sense.

I thought of Edward’s sensitive face and a great desire to protect him from any unpleasant truth swept over me. I said: “I’ll come at once, Jennet.”

She was very relieved; and we hurried down the drive and almost ran all the way to the Hoe, where a small boat was ready to take us out to the Rampant Lion. We bobbed about on the sea, and looking landward, I could see the turret of Trewynd, where I had often sat to watch the craft on the water.

Jake Pennlyon was standing on the deck, clearly waiting for us. I clung to the rope ladder and was lifted up in his arms.

He was laughing. “I knew you’d come,” he said.

One of his men lifted Jennet on board.

“You’d better take me to my sister,” I said.

“Come this way.” He held my arm as though to pilot me across the deck.

I said to him: “Why did she come here without Edward? I don’t understand it.”

“She wanted to see my ship.”

“She should have waited until we all came. We shall have to get her ashore. It won’t be easy if she’s hurt her foot. How bad is it? Oh, dear, I do hope no bones are broken.”

He led the way up a stairway and threw open a door.

“My cabin,” he said.

It was spacious, I suppose, as ship’s cabins go. There was a tapestry on what I was to learn to call the bulkhead. There was a bookcase with books and a shelf with instruments, and on a table a revolving globe on which was depicted the earth’s surface. On the wall was a brass astrolabe, a compass, hourglasses and a long cross staff which I also learned later was an arbalist.

I noticed these things vaguely while I looked around for Honey. When I saw that she was not there I felt twinges of alarm which were half excited anticipation.

“Where is my sister?” I demanded.

He laughed; he had shut the door and was leaning against it.

“In her garden perhaps. In her stillroom … occupying herself with those tasks which are the joy and duty of every housewife.”

“In her garden! But I was led to believe…”

He laughed. “Did I not tell you that you would come aboard my ship within the week?”

“But I understood my sister was here.”

“You did not really believe that, did you?”

“But…”

“Oh, come, you wanted to accept my invitation, did you not? And I wanted you to. So why should the means of bringing about this happy conclusion worry us?”

“I am not worried,” I said.

“You should be if you are really concerned with what you pretend to be.”

“I think you’ve gone mad.”

“My sanity is something I shall never allow to desert me.”

I said: “I wish to go.”

“But I wish you to stay. I am the Captain of this ship. Here everyone obeys my orders.”

“Those poor creatures who serve you may. They, poor souls, are at your mercy.”

“And you think you are not?”

“I have had enough of this folly.”

“And I could never have enough.” He came toward me and put his arms about me, pinioning mine so that I was caught in a firm grip.

“Captain Pennlyon, there is no doubt that you are mad. Do you realize that my family will never forgive this insult?”

He laughed. I noticed that his eyes were tilted slightly at the corners and that his eyebrows followed the upward tilt; this gave him an expression that was puckish and satanic at the same time. I tried to prize myself free.

“Let me go,” I cried and tried to kick his shins; but he held me in such a way that it was impossible for me to do so. I thought, he has held many women thus and I pictured his raiding far-off hamlets and villages and the manner in which he and his men would treat the women they captured.

“You can’t escape,” he mocked, “so it’s no use trying. You are at my mercy.”

“Well, what do you want of me?”

“Surely you know that.”

“If I am right in my assumption…”

“Which I am sure you are…”

“I will tell you that I consider your manners gross; I find you boorish, quite unlike—”

“The fancy gentlemen whom it has been your ill fortune to meet in the past. Well, now, my girl, you have met a man who finds you to his liking and in spite of his lack of manners you find him irresistible.”

Then he took his arms from about me and caught my head; he pulled it back and his mouth was on mine … warm, revolting, I told myself firmly. I tried to protest, but it was useless. I could not escape from this fierce embrace.

When he at last released me I was shaking—with fury, I again reminded myself.

I said: “How dare you behave in such a way … I have never…”

“Of course you have never been kissed like that before. But don’t fret. It will not be the last time.”

I was beginning to be alarmed. I was on his ship alone. I had been tricked. There were men on board, but they were his slaves.

He guessed my thoughts.

“Exciting, eh? You are at my mercy. You can’t get away unless it is my wish that you should.”

I could only repeat: “You would not dare to touch me.”

“Now that I know that your eagerness matches my own … but I, being honest, make no secret of my desires while you, being deceitful, hide yours, feigning reluctance.”

“I never heard such nonsense! You are a loathsome, ill-mannered pirate and I hate you.”

“You protest too strongly,” he said.

“You will be hanged for this. My family…”

“Oh, yes,” he said, “you are a girl of good family. This is a matter which we have taken into consideration.”

“Who has taken it into consideration?”

“My father and I, and for what purpose you must be aware.”

“I refuse to discuss this unpleasant subject.”

“It is a fascinating subject. My father said to me: ‘It’s time you married, Jake. We want more Pennlyons. That girl will be a good breeder. Time you took her to bed. But make it legal this time. I want grandchildren.’”

“I refuse to stay here to be insulted. You must look elsewhere for your good breeder.”

“Why should I when I’ve found her?”

“I believe it would be necessary to get her consent.”

“That will not be impossible.”

“Are you under the illusion that you are one of the gods come down from Olympus?”

“That may be an illusion others have about me. I know myself for a man who is clear as to what he wants and gets it.”

“Not always,” I reminded him. “Not if I am included in those desires.”

“There are ways. Do you want me to make this plain to you?”

His face was close to me and I felt my throat constrict. I wished my heart would not beat so loudly. It might betray my fear or whatever it was he aroused in me.

“You are revolting. If you do not let me go at once I can promise you that my family will bring you to the courts for this.”

“Oh, that good family,” he said. “Now, my fine lady, there is nothing insulting about an offer of marriage.”

“There is when it comes from you.”

“Don’t goad me too far, I have the devil of a temper.”

“And let me tell you that so have I.”

“I knew we were well matched. What boys we’ll have. Let’s begin … now. The marriage vows will come after.”

“I have told you you must look elsewhere for your breeder.”

“I have found her and I have sworn to God that you will bear my sons.”

I said: “Stand back and open that door.”

“On condition.”

“What condition?”

“That you give your word to marry me … without delay, and that you’ll be with child before I sail.”

“And if I won’t?”

“You give me no alternative.”

I was silent and with a rough gesture he threw me onto his bunk. I stared at him in horror as he deliberately removed his coat.

I got to my feet. He was laughing at me. “You should understand, my precious virgin … at least I suppose you are a virgin. You are. I can spot ’em. It is something in the eyes.”

“You insult me.”

“In truth I honor you. I choose only those who are worthy of my manhood.”

I said: “Do you really mean that if I don’t promise to marry you you will force me as though I am some … some…”

He nodded. “Some wench of no consequence. Though, mind you, there have been fine ladies on occasion. It is no use looking at me with those great disbelieving eyes. You know I am a man of my word. Did I not promise you that I would have you on my ship within the week? Now what’s it to be? I’ve told you already sailors have no time to waste.”

“Let me out of here. You tricked me. I only came because…”

“Because you wanted to.”

“It is the last thing I wanted.”

“Don’t you believe it. I know you better than you know yourself.”

“Jennet told me…”

“Now don’t blame the girl. She knew when she must do as she’s told.”

“Jennet!” I said. “Did she know that I was being tricked?”

“Tricked! My dear girl, I was giving you an excuse for coming here. I’m not noted for my patience.”

“I must get out of here,” I said.

“That is your answer.” Deliberately he put on his coat.

He opened the door; he led the way down a flight of stairs. Jennet was waiting there.

I went to her and said, “You lied, Jennet. You told me Mistress Ennis was here. You knew full well she was not.”

“Mistress Catharine, I … I…” She looked beyond me to Jake Pennlyon.

“You slut!” I said, and imagined the way he would look at her and lay his hands on her. No need to make her fine promises; she would be willing and eager. I knew Jennet and to my shame I had discovered that potent power in him.

Jake Pennlyon laughed, low and mocking.

“Row me ashore at once,” I said.

I was trembling as we descended the ladder. I did not look back.

As we were rowed back Jennet sat with her head lowered, her hands visibly trembling. As soon as I was helped ashore I walked ahead of her back to Trewynd.

When I was in my room I was so angry that I had to vent my wrath on someone. I sent for Jennet.

She came trembling.

I had always before been rather mild with servants; Honey was far more haughty with them than I ever was; but I could not get out of my mind the thought of that man’s mocking eyes and I wanted to hurt somebody; and this girl who was supposed to be my faithful maid had betrayed me.

I turned on her and cried, “Now then, girl. You had better give an account of yourself.”

Jennet began to cry.

I took her by the shoulders and shook her. Then she stammered: “I meant no harm, Mistress. The gentleman he asked me … he talked to me like…”

“Like,” I mimicked. “Like what?”

“Well, he talked kind like and said I looked a good maiden…”

“And he kissed you and fondled you as no man should a virgin girl.”

I saw by the quick color which flooded her face that this was so; and I slapped her. It was not poor Jennet’s face I was slapping: it was his. I hated him so much, because he had tricked me, because he had tried to treat me in the same way as he had Jennet.

“You lied to me. You told me Mistress Ennis was on the Rampant Lion. You are supposed to be my servant and you forget that because this libertine kissed you.”

Jennet sank to the floor, covered her face with her hand and burst into loud blubbering sobs. A voice from the door said: “Catharine, what has happened to you?”

Honey was standing there, serene and beautiful.

I said nothing and she came into the room and looked down at the weeping Jennet.

“Why, Catharine, you used to be so good to the servants.”

Those words spoken in that manner reminded me so much of my mother that the madness of my fury passed away suddenly and I felt very ashamed of myself, of the ease with which I had been tricked and my uncontrollable anger against poor silly little Jennet.

I said to Jennet: “You can go now.”

She hastily got up and fled.

“What was all that about?” asked Honey in a bewildered voice.

“It’s that man. The Pennlyon man.” I told her what had happened.

Honey laughed. “You should have known I wouldn’t have gone to the ship alone. How could you have been so stupid as to think I would?”

“I was surprised.”

“Yet you believed it! Do you think he has such a fatal fascination for all women?”

“Jennet found him irresistible.”

“Jennet is a lusting virgin. She’ll be the victim of the first philanderer who crosses her path.”

“You think she has already been his victim?”

“That would not surprise me. But you have a high opinion of his irresistibility if you think I would have gone visiting him alone.”

“I’m sorry. It was foolish of me. I’ve no one but myself to blame.”

“Well, at least you escaped unscathed. It will teach you to be wary of him in future.”

“I shall never see him again if I can help it. As for Jennet she sickens me. I shall have one of the others for my maid. Perhaps she could go into the kitchen.”

“As you will. Take Luce. She is a girl who will cause you no anxieties and offer little provocation to any man.”

“I have not told you,” I said, “how I escaped.”

“Well?”

“He said either I gave him my promise to marry him or he would take me there and then.”

“What company you get into,” mocked Honey.

“In your house,” I reminded her.

“Ah, but he was already an acquaintance of yours before he came here.” She must have noticed how perturbed I was because she went on soothingly: “Whatever has happened to you! He can’t force you to marry him and he wouldn’t dare harm you—a neighbor’s daughter and a member of our family. Why, the courts would hang him. That was just bravado.”

“I’ve heard this called Pennlyon country.”

“Don’t believe all you hear. Edward has some power in this land, you know. Our estates are bigger than those of the Pennlyons and we’ve been here longer. Who are they but upstarts from across the Tamar?”

“You are comforting, Honey.”

“I’m glad. Now let me tell you my news. I am going to have a child.”

“Honey!” I went to her and kissed her. “That’s wonderful! And you’re happy. I can see you are. You’ve changed. You’ve got that maternal serenity. Mother will be delighted. She’ll want you to go back to her for the birth. Yes, you must. She and Grandmother will coo over you. They won’t trust anyone to look after you. And is Edward pleased?”

“Edward is delighted and I don’t intend to disappoint him this time.” She was referring to the miscarriage she had had in the first year of her marriage.

“We must take the utmost care,” I said; and I forgot the unpleasant incident on the ship in my excitement about the baby.

I was not allowed to forget for long.

That day Thomas Elders rode over. When he came he stayed the night, heard Mass in the chapel the following day and then probably stayed another night before going off to the next Catholic household.

He did not come as a priest but as a friend of Edward’s; he supped with us and conversation at the table was never of religious matters. The next day Mass was celebrated and those trusted servants who wished to attend did so. The others were quite unaware of what was going on. The chapel was always kept locked so that the fact that it should be so during the hearing of Mass raised no comment.

I, of course, did not attend, although I was aware of what was going on, and remembering the past so well and the anxieties my mother had suffered, I was always uneasy when Thomas Elders was in the house.

I went out riding in the morning. The excitement of Honey’s news had subsided and I kept thinking of those shameful moments in the Captain’s cabin on the Rampant Lion. I returned from my ride and took Marigold to the stables. The new young man, Richard Rackell, took her from me.

I said: “I think she’s losing a shoe, Richard.”

He nodded. He had deeply set, expressive eyes and was quite handsome. He bowed and the gesture would have graced a Court.

I asked: “Are you getting along well?”

He replied that he thought he was giving satisfaction.

“I know it is not the kind of work to which you are accustomed.”

“I become accustomed, Mistress,” he replied.

He interested me. There was something rather mysterious about him. I remember that Jake Pennlyon had been suspicious that he came from the North. Then I forgot Richard Rackell for my angry thoughts were back with that man who never seemed to be out of my mind for very long.

My way to the house led around by the chapel. Mass would either be in progress or over by now.

My heart leaped in sudden terror, for the small door which led to the leper’s squint opened suddenly and Jake Pennlyon emerged. I immediately thought: Through the leper’s squint one can look into the chapel!

There was a fierce glint in his eyes the second or so before they alighted on me. Then they were bright with that intense blue fire.

“Well met, Mistress,” he said, and came toward me. He would have embraced me, but I stepped hurriedly back and he allowed me to do so while implying that he was respecting my objections and could comfortably have ignored them.

“What are you doing here?”

“What should I be doing but calling on my betrothed?”

“And who is this … Jennet, the maid, who I believe has caught your fancy?”

“A serving wench, be she maid or harlot, could not be my betrothed. She whom I have chosen to honor now stands before me.”

“She whom you attempted to dishonor, you mean.” I turned away, but he was beside me.

He gripped my arm so that it hurt.

“Know this,” he said. “My father is now at the house. I came to look for you. He is planning the celebrations for our betrothal. I had of course acquainted him with your acceptance of my proposal. He wishes to make it a grand occasion. He has invited half the neighborhood.”

“Then,” I cried, “he will have to cancel the invitations.”

“On what grounds?”

“That there is no betrothal. How could there be without the consent of the intended bride?”

“But that has already been given.” He looked at me in mock reproach. “You have so soon forgotten visiting me in my cabin. Surely you would not have come there if there had not been an understanding between us?”

“You tricked me.”

“You are not going to tell me again that you did not come with the utmost willingness?” He had raised his eyebrows in mock seriousness.

I cried: “I hate you!”

“Well, that is a good start,” he said.

I tried to release my arm, but he would not let me go.

“What do you propose to do?” he asked.

“Go and tell your father that he should cancel his invitations without delay.”

“He’ll not do that.”

“Then you must find another bride.”

“I have found the one I want. She is here now.”

I looked around. “I do not see her.”

“Why feign reluctance when you are eager? There is no need to. Let us have done with such insincerities. Let us be truthful to each other.” He drew me close to him and held me so tightly that I felt my bones would break. My rage overcame all other feelings.

I kicked him; but he laughed. He held me just to show how puny were my efforts to escape.

I attempted with words what I could not do with physical strength.

“Your buccaneering methods may be effective on the high seas. They will avail you nothing in a gentleman’s household.”

“Wrong again, my wildcat. They will bring me what I want and at the moment I want you. I’d have had you ere this, but it must be legal this time. Our son will be born in wedlock. Not that I’ll brook delay. But we’ll wed first and bed after.”

“Even your wife would have to make her vows of her own volition, I suppose. How will you achieve that?”

“There are ways,” he said.

“You have chosen unwisely if you expect obedience from me.”

“I have chosen as I must and I shall have your obedience. I shall tame my wildcat so that she will purr for my caresses.”

“Your metaphors are clumsy, like everything else you do.”

“Listen to me,” he said. “You will come and meet my father. You will smile and tell him you are pleased to have been honored by us.”

“You joke.”

“I am serious. You have given me your promise and, by God, you will keep it.”

“You will make me do that?”

“I will. Do not be foolish, Mistress Catharine. It could go ill with you if I were to tell what I have this day seen through the leper’s squint.”

I turned pale and the triumph leaped into his eyes.

“I have long suspected,” he said. “I would not answer for what should happen if my father knew,”

“Even though his future daughter-in-law were involved?”

“You’re not a Papist. I know that well enough. If you were I’d beat the Popery out of you.”

“What a nice kind husband you will be.”

“So you have accepted that I shall be your husband.”

“You don’t let me finish. I was going to say … to the poor simpleton who is misguided enough to marry you.”

“That will be no simpleton. It will be a wise woman. Catharine, no less, for no one else will do. I have sworn to have her and I do not swear in vain.”

“And if I refuse?”

“How can you bring disaster to this house?”

“You would not be so cruel.”

“I would be anything to get what I want.”

“I hate you as I never thought it possible to hate anyone.”

“While your eyes flash for me I’m happy enough. I will wait a week or so … no more. So come with me now. You will meet my father. You will smile and behave as though this match between us is a delight to you.”

“How could I be so false?”

“Either be false or the betrayer of this household.”

“Does that mean that you would harm them?”

“I mean every word of it.”

“First attempted rape. Then blackmail.”

“That is just a beginning,” he said with a laugh.

I was beaten. I knew it. How foolish they were to have the priest here. Why hadn’t they thought of the leper’s squint? They locked the door to the chapel and forgot the one which led to the room in which those who looked through the squint assembled.

As I walked across the lawn with him beside me I was thinking: The betrothal then … and no more. I shall think of a way out. I will go back to my mother. Honey will have to help me. After all, she and Edward have brought me to this.

Sir Penn was sprawling in the big chair with the carved wooden back. He chuckled when I entered the hall with Jake. Honey and Edward were not there. I wondered whether they were still in the chapel.

Sir Penn hoisted himself out of the chair and came toward me; he put his arms about me and kissed me hard on the mouth. I felt bruised where his lips had touched me.

“Well,” he said, “my son never was one to waste time. You’re getting a bargain there, my girl. I can vouch for him.”

He thrust his elbow into Jake’s ribs and Jake laughed.

“No need to tell her that, Father,” he said. “She’s no foolish virgin.”

They laughed together, obscenely, I thought. Jake put his arm over my shoulder; I felt his fingers pressing my flesh.

“We’ll have the wedding shortly following the betrothal. There’s no sense in waiting. We want you to give us a little Pennlyon without delay.”

I wanted to cry out: I shall never marry this man. I’d rather burn at the stake.

But it was precisely because I feared what would happen to us all since this ruthless man knew what had taken place in the chapel this morning that I was allowing them to assume that I had accepted Jake Pennlyon’s proposal.

Honey appeared then—without her usual serenity. Her face was flushed, her manner uncertain. One of the servants must have told her that the Pennlyons were here and she would be thinking of the necessity to guard Thomas Elders from such men as these.

“Good day and welcome,” she said. “So Catharine is here. I have just heard that you had arrived. You will take some wine?” She went to the bell rope.

Edward came in and greeted the visitors.

“A happy occasion,” shouted Sir Penn. “These young people… Well, I have lost no time. There’s never time to waste. We’re celebrating the betrothal at Lyon Court and then we’ll follow with the wedding. They’re impatient, these two, and I can’t say I blame them. I don’t blame them at all.”

Honey was looking at me fixedly. She was waiting for me to protest.

I opened my mouth to say it was all a mistake and that I had no intention of marrying when I caught Jake’s eye—mocking, warning, cruelly relentless. I thought: He would betray them. He would have no compunction. He is without mercy.

Then I remembered my mother’s telling me as she had on one occasion of how the father she adored had been a prisoner in the Tower and how one day he had been taken to the block and his head placed on London Bridge. I knew that never could she escape from the memory of that time; it had shadowed all her happiness. I had lost Carey and I believed I could never be completely happy again; and if I should be the one to betray Honey how could I face my mother or forgive myself?

A sudden exhilaration came to me. I would outwit this man who had so shortly come into my life and dominated it. I would let him believe that he had won, but he never should. At the moment I must agree to this betrothal because to fail to do so would endanger Honey and Edward. His victory should be only a brief one. If Jake Pennlyon thought I had so easily succumbed he was going to find his mistake.

He took my hand and held it tightly. His grip was a warning in itself. I could break your fingers if I wished; and I will as easily break your spirit.

“Why, Catharine,” said Honey, “may I indeed congratulate the pair of you?”

“This is a time for congratulations,” said Jake. “We want a speedy wedding.”

Honey put her fragrant cheek against mine, her eye inquiring.

“So you have decided, Catharine?” she said. “Why, it is but a short time that you were declaring you would never marry.”

“My son has that in him to break down the resistance of the most retiring damsel.”

“It seems so.”

The wine and cakes were brought in.

Edward poured the wine and gave the toast.

“To the betrothed pair.”

Jake took his glass and drank, then offered it to me. I stared for a moment at his full sensual lips and turned my head slightly. He was thrusting the glass into my hands and I drank.

It was as though I had sealed my promise.

They began to talk about the betrothal, which was to be celebrated at Lyon Court. The wedding would take place here.

“It should be at my mother’s house,” I protested.

“What, on the other side of the country,” cried Jake. “Sailors have no time for such fancies. Your mother must needs come to Devon if she wishes to dance at your wedding.”

“I shall make my plans,” I said.

And I saw the smile turn up Jake Pennlyon’s lips.

I listened vaguely to the conversation. Sir Penn was asking questions about my father’s estate. Edward was answering them as best he could. There should be a good dowry, Sir Penn was saying, but even if there was not there would be no bar to the marriage. “Bar my son when he’s made up his mind! That’s something I could not do an’ I wished it. Nor should I wish it. My son is the image of his father and I’d have that so too. He sees a filly and he’s got to ride her and I know he’s in no mood to wait for his bride.” He leaned toward me. “He’s eager. You’ll find he’s no laggard. That’s the way to ensure sons. You’re not one of these poor swooning females as will faint at the sight of a man. Not you. I saw it from the first. You’re the sort who’ll breed sons with spirit, for you’ve got spirit yourself; and you’ll be as mad for him as he is for you and that’s the way to get sons … get ’em early and get ’em in plenty. Pennlyon boys.”

I hated the man as much as I hated his son. Their frank and racy conversation brought images to my mind. I was a virgin, but I knew something of the relationships of the sexes. Once I had come upon two of the servants copulating in a field. I had listened to talk. So the images came and went … myself and that man, with his lustful, mocking eyes. And when I was in his presence these images were always ready to intrude and disturb.

I scarcely listened to the conversation. It was about the wedding and first of all the betrothal celebration. Honey was bewildered and I was not surprised because it was such a short time ago that I had expressed my dislike of the man. Edward never betrayed his feelings; as far as he was concerned no one would have guessed that there was anything unusual about this betrothal.

It was to take place the following week; and the wedding should be four weeks later. “That will give Jake time to do his courting.” The old man’s chuckle was horrible. He meant of course forestall our marriage vows. “And as soon as we get them into legal bed the better. Jake will be sailing just two months after the day. But it’ll not be a long voyage this time. Jake wouldn’t have that when he’d a wife keeping his bed warm for him.”

I felt sickened. I wanted to shout out: I will never agree. I am pretending. I have no intention of marrying this man.

But I kept silent because whenever I was about to speak I thought of Honey and Edward taken off to some miserable cell and my mother’s heartbroken eyes. She had suffered too much already.

In any case, I was deceiving them. I was letting this arrogant man think he had subdued me. Nothing would induce me to share his bed as his father was fond of putting it, to bear his child, which seemed to be the main idea in the minds of both of them.

It seemed a long time before they left. I was embraced by both father and son. I hated the way they thrust their bodies close to mine.

We stood in the courtyard while they rode away.

When they had gone Honey turned to me.

“What happened to make you change your mind so suddenly?”

“We can’t talk here,” I said.

We went into the punch room. I said: “Not here.” The punch room was approached from the dining room and there was no door to it, only a curtain over the archway.

I said: “Let us go into the chapel. Let us lock the chapel door and that which leads into the leper’s squint.”

The chapel was as normal. There was no sign that Mass had been recently celebrated.

I went to the leper’s squint and peered through into the little room beyond.

“The doors are locked,” I said. “What a pity you didn’t lock them both before Thomas Elders officiated.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Honey.

“Jake Pennlyon was in there.” I pointed to the squint. “I met him coming out. He told me that unless I agreed to marry him he would make it known that Thomas Elders was here and for what purpose.”

“My God!” said Edward suddenly.

Honey laid her hand on his arm. “What would happen to us, Edward?”

His fingers closed over hers protectively. How different he was from Jake Pennlyon! Must I compare every man with that one! He was gentle, protective, loving, tender.

“I don’t know,” said Edward. “It could be most unsafe.”

“So you promised, to save us.”

“I suppose so.”

“Catharine!”

“Don’t imagine I am going to marry him. I’ll fight him.” Again that wild exhilaration. I enjoyed fighting him. I wanted to defeat him, to laugh at him, to mock him. I had never dreamed it was possible to feel so strongly about one person. I had about Carey, of course, but that was the intensity of love—this was hatred. “I had to pretend then or he would have betrayed you. He is a wicked man. I loathe him and his father.”

“But, Catharine, there is to be this betrothal.”

“I shall make no vows. I shall fight them.”

Honey was looking at me strangely. Then she turned to Edward and clung to him.

He said: “Don’t fear, my love. They can prove nothing. We must be careful in future. I must warn Thomas. If young Pennlyon knows he may well set traps for him.”

I thought of my father then, who had brought so much unhappiness to our household because of what he had done to help a friend. Edward would be like that. He was such another as my father … born for martyrdom, which was a terrible thing to be born for in our times.

I went to my room and it was not long before Honey was there.

“Oh, Catharine, what have we all brought upon ourselves?”

She looked frail and frightened; her hand lay gently on her stomach as though she were protecting the child which was growing there.

I felt protective toward her and I said: “Don’t fret. I’ll outwit this arrogant Pennlyon.”

Her mood changed suddenly.

“Why, Catharine,” she said, “I have not seen you so animated since…”

She did not finish; and I knew she meant since I had learned that Carey was lost to me.

She was right. I had not felt so alive since then.

The next day the Pennlyons went away for a few days in connection with stores for the coming voyages. Jake Pennlyon rode over to Trewynd before they left. I saw him coming and went to Honey and made her promise not to leave me alone with him.

We received him in the hall. He embraced me in that manner which made me want to throw him from me and which made him laugh as he sensed my resistance. I think he liked it; my submission, of which he was absolutely sure, would be the more rewarding if he had to force it. He was a hunter and women to him were prey.

Honey sent for wine and we went to the punch room—the three of us together.

“I have bad news for you,” said Jake Pennlyon. “I have to leave you.”

I smiled and he went on: “Don’t despair. ’Tis but for a few days and I’ll be back. Then we’ll make up for our separation.”

“I would not wish you to cut short your business,” I said.

“I never waste time. Rest assured I’ll complete with all speed what has to be done and come back to you. I should like to walk in the gardens with you. There are matters we must discuss.”

“I will accompany you,” said Honey demurely.

“Madam, we would not disturb you.”

“’T would be a pleasure,” said Honey.

His eyes glinted. “We ask no chaperone.”

“Nevertheless, propriety does.”

“We don’t have such ceremonies here,” said Jake Pennlyon. “We’re plain country folk.”

“My sister must behave in the manner expected by her family,” said Honey.

I smiled at her. Dear Honey, she was so grateful to me for protecting her and Edward from the malice of these Pennlyons.

I said: “We will walk in the gardens and keep in sight of the windows.”

I was surprised at myself. But I did want to do battle with him—though from a safe place it was true. Nevertheless, I couldn’t resist the desire to tell him how much I disliked him.

His eyes lighted up. I wondered how much he understood of me.

As we went out together he said: “So we have escaped the dragon.”

“Honey is no dragon. She is merely observing the laws of propriety.”

“Laws of nonsense!” he said. “You and I are as good as married. ’Tis not as though I’d tumble you in the grass, get you with child and leave you.”

“In accordance I suppose with your usual practice.”

“’Tis a well-worn practice. But curb your jealousy. When I have you I’ll be content.”

“I doubt that.”

“The contentment?”

“I was thinking of the other.”

“Not trying to evade your responsibilities, I trust. It would go ill with you and yours if you did.”

“You are a cruel, ruthless man. You are a blackmailer, a rapist, you are all that good and honest men … and women … despise.”

“You are wrong. The men seek to emulate me; as for the women there are dozens of them who’d give ten years of their lives to be in your place.”

I laughed at him. “A braggart too.”

“You please me,” he said.

“I’m sorry for that.”

“Yes,” he went on, “you please me as I please you.”

“Your powers of perception are nonexistent. I hate you.”

“The kind of hate you have for me is very close to love.”

“You have a great deal to learn of me.”

“And a lifetime to do it in.”

“Do not be too sure of that.”

“What, trying to evade your vows!”

“Vows … what vows? You threaten rape; you blackmail. Then you talk of vows.”

He stopped short and pulled me around to face him. I was aware of Honey at the window and felt safe.

“Look me straight in the eyes,” he said.

“I can think of pleasanter sights.”

He gripped my arm in a manner which made me gasp.

“Please, will you remember that I am unaccustomed to physical violence? You will bruise my arm. You did so when you last gripped it.”

“So I left my mark on you. That is well. Look at me.”

I gazed up haughtily into those fierce blue eyes.

“Tell me now that you are indifferent to me.”

I hesitated and he laughed triumphantly.

I said quickly: “I suppose when one despises another person as I do you that could scarcely be called indifference.”

“So you despise me? You are sure of that?”

“Absolutely sure.”

“Yet you enjoy despising me. Answer truthfully. Your heart beats faster when you see me; your eyes have a sparkle. You can’t deceive me. I will have much to teach you, my wildcat. You will find me a very good tutor.”

“As no doubt many have before.”

“You should not be jealous of them. I would give up them all for you.”

“Pray do not deny yourself. Go where you will. Continue to tutor others. All I ask is that you leave me to myself.”

“Leave the mother of my sons?”

“They have yet to be conceived.”

“A matter which causes me great impatience. Let us escape the dragon … now.”

“I see what you mean by your tutelage. You have forgotten that I am not some tavern wench or serving girl. You would have to behave very differently if you wished to impress a lady of breeding.”

“I have not of course mixed in such circles as you. You might instruct me in the manners you expect and, who knows, I might try to please you … if you pleased me.”

“I shall return to the house now,” I said. “I have walked far enough.”

“What if I decided to carry you off with me?”

“My sister is watching us. Her husband would immediately come to my rescue.”

“Why should I fear them?”

“If you wish to marry me you could not create a situation which would be so ignominious that they could not ignore it. They would decide that you were an unsuitable husband.”

“In the circumstances…”

“In any circumstances,” I replied. “In a family like ours, the indiscretion at which you hint, if it came to pass, would mean that whatever the consequences we would avenge it.”

“You’ve a sharp tongue. Marry! Methinks you could become a shrew.”

“And a tiresome encumbrance as a wife.”

“To some men, yes. For me, no. I’ll force the venom from your tongue and make it drip with honey.”

“I had no idea you could turn such phrases.”

“You have yet to discover my talents.”

“I have had enough of them this day and will return to the house.”

He gripped my fingers.

“If you and I should marry you will have to learn to handle me more gently. You all but break my fingers.”

“When we marry,” he said, “I will treat you as you merit. And that is a matter for the very near future.”

I had wrenched my hand away and started to walk toward the house.

The Pennlyons left that afternoon. “How peaceful it is,” I said to Honey, “knowing that they are not so close.”

“What shall you do, Catharine?” she asked anxiously. “You could return home. We could say that your mother was ill. While they are away is the time to go.”

“Yes,” I said, “that’s the time.”

Then I thought: If I went he would come after me. Or worse still he would betray Thomas Elders. I pictured all those who had entertained the priest being brought before a tribunal.

Edward had many rich lands; very often those who had estates to be confiscated were the ones who suffered most.

I mentioned this to Honey and she grew pale. She knew it was true.

“I’ll not run away,” I said. “I’ll stay. I’ll find some way. I swear I will. Don’t worry. It’s bad for the child.”

I knew in my heart that I was enjoying my battles with Jake Pennlyon. It gave me a kind of inverted pleasure and although there were moments when I was afraid it was the sort of fear a child experiences, a fear of goblins and witches in the woods, terrifying but irresistible.

I would stay, I said.

Three days after the Pennlyons had gone I was at my window looking out on the Hoe when immediately below in the courtyard I saw Jennet; she was walking stealthily toward the stables and there was something concealed under her apron.

Luce looked after me now—poor ill-favored Luce whose left shoulder was higher than the right and who was more than ordinarily pockmarked. I missed Jennet in a way. Luce worked well and was devoted to me; Jennet had betrayed me and so started the whole affair with Jake Pennlyon, though I supposed he would have found some other way of starting it if that had not happened. But Jennet with her fresh young face and her soft sensual lips and thick untidy hair had interested me more. I wondered how far Jake Pennlyon had gone with Jennet. He would not be one to waste time courting a servant girl, I was sure.

And what was she doing now going down to the stables? Meeting some groom? I wanted to find out, so I slipped out of the house and went out by the small door into the courtyard.

As I approached the stables I heard voices. Jennet’s rather shrill one and others in a lowered tone.

I opened the door and there they were seated on the straw. Jennet had spread a cloth and on it were pieces of lamb and mutton with half a pie. With her were Richard Rackell and a stranger.

Jennet jumped to her feet with a cry of dismay. Richard stood up and so did the other, a dark-haired man whom I guessed to be thirty or more years of age. The men bowed; Jennet stared wide-eyed and fearful.

“What is this?” I asked.

“Mistress,” began Jennet.

But Richard said: “A peddler has called with his wares, Mistress. He has traveled far and is in sore need of food. Jennet brought him something to eat from the kitchens.”

“A peddler?” I said. “Why does he come to the stables?”

“He was on his way to the house and so weary that I said he should rest here awhile before taking his wares to the house.”

There was something dignified about Richard, interesting too. Moreover, the advent of a peddler was always exciting, more particularly here than at the Abbey. There we were not far from London and could take barge to the Chepe and buy from the mercers and lacemakers and merchants.

The peddler had come forward and bowed to me.

“His name is John, Mistress,” said Richard. “He craves your indulgence.”

The man bowed again.

“Can he not speak for himself?”

“I can, Mistress,” said John; and his voice reminded me of Richard’s.

“You have traveled far?”

“From the North,” he said.

“You should have gone to the kitchens. There they would have fed you. There was no need for the maid to steal food and bring it here.”

“’Tis not the fault of the maid,” said Richard gently. “’Twas I who sent her for food. Peddler John was footsore and sank into the straw to rest awhile.”

“Well, he can eat to his fill. And, Jennet, you may go and bring some ale for him to drink. He can come to the washhouse then, and there spread out his wares for us to see. Jennet, you may take him to the washhouse when he has eaten and I will tell Mistress Ennis that we have a peddler who wishes to show his wares.”

I found Honey and when I told her what had happened she was as eager as I to see what the peddler had brought. He spread out his pack. In it he had silks to make kerchiefs; he had trinkets and little boxes and combs. I saw a magnificent comb, to be placed in the hair and to stand so tall that it added three inches to the height.

I pounced on it and stuck it in my hair. Honey declared it was becoming.

I left her brooding over the peddler because I wanted to try the comb; and I thought of myself wearing it at the betrothal ceremony, which but a short while ago I was planning to escape.

I dressed myself in a russet velvet gown and I placed the comb in my hair and I liked it. I wanted to show it to Honey and was about to go to her, when it occurred to me that she might still be considering what the peddler had in his pack. I glanced out of the window and at that moment saw her with the peddler. He had rolled up his pack and they were talking earnestly. Then I saw her take him across the courtyard, through the door and into the house, not toward the kitchens but to that part where she and Edward had their apartments.

That was strange. When peddlers came they were not invited to that section of the house. They showed their wares and were refreshed and allowed to rest, while their mule or mules were fed and watered in the stables; after they had shown their goods to the mistress of the house they did the same for the servants. It was an occasion when the peddler called and an excitement to us all; but they were not entertained in the owner’s apartments.

I could only imagine that she had found something in his pack which she thought might please Edward, and was filled with curiosity to know what.

I went into the punch room, which I supposed was the most likely place to find them.

They were not there. I drew aside the curtain and mounted the stone stairs to the solarium. This was a large room with a curtain placed halfway which could be pulled to divide it. The curtains were pulled and I went through to the second room. There was no one there. Then I heard their voices and guessed where they were. At the end of the solarium was a door which opened into a small chamber and inside this chamber high in the wall was a peep—a star-shaped hole which was scarcely perceptible. Through this one could look down to the hall to see who was arriving.

The door of this chamber was now shut and as I walked toward it I heard the sound of voices.

They must be there.

“Honey,” I called. “Are you there?”

There was a short silence. Then Honey’s voice said: “Yes, yes, Catharine. We … we’re here.”

I opened the door. Edward and Honey were seated at a table and the peddler sat with them.

Honey said: “We were just about to look at the pack. I wanted Edward to see something.”

I said I would like to have another look at them. I bought some cambric to make a petticoat and Honey bought some needles and thread.

There was nothing of interest to Edward and I wondered why Honey had brought the peddler into the house.

Edward appeared to be rather tense and there was a pulse beating in his temple which I hadn’t noticed before.

Three nights after the day the peddler came I saw the galleon again. The Pennlyons were still away, but I expected them to be back at any time. I awoke as I had on that other occasion. It was three o’clock in the morning. I wondered what had awakened me. There was something going on. In my sleep I had been aware of unaccustomed sounds—or had I been half awake? The great harvest moon—almost full—shone into the room; I rose and went to the window: and there was the galleon in all its glory, its four masts clearly visible—the tallest and most majestic ship I had ever seen.

The Rampant Lion, dwarfed beside it, made me laugh. I wished that he could be here at this moment. How I should like him to see that other ship! But the idea of wishing that he could be with me for any reason whatsoever was so contrary to my wishes that I must laugh at myself.

Then I saw the boat on the moonlit waters; it was clearly making for the shore. I knew then that it contained someone from the galleon.

I could hear Jake Pennlyon’s voice: “By God’s Death, it would seem that you are describing a Spanish galleon.”

He hadn’t believed I had in fact seen what I claimed to. He had pooh-poohed the idea of a Spanish galleon daring to enter the harbor.

As I watched, the rowing boat disappeared as it had on that other night. I did not return to bed. I sat watching.

Half an hour passed. The galleon was still there. Then I heard movements below. I looked down and saw a light in the courtyard. Instinct told me that the movement below was in some way connected with the galleon. Something was happening and my curiosity needed to be satisfied. I wrapped a robe about me and putting on slippers, I descended the staircase and went down to the courtyard.

As the cool night airs enveloped me I heard voices—quietly whispering. I saw the lantern and there was Edward and with him a stranger. I slipped back into the house, my heart beating fast. I ran swiftly to the solarium chamber and looked down through the peep. Edward had come into the hall and with him was the stranger. I could see them only vaguely in the dim light. They were talking earnestly; then Edward led the stranger up the stairs to the punch room and I could see them no more.

I was bewildered, but I was sure that someone had come from the Spanish galleon to see Edward.

I went to my room. The galleon had started to move. I stood there watching as she slipped below the horizon.

I was possessed by a sudden fear. Edward, who seemed so gentle, was involved in some intrigue. That much was obvious. Where would it all lead us? So far his association with the visiting priest had brought me to a situation which was distasteful and would have been alarming if it had not been so ridiculous. At the same time it was not going to be easy to extricate myself from the Pennlyon web.

I went back to bed. Sleep was impossible. I had a glimmering of what this night’s visitation meant.

No, I told myself. Edward would not be such a fool. He is too gentle, too much a dreamer. But it was precisely men such as he who placed themselves in dangerous situations.

I spoke to Honey next morning.

“What happened last night?” I demanded.

She turned first red and then quite pale so I was aware that she knew something.

I went on: “I saw the Spanish galleon in the harbor.”

“A Spanish galleon! You were dreaming.”

“Not this time. I saw it and there was no mistaking it. And that was not all. Someone came ashore, someone who came to this house.”

“You were dreaming.”

“I was not. I saw a man come here. Honey, I am involved with your follies. Have I not placed myself in a desperate situation because of you? I won’t be in the dark.”

She looked at me steadily for some moments and said: “I will be back in a moment.”

She came back with Edward. He looked very grave, yet his lips were firmly set as though he were determined to continue with what he had begun.

“Honey has told me that you saw something last night. What exactly was it?”

“A Spanish galleon in the bay, a boat rowing ashore and your bringing a man into the house.”

“And you surmise that the man you saw was the one who came ashore?”

“I am certain of it. And I do wonder what is happening.”

“We can trust you, Catharine. I know what a good friend you have been to us both.”

“What are you doing, Edward? Who is the man who came here last night?”

“He is a priest.”

“Ah, I thought it. Have you not had enough of priests?”

“They are good men who are persecuted in God’s name, Catharine.”

“And bring persecution to others,” I murmured.

“We must all suffer for our faith if called upon to do so.”

“It serves no purpose these days to stand in the marketplace and declare that faith, particularly if it is against that favored by the Sovereign and her ministers.”

“You are right and you must know what is happening. Honey and I think that you should go back to the Abbey. We may be in some danger here.”

“There is danger everywhere. Tell me who the man was who came last night.”

“He is a Jesuit priest. He is English. He has been persecuted for his faith. He comes from Salamanca in Spain.”

“And he was brought here on the galleon?”

Edward nodded. “He will work here for the good of his faith. He will visit houses…”

“As Thomas Elders does,” I said.

“First he will stay here with us.”

“And so place us in jeopardy.”

“If God wills it.”

“Is he here now?”

“He left the house in the early hours of the morning before the servants were astir. He will arrive today in the midafternoon. I shall greet him as a friend and he will stay with us awhile until he makes his plans. He will be known as John Gregory, a friend of my youth. He will be a member of this household until he departs.”

“You are placing us all in dire danger.”

“It may well be, but if we are discreet we shall be safe enough. If you wish to return to the Abbey, Catharine, you should do so.”

“And what will the Pennlyons do then, think you? What if I flout them? If I go home while they plan a ceremonial betrothal feast do you think they will calmly accept this?”

“They must do what they will.”

“And Thomas Elders and your Jesuit and Honey and yourself?”

“We must look after ourselves. What happens here is none of your making.”

Honey was looking at me earnestly. “We will not let you marry Jake Pennlyon if you are so set against it.”

“If I am set against it! I hate the man. How could I be anything but set against it?”

“Then we must devise a plan and the best seems for you to leave here and, as Edward said, if they make trouble they must then make it.”

I did not answer. I had decided against going back to the Abbey. I was not going to let Jake Pennlyon think I had run away. I would stay and face him; I would outwit him in my own way.

Meanwhile, Edward and Honey were getting deeper into intrigue and I trembled for them.

That afternoon John Gregory arrived at the house. He was greeted as an old friend by Edward and was given the red bedroom with the big four-poster bed and a window which looked out over the country for miles.

He walked with a limp and there were scars on his left cheek and on his wrists. He was tall and stooped a little and had a certain haunted expression in his eyes which I could not forget.

He looked to me like a man who had suffered. A fanatic, I decided, who might well suffer again. Such people made me uncomfortable.

The servants appeared to accept the explanation of his visit. I watched them carefully to see if there was any suspicion, but I missed Jennet, who was such a chatterer and had often unconsciously let me into the secrets of the servants’ quarters. Luce was efficient but taciturn, and I thought then of reinstating Jennet. She was contrite. I was beginning to doubt my motives, though, and I was not sure whether the sight of her angered me because she had betrayed me or because I couldn’t stop thinking of Jake Pennlyon’s laying his lustful hands on her and wondering, of course, whether he had seduced her already.

I did, however, take her back with me the day after John Gregory came.

I lectured her a little. “You will serve me, Jennet,” I reminded her. “If you ever lie to me again I shall have you beaten.”

“Yes, Mistress,” she said demurely.

“And you should be warned not to listen to men’s tales. They will get you with child and then what will happen to you, do you think?”

She blushed scarlet and I said: “Remember it.” I could not bring myself to ask her for details of what had happened between her and Jake Pennlyon because I told myself it was undignified—and yet in a way I did wish to know.

A day passed. I knew that the return of the Pennlyons could not long be delayed. The period of respite was coming to an end.

The Pennlyons were back. One became aware of it at once. Even the servants seemed excited and the tension in Trewynd had increased. Since they had returned the presence of John Gregory in the house had become more dangerous.

It was not long before Jake came riding over. I was expecting him and was prepared. I had told Honey that on no account must she leave us alone together.

He sat in the hall drinking wine. Edward, Honey and myself watched him intently. He seemed bigger, more overbearing, more arrogant and sure of his ability to get what he wanted than I remembered even. I felt the surging hatred rising in me, bringing with it that wild excitement.

The betrothal ceremony was taking place in three days’ time, he announced.

“It’s too soon,” I said.

“Not soon enough,” he corrected me.

“I shall need to prepare.”

“You’ve had all the time I’ve been away to prepare. You’ll have no longer.”

So he was commanding me already.

“The wedding takes place two weeks later,” he said with authority. “And I shall sail a month after that.”

“Where will your voyage take you?” asked Edward politely.

“We’ll be taking a cargo of cloth out to Guinea and come back we hope with gold and ivory. It won’t be a long voyage if I can help it.” He gave me his lascivious grin. “I shall be missing my wife.”

Edward said he wished him fair weather; and they talked about the sea for a while. Jake’s eyes glowed; he talked of the sea with the same intensity that he had talked of our marriage. The sea fascinated him because it was often wild and unpredictable; he would often have to fight it with all the skill he possessed. He was a man who must fight. Always he had to subdue. Marriage with him would have to be an eternal battle, for as soon as he had won he would lose interest. But why should I contemplate marriage with him? That was for some other pitiable female. I was going to play as dangerous a game as he played on his voyages. Perhaps there was a similarity between us because I at last admitted to myself that I enjoyed the fight.

We all went out into the courtyard with him and as we did so John Gregory came out of a side door. There was nothing to do but make the introductions.

Jake Pennlyon’s eyes flicked over him.

“We’ve met before,” he said.

John Gregory looked puzzled. “I do not recall it, sir,” he answered.

Jake narrowed his eyes as though he were trying to look into something which he couldn’t quite make out.

“I’m sure of it,” he insisted. “I don’t easily forget faces.”

“Were you in the North at some time?” asked Edward.

“I never was,” said Jake. “I’ll remember. It escapes me for the moment.”

John Gregory was wrinkling his brow, smiling as though trying to recall, but I fancied that the scar on his cheek seemed to stand out more vividly.

“I was delighted to see my friend,” said Edward warmly. “He has decided to stay with us for a week or so.”

Jake was now looking at me, forgetting John Gregory.

He said: “We shall expect you early at Pennlyon. We can’t have the bride arriving late. It would appear that she was reluctant.”

He took my hand and kissed it. His lips seemed to burn my skin. I wiped it on my gown. He saw the gesture and it amused him.

Then he took his leave.

We went into the house and Edward asked John Gregory: “What did he mean about knowing you?”

“He is suspicious,” said Honey in a frightened voice.

“You have never met him before?” asked Edward.

John Gregory wrinkled his brows for a moment and then said very firmly: “No.”

I dressed myself for my betrothal banquet with the utmost pains. I wished to appear as beautiful as I could for, I assured myself, the sole purpose of making him more angry than ever when he realized he had lost me.

And after the betrothal? What should I do then? I could see no answer than but to go back to the Abbey and my mother. Would he follow me there? He had to leave on his voyage, so how could he come after me?

And Honey and Edward, would he betray them? Surely he would have to prove that Thomas Elders had been celebrating Mass in the chapel. But Elders would be taken and mayhap tortured and then who knew what would emerge? And this man John Gregory? He would have to go away before I left. Of course this was what I must do. I certainly could not ruin my whole life because of the trouble they had brought upon themselves.

For the moment there was the betrothal ball and banquet and I intended to amuse myself as much as I could with them.

Jennet helped me to dress. She was better at this than Luce had been. She brushed my hair until it shone and our reflections in the polished mirror were glowing. There was color in her cheeks and her mass of hair escaped from her cap; she was not exactly a handsome girl but a very desirable one, I could see that. There was something soft and yielding about her; she would be seduced sooner or later I was sure, and I thought it was time to get her married.

I said to her: “Do you like Richard Rackell, Jennet?”

She blushed—she blushed very easily—and lowered her eyes.

“You do,” I said. “There’s no need to be coy about it. If he had a fancy to you perhaps there could be a wedding. The master would mayhap give you one of the cottages and you could continue to work as you do now. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Why, yes, Mistress.”

“You should be married … soon. I am sure of that. You are somewhat wanton, Jennet, I believe.”

“Oh, no, Mistress. ’Tis just…”

“’Tis just that when they lay hands on you and tell you what a fine wench you are you’d find it difficult to say them nay.”

She giggled.

“You silly girl! And you’re pulling my hair.”

I wanted to say to her: What did Jake Pennlyon do when he had kissed you? Are you going to tell me that it ended with that? But I said no such thing.

She went on brushing my hair. Was she thinking of Jake or Richard Rackell?

I thought I would wear my hair piled high on my head and then I could crown it with the comb I had bought from the peddler.

“Frizzing be the fashion, Mistress, and I can frizz,” said Jennet.

“I follow my own fashions. I do not wish to look like every other fashionable woman, nor like any serving wench.”

Resigned, Jennet dressed my hair. I put on my red velvet gown cut low at the neck and the sleeves wide and flowing almost to the hem. Not the height of fashion true, but indeed becoming, and with the comb in my hair I looked regal. I should need all the dignity I could muster to ward off the attentions of my intended bridegroom, I thought grimly.

Jennet stared at me wide-eyed.

“Why, Mistress, you look beautiful … too beautiful to be real.”

“I’m real enough, Jennet,” I said with a laugh.

She lowered her eyes and giggled. I spoke sharply to her. She knew that I was still resentful of the fact that she had sided with Jake Pennlyon against me. There was something knowing about her look. I wondered afterward whether Jennet, born to give pleasure to men, understood something of the nature of my feelings for this one, for try as I might to feign indifference, I was excited by him, albeit in hatred.

Honey came in and I immediately felt insignificant. But then everyone must before Honey’s brilliance. She was dressed in blue—deep violet blue, the color of her eyes, which accentuated their brilliance. Since she had become pregnant her beauty had changed a little and lost nothing for it.

She wore her hair about her shoulders and there was a circle of pearls about it.

She pressed my hand and looked at me anxiously.

“I’m all right, Honey,” I said.

“You look quite magnificent.”

I glanced at myself in the burnished mirror. “Like one of the Valkyries going into battle?”

“Yes,” she said, “a little like that.”

We were to ride to Lyon Court in the carriage. Edward’s carriage was a source of wonder to everyone, for few people possessed such a vehicle. Most must rely on horses or their own feet. It was uncomfortable riding in the carriage, which was drawn by two horses. People in Devon had never seen carriages before, but in view of the fact that we were dressed for the ball the carriage was very convenient. Otherwise, we should have had to take one of the mules to carry our gowns and ridden over and changed there.

I whispered to Honey as we jolted along over the rough roads: “Watch over me tonight.”

“We will,” replied Honey fervently. “Edward and I.”

“I shall be in his house. That will give him an advantage and he’ll take it, you can be sure.”

“You’ll outwit him.”

“Indeed I shall and then, Honey, I think perhaps I shall have to go home.”

“Edward and I have been talking about it. We think it is best for you. John Gregory will be leaving us and we shall be safe. He can prove nothing. Edward has influence. We shall be all right. You cannot marry to save us.”

“Tonight though I shall play this game of pretense. He will think that he has won the battle. I will let him believe that, so that he may have the greater shock when he faces defeat.”

“You enjoy this, Catharine. What has come over you? You were once so different.”

“It is this man. He arouses such feeling in me that I hardly know myself.”

“Take care, Catharine.”

“I shall take the utmost care to prove to him how much I despise him and that he shall never govern me.”

The carriage trundled along. Edward drove the horses and Honey and I sat behind him. Soon we were in the drive which led to Lyon Court. Under the elms we went and there was the house, lanterns on the porch lighting up the lions—gray stone and impregnable-looking in the moonlight.

Servants hurried out. There were grooms to take our horses and marvel at the carriage.

We were taken into the hall where the Pennlyons—father and son—were waiting to greet us.

The hall, lit by a hundred or so candles flickering in their sconces, looked very fine. At one end a great log fire burned although we were in September and it was not chilly. The long table was laid for the banquet and so was the smaller one on a dais at one end of the hall. In the minstrels’ gallery fiddlers were playing.

I was taken in Sir Penn’s arms and held firmly against his great body; he kissed me loudly and laughed over my head in Jake’s direction as though he were teasing him. Jake then took me from him. I drew myself away, but it was useless. I was firmly held, pressed tightly against him and his lips on mine.

Sir Penn was laughing. “Come, Jake,” he said. “You’ll have time for that later.” He nudged Edward in the side and Edward smiled faintly. The manners of these two must have been extremely distasteful to him.

Jake put his arm about me and swung me around. “You’ll stand with me to greet the guests.”

People arrived from neighboring houses. They congratulated us. It was embarrassing in the extreme and I was glad when we sat at table, which was weighed down with the great pies and joints of meat. There was venison, wild fowl, tarts, marchpane fancies, sugar bread, gingerbread and every kind of food that one could think of.

Jake Pennlyon was watching me, hoping, I knew, that I should be impressed by the quantities of food with which the table was laden. It was as though he were tempting me. See how we live! Look at our fine house! You will have a part in this. You will be mistress of it—but you will always remember who is the master.

I looked beyond the table, for I would not let him know that I was impressed. His hand was on my thigh, burning, probing fingers. I lifted his hand and put it from me, but he then gripped mine and held it against him.

“Your grip is too rough,” I said. “I do not wish to be covered in bruises.”

“Did I not tell you that I would set my mark upon you?”

“You may have said so, but I should not wish it.”

“And I must grant your wishes, I suppose.”

“It is customary during wooing.”

“But we have passed the wooing stage. You are won.”

“Indeed I am not.”

“Why, my Cat, this is our wedding feast.”

“My mother calls me Cat and she alone. I would not wish anyone else to use that name for me.”

“I shall call you what I like and you are to me a cat. You scratch, but you will be ere long purring in my arms.”

“I would not count on that if I were you.”

“But you are not me. You are your maddening self.”

“I am glad I exasperate you, for that is just the effect you have on me.”

“It is a fillip to our passion.”

“I feel no passion.”

“You delude yourself. Come try this malmsey wine. It will put you in a mellow mood and see we have Venetian glasses. We can be as fine as our neighbors.”

“Gracious living cannot be found in a glass. It is good manners that count.”

“And you find me lacking in them?”

“Deplorably so.”

“I promise you shall find me lacking in naught else.”

There had been food and to spare in the Abbey, but it had never been served in this way. To these people food was to be reverenced. The usher who brought in the boar’s head was preceded by one who kissed the table before laying it down and the usher, then having set the dish on the table, bowed low before it. One scullion was cuffed about the ears for standing with his back toward it. And when the sucking pig was brought in the minstrels in the gallery played and one of the servants walked solemnly before it singing of its virtues.

We had started to eat at six and at nine of the clock we were still at table. A great deal of wine and ale had been drunk. Jake and his father had set an example to their guests and I had never seen so much food consumed.

I was amused and elated to see that the wine was having its effect on them and I guessed that they would be easier to handle in such condition than they would be completely sober.

The minstrels played most of the time and there was one with a pleasant voice who came down from the gallery and sang a love song standing before the table and addressing his words to me and to Jake Pennlyon.

While the guests were eating confections of sugared spices and marchpane Jake ordered that a dance should be played, and taking me by the hand, he led me into the center of the hall.

The others fell in behind us. Jake was not a good dancer, but he knew the steps and we circled, came back to each other and touched hands as we danced; and when the dance was over he drew me to a bench where we were a little apart from the company. He continued to grip my hand.

“This … is what I wanted from the moment I saw you.”

“Then your wish has been granted,” I said.

“The first wish. There are many to come. But they are on the way. We are as good as wed. You well know that this ceremony is binding. If you wished to marry anyone else you would have to get a dispensation from the church. You are bound to me.”

“It is not so. There has been no ceremony.”

“We are bound together. All you have to do now is accept your fate.”

“Why do you not take someone else? There are women here tonight who would mayhap be glad to take you. You are of means obviously. You would not be a bad catch for any who fancied you.”

“I have the one I fancy and who fancies me … why should I look beyond though she is perverse and feigns not to want me, that amused me … for a while? But I have had enough of it and I would have you show me your true feelings. I will take you around the house which will be your home. I will show you the rooms which will be at your disposal. Come now with me. We will slip away alone.”

“We should be missed.”

He laughed. “And if we were there would be smiles and understanding. We will have their indulgence. We are all but wed and the final ceremony will take place ere long. I want to take that comb from your hair. It has a Spanish look about it which I like not. Where did you get such a bauble?”

“A peddler brought it in his pack. I like it.”

“A peddler! Are they introducing plaguey Spanish fashions here now. We’ll not have that.”

“Know this. I shall wear what I wish.”

“Don’t tempt me or I shall take it from your hair here and now. That would shock your sister and her fine husband, I doubt not. But I’ll be discreet. Come! I will show you our marriage bed and you shall try it and tell me if it suits you. It will, Cat. I know it. Something told me from the start that you and I were made for each other.”

He attempted to pull me to my feet, but I said: “I wish to talk to you … seriously.”

“We have years for talking. Come with me now.”

I said firmly: “I don’t love you. I can never love you. I am here now because of your threats. Do you think that is the way to inspire love? You know nothing of love. Oh, I doubt not that you are a past master of lust, I’ll swear that many a pirate is. He ravages towns and the women in them; he forces submission, but that is not love. Don’t ever expect love from me.”

“Love,” he said, looking intently at me. “You talk fiercely of love. What do you know of it?”

I had difficulty in controlling my features then because I had a sudden vision of what I had dreamed life would be for me: Carey and I together. Our home would have been Remus Castle; I could see the park at Remus, the walled rose garden, the pond garden with its pleached alley, and beloved Carey, with whom I used to quarrel when I was a child—as I quarreled with this man now, only differently of course—Carey, whom love had made gentle and tender as this man could never be.

He had bent closer and was looking at me earnestly.

I said: “I have loved. I shall never love again.”

“So you are not the virgin I promised myself.”

“You sicken me. You know naught of love; you know only of lust. I have lain with no man, but I have loved and planned to marry, but it was not to be. My father and his mother had sinned together. And he was my brother.”

He studied me with narrowed eyes. Why had I attempted to talk to him of Carey? It had weakened me in some way, made me vulnerable. He had no pity for me; if he loved me, I thought, he would be tender now, he would be gentle with me. But he had no tender feelings for me; his need for me was nothing but desire, a determination to subdue.

He said: “I know much concerning you. It was necessary for me to discover what I could of my wife. Your father was a charlatan.”

“He was not that.”

“He was found in the crib at Bruno’s Abbey. The whole of England knew of it. It was said to be a miracle and then it was found that there was no miracle; he was the son of a wayward monk and a serving wench. Should I marry a charlatan’s daughter, the granddaughter of a serving girl?”

“Indeed you should not,” I retorted. “Such a refined cultured gentleman cannot be allowed to do such a thing.”

“But,” he went on, “this charlatan became a rich man; he was possessed of Abbey lands; your mother was of excellent family, so in the circumstances perhaps I might be lenient.”

“You surely would not wish a woman of such ancestors to become the mother of your sons?”

“Well, to confess, she hath a way with her which pleases me, and since I have gone so far as to become betrothed to her I’ll take her to my bed and if she pleases me I’ll keep her there.”

“She will never please you. Escape while there is time.”

“I have gone too far in this.”

“She would release you, I am certain.”

“The truth is that I am never going to release her and in a short time she will be mine so utterly that she will beg me never to leave her.”

“A pretty fiction,” I said. “I know it to be far from the truth.”

“Come with me now. Let us slip away. Let me show you what love is like.”

“You are the last from whom I could learn that. I shall stay in this company until we leave. And it must almost be time that we did so.”

“Tonight we will be together.”

“Tonight? How could that be?”

“Easily. I will arrange it.”

“Here?”

“I will ride back with you and you will open your window and I will climb through to you.”

“In my sister’s house!”

“Your sister is a woman. She will understand. But she need not know.”

“You still do not understand that I am not as eager for you as you appear to be for me. You know full well that I despise you.”

“Is that why your eyes sparkle at the sight of me?”

I stood up and went back to my seat at the table. He must perforce follow me.

Morris dancers had arrived. They had been engaged to entertain us and so they came into the hall in their Moorish costumes with bells attached to them and their capers were greatly applauded. They did a piece in which Robin Hood and Maid Marian figured and this was greatly appreciated. There was more singing and dancing, but at last the banquet and ball were over.

I rode back with Edward and Honey in their carriage, but Jake Pennlyon insisted on coming with us. He rode beside our carriage as he said he was not trusting his bride to the rough roads and any vagabond who might attempt to rob us.

I whispered to Honey: “He will try to come to my room. He has said as much.”

She whispered back: “When we get back to the house I will feign sickness and ask you to look after me.”

At Trewynd when we alighted from the carriage Honey put her hand to her head and groaned.

“I feel so ill,” she said. “Will you take me to my bed, Catharine?”

I said indeed I would and gave Jake Pennlyon a curt good-night. He kissed me on the lips—one of those kisses which I was beginning to hate and tried hard to avoid. I turned away and went with Honey to her room.

“He’ll go away now,” she said. But she did not know Jake Pennlyon.

I crept cautiously to my room. I did not open the door. I put my ear to the keyhole. I could hear the window squeaking slightly as it swung open. True to his threat, Jake Pennlyon had climbed the wall and come through it. I knew that if I went into that room I would find him there.

I pictured his leaping from behind and locking my door. I should be at his mercy and this time there would be no escape.

I turned and tiptoed back to Honey’s room and told her what I suspected.

“Stay with me tonight,” she said. “Edward will sleep in his own room. Catharine, tomorrow you must return to your mother. This man is dangerous.”

What a night that was. I could not sleep at all. I kept thinking of Jake Pennlyon in my room, ready to spring on me. I could hear his cry of exultation when he caught me as I entered the room; I could hear the key turn in the lock, I could feel his great powerful body crushing mine. It was so vivid in my imagination that I seemed to live it.

It was not until dawn that I slept and then I was late waking.

Honey came into the room. “If he was here he has gone now,” she said. “His horse is not in the stables.”

I went cautiously to my room. The sun was streaming in; it showed my bed—empty but tousled. He must have slept there.

Fury possessed me. He had dared sleep in my bed. I pictured him there, waiting for the bride who did not come.

When I stood gazing at my disturbed bed, I was overcome with a sense of powerlessness. I felt like a hunted animal with the baying of the dogs coming nearer, knowing that the relentless huntsman was bearing down on me.

So far I had escaped. I kept thinking how easily I could have stepped into that room last night to find myself trapped.

He was the sort of man who so far had always won. I knew that. But he should not do so this time. I knew that I must slip away and return to my home. But would that deter him? He must sail in six weeks’ time, but I might well be carrying his seed at that time. I felt that if I allowed him to subdue me I should despise myself forever; and in a way so would he. It must not happen. I must go on fighting.

I couldn’t remain in the house. I guessed he would shortly be riding over. I must make sure not to be alone with him.

I went down to the stables. Honey had seen me and followed me there.

Her brow was furrowed. “You are going riding … alone?” she asked.

“I have to do something quickly.”

“We should never have let it get to this.”

“He was in my room last night. He must have waited there for me to come back. He slept in my bed.”

“What … impudence!”

“Honey, what am I going to do?”

“Wait there,” she said. “I’ll ride with you. Then you won’t be alone. We’ll talk about it.”

I went back to the house with her while she put on her riding habit and we took our horses and rode out … in the opposite direction of Lyon Court.

I said: “I must go home.”

“I am sure you are right.”

“I’ll have to slip away secretly. Perhaps in a day or so.”

“I shall miss you sorely. Jake Pennlyon is determined, but at least he will marry you.”

I laughed. “Can you imagine marriage with such a man? He would try to reduce one to a slave.”

“I don’t think you are the stuff that slaves are made of.”

“Sometimes I feel I’d like to make him understand that.”

She looked at me oddly.

“Are you a little attracted by him, Catharine?” she asked.

“I loathe him so much that I get satisfaction in thwarting him.”

“I think his wife would not be a very happy woman. He would be an unfaithful, demanding husband. I have heard stories of his father. There is not a girl in the village who is safe from him.”

“I know that well. Such a man would never do for me.”

We had come to the crest of a hill and were looking down on the little village of Pennyhomick, a charming sight with the little houses cluttering around the church.

I said: “How peaceful it looks. Let us ride down.”

We walked our horses down the steep hill and as we came into the winding street with its gabled houses almost meeting over the cobbles I called to Honey to stop, for I had seen a man crouching in a doorway; and there was that about him which was a dire warning.

“Let us go back,” I said.

“Why so?” asked Honey.

“Look at that man. I’ll swear it’s plague.”

Honey needed no more than that. Swiftly she turned her horse. At the foot of the hill we saw a woman coming toward us; she carried panniers on her shoulders and had clearly been to a brook for water.

She shouted to us: “Keep off, good folks. The sweat has come to Pennyhomick.”

We rode up the hill as fast as we could, and only at the top turned to look back at the stricken village.

I shuddered. Before the night was out there would be bereaved households in that little hamlet. It was a sobering thought. And as we rode off the idea came to me. I realized then that I did not want to go home. I wanted the satisfaction of outwitting Jake Pennlyon and the stricken Pennyhomick had given me this idea.

I said: “Listen, Honey, if I go home he can take two courses of action. He can follow me and perhaps catch me. Or he may have his revenge on you. He is cruel and ruthless. You can be sure he would show no mercy. I’ll not run away. I’ll stay here and I’ll outwit him at the same time. I am going to have the sweating sickness.”

“Catharine!” Honey had turned pale.

“Not in truth, my dear sister. I shall pretend to have it. I shall stay in my chamber. You will attend me. We have been to Pennyhomick, remember. We are infected. You will nurse me and my illness will last as long as the Rampant Lion remains in the harbor.”

Honey had pulled up her horse and stared at me. “Why … Catharine … I think we could do it.”

I laughed. “Even he could not come where the sweat was. He dare not. He has to sail away with the Rampant Lion. He could not risk carrying the infection on board his vessel. I shall stay in my room attended only by you. From my window I shall watch what goes on. Oh, Honey, it’s a wonderful plan. He’ll have to sail away without submitting me to his hateful lust. I shall die of laughing.”

“It seems like tempting Providence.”

“I would never have thought the great-granddaughter of witches would be so lily-livered. You shall make me some concoction—a mixture of buttercup juice and cinnamon and a paste. I shall look ill and I’ll appear at the window. If he passes by he will quickly fall out of lust with me.”

“No one must know except Edward and the two of us.”

“Honey, I can’t wait to begin. I shall go straight to my room, complaining of a headache. I shall go to bed and send Jennet for a posset. Then you will come in and from then on I have the sweat and no one must come near me except my beloved sister, who was with me at the time I was in Pennyhomick and may therefore be another victim.”

We returned to the house. As one of the grooms took our horses I said: “I have such a lightheaded feeling and pains in my head. I shall go to my room.”

“I’ll send up a potion,” said Honey. “You go and get into bed.”

And that was the beginning.

The news traveled fast.

Ten people had died in Pennyhomick and the dread disease had crept into Trewynd Grange. The young mistress of the house was nursing her sister, with whom she, with great ill luck, had gone into Pennyhomick and they had brought the sweating sickness to the Grange.

Honey had ruled that no one was to penetrate the turret wing of the house to which I had moved, the better to isolate myself. Food was brought and placed in a room at the foot of the spiral stairway; Honey would descend and bring it to my room.

Edward did not come to us; for him to have done so might have betrayed us. We had to act as though I were in truth suffering from the sweating sickness and was being nursed by my sister, who might also be affected.

The first day I found exciting because it was not long, as I had guessed, before Jake Pennlyon came riding over.

Honey had ready the paste we had prepared and we coated my face with it. I looked into the mirror and did not recognize myself. I lay in my bed, the sheet pulled up to my chin. I heard his voice—resonant, suited to giving orders on the deck.

“Stand aside. I’m going up. Sweat! I don’t believe it.”

Honey stood by the door, trembling. I lay still waiting. He burst open the door and stood there.

“For God’s sake go away,” muttered Honey. “You are mad to come in here.”

“Where is she? It’s a trick. I’ll not be tricked.”

Honey tried to hold him off. “We went to Pennyhomick,” she said. “Have you not heard? They are dying like flies in Pennyhomick. Don’t imperil your life and those of many others.”

He came to the bed and looked down on me.

“Good God!” he whispered, and I wanted to burst into laughter. How grotesque I must look. He will have done with me forever! I thought.

I muttered as though in delirium, “Who’s that? … Carey… Is that you, Carey … my love … ?”

And I wondered that I could laugh inwardly while I said his name. But I did and I was exultant because I could see the incredulous fear and horror on that bold and hated face.

He had turned a different shade. It was visible even beneath the bronzed skin. He stretched out a hand and drew it back.

He turned to Honey.

“It is indeed … true …” he murmured.

“Go,” said Honey. “Every moment you spend here you are in danger.”

He went; I heard his heavy tread on the stairs. I sat up in my bed and laughed.

The days began to pass. They were tedious, monotonous. There was little to do. We worked tapestry, but it was not much to my taste. Often I saw Jake Pennlyon. I had to be careful, though, for he always looked up at my window and if he had caught me there and guessed at the truth I couldn’t imagine what his reaction would have been. I used to laugh sometimes to think how I was deceiving him; and that was the only thing that made these days bearable.

Once I suggested to Honey that we slip out at night and ride by moonlight. She pointed out to me that if we were discovered, even by one of the servants, all our efforts would have been in vain.

So I resisted the temptation; but how dull were the days!

My death was expected daily and it was considered something of a miracle that I was still alive. It was remembered that there had been an aura of mystery about my father. Honey was the great-granddaughter of a witch. The story went around that she had remedies which could cure even the sweat.

Jake rode over every day, but he didn’t come into the house. He talked to the servants. He questioned them closely. Perhaps he was still suspicious.

The plan was working satisfactorily in more ways than one, because it was giving John Gregory time to make his plans in comfort. Everyone was chary of visiting Trewynd when the sweating sickness was there.

After three weeks of this life Honey brought news.

Jake Pennlyon had decided to leave two weeks earlier. The weather would be more favorable and he would leave before the gales set in. There could in any event not be a wedding for some time.

From my window I surreptitiously watched the activity on the Hoe. They were loading fast; the little boats were going back and forth. I was fascinated. And at last came the day when the Rampant Lion drew up her anchor and sailed away, taking Jake Pennlyon with her.

He had written to me and the letter was delivered while I was watching the ship fade into the distance.

“The voyage will wait no longer, so I go earlier the sooner to be back,” he had written. “You will be waiting for me.”

I laughed exultantly. I had won.

As soon as the Rampant Lion had sunk below the horizon my recovery began. In a week I was about again. It was a long week, but we had to give our subterfuge some semblance of truth. The servants were amazed. Few people contracted the sweat and lived. Moreover, Honey had nursed me and come through unscathed.

Jennet came back to me at the end of the week. It was good to listen to her gossip.

She regarded me with something like awe. “They be saying, Mistress,” she told me, “that you have powers.”

I was not displeased that this should be said.

“They be saying that you be the daughter of him who was a saint. Didn’t he come not like others come and go in a mysterious way? And the mistress herself … she come from witches. That’s what they be saying.”

I nodded. “Well, here you see me, Jennet, almost as well as I ever was.”

“It be a miracle, Mistress.”

The days were long and the zest had gone out of them. The Hoe had none of the old excitement when the Rampant Lion no longer rode the waves and there was no danger of Jake Pennlyon’s suddenly appearing.

I began to think of going home to the Abbey. My mother would be pleased to see me.

Perhaps because there was so little of interest I began to notice Jennet. She had changed in a rather subtle way. There was something a little sly about her, secretive; often when I spoke to her she would start as though she feared I would discover some guilty secret.

She often went to the stables and I had come upon her once or twice in conversation with Richard Rackell.

I was sure they were lovers. Jennet was not the sort to hold out for marriage. That hazy expression in the eyes, that slight slackening of the lips, that air of knowledge told its own story. I discussed it with Honey.

“So Eve must have looked when she ate the apple,” I said.

“Perhaps we should get them married,” said Honey. “Edward does not like immorality among the servants. And Jennet, if she has lost her virginity, is the sort of girl who would go quickly from one man to another.”

I tackled Jennet. “I shall be going back to the Abbey very soon, Jennet.”

“Oh, Mistress, and what when he comes back?”

“Who?” I asked sharply, knowing full well to whom she referred.

“The master … the Captain.”

“Since when has he been master in this household?”

“Well, Mistress, he be master wherever he be I reckon.”

“That’s nonsense, Jennet. He is nothing here.”

“But he have spoken for you.”

“You don’t understand these matters. What I want to say to you is this. You go down to the stables often.”

The deep red stain in her cheeks told me I had come to the right conclusion. She cast down her head and her fingers plucked at her gown. I was sorry for her. Poor Jennet. She was meant to be a wife and a mother; she would never be able to hold out against the blandishments of men.

“Very well, Jennet,” I said, “you are no longer a virgin. You may well be with child. Have you thought of that?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“The master—the only master of this house—will be displeased if he hears of your conduct. He expects good Christian behavior from his servants.”

Her lips trembled and I put my arm about her. I had been brusque with her because with the utmost ease Jake Pennlyon had persuaded her to betray me. But now that she had become the paramour of Richard Rackell I could see her predicament more clearly. Poor Jennet was the kind of girl who was burdened—some might say blessed—with an overpowering sensuality. She was born to take and give sexual pleasure; and the reason why she would be a perpetual temptation to men was that they were a perpetual temptation to her. It was very much harder for her to stay on the path of virtue than it was for many others; therefore, one must try to understand and help her.

“Now, Jennet,” I said, “what’s done is done and there is no sense in mourning for virginity once it is lost, for that will not bring it back. You have been foolish and now you must make a decision. When I go back you would have come with me, but in the circumstances the man who has seduced you should marry you. I know who it is. I have seen you often together. Do not imagine that your creeping into the stables has gone unnoticed. If Richard Rackell is willing you shall marry him. It is what the master would wish. Does that not please you?”

“Oh, yes, Mistress, it does in truth.”

“Very well, I will see if I can arrange it.”

I was pleased really to see how relieved she was, for I was fond of the girl and I wanted to see her married and settled.

By the time Jake Pennlyon returned she would no doubt be big with child, for I imagined she was the kind of girl who would have a large brood of children. He would no longer be interested in her, so she would be saved from that ignominy; and by that time I should be at the Abbey.

I spoke to Honey about Jennet.

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” I said, “if she were pregnant already. Richard Rackell must marry her.”

Honey agreed and she sent immediately for Richard.

When he came into the punch room and stood at the table, that air of breeding struck me afresh. I could not believe that Jennet would be a very suitable wife for him. Still, if he had seduced her he must marry her.

Honey said: “Richard, I think you might be eager to marry.”

He bowed; his face was expressionless.

“You and Jennet, I believe, have been overfriendly.” She stressed the word “over” and as he did not reply she went on: “In the circumstances the master would expect you to marry her. When will you do so?”

He still hesitated. Then he said: “I will, in time.”

“In time,” I said. “What do you mean by that?”

“In … three weeks’ time. I would need that.”

I wondered why, but there was such an air of dignity about him that it was not seemly to press.

“Very well,” said Honey. “There shall be a wedding in three weeks’ time.”

“We will have a celebration,” I said. I was very anxious to make up to Jennet for having been harsh to her.

So it was arranged. A priest should come to the house—neither Thomas Elders nor John Gregory should perform this ceremony; it would be too public for that.

I summoned Jennet and told her the news.

“I shall give you your wedding dress and we will get Luce working on it immediately.”

Jennet began to weep. “Mistress,” she said, “I don’t deserve such. I don’t indeed.”

“Well, Jennet,” I said, “you have been a little too ready, but that is over. You must be a good wife to Richard and bear many children and then the fact that you did not wait for the ceremony will be forgotten.”

I patted her shoulder, but that only had the effect of making her weep the more.

Because the days were inclined to be tedious we talked a great deal about Jennet’s wedding. Edward had said the Morris dancers should come and we would play games and even have a cake with a silver penny in it that the one who found it might be King for the day.

Since the departure of the Rampant Lion, Sir Penn had been laid low with some periodic sickness the nature of which no one was sure, and we felt safe from all the troubles which might come from that quarter.

In the kitchen they had started to prepare for the feast we should have. Jennet had never had so much made of her before.

The days slipped away. I said to Honey: “As soon as Jennet is safely wed I will begin to make preparation for my journey home.”

“The scene is set,” said Honey. “Jake Pennlyon is on the high seas; his father is laid low; there is great excitement about the wedding. It would not be noticed for some days if you decided to leave. Heaven knows I shall hate your going. It will be so dull here without you, Catharine. But if he cut short his voyage and returned then it would be too late and we could not hope to fool him again.”

“If he ever knew how he had been fooled he would never forgive us.”

“His vengeance is something I would not wish to encounter.”

I shivered. “Yes, as soon as the wedding is over I will leave. Do you think Richard will be a good husband to Jennet?”

“He is a quiet, good-mannered boy.”

“He is strange. It is difficult to imagine his seducing Jennet.”

“I’d wager most of the seducing came from her.”

“Well, he is good and truly caught. I think she will be a good wife, though. She was overpersuaded by Jake Pennlyon to betray me, but I have forgiven her that, for I am sure she deeply regrets it.”

“For a girl like Jennet, Jake Pennlyon would be irresistible,” Honey said.

I changed the subject. I did not wish to think of Jake Pennlyon persuading Jennet. I had given too much thought to that matter already.

There came the night when for the third time I saw the Spanish galleon.

Such an ordinary day it had been—warm and sunny for the time of year, “unseasonable” they called it—a quiet, peaceful day. How was it that we could have lived through such a day unaware of the tremendous events which were awaiting us?

I was pleasantly tired when I went to bed and was asleep almost immediately.

I was awakened as I had been on other nights by unusual sounds below. I lay still listening. Shuffling footsteps, a scuffle. Some serving wench creeping out to meet a lover? I rose from my bed and went to the window.

There she was in all her glory. Closer than I had ever seen her—the mighty and magnificent Spanish galleon.

I must go down. I was not going to allow anyone to say that I had imagined my galleon this time. I would awaken Honey and Edward and insist that they look. I picked up a robe and wrapped it around me, but as I crossed to the door it was opened suddenly. John Gregory stood there.

I said: “What is wrong?”

He did not answer. He was wearing a long cloak with a hood; his face was pale, his eyes brilliant. He spoke then in a tongue I did not know and then I saw that there was a stranger with him.

“Who is this?” I demanded. “What do you here?”

They did not answer me.

The stranger had stepped into my room. John Gregory nodded toward me and spoke again.

The stranger seized me. I tried to throw him off, but he held me firmly. I struggled. Then I screamed and immediately John Gregory’s hand was over my lips. In a few seconds he had taken a kerchief and bound it around my mouth. I was powerless to make a sound. I was put onto my bed. The thought flashed into my mind: Have I saved myself from Jake Pennlyon for this?

But there was no lust about these men, only a determination to complete a task. My arms were pinioned. They had ropes for the purpose. Likewise were my ankles strapped together so that I was trussed and helpless.

Then they carried me from my room.

Down the spiral stairs we went … out into the courtyard.

I saw a figure lying there. There was blood everywhere. I wanted to cry out, but I could not make a sound. I was limp with horror and fear.

As they carried me past that wounded figure I saw that it was Edward.

Honey! I wanted to call out. Honey, where are you?

Edward’s carriage was waiting there. Richard Rackell was holding the horses—three of Edward’s best and most fleet.

Richard Rackell! Traitor! I wanted to shout, but there was nothing I could do.

I was placed in the carriage. Lying there were two other figures. My heart leaped with an emotion of relief, yet horror, for they were Honey and Jennet.

They stared at me as I did at them. We could only communicate by looks. They were as bewildered as I. I wondered if Honey knew that Edward was lying in his own blood in the courtyard.

There were voices—foreign voices. Instinctively I knew that they were speaking the Spanish tongue.

The carriage had begun to move. We were going toward the sea.

We had been abducted as women sometimes were by marauding pirates. There had been traitors in our midst and the result was that Edward was lying in his own blood in the courtyard and Honey, Jennet and I were being taken out to the Spanish galleon.