“So you came,” he said.

“Of course I came. What is happening?”

“She has given birth to a boy but that is not all.”

“You mean…it is not going as it should?”

“I think there is another child. The first is healthy. It will live.”

“I was thinking of my mother.”

“It is an ordeal for her. She has had such anxieties lately.” He looked at me reproachfully. “She has worried about your strange marriage.”

“There was no need. But I do understand her fears. When she announced her marriage to me, I was uneasy for her.”

The midwife called out something and we went into the room where my mother lay.

“Two little boys,” said the midwife. “And for the life of me I can’t tell one from the other.”

“Two!” cried Simon, and I sensed his exultation.

“And their mother?” I asked.

“ ’Tas been a trying time for her. But she’ll pull through. Exhausted she were but she opened her eyes and said, ‘A boy!’ And, poor soul, that was what she wanted. I said to her, ‘Not one boy, my dear lady, that wasn’t enough for you. You’ve got two of them—and for twins I’ve never seen such big ’uns. ’Twas small wonder they made such a to-do about coming out.”

“May I see my mother?” I asked.

“Bless you, Mistress, it’s what she wants. She’s asked for you time and time again.”

I went into the room. My mother lay back on her pillows, her hair disordered. On her face was a smile of triumphant woman.

“Mother,” I said kneeling by the bed, “you have given birth to healthy twins.”

She nodded and smiled.

“You should rest now,” I said.

She smiled at me, then her expression changed. “Damask, are you happy?”

“Yes, Mother.”

A shadow passed across her face. “It was all so strange. I never knew the like. Your father was distressed.”

“My father is in heaven, Mother,” I said. “And I believe that he rejoices in my marriage.”

“Your stepfather is uneasy. He fears all may not be as it should.”

“Tell him to keep his fears for his own affairs, Mother.” Then because I saw that the conflict between us hurt her, I went on quickly: “You should be content now that you have two little boys to care for. You will, however, not be able to spend so much time in your garden.”

She smiled. Pleasant normal conversation—that was what she wanted. If anything was inclined to worry her she preferred to thrust it to one side.

When I came out of her room Simon Caseman was waiting for me. “I wish to have a word with you before you leave, Damask.”

I followed him into the room which had been my father’s study. Many times had we sat there looking out over the lawns to the river. Many subjects had we discussed. I felt a pang of nostalgia for the old days and a longing to be able to talk to him again. I would have discussed my misgivings with him; I could even have talked with him of Bruno.

“I want to know what is happening at the Abbey,” Simon Caseman said. “I heard strange rumors.”

“What rumors are these?” I hoped my voice did not betray the alarm I felt.

“That some of the monks have returned.”

I said cautiously, “Clement and Eugene, who worked for my father, have places in our household.”

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

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

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

“I do not understand you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You fear! Nay, you hope.”

“Now I understand you not.”

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

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

“My home was already made.”

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

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

“I offered you marriage.”

“And quickly consoled yourself with my mother.”

“I did it to keep a roof over your heads.”

“You are so considerate.”

“Do not goad me too much—you and that husband of yours. If it is true that you are gathering the monks together there, you should beware. I know that Clement and Eugene are not the only ones you have there.”

“Those two came from this house, remember. You accuse us of harboring monks, what of yourself? Did they not work for you? Take care that you are not proved guilty of that of which you accuse us. My husband has good friends at Court. He has even been honored by the King.”

With that I bowed and left him. I knew that he was staring after me with that look of mingled anger and desire which I knew so well. He would never forgive me for refusing him and marrying Bruno, any more than he would forgive Bruno for gaining the Abbey which he had so desired.

His words kept ringing in my ears: “Beware.”

Without consulting Bruno I engaged two serving girls. They were sisters of two of the servants at Caseman Court who had been reckoning on going to my mother, but when I asked them to come to the Abbey they readily accepted.

I explained to Bruno that it made us seem a more normal household, which amused him.

A few weeks after their arrival one of them—Mary—came to me, her eyes round with awe. She had been to Mother Salter’s in the woods; she blushed a little, so I guessed it was for a love potion—and Mother Salter had sent a message for me. She wished to see me without delay.

That morning I called at the old woman’s cottage. The fire was burning as I had seen it before; the blackened pot was simmering. The black cat sprang up on the seat beside her and watched me with its yellow eyes.

“Be seated,” said Mother Salter, and I sat in the fireside alcove opposite her. She stirred what was in the pot and said: “The time has come, Mistress, for you to keep your promise. You have a fine house now. An Abbey no less. You are ready to take the child.”

She rose and drew aside a curtain—lying on a pallet was a child asleep. I calculated that she must be almost two years old for she was the daughter of Keziah and Rolf Weaver whom I had promised to care for.

So much had happened since I had made that promise that I had forgotten it. Now it gave me a few qualms of uneasiness. When I had promised to take the child my father had been alive; he had agreed that she might come to our house.

Mother Salter sensed my uneasiness. “You cannot go back on your pledge to a dying woman,” she said.

“Circumstances have changed since I made that pledge.”

“But your pledge remains.”

The child opened her eyes. She was beautiful. Her eyes were a deep blue, the color of violets, her lashes thick and black as her hair.

“Take her up,” commanded Mother Salter.

The child smiled at me and held out her arms. When I took her she placed her arms about my neck as Mother Salter commanded her to do. “Honeysuckle child,” said the witch, “behold your mother.”

The child looked wonderingly into my face. I had never seen such a beautiful creature.

“There,” said Mother Salter, “remember your vow. Woe to those who break their promises to the dead.”

I took the child and carried her out of the witch’s cottage and I took her to the Abbey.

“What child is this?” demanded Bruno.

“I have brought her to live here,” I replied. “She will be as our own.”

“By God,” he cried. “You do strange things, Damask. Why do you bring a child like that into our household? Ere long you will have a child of your own, I trust.”

“I pledged myself to take her. Then it was easy. My father was alive. I told him of my pledge and he said I must keep it.”

“But why make such a pledge?”

“It was to a dying woman.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “The servants will care for her.”

“I have promised to treat her as my own.”

“For whom should you have made such a promise?”

“Bruno,” I said, “it was to Keziah on her deathbed.”

“Keziah!” His face darkened with anger. “Keziah.” He said the name as though there was something obscene about it. “That creature’s child! Here!”

Oh, Bruno, I thought, are you not that creature’s child? But it was for that reason of course that he felt so angry.

“Listen to me,” I said. “Keziah was dying and she asked me to care for this child. I promised. I will not go back on my word.”

“And if I will not have the child here?”

“You will not be so cruel.”

“You do not know me yet, Damask.”

I stared at him. Now he was different from ever before. The angry passion distorted his face. It was as though a mischievous boy had drawn a mask over that irresistible perfection of features which had so enchanted me. Bruno looked almost evil in his hatred of Keziah’s innocent child.

As usual when I was alarmed my tongue was at its sharpest. “It seems I have something to learn which will not be pleasing to me,” I cried.

“You will take the child back where she belongs,” he said.

“Her place is here.”

“Here! In my Abbey!”

“Her place is with me. If this is my home, it is hers.”

“Take her back without delay whence you found her.”

“To her grandmother—Mother Salter’s cottage in the woods?”

Oh, God, I thought, she may well be your grandmother too.

I wished that I could shut out the thoughts which came to me. It was because this beautiful innocent little girl was his half-sister that he could not bear to have her in his house. Where was the godlike quality I had so much admired? It was replaced by a vile human passion—Pride! I sensed fear too. I knew Bruno in that moment better than I ever had before and I sensed that he was afraid. I had believed I could love him in his weakness even as in his strength; but my feelings had changed for him in those moments. My adoration had gone; yet in its place was a deep maternal tenderness.

I wanted to take him in my arms and say: “Let us be happy. Let us forget that you must be above all other men. We have each other; we have most miraculously this wonderful Abbey!” (Yet when I thought of that I was uneasy for I realized then that I did not entirely believe his glib explanation of how he had come into possession of it.) “We have the future. Let us build our Abbey into a sanctuary for ourselves and those in need. Let us bring up our children in a good life and let this little one be our first.”

“I had thought you would do anything to please me,” he said.

“You know it is my great desire to please you.”

“And yet you do this…. Such a short time we have been married and you go against my wishes.”

“Because I made a pledge…a sacred pledge to a dying woman. You must see that I cannot break my word.”

“Take the child back to whoever has cared for her so far.”

“That is her grandmother, Mrs. Salter. She has threatened me with curses if I do not take the child. But I will have to keep her, though not from fear but because I gave my word and I intend to keep it.”

He was silent for a few moments. Then he said: “I see that you made this rash promise. It was unwise. It was foolish. Keep the child out of my way. I do not wish to see her.”

He turned away and I looked after him sadly. I was unhappy. I wished that I were like my mother—placid and uncritical. But I could not stop my thoughts. I could not prevent myself from knowing that he was afraid to offend the witch of the woods.