The Lion Triumphant by Philippa Carr Read Free Book Online Page B

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