The Miracle at St. Bruno's

"I do, Father, and Keziah too. Everything seems to have changed. It has all become quiet.”

"There is sometimes a quiet before a storm. Have you noticed that? We must always be prepared for what may happen next. Who would have believed a few years ago that where our flourishing Abbey stood there should be almost a ruin? Yet the winds had been blowing that way for some time and we did not notice them.”

"But now there is no Abbey and the King has found a new wife Kate has said that already he has his eyes on a girl named Katharine Howard.”

"Let us pray, Damask, that all goes well with this marriage because you have seen what disaster the King's marriage can bring to his people.”

"It was the break with Rome. Surely that was one of the most important events which ever befell this country.”

"I believe so, my child, and it has had far-reaching effects and will doubtless have more. But when you talk to me of bringing Keziah's child into the household, I wonder when you will be bringing up your own.”

"Father, are you still hankering after my marriage?”

"It would please me greatly, Damask, if before I died I saw you betrothed, with a good husband-one whom I could trust to care for you, to give you children. I longed for sons and daughters and I have but one. And you are more precious to me than all the world, as you well know. But why should I not see my house peopled by children-the children you will bring me in my old age, Damask?”

"You make me feel that I must marry without delay to please you.”

"As my desire to see you happy is even greater than that for grandchildren, it would be far from my wish. I long to see you married-but for my contentment you must be a happy wife and mother.”

I pressed his arm gently. I am sure that if Rupert had asked me to marry him at that moment I should have agreed to do so because I wished to please my dear good father more than anything else on earth.

One of the serving girls brought a message for me. Mother Salter wished me to go to her.

When I arrived the old woman was seated as usual on the chimney seat, Wrekin at her feet, the sooty pot bubbling over the fire.

She rose and led the way up to the short spiral staircase. On the bed lay a body under a sheet and on the sheet was a sprig of rosemary. I gasped, and she nodded.

"It was as I said it would be," she murmured.

"Oh, my poor Keziah!" My voice trembled and she laid a hand on my shoulder; her fingers were bony, her nails like claws.

I said: "And the child?”

She led the way downstairs. In a corner of the room was a crib which I had not noticed when I came in. In it lay a living child. I stared in wonder and Mother Salter gave me a little push toward the crib.

"Take her up," she said. "She's yours.”

"A little girl," I whispered.

"Didn't I tell you?”

I took up the child. It was unswaddled and wrapped in a shawl. Her face was pink and crumpled looking; its very helplessness filled me with pity that was close to love.

She took the child from me.

"Not yet," she said. "Not yet. I'll nurture her. When the time comes, she'll be yours.”

She laid the child back in the crib and turned to me. Her claws dug into my arm.

"Don't forget your promise.”

I shook my head. Then I found that I was weeping. I was not sure for what-for Keziah whose life was over, or for the baby whose life was just beginning.

"She was young to die," I said.

"Her time had come.”

"But it was too soon.”

"She had a good life. She loved a frolic. She could never resist a man. It had to be. Men were the meaning of life to her. It was written that they would be the death of her too.”

"That man... the father of her child... I loathed him.”

"Yes, my fine lady," she said. "But how can any of us be sure who fathers us?”

"I am sure," I said.

"Ah, yes, you, but who else can be? Keziah never knew who her father was. Nor was her mother sure. My daughter was another such as Keziah. They couldn't resist the men, you see, and they both died in childbirth. You're a fine lady and you'll make little Honeysuckle one too." She squeezed my arm. "You've got to, haven't you? Wouldn't dare do aught else, would you? Remember, you gave your word. And if you don't keep it, my fine own? lady, you'll have the curse of dead Keziah on you forever and what's worse still, Mother Salter's.”

"I've no intention of not keeping my promise. I want to. I long to have the child.

My father has said that I may bring her up as my own if I so wish.”

"And you must so wish. But not yet... She's too young yet. I'll keep her with me until the time comes. Then she shall be yours." She had brought with her the sprig of rosemary which she pressed into my hand. "Remember," she said.

I left the witch's cottage mourning for Keziah, remembering so many scenes from my youth and at the same time I was thinking of the child and how happy I should be to have a baby to care for, I longed for children of my own. Perhaps, I thought, my father was right when he said I should marry.

THE SHADOW OF THE AX