Margaret, who was standing by the bed, said: "She is saying Thank you.' She is telling you she is grateful to you for saving her life."
"I am so pleased to have been able to do so," said Luke.
"She wants you to know that she is sorry ..."
Luke said: "There is no need to be."
"She thinks that she may have offended you."
"I fear that I may have offended her.''
"She wants to say that it was just that she was wrong to blame you, and your noble action has made her ashamed."
"Please," said Luke. "All that must be forgotten. That is how I feel and I know my sister does too."
"Yes, yes," I said.
Her lips lifted at one side and she nodded. She could hear what was said, Margaret Galloway told us, although she could not reply.
"I trust," said Luke, "that you have recovered from the shock?"
She nodded again. Her face, slightly distorted, yet had a softness which I was sure had not been there before when she had contemplated us.
I was deeply touched and thought what an extraordinary turn of fate it was that Luke, whom she had so bitterly resented—
even more than she did me, a mere girl—should have been the one to save her life.
However, I felt happier at Rosslyn Manor than I had for a long time and I knew it was the same with Luke.
It was February, cold and bleak, when the news came.
The King had had a seizure and a few days after it he had died.
That which we had all feared had come upon us.
We waited for what would happen. For so long we had anticipated this and now it had come it was something of an anticlimax. We had a new King, James, who, it had often been said, would never be accepted since the English could never allow a Catholic to occupy the throne again.
My father left for London and we had to rely on news from travelers arriving or when someone had heard something from someone else. It was mostly hearsay. It seemed that the fears we had had were unfounded, and although there was grieving for a much-loved King, his brother was accepted as the true heir to the throne in the usual manner. Wine was distributed in the streets, that the people might drink the health of King James, and the King had made a speech to the Council assuring them that he would follow his brother's example, especially in his clemency and—what was most significant—support the government in Church and State as by law established.
When they heard of this speech, the people's fears were slightly allayed.
Alas, James could not, it appeared, keep to this promise, and, a few days after his accession, he heard Mass openly in the Queen's Chapel.
We waited in trepidation, but this seemed to pass over and there were no more rumors of his misdemeanors.
My father came back from London and I expected him to mention the fact that my eighteenth birthday was not far away, and to remind me of his wishes concerning Sebastian.
However, he did not. I think he was really concerned about the political situation. The trouble with these internal conflicts was that it involved people taking sides, and who was to know which side was going to be the winning one. The Civil War between the King and Parliament was too recent for anyone to contemplate such a conflict without some misgivings.
I was glad that the matter of Sebastian was not raised again.
I had been thinking quite a lot about him and seemed to find myself more frequently in his company. I reminded myself often that he would be seeing me in much the same way as I saw him— assessing me, thinking of me as a possible wife. Yet he gave no sign of this. He was just as calm and friendly as he had ever been.
There were great discussions when we all met, usually in Christobel's house because she liked to be with us and was growing a little unwieldy now.
I could not help being rather glad of the state of affairs and the anxiety which had made my matrimonial plans seem temporarily of secondary importance.
When the King and Queen were crowned according to the Protestant ritual, it was thought that James intended to accept the authorized religion of the country for the sake of a crown, and that he had abandoned his attempt to introduce Catholicism again.
It was early in June, my eighteenth birthday was approaching, and I was sure that my father was contemplating bringing up the subject of my marriage. However, at this point, news came which made everything else sink into insignificance.
The Duke of Monmouth had come out of exile. He had landed at Lyme in Dorsetshire, not very far from our home. He had brought with him only one hundred and fifty followers and arms for five thousand more. He immediately published a declaration against the King, charging him with attempting to introduce Popery to England and saying that he, Monmouth, had come to claim the throne and set a Protestant King upon it—himself.
Christobel was stretched out on her sofa while we all gathered in her sitting room. In a month's time her baby was due.
We were all talking about the arrival of the Duke of Monmouth in England. It could only mean a rebellion, and that must have its effect on us all.
Luke's eyes were gleaming.
"The King should have made him his heir. Then this would not have happened."
"He could scarcely do that when the King's heir was here waiting," said Kirk well.
"Monmouth could have been the heir," insisted Luke.
"Ah, but he was not, though," said Sebastian.
"Charles had seen this coming. He might have married Monmouth's mother and settled the Monmouth claim, if he wished," said James.
"It might have been that they were married," said Luke. "There was talk of proof."
"You mean the little black box with the marriage certificate in it? Oh, you can't believe that. Lucy Walter, Queen of England. Come, Luke, be realistic."
Luke said: "I hope he succeeds."
"Treason," said Sebastian flippantly.
"This is a serious matter," cried Luke hotly.
Kirk said that he agreed. "It is a very serious matter. But I cannot believe the King married Lucy Walter."
"He was an exile at that time," insisted Luke. "He had no throne then."
"It's fortunate that he did not marry all the ladies in his life," said Sebastian, "or we should have too many to choose from now."
James said that, whatever there was to be said for a Protestant Monmouth against a Catholic James, James was his brother's legitimate heir and that was the law and that was how it stood with him, and any attempt to dethrone him was treason.
"But it is easy to see the way everything is going," said Kirk. "You can depend upon it. James will attempt to lead the country into the Catholic Faith. He will try to return us to Rome, and I do believe that that is something the English will never allow to happen."
"But he is the King, whatever his religion," said James.
"That is no reason why he should take this country where it does not wish to go," argued Kirkwell. "The will of the people is all-important."
Christobel sighed and said: "It is a pity it has to affect us when all we want to do is live in peace."
" Tis indeed a pity," replied her husband. "But there it is, my love. What should we do? Depend upon it, the people of this country will attempt to be rid of James if he tries to enforce his religion on us."
"Perhaps he will realize that," I suggested.
"If he did," said Kirk soberly, "he would not proclaim so openly his Catholicism in a country he hopes to rule."
"Perhaps he thinks it would be dishonest not to admit it."
"He has flaunted it. To go to Mass in the Queen's Chapel where anyone can see him. It is clear what will happen. There will be trouble. Tis better to be rid of it now before it gets greater."
"And you think to do that by supporting Monmouth?" I asked.
There was some hesitation. Kirk frowned and said: "We cannot have another such war as we did when the Parliament decided to rid the country of the King's father. Wars do no good to anyone."