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.”