Kate swore that little Carey was happy now that I had returned, but I said he was far too young for that; but I did find comfort in the child. Kate took great pains to please me. She coaxed me into showing some interest in the gowns she had had made for her. She insisted that I admire the jewelry Remus gave her.
She was going to Court soon. Though she complained the Court had become dull.
“The King,” she said, “finds great pleasure in his new wife and makes excuses to be alone with her. This takes a great burden off his courtiers but means there is less entertainment; and he’s in a good mood too, except when the ulcer on his leg is painful, but the Queen knows how to comfort him. She is young and very pretty but I have heard she has had some experience in offering comfort before her marriage.”
But I could not bear to talk of the King. I regarded him as my father’s murderer and I was filled with a hatred toward him which had it been known would have doubtless meant a sojourn in the Tower for me and my head on a pike over London Bridge.
There was a certain amount of talk too about the new laws against heretics. A heretic was one who did not accept the King as Supreme Head of the Church, be he Papist or anti-Papist.
“It’s a very simple rule,” said Kate. “The King is right whatever he does. Whatever he says is the truth and all those who contradict are traitors. It’s all one has to remember.”
And I was sure that there had never been a time so fraught with danger as these in which we lived.
In Remus Castle we seemed away from the world. I did love the baby and I began to believe that he had special feeling for me. It was true that if he were bawling lustily, which he often did, and I picked him up he would stop and something like a smile would touch his features. Kate was proud of the child in an offhand sort of way. She left him to the nurses but because I was interested in him and wanted him often with me, she saw more of him than she would otherwise have done.
His christening in the castle chapel was a grand affair and as many people from Court were present, I made the acquaintance of Dukes and Earls who before had been merely names to me. Their conversation was chiefly about the King and the new Queen. It was amazing how people could not prevent themselves discussing subjects which they knew could be dangerous. They reminded me of moths flying to a candle.
The Queen, it seemed, had a definite charm which enthralled the King. She was not pretty by any means, she lacked the elegance of Queen Anne Boleyn, but the King had not been so delighted with any of his wives as he was with Katharine Howard—apart from Anne Boleyn before their marriage perhaps. The new Queen had a way with her, I gathered. She was good-natured, easygoing, sensuous—just what an old man needed to revive his youth and that, it seemed, was what Katharine Howard was doing for King Henry. As for the last Queen, Anne of Cleves, she was thoroughly enjoying her life at Richmond Palace and delighted to call herself the King’s sister as she congratulated herself on her lucky escape.
There was, it was true, an insurrection on Yorkshire, when men rose to protest against the new Supreme Head of the Church, but that was quickly suppressed and the requisite amount of blood shed to ensure that the people understood what happened to those who opposed the King.
But now that the King had found a wife who pleased him so much that he did not want to change her, life seemed to have become more peaceful.
Six weeks had passed since my father’s death and then one day Lord Remus came out to the pond garden while Kate and I sat there with the baby in his basket and said: “I have grave news for you, Damask.”
My heart pounded in fear; but even then I wondered what else could happen that could seem of any real importance to me.
Lord Remus was frowning. He did not seem to know how to begin.
“Damask,” he said, “you must know that when a man is judged a traitor and is executed there are occasions when his worldly possessions are confiscated by the King who may take them for himself or divert them to someone he considers is deserving of them.”
“You are telling me,” I said, “that the King has not only robbed my father of his head but has taken his estates as well.”
“That is what I understand, Damask.”
“So…I am homeless.”
“It is not quite as desperate as that. A certain amount of leniency has been shown in your father’s case.” He added with a cynicism which he did not seem to realize, “It is not as though his estates were so very large…by the King’s standards, that is.”
“Please tell me what has happened.”
Lord Remus hesitated. He coughed. “It’s a little delicate,” he said, “but I have been asked to break this to you and so must I. You should not think that your father’s house will no longer be your home. Simon Caseman has made that clear. There is always to be a home for you there.”
“Simon Caseman!” I cried. “What is this to him?”
“The King’s officers have decided to bestow your father’s house on him.”
“But why?”
“He has lived with your family. He has been your father’s right-hand man in business.”
“But…if it is decided to take my father’s estate from those to whom it belongs…my mother and myself…why not to Rupert who is related to us?”
Lord Remus looked uneasy. “My dear Damask, to leave it to a relative would not be to confiscate it from the family. The King wishes to reward Simon Caseman and this is his way of doing it.”
“Why should the King wish to reward Simon Caseman? He has worked with my father. I should have thought he might have been suspect since he lived in that house of iniquity.”
“There has been an investigation of the case. Simon Caseman has said that he is eager to marry….”
“No,” I cried. “That can’t be.”
Lord Remus went on as though I had not spoken. “He is eager to marry your mother and this will solve a difficulty. Neither you nor your mother will be homeless although, in accordance with his right, the King has deprived your father and his heirs of their possessions.”
I stared at him. “My mother to marry Simon Caseman?”
“In a reasonable time…not immediately. It seems a good arrangement.”
I could not believe it. It seemed incredible to me. My mother to marry this man who but a short time ago had been pleading with me to marry him.
It was like a nightmare; and then the light began to dawn on me. I saw his face in my mind—the fox’s mask exaggerated and I heard my father’s voice: “Someone in the house has betrayed me.”
Kate came bursting into my room.
“I wondered where you were. I couldn’t imagine why you didn’t come down. What’s the matter?”
I said, “I have just heard that our house now belongs to Simon Caseman and that he is going to marry my mother.”
“Remus told me,” she said.
“Oh, Kate, do you realize what this means? He planned it. The King wished to reward him. For what? Mayhap for informing against my father and Amos Carmen?”
Kate stared at me in disbelief.
“You can’t mean that.”
“Something within me tells me that it could be true.”
“Then he would be your father’s murderer.”
“If I could be sure of that I would kill him.”
“No, Damask, it can’t be.”
“It fits, Kate. He asked me to marry him. He has asked me several times. Does he love me? No, he wanted my inheritance.”
“That may be so, but a man is not a murderer for wishing to make a good marriage.”
“I refused, and he took this opportunity of betraying my father.”
“How can you know that?”
“Because someone in the house betrayed him and who but Simon Caseman?”