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 Granny remembers when the men came and what they done… Here, though, ’tis different. There’s ships too. Oh, I like to see the ships.” Jennet giggled. “And that Captain Pennlyon, Mistress. I said to Mary: ‘I never did see such a fine gentleman,’ and Mary she says the same, Mistress.”

I felt angry suddenly. So the maids were discussing him. I pictured his swaggering past them, perhaps bestowing a kiss on the prettiest, marking her down as possible prey. The man sickened me.

And what was I doing chattering with Jennet!

I said: “Pray put those away quickly, Jennet. Don’t chatter so much. Have you nothing to do with your time?”

Jennet, naturally a little bewildered by my sudden change of manner, hung her head and flushed slightly. I hoped I had conveyed firmly my indifference to Captain Pennlyon.

Jennet had stopped in her work and was looking out of the window down onto the courtyard.

“What’s there, Jennet?” I asked.

“’Tis a young man, Mistress.”

I went and stood beside her. There was indeed a young man; he was dressed in a russet-colored doublet with green hose; his hair was very dark, fitting sleekly about his head, and as we gazed down at him he looked up.

He bowed elaborately.

I called down, “Who are you?”

“Good Mistress,” he cried, “if you are the lady of the house I would have speech with you.”

“Marry!” breathed Jennet. “But he’s handsome!”

I said, “I am not the mistress of the house, but I will come down and see you.”

I went down into the hall, Jennet at my heels, and I opened the iron-studded door. The young man bowed once more, very deferentially.

“The mistress of the house is not at home, I think. Perhaps you could tell me your business.”

“I seek work, my lady.”

“Work?” I cried. “What kind of work?”

“I am not particular as to its nature. I would be grateful for anything that came my way.”

“The management of the household is not in my hands. I am a guest here.”

“Shall I see if I can find the master?” asked Jennet eagerly.

He flashed her a look of gratitude and she colored prettily.

“Please,” he said.

Jennet ran off and I said to the young man, “What is your name?”

“It is Richard Rackell.”

“And from whence do you come?”

“I came from the North. I believed that in the South I could make my way more easily than in my native parts.”

“And now you wish to work here awhile and then go off for fresh adventures?”

“It would depend. Always I look for somewhere where I can settle.”

Men often came looking for work, particularly at the end of the summer at Michaelmas. There was work in the fields, threshing, winnowing, salting down cattle which could not be fed during the winter. But there was something about this young man which was different from those who usually came.

I asked him if he had any experience of harvesting; he said No but that he was good with horses and he hoped there might be a place for him in the stables.

By this time Edward had appeared. He rode into the courtyard, an elegant man who seemed to have grown more slight and delicate-looking in the last days. I suppose I was comparing him with the Pennlyons.

“Edward,” I said, “this young man is looking for work.”

Edward was always courteous and, I believe, eager to do a good turn. He was popular with the work people although I imagined they despised him a little. They were not used to such gentle manners.

He asked the young man into the winter parlor and sent for a tankard of ale to refresh him. Not many prospective employers treated work people thus, but Edward was something of a visionary. He did not believe his fortune placed him above others; he knew that he was more learned, more cultured, more graciously mannered than the farm laborers, but if a man had good manners and some education he would not consider him beneath himself because he was, say, the son of a doctor or lawyer and Edward was the son of a lord. Honey had often said to me: “Edward is a good man.”

She was right.

I did not accompany them to the winter parlor naturally; I went back to my bedroom, where Jennet had returned to her task of putting my clothes away.

“Oh, Mistress Catharine,” she said, “do you think the master’ll find a place for him?”

“He does not seem to me to be fitted for hard labor in the fields and that is what will be looked for at this time of year.”