“And the Queen will marry this man?”

“She will marry him and there is an end of her. On the day she marries Lord Robert she stands a self-confessed accomplice to murder. She will lose her kingdom, and who will take her crown? The Queen of France and Scotland, who is the true Queen of England. We shall support her claim. She will become our vassal. I command that you take instruction from John Gregory. I insist on this for your own welfare.”

“You cannot make a Catholic of me if I will not have it.”

“You foolish one,” he said quietly. “I tell you this to save you.”

Over the candles I looked into his face. He was moved in some way; and I knew that he feared for me.

After that began my daily sessions with John Gregory. At first I refused to listen to him. He said I must learn the Credo in Latin. He used to chant it again and again.

He said: “If you could not do that, you would be condemned as a heretic without further ado.”

I turned away from him, but I could not keep up my silence; I was not silent by nature.

“You are an Englishman, are you not?” I demanded.

He nodded.

“And you have sold yourself to these Spanish dogs.” I jeered inwardly at myself for talking like Jake Pennlyon.

“There is much I could tell you,” he said. “Perhaps then you would not despise me so much.”

“I shall always despise you. You took me from my home, you submitted me to this, you came to us, accepted our hospitality and lied, that is something I shall never forget.”

“The Virgin will plead for me,” he said.

“Her prayers would have no effect on me,” I retorted grimly.

Later I said to him, “You will never convert me. I was never eager to take one side against another, but the more you force me, the more I shall turn away. Do you think I can ever forget the reign of her whom they called Bloody Mary? Let me tell you this, John Gregory: My grandfather lost his life because he sheltered a friend—a priest like you, of your faith, for that was my grandfather’s faith. My mother’s stepfather was burned at Smithfield because books concerning the Reformed Faith were found in his house. Someone informed on him, as my grandfather was informed against. And all this in the name of religion. Does it surprise you that I want none of it?”

He spoke vehemently: “No, it does not surprise me. But you should listen. You should prepare yourself lest danger should come.”

“Then I am preparing to save my body, not my soul.”

“There is no reason why you should not save both.”

We talked a great deal and I wondered about him; and during the weeks that followed my attitude toward this man began to change. Everything was changing. It was almost as though a mist were clearing before my eyes.

Days passed and became weeks. I surprised myself. I was becoming happy in this alien land. I understood the serenity of Honey, her preoccupation with Edwina. Jennet was growing near her time. She would sit with us sometimes in the Spanish garden which Don Felipe had had made by a gardener come from Spain. During the hot days there was a sense of peace in the gardens. We would sew together, for fine linens and lace had appeared in the sewing room; and although I hated to take these things for myself I would accept anything for my child.

Sometimes the incongruity of it all came over me; and I thought of my mother in her gardens or visiting my grandmother. They would talk of us. My poor mother would be sad, for she had lost both her girls. Did they think of us as dead now? Then I was mournful, for she had suffered much and loved us both dearly—particularly me, her own daughter.

But that was far away, like another life; and here we were in the Spanish garden, my baby stirring within me, reminding me that each day it grew and that the happy moment when I should hold it in my arms was coming nearer.

Jennet was complacent—very large, completely undisturbed, accepting life as I supposed I never would. Now that she had rid herself of the burden of her secret, she seemed to have cast off her cares. She had a habit of humming to herself, which I found mildly irritating because they were the tunes which I remembered from home.

As we sat in the shade out of the sun, which was warmer than ours at home, Honey was playing with her baby, Jennet was humming over her sewing and I sat there stitching. Suddenly I began to laugh. It was so incongruous—three women—one a mother and two soon to be—who had gone through violent adventures and were now serene.

Honey looked at me and smiled. This laughter did not frighten her. It was not hysteria. There was an element of happiness in it. We had come to terms with life.

I loved Honey’s child; she was small and delicately made; I doubted she would be as beautiful as her mother; at this time her eyes were china blue, her skin delicate. I liked to have her on my own and I would take her to the Spanish garden and rock her gently. She would watch me with great wondering eyes. I believed she knew me. She was very good with me. I used to sing to her songs that my mother used to sing to me. “The King’s Hunt’s Up” and “Greensleeves,” which were said to have been composed by our great King Henry himself.

One day I was seated in the trellised arbor in the Spanish garden rocking the baby when I was aware of being watched.

I looked up and Don Felipe was standing a few yards from me.

I flushed hotly; he continued to regard me in the detached manner to which I was accustomed. I looked down at the baby, pretending to ignore him; but he continued to stand there. The baby began to whimper as though she were aware of some alien presence.

I murmured: “Hushaby, ’Wina. You are safe. Catharine is here, darling.”

When I looked up he had gone. I had not known that he was at the Hacienda because I had heard that he had gone to another part of the island.

I was always disturbed when he was in the house. It was not that he forced his presence on me, but I was aware of him. The household changed when he was there. The servants went about their duties with renewed vigor; there was a sense of tension everywhere.

I had a fright in that night, for as I lay in my bed I heard steps in the corridor, slow, stealthy steps. I started up in bed and listened. Slowly they came nearer and nearer. They paused outside my door.

I thought: He is coming to me, and I remembered how he had stood in the garden watching me.

My heart was beating so wildly that I thought it would choke me. Instinct made me lie back and feign sleep.

Through half-closed eyes I saw the candlelight; I saw the shadow on the wall.

It was his shadow.

I lay very still, my eyes shut. He was at the bedside, the candle wavering slightly in his hand. Keeping my lips lowered and pretending to be in a deep sleep, I waited for what would happen next.

I knew that he was at the bedside watching me.

It seemed a long time that he stood there; then the candlelight disappeared; I heard my door close gently. I dared not open my eyes for some time because I was afraid that he was in the room; but when I heard his footsteps slowly receding, I looked and saw that I was alone.

Jennet’s time had come. The midwife came to the Hacienda and Jennet’s labor, unlike Honey’s, was brief; a few hours after her pains started we heard the lusty bawling of the child.

It was a boy and I’ll swear that from the first it had a look of Jake Pennlyon.

I said to Honey: “Shall we ever escape from the man? Now there will be Jennet’s bastard to remind us.”

I thought I should dislike the child, but how could I do that? In the first weeks he was bigger than Edwina. He showed his temperament too. I had never believed a child could bawl so lustily for what he wanted.

Jennet was overcome with pride. He was not only her baby; he was Captain Pennlyon’s too. She was sure there never had been such a child.