Household (5 page)

Richard nodded a trifle curtly. He was still annoyed by the implications of Sir Francis’ request.

“As I was saying, I did not intend to cast any slur upon your honor, but as the Abbot of Medmenham it is my duty to ask each prospective monk the same question. It is so ordained in our charter.”

“Monk?” Richard frowned.

“Because of our reverence for each other and our lack of reverence for the aforementioned Roman establishment, we choose to call ourselves the Monks of Medmenham. I am surprised that no word of our doings has reached you.”

“You have just told me that they are secret,” Richard said confusedly.

“Secret to some, not secret to others. But a man of the cloth such as yourself...”

“I am no longer of the cloth.”

“Just so,” Sir Francis said meaningfully.

His meaning escaped Richard. He was too disciplined to probe further on that particular subject. “How does this concern Miss O’Neill?” he inquired.

“I presume that the lady being of Irish extraction is a Papist?”

“I do not know. I’ve had no opportunity to converse with her,” Richard admitted regretfully.

“Nor would you be speaking of such a matter were an opportunity presented,” murmured the baronet.

Richard felt one of his embarrassing flushes warm his cheeks. “I do not expect we would,” he mumbled.

“Well, whether you would nor not—and whether she is or is not a Papist—the lady, from what I was able to see in the theater and outside, would make an admirable and adorable addition to our... ceremonies. There are many actresses among the young nuns who join us.”

“Nuns?” Richard questioned.

“I believe I mentioned that we welcome both monks and nuns,” Sir Francis reminded him.

“I see...” Richard found that he was breathing harder. “But I do not believe she would consent to be a nun. Nor do I think she’d consent to come.”

“Consent is not always a requirement.” Sir Francis favored him with another of his ready smiles.

Richard stiffened. “You would... would...”

“I would do exactly what you had in mind to do last night, my dear young friend, save that I should succeed in all matters save one.”

“One?”

“Her possible... virtue would remain intact... at least until your arrival at the abbey.”

Richard said huffily, “You suggest that I... I...”

“I suggest, my dear young man, that you did not have your coach waiting for the young lady because you wished to escort her home. I cannot help but think you had other matters in mind and that, I imagine, was exactly the opinion of Big Tim O’Donovan, which is the name of her coachman, an old family servant, who, I might add, would gladly lay down his life if such were needed for his young mistress. He would, however, be far quicker to lay down the lives of those who would unlawfully solicit her favors. He is extremely honorable as servants go and cannot be bribed,” the baronet sighed. “However, there are others ways of dealing with that particular barrier.”

“I would not want him hurt,” Richard began and paused. “I mean if... but it is preposterous. I could not take her out of London. I would be charged with...”

“Nothing, Richard. The young ladies who join in our revels at Medmenham enjoy themselves hugely. Not one has ever complained of her treatment. I presume you’d not allow that lovely young creature to return home empty-handed?”

“I did not propose to treat her as my whore!” Richard retorted hotly.

“Of course you did not,” Sir Francis said soothingly. “Only as your mistress, I am sure. Your first mistress, unless I am deeply mistaken.”

Richard breathed hard. He longed to contradict Sir Francis, but his brief visits to Meg could hardly glorify her with the title of mistress. Besides, he hadn’t kept her. Half the time, he was out of pocket from hiring the room, and she had loaned him small sums of money. He had always paid them back.

He sighed and said, “Yes, she would have been my first.”

“Come, we must not speak as if all hope were dead, my dear Richard. It is perhaps dormant, resting, even dozing, but not yet to be buried in a mausoleum. If you’ll leave the particulars to me, I can promise you that by this time—shall we say, the day after tomorrow—you’ll not be sitting at my table in your dressing gown but you might be wearing that same apparel at another table with a much prettier face in view.”

Richard glared at Sir Francis. “I do not think...” he began angrily.

“I pray you’ll not be hasty.” Sir Francis raised his hand. “I have it on the very best authority that the lovely O’Neill returns to Dublin tomorrow or, at least, starts her journey toward that city. Once there, she’ll not be coming back to London, and Ireland, I might add, is full of gallants who are not fond of the English, as well as a coachman who does not hanker for the sight of you.”

“She is going to Ireland!” Richard cried despairingly.

“Tomorrow morning at dawn, unless she is prevented from taking this most disastrous step.”

“Oh, God.” Richard buried his face in his hands.

“You do not believe in God, so I doubt he can be counted upon to intervene. However, there are earthly powers which might prove equally effective.”

Richard regarded him confusedly. “I expect you must be referring to your own once more?”

“Naturally.”

“But why would you do this for me?”

“Because I knew from the first that you were a man after my own heart, a minister who dared to forsake the church. That took considerable bravery. It also suggested that, in common with myself, you are done with the shibboleths of religion. Nor can I believe you are bound by custom or snared in the meshes of what passes for morality in this kingdom. You are open-minded and a freethinker. In other words, you should belong to our fraternity, my dear Richard, and it is my hope that by the time a few days have passed, you’ll be of my—or rather
our
persuasion.”

“I do not know quite what to say...” Richard began.

“You need say nothing until you’ve been introduced to our brethren, and until you have held the beauteous Catlin in your arms.”

Richard gave him a long troubled look. “She is the apple of your tree in paradise?”

“The apple?” Sir Francis questioned and then laughed. “Ah, you mean, am I trying to bribe you? Nothing of the sort. I want only your happiness, and I cannot think you’ll be happy if the beauty does as she intends and sails off to Ireland tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, God,” Richard muttered again.

“Rather say, ‘Oh, Francis.’ I am not nearly so amorphous, and I do have connections in many, many places.”

Richard fixed tormented eyes on his host. “It sounds...”

“How does it sound?”

“As if...”

“I hope you’re not going to disappoint me,” the baronet murmured.

“It doesn’t seem quite honorable,” Richard commented gruffly.

“All’s fair in love and war,” Sir Francis replied. “But I should protest, for you are impugning my honor now. I might add that my man, when he fetched your clothes, told me of an elegant supper spread for two—food for rats or, possibly, mice? I think not.”

“No,” Richard said wretchedly. “I had hoped...”

“And need not hope any longer, if you agree. If you do not, she’ll be lost to you forever.”

Her face, as he had seen it the previous night, had been incredibly beautiful, her eyes, compassionate yet alarmed, her mouth so soft, so perfect. Would she always remember him as lying in the dirt at her feet, and would he always remember her as a fleeting image as insubstantial as a dream?

He said slowly, “I think I must agree.”

“Good man,” Sir Francis said heartily. “I knew I could not be mistaken in you. We’ll leave for Medmenham tomorrow night!”

“And she?” Richard asked eagerly. “Will she accompany us?”

“She’ll go by another route but will arrive as quickly, never fear.” The baronet wiped his hand with a fine linen napkin and thrust it out. “You have my handclasp and my word on it.”

Richard found Sir Francis’ grip surprisingly hard for so plump and white a hand. “I thank you, sir,” he said.

“And I thank you,” the baronet returned. “I am sure you cannot fail to appreciate what we have to offer you.”

“I am already in your debt,” Richard replied.

“Yes, you are, aren’t you? But I beg you’ll not give it another thought.”

It was a strange answer and vaguely disquieting—but again, Richard was not sure why—and in a few seconds, he had forgotten all about it, dwelling on his Catlin’s charms.

I
n after years, a regretful Richard, dwelling on the brief period he spent at Medmenham Abbey, was wont to groan over his folly in agreeing so readily with the practiced persuasions of his host. Instead of returning to his lodgings where presumably he might have devoted some time to second thoughts, he allowed Sir Francis to send for his luggage, as earlier he had procured his suit. Moreover he had also, though not without protest, donned the rusty black garments he had worn at the kirk.

“I cannot think why you want me to wear them?” he had said. “I am no longer a minister.”

“I know, dear lad, but you’ll be riding and ’twould be a shame to spoil your new clothes. Save for a brief stop at an inn, we’ll be in the saddle for most of the day.”

At another time, Sir Francis’ sartorial suggestions may have been suspect, but Richard, his mind and heart occupied with Catlin, was beyond logical thought. He had become obsessed with the idea of her. The fact that she was leaving for Ireland filled him with actual terror, edged round with horror. He agreed with Sir Francis that once she set her little foot upon the green sward of that misty island, he would never see her again. Catlin... Catlin... her image troubled his dreams and dwelt in his mind’s eye to the point that he was even oblivious to the pleasant countryside through which they rode to West Wycombe in Buckinghamshire, some 31 miles from London.

In fact, Richard was so concentrated on Catlin’s charm, beauty and in speculating on what would happen once he held his promised prize in his arms, he was never sure what road they followed or how long it took to arrive at their destination. His concentration on his probable mistress remained all but unbroken until Sir Francis said in terms of pride that bordered upon the rapturous, “We are here, dear lad. Look you, Medmenham Abbey!”

Raising his eyes, Richard turned in the wrong direction which was toward the banks of the Thames. Since they arrived in the late afternoon, the river reflected a sky dyed scarlet by the descending sun. And there, apparently in those pellucid depths, rose the dark mass of ruined tower, gables and chimneys of Medmenham. Gazing at it, Richard was uncomfortably reminded of the flames which, at the irate demands of the elders in his kirk, he reluctantly described as providing eternal torment for sinners who merited it; these same flames were seemingly engulfing the abbey. Despite his disbelief in all matters pertaining to religion, the image sent an atavistic shiver coursing through his veins.

The sensation passed swiftly as he looked at the structure itself and remembered that behind its façade was Catlin O’Neill. At Sir Francis’ bidding, he dismounted and remanded his tired mount to the care of the grooms who came hurrying toward him.

“We’ll use the eastern entrance,” Sir Francis said.

Following his host, Richard noted, not without inner amusement, that while the abbey bore a great resemblance to one of those religious houses partially leveled during the Dissolution, the architecture was modern and, unless he were deeply mistaken, no more than ten years old. Probably, Medmenham Abbey had sprung from the same medieval fancies that brought Horace Walpole’s gothic mansion at Strawberry Hill into being.

Reaching a large recessed doorway, Richard noted that there was an inscription carved over it, the words being in antique French and reading, “Fay ce que voudras.”

“Fay ce que voudras,” he repeated out loud. It was hardly a religious sentiment. “Do what you will?” he questioned.

“Ah, c’est vrai,” corroborated Sir Francis with a smile. “Here, my dear boy, one may do as one wishes. I quote from Rabelais, of course. Tis a command I hope you will obey. Most of our members do.”

“Do you have many members?” Richard inquired.

“We have twelve who are charter members of the abbey. On occasion, we also have honorary members. These may or may not want to join our ranks. While they are here they enjoy the same privileges as our twelve brethern, provided they adhere to our code.”

“And that is?”

“Later,” Sir Francis promised. “I am sure that you must be saddle-weary and will want to refresh yourself.”

It seemed to him that his new friend was being unnecessarily provocative. Upon another occasion, Richard might have demanded a further explanation, but Catlin still dominated his thinking and it was her name that leaped to his tongue. “What of Catlin?” he asked. “Is she here yet?”

“She has been here for some three hours. I am sure she’ll be of a mind to welcome you.”

“Three hours!” Richard exclaimed. “How is that possible?”

“She left in good time.”

Pleasure at this information warred with conscience. Since they had ridden out of London shortly after dawn, Catlin must have been on her way earlier, perhaps pulled from her bed. And what had happened to her servants? He found himself reluctant to speculate on that. Once more desire drowned his scruples. “When shall I see her?” he asked eagerly.

“A few preliminaries must be observed, and then we’ll take you to her.”

“Preliminaries?” Richard repeated. He did not like the way his host was looking at him. The grey eyes glinted with humor, and he had the uneasy feeling that Sir Francis was enjoying a joke at his expense.

“Sure you’ll be wanting to cleanse yourself of the dirt acquired on the road. There’s a bath awaiting you in one of our guest chambers. Afterwards everything will be explained, I hope to your satisfaction.”

Impatience was a lump in his throat and a glitter in his eye, but a strong infusion of common sense told Richard that protests would avail him nothing. Coupled with that conclusion was a growing unease for which he had no cogent reason. Part of it might be attributed to the fact that the dimming light in the hall was further diffused by stained-glass windows, which threw a pattern of red and green on Sir Francis’ visage, distorting his features and making him look, indeed, as if he were wearing a devil’s mask.