The Lady and the Poet (10 page)

‘To make sure no dampness remains you must pull it back like this.’ She pulled at the thick brocade bed cover, all lined with white fur, then doubled it back on itself. An insect, tiny and black, jumped out onto her arm.

‘Cursed fleas! Tis the season when they do begin to bother us most.’

Mercy sat on the edge of the bed and felt it sag beneath her. ‘Heigh-ho, Mistress Joan. This bed has suffered some sport!’

Joan winked broadly and pulled off, one after the other, a feather
mattress then two more of canvas filled with straw and lastly a mat woven of rushes. Under this a tangle of ropes criss-crossed into holes in the side of the bed timbers like laces in a shoe. To think I had slept on such a bed every night of my life and never thought to look beneath the covers.

‘You pull that end as I pull this, Mercy,’ Joan commanded. ‘When the ropes are tight we put back the mattresses and the bed is firm.’ She winked again at Mercy. ‘Until the next bout loosens them.’

After such warm work I crossed to the window hoping for air.

I glanced out, my eye attracted by a tall figure dressed only in black, his face half hidden by a broad-brimmed hat, standing a few feet below. He leaned on the moss-covered wall, smiling and shaking his head, as if observing a picture that was as full both of sadness as of merriment.

As silently as I could, and slowly, too, so that he would not look up at the sudden movement, I pushed the casement open and leaned out that I might share the object of his amusement.

The rush of warm air hit me. Inside it was cold in this vast warren of rooms and I found myself shivering at the change. Looking down I saw the sight that so amused the stranger below.

Two birds, ring-necked doves. One, the hen, pecked with sullen eye at the narrow strip of grass. The other, the cock, was so desirous of her attention that he puffed up his chest, showing to her all the glory of his rainbow neck, and strutted all around her, calling loudly like any Court gallant seeking the favours of his mistress.

Still she paid him no heed. Losing patience, the strutting bird assayed to climb aboard and have his way with her. But she was too quick for him. In a flutter of disdainful feathers she flew up to the branch of a tree.

The watching gentleman shook his head and laughed aloud. ‘Alas, poor dove,’ said he, as if for all the world the bird could understand him. ‘It was ever thus. The fairer sex ignore us or—crueller by far—enjoy us at their will then tire of us like last year’s glove that has lost its perfume.’ He leaned down towards the cock, conversing as if to an old friend. ‘One consolation. The city is full of pretty birds. Try another and this one will change her mind soon enough!’

I did not know that I had laughed aloud, but the man turned all at once in my direction so that I needs must duck back into the room in case he saw me, hitting my head on the wood of the frame.

My memory of that strange occasion—when I looked back on it-was to hold both laughter and pain.

‘Joan,’ I asked, feigning disinterest in my voice, ‘who is that gentleman in the garden below?’

Joan banged the window shut and looked down at him in disapproval. ‘Gentleman? Master John Donne, the Lord Keeper’s secretary.’ Her words sounded as if they had been dipped in vinegar. ‘Aye, a handsome enough face but also, so they do say, a heretic and a writer of lewd verses.’

Down in the garden Master Donne doffed his hat as if Joan had paid him some extravagant compliment, while I hid in the shadows, smiling.

Outside in the Strand a bell tolled the hour. ‘Eleven of the clock, Mistress Joan,’ Mercy reminded her respectfully. Rank had to be maintained even among servants. ‘Thomas the steward bid me help with the laying of the table.’

Joan sniffed the air, already fragrant with smells from the bakehouse. Soon the dining chamber and the Great Hall would be full of hungry people. ‘Go, then. I need to get my lady’s dress of blue damask from the press and hang it well. Mistress Ann can finish here alone.’ She jerked her head towards the bed. ‘Just put back the linen and pull up the brocade to cover it.’

As she went I tapped my foot in impatience. Pulling up a bed was not such a skilful task as Joan would have me believe. I smoothed the linen, enjoying the feel of the cloth taut beneath my hands until I was satisfied that no wrinkle remained. Then I shook the pillows one by one and placed them neatly at the bed’s head. Lastly I pulled up the silk cover, which was richly worked with all manner of exotic birds.

I was still holding the soft fur lining to my face to remind me of my cat Perkin, left at Loseley, when I gasped. Someone was standing behind me, sliding their arms around my waist.

I tried to move but found I could not. I was held fast.

‘I can think of better uses for a bed than to straighten the covers,’
whispered a voice, as deep and honeyed with invitation as the serpent’s was like to have been in far-off Eden.

Before I could scream or shout I was turned round and I felt lips, hard at first then soft and full, on mine.

Deep in my female core, where until this moment I had felt as calm as the cloister, I sensed a sudden tightening of desire. I should have cried out or fought. Instead, for the blink of an eye, I shuddered and closed my eyes.

Then, furious at myself and angrier still at him, I pushed him from me with all my force so that he stumbled and sprawled on the floor.

‘It is a dishonour to you, sir, to take such advantage of a serving maid! Have you no sense of decency to stop you preying on the innocence of one who is not your equal?’

Master Donne picked himself up, having the grace at least to look shamefaced.

‘You are correct indeed,’ the passion in his eyes was now tempered with amusement, ‘but who is it that rebukes me with such fiery justice? An avenging angel, perhaps, sent by the Almighty to put me on the path to righteousness?’

His laughing tone served only to stoke up the flames of my wrath. ‘Jest not, sir. Adding blasphemy to selfishness will hardly win you the forgiveness of the Lord.’

‘And how must I suit for
your
forgiveness?’

‘By considering what consequence your sudden lust might have on the life of one so far beneath you.’

My aunt or grandmother would certainly blush at such unmaidenly directness, yet I burned still with resentment, and also guilt at my own scandalous response. ‘Is it not a cruel outrage to prey on one who will lose her place if she gives in to your licentiousness? This were no great lady you might woo in your verse with clever conceits and no harm done. Think you that you are Jupiter descending on Io, sir?’ In my indignation I grew a little confused in my references. ‘For the effect on the girl would be far worse than turning her into a cloud.’

He looked closely at me now, grey eyes alight with laughter and also with curiosity. ‘I think you will find it was Jupiter who was the cloud. Io, sadly, was turned into a cow.’

I feared he might be right and this made me more passionate yet in my condemnation.

‘That is hardly to the point. Your conduct has been despicable.’

To my surprise the effect on Master Donne was immediate, akin to a bucket of cold water thrown over an amorous dog. A look of genuine contrition came into his eyes. ‘Unknown mistress, your criticism is more than justified. In the court of Chancery I have been fighting against the powerful taking advantage of the weak, yet find that here I am doing the same myself. I promise I will not err again, no matter how tempting the provocation. Yet might I know the name of my fortuitous rescuer for I would guess you are no true serving maid?’

I looked into his eyes, no longer sure if his repentance were a true one. ‘I do not see there is any need for that. Your conduct is between yourself and your Maker.’

‘Just so that I might include you in my prayers, mistress, and give thanks to you for my timely deliverance.’

‘The Lord God will know who I am.’

I gathered up the skirts of my humble dress and sped from the room, feeling his smiling eyes pursuing me, knowing that he was not the only one who must request the forgiveness of the Lord. My response to that embrace had not been that of an angel, avenging or otherwise.

In case he thought to come after me I ran down the great staircase, past a warren of rooms where men sat discussing the finer points of the law. By the time I reached the Great Hall, my shameful excitement had subsided and I began to feel nothing but righteous indignation. So caught up was I in this thought that I noticed not my father who had lately arrived to sup with the Lord Keeper.

‘Ann?’ The puzzlement in my father’s voice made me almost lose my footing.

‘Father? What brings you here all unannounced?’

‘I bring you good news. Why are you clad like a serving wench? Surely the Lord Keeper has enough servants without requesting your assistance?’

‘It is a long tale. What is the news you bring? Is it from Loseley or my sisters?’ Of a sudden I remembered how much I had been missing them.

‘All are well. My father and mother send you their good wishes.’

At this moment my father had a curious look about him, like a cockerel who knows he has one hen left, the best of all. ‘Ann, go up and change into proper clothes then come and join me in the gardens. I have brought someone with me who is anxious to meet you. His name is Richard Manners.’

I HAD TO
vouchsafe, Master Manners was not as I had imagined.

Bett’s new husband was so dull, and Margaret’s so dependable. Mary’s Nick, to be sure, had a spark about him, but it was this spark that seemed to lead him to the bowling alley and the cock fights and the bear baiting, and—worst of all—the gambling on all three that caused my sister so much distress.

The garden was a delightful place at any season, but now, in autumn, its colours were at their most glorious.

Against the glossy dark green of the overhanging ivy, the yellow leaves of a crab apple stood out in colourful contrast. Beyond them lay a great alley of beech trees, each one a glow of copper, and standing right in the middle of the alley, as if in a burnished arch, stood Master Richard Manners.

A garden was not his natural setting. He would, I suspected, have looked more at home in the saddle, or with a sword in his hand. Lively blue eyes shone from a strong-boned oval face, framed by ruddy brown hair which hung, shorter than is the fashion, to the length of his collar. And there was a startling addition: five or six strands of black silk hung from his ear to form a dramatic earring.

At first I almost laughed at so womanly an affectation. And yet there were no other signs of the Court gallant about him. I liked his clothes for they were fine without being too overlaid with gold or lacing. Above all, he had an air about him of decision. A man, I would say on first encounter, who got what he desired on this earth.

‘Mistress More,’ he bowed low, flinging back the cape of his doublet in a dramatic gesture, ‘I meet you at last.’

To my surprise I found myself curtseying in return when I had intended to be cold and distant.

‘How are you finding life in London? Does it please you after the peaceful fields of Surrey? And what think you of the Court? I hear you have already been presented to her Majesty.’

‘It is certainly different.’ Did I trust him enough to tell him of the scenes I had witnessed at the palace of Greenwich and speak my true mind about what I found there? Would he find the situations humorous or think my descriptions too close to treachery?

‘I found the Court a wild place.’

‘How so?’

‘So much rivalry and jockeying for position.’

‘And you yearn for a simpler life? There is much, I have found, to be said for the life of an English gentleman possessed of a reasonable estate, as I have in Leicestershire.’ He moved a little closer to me, while I picked up the seed of an oak tree and turned it in my hand. ‘But a gentleman needs a wife.’

I might like his looks and be pleasantly surprised that he was not a clod like Sir John, but this directness of purpose made me shy away.

‘I hear you are a distant relation of my stepmother Constance.’

He nodded, seeming to understand my change in direction. ‘Yes. My mother and she are cousins.’

I wanted to say, ‘Then your mother has my sympathy,’ but stayed my mouth. Perhaps, hard though it was to imagine, his mother liked her cousin.

‘How do you find my cousin Constance?’ he asked. ‘A fine woman, is she not?’ Master Manners was watching my face. A sudden smile spread across his. ‘Or do you agree with my mother that Cousin Constance could try the patience of a saint?’

I relaxed at that, liking his easy sense of humour, and the way he guessed, without being told, my feelings for my stepmother.

‘Are you a farmer, then, on your estate in Leicestershire?’ Leicestershire sounded so far away I could hardly imagine its geography. ‘I know not that county, I am sorry to say, never having left the gentle boundaries of the south.’

‘Oh, we northerners are tempestuous indeed. We live in caves and kill our meat each day with clubs.’

‘Indeed?’ I laughed at his teasing. ‘That would suit my brother, Robert. He loves nothing so much as killing God’s creatures. The more the better.’