The Lady and the Poet (12 page)

Then, as smoothly as water sliding from the feathers of a swan, Master Donne recovered his composure.

‘Indeed. We had a strange and fatal interview this very afternoon.’

Francis looked puzzled at this reply.

‘How, fatal? John, is this one of your elaborate conceits?’

‘I meant simply that I killed my chance of Mistress More approving of me.’

‘How did you so lose her good opinion, then?’

‘I’m afraid I mistook Mistress More for a serving maid.’

‘God’s blood, John!’ exclaimed Gregory Downhall, one of my uncle’s other secretaries, who had been listening in. ‘I hope you gave her no offence.’

‘That is for Mistress More herself to judge.’ His glance held mine, challenging and dark. ‘I treated Mistress More as I would a countess.’

For a passing moment I was tempted to smile. And yet I should not accept such conduct so lightly. Instead I rose to my feet. ‘Then perhaps no woman in the land is safe. Francis, there has been a misunderstanding. I should be seated at the far end of the table near my father.’

I ignored the look of surprise from Francis and the two old dames seated opposite, who watched curiously as I gathered up my fan and took myself off to where my father sat next to the Lord Keeper and his lady.

‘They say she is a tempestuous girl,’ I heard one crone whisper to the other, ‘and needs a husband to govern her wildness.’

Her neighbour raised her eyebrow knowingly. ‘They also say she will get one soon enough, and good luck to him.’

If I had hoped for a reaction from Master Donne, I was to be disappointed. When I looked back he was already charming the gossipy grandams who took such an unwelcome interest in my future happiness.

‘Come, Ann,’ my father bid me, ‘sit here next to Master Manners. Now how did you two young people like each other when you met? Quite a prickly thing, my Ann, eh, Richard?’

Master Manners smiled. ‘Only as the rose has thorns to protect its beauty from those who do not value it.’

‘Oho, quite the poet, Master Manners,’ commented the Lord Keeper from his position at the head of the table. ‘Watch out, John,’ he raised his voice so that it could be heard at the other end, ‘you have a rival here in Master Manners. Perhaps we should have a wager over who can write the most lyrical love sonnet?’

‘Then certainly I should lose, my lord,’ Master Donne replied with
infuriating calmness, ‘for my poor verses are not lyrical but harsh. For music you must seek another voice than mine.’

‘It is true, Father,’ the Lord Keeper’s son Thomas smilingly agreed. ‘In my friend John’s verse the thorn would be the object, not the rose. It would pierce his mistress’s finger so she bled and he would prick his own in harmony and say they were both thorns in the crown of Christ, so blessed in heavenly grace that they must join in body also…’

Everyone in the company laughed save Richard Manners, who looked at Master Donne through narrowed eyes, while I studied my trencher with great attention. ‘Surely such ideas have a taint of blasphemy about them, do they not?’ enquired Master Manners softly.

The Lord Keeper laughed, refusing to be drawn into dangerous waters. ‘My son is right. John’s verses are full of such images. He loves nothing more than comparing his mistress with saints and angels. It comes of having a Popish upbringing, as indeed I had myself. But John has put the whiff of incense behind him. Wisely he saw the error of his ways.’ I glanced at Master Donne and saw him look briefly away. ‘Neither he nor I is cut from martyr’s cloth, are we, John? And you have proved your loyalty to your Queen by your bravery in the Azores.’

Master Donne looked straight ahead, though I knew there was no laughter in his tone when he made his reply. ‘I confine myself to the worship of women, my lord. I find that it is safer.’

My temper fired again at this, yet the assembled company only laughed. ‘Until their husbands find out! Usher! More wine for my guests,’ Sir Thomas commanded. ‘Fill up all glasses for we are to have a toast.’

The ushers arrived with the wine while the grooms cleared away the carcases of peacock and capon, picked clean until they looked like corpses attacked by a flock of vultures. I sat as if in stone, quaking. Would this toast concern the resolution of my future, as I feared? My father had been casting me sidelong glances during all the meal, and I wondered if the reason for his self-congratulation was about to be revealed.

As the Lord Keeper rose to his feet a dizziness took hold of me or I would have tried to run from the room, so uncertain was I of my feelings. ‘My friends,’ he began, refilling his goblet from the great ewer, ‘a toast! News of great delight I know you will all share with me.’ I held
my breath, my eyes anywhere but on Master Manners. By chance they fastened on Master Donne’s and there I spied an unthought-of sympathy, even a fleeting sadness, as if we waited to hear the death read out of someone dear to us.

‘The announcement I have to make is from the Queen herself. It concerns my brother-in-law George More, than whom there is none more deserving. Her Majesty has decided in her great wisdom that since his father, Sir William, lives to a great age and shows no sign of joining his Redeemer,’ the audience laughed greatly at that, ‘she is to award a knighthood to the son while the father is still living. A signal honour for, as we all know, unlike the Earl of Essex, who dubs half his followers, a knighthood bestowed by the Queen is as common as a phoenix egg. Please raise your tankards to the future
Sir
George More!’

‘Sir George More!’ I echoed, with no need to feign my enthusiasm. I was not to be betrothed after all!

‘Felicitations, Mistress Ann,’ congratulated a voice next to me. It was Master Manners. He took my hand and kissed it, bowing low. ‘I think you feared there might be some other subject for the toasting tonight.’

I glanced up. Had he read my mind so easily, then?

‘I wish we were all free to make our choices where our desires allowed,’ he said softly. I warmed to the man at this for it was so greatly how I felt myself. His smile held both humour and, it seemed to me, regret. ‘Yet for myself at least my heart and head follow the same direction. I hope you will understand that I have to make my departure for Leicestershire tomorrow morning. I bid you goodbye, Mistress More, and hope it will not be too long until we meet again.’

I looked after him, confused.

‘Why is Master Manners leaving, Father?’ I enquired when my father sat down again.

‘Oh, I’ve lost all patience with the fellow. His father is not pleased with the size of your portion and has summoned his pup back to their estate. If he thinks he can get himself the daughter of a duke or earl good luck to him, though I doubt they will settle for a paltry esquire as father-in-law. Not without coffers of coin at least.’

I watched Master Manners take his leave of my aunt and the Lord
Keeper, and saw how several ladies, one youthful and as pretty as a young dove, also monitored his slow departure. And the notion struck me that he had not fought so very hard for the privilege of soliciting my hand and heart.

Such is the frailty of woman that, despite my earlier misgiving, I felt a certain prick of disappointment.

I turned my head and found that clever, satirical gaze upon me from the distant end of the table. I did not give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it.

Instead I found that my stepmother Constance had sought me out. She was a good-looking woman of perhaps seven and thirty years of age, and yet there was a peevishness about her features, as if she felt the Almighty had never quite delivered the life to which she felt entitled.

‘So, Ann, you have defied your aunt and see yourself as too good to serve even the Queen of this country?’

She gave me no chance to defend myself from her accusation before adding, in a low hissing voice, ‘You ever had too much pride, and too much freedom fed it. You should have been with us at Baynard’s. I would have taught you some humility. Instead your grandfather indulged you. You were ever a selfish wild girl, and this is the outcome.’

‘And yet you try to find me a husband, Stepmother. If I am so woeful a case, I am surprised you care so.’

‘The right husband would brook no such behaviour from you. He would teach you humility and respect.’

‘And you think Master Manners would be such a husband?’

At that she simply raised her eyebrow. ‘Someone must or you will bring great dishonour on your family, Ann More. I can see the seeds of it in you already.’

At that she turned from me and assumed a look of pious gentleness with which she ever cozened my father.

As was the custom we left the Great Hall after the dishes had been cleared to eat our sweetmeats in the banqueting room in one of the towers overlooking the gardens so that servants could prepare the hall for sleeping in.

We were fewer in number as the old crones had chosen their beds and the Lord Keeper, despite the lateness of the hour, had been summoned by the Council for some pressing discussions. Neither was
there sign of Master Donne. Perhaps his presence as the Lord Keeper’s secretary had been required at the Council meeting also.

My aunt patted the stool next to hers and I sat down, finding myself in a pool of candlelight, almost as if I were a statue in some ancient church before the idolatrous images of the saints had been stripped away.

‘You look beautiful this night, niece. How did you find your Master Manners? Your stepmother has been pleading his case most eloquently.’

‘He seems likeable enough.’

‘No more than likeable? He is very handsome with those merry blue eyes and quantities of brown hair.’

‘I did not have time to get to know his nature, Aunt. And surely that is what matters in marriage?’

‘Come now, Ann! You mean that a gentleman’s looks are of no importance? Times have changed, then, since I was a girl.’

‘Besides, Master Manners is leaving. My portion is not sizeable enough for his father’s needs, it seems.’

‘And you are piqued.’ She took my hand in hers. ‘Yet he will be back, I am sure. Such things are but counters in the negotiation. His father will get some more rents or leases from your father than he wishes to give, that is all. And you will be with me the longer. I shall teach you to be the most proficient mistress of a great house on God’s earth. Marriage is not so bad an estate, Ann. You will be busy and happy, and have a brood of children.’

I looked away in sudden shyness, and caught the eye of my cousin. As soon as my aunt moved away Francis came and sat beside me. ‘Here,’ he handed me a sheaf of stiffened papers, ‘the verses you requested. Hide them well. I do not wish to incur the wrath of my mother for corrupting innocent souls.’

I glanced around until none was watching and placed them inside my silken sleeve.

After that each minute seemed like an eternity until I could slip away to my bedchamber.

Finally alone, I sat upon the great bed, lit by the light of my bedside candle, and opened up the scroll.

There were two poems, written out in a fair and formal hand,
though whether it was Master Donne’s own, or some fellow’s from Lincoln’s Inn, I knew not. I unscrolled the first, entitled ‘To His Mistress Going to Bed’.

I held my breath, feeling a fiery blush stain the whiteness of my maiden’s cheeks. Nothing in all my life had prepared me for this moment. My sisters had jested about what happened in the marriage-bed and I had perused my grandfather’s library freely, yet none suggested that the act could be as full of passion and lingering exquisite impatience as these verses did.

And yet, was there not in this verse the peremptory voice of the lord and master? The lady like a kingdom to be conquered and invaded, made subject to his pleasure?

As I read the verse again I found my temper flaring at the arrogance of the man, at his utter overweening pride.

And yet, reading on, I gasped, assailed by feelings that confused me utterly: for instead of seeming like a spy or interloper with my eye to the keyhole, I felt myself responding with a mounting arousal of my own, as if it were I who were standing in that room, as naked as she was, joyful and quivering, before his lustful scrutiny.