The Lady and the Poet (44 page)

‘Hah!’ was all the answer Mary would give.

‘I try to win over our father’s good opinion. He agreed only to my coming for the sake of my grandmother’s persuasion and speaks to me as if I were some distant stranger. I fear he forgives me not one jot for the routing of Master Manners.’

‘We have news that will pique your interest, sweet sister,’ Mary revealed, enjoying being the possessor of new gossip.

‘And what is that?’ I stoked up the fire and called to my father’s groom to bring us spiced ale and the cook’s small cakes made with almonds and raisins of the sun. Even in my saddened state the scent of warmed ale, so redolent of cloves and cinnamon, could not fail to cheer me.

‘Your Master Donne is made member of Parliament for Brackley in the county of Northamptonshire.’

‘But how is this?’ A member of Parliament was a role of some standing and I had heard no rumour that such a thing were likely for one in Master Donne’s position.

‘It seems that Frances, daughter to the Countess of Derby, the Lord Keeper’s new wife, brought the manor of Brackley as part of her inheritance,’ my sister Margaret explained. ‘And the Lord Keeper, deeming it useful to have a man sitting in the Parliament, has chosen your Master Donne to fill the post.’

A flame of joy rose in me. Perhaps this honour would make my father see in how much esteem Master Donne was held by his employer and cause a crack, no matter how small, in the granite of his great opposition.

‘Mary’s husband, Nick, is sitting also.’ Margaret, undoing the laces of her stomacher for greater comfort as she attacked the cakes, changed the subject swiftly from Master Donne. ‘And my Thomas also.’

‘And our cousin Francis comes to represent the borough of Pyrford.’

I laughed at the idea of Francis forgoing hunting with his pack of staghounds, or indeed my brother-in-law Nick sacrificing his plays and cocking for the cause of sitting in Parliament, yet I was glad all the same. For these others were all gentlemen of rank if not—in Nick’s case at least—of current fortune.

Now I had sufficient cause to send a message congratulating Master Donne and none could cavil at its propriety.

The sound of horses whinnying below alerted us to the arrival in our narrow street of a grand coach.

‘I wonder who that might be? Perhaps a visitor for our father.’

Yet it was my sister Mary who jumped up first, a complicit look in her fine brown eyes, and even before the groom arrived to announce an arrival she was on her feet down the stairs, leaving Margaret and me to stare after her.

Startled at such behaviour, we ran to the window and there, down in the cobbled street below, we saw a gentleman, attired in pale blue silk and a profusion of gold lace, hold the door to his coach open for our sister to climb inside.

Margaret gasped and bit her lip. For the gentleman was fine indeed. Yet he in no way resembled Mary’s lawfully wedded husband.

‘What in the name of the Redeemer is the matter with this family of ours?’ Margaret demanded. ‘Three generations of knights, yet Mary risks her marriage with I know not what conduct, and you, the apple
of our grandfather’s eye, make yourself the object of tavern gossip for every tradesman to bandy about over their tankard of ale!’

Though the room was hot my heart chilled and my palms felt as cold as ice at her words. Had she, as well as Master Manners, heard ill rumours about me?

‘I have done nothing to merit such talk, Margaret! What is this rumour you have heard?’

Margaret shook her plump shoulders impatiently. ‘Oh, naught yet. But I am sure it is but a matter of time before the name of More is bandied abroad. And not to praise it! I leave now, back to my hearth and home, from which I have no desire nor need to wander!’

My father returned soon after, a little warmer towards me for the argument I had written for him had won praise from several members he respected. ‘It seems I have an unrivalled grasp of the matter of multiple benefices,’ he told me without even a word of recognition that the words he uttered had been not his but my own.

And yet, I cared not. At least he spoke to me again.

‘Daughter, had you time to consider the matter of the committees I speak at tomorrow?’ he enquired. My father, already one of the most vociferous members in the Parliament, seemed to speak yet more often since he had my assistance to inform him.

‘Indeed, Father, here are some words I have prepared.’ I handed over several close-written pages on such diverse questions as wandering vagrants, the operation of the Poor Law and the state of the Queen’s highway in the three counties of Sussex, Surrey and Kent.

I did not mention that with a singing yet fearful heart I had also drafted a letter of congratulation to one John Donne Esquire, a title he could newly claim as member of Parliament, which I intended, when my father was busy with his many committees, to deliver on the morrow myself.

In my excitement and trepidation I slept hardly at all that night yet rose in time to bid farewell to my father before he took himself to his parliamentary business. To my delight he even offered me an excuse.

‘I wonder, Ann, since there is no sitting tomorrow at the House, if you might deliver these plums sent by your grandmother from Loseley to your sister Mary? I would send them with a groom but my mother
ever wishes for news of how the babe fares and I am never able to supply the details she craves.’

Neither, from what I had seen of her manner towards her babe, would Mary.

‘Indeed, Father, it would be a pleasure.’

All the more since I might return, now that my father had given me the opportunity, by way of Master Donne’s lodgings near the old Savoy Hospital.

My father placed his hat on his head, preparing to leave. ‘And Ann…’

‘Yes, Father?’

‘I am grateful for the trouble you take with my parliamentary business.’

A wave of emotion, unlooked for and powerful, swept through me. It was rare in my father ever to acknowledge gratitude.

‘I am glad to be of service to you in the Queen’s business, Father.’

He nodded.

He had not mentioned Master Manners nor my disgrace for several days now. Perhaps my father had seen that, even unwed, I had my uses.

The sight of the plums gave me a sudden leap of joy at all things beautiful. Green and yellow, some speckled and carmine red, others dusky purple, and all clouded with a gentle mist as if breathed on by Pomona, goddess of all growing things, they nestled invitingly in their basket.

Were such thoughts of goddesses heresy, I wondered, smiling at the reminder of he who would share my appreciation of the question. As I went to pick the basket up I spied one plum less beauteous than the rest, with a dark line of imperfection running through, and went to throw it out, then stayed my hand. Why should all things be without stain, and did not this one blemished plum taste as ripe and delicious as the rest?

My father’s groom accompanied me on the wherry to Mile End. He was a quiet man and I was able to enjoy the bustle and excitement of the most crowded waterway in Christendom, knowing that later I might see one whom I had missed for too long. Smiling to myself I
held up the hem of my gown that it would not be wet by the river water and listened to the constant ringing of churchbells, the clang of hammers from the countless workshops and the cries of the wherrymen from the thousands of tiny craft who kept the city moving. And I saw that I had come to love these sounds as much as the calm of the country for they reminded me of one to whom the London air smelled sweeter than any hedge of dog rose and wild woodruff.

I wondered if Mary would yet be up or, as was her wont, dallying languorously in her shift, an embroidered wrap about her shoulders, as she tried out which hair arrangement suited best.

And, indeed, her tire-woman announced that her mistress was still abed. ‘Shall I wake her, and you wait in the withdrawing room, mistress? There is a fire just lit.’

I should, I suppose, be grateful for such small mercies that the fires were lit at all and yet a flame so recently begun would give no more than a breath of heat, while my sister’s chamber was ever warm and redolent of spice and mine, with its pungent pomanders and gilded candlesticks.

I would go up and surprise her. And then a memory of the sight of Nick and she upon the bed flooded into my mind and I asked the woman if the master was with her also.

The woman’s shake of shoulder and raising of eyebrow told me all. The master had not visited his wife’s room lately.

To my surprise Mary was up and clad in a new gown, richly worked in red flowers upon a background of blue. She stood in front of her looking glass, her hair loose, and she tried—strangely since there was neither maid nor tire-woman present to aid her—with difficulty to fasten a necklace around her neck which I had never seen before.

When I entered she speedily unhooked it and placed it on her table next to her jewelled hairbrush, her cheeks blushing redder than the roses of her dress.

‘Ann! I thought not to see you soon! Has aught befallen our grandmother?’ Mary, I knew, worried that after the demise of our grandfather, she would follow him soon afterwards. But our grandmother was of sterner stuff.

‘She fares well and sends you these plums from Loseley.’ I handed
her the basket which she barely glanced at before stowing them atop a nearby coffer.

‘That is a pretty trinket.’ I pointed to the necklace. ‘A gift from Nick, perhaps?’

She started guiltily at that and turned to reach for a velvet cloak that lay upon her great canopied bed. ‘Do you not find it cold today? Surely you have not journeyed to me from Charing Cross in that light cloak?’

‘I have indeed. And it is a glorious day abroad. You should venture out yourself. And now I must depart for I have other errands for my father.’

‘He has forgiven you then for your intransigence?’

‘He finds I have my uses.’

She looked at me narrowly. ‘And what are these errands, and where do they take you? To York House, perhaps, to meet a certain dark-eyed gentleman?’

I flushed, not knowing I was so transparent.

‘Sister, must I counsel you once more against an unwise act? Not just for your own sake, for any ruin it might bring you, but for us all?’

For answer I lifted the pretty trinket from her table and held it up, studying its green stones as they dazzled in the light of her candle, dangerous and alluring. ‘Might I not offer the same advice to you, sister?’

Silence filled the room, apart from the flickering of the fire in the grate and the snuffled breathing of Mary’s pug, which snored on a velvet cushion at the fireside like the pet of some imperial ruler.

Mary shrugged and sat down at her looking glass. ‘I am married, with a husband I can manage. The truth is not the same for you.’

‘I know it, Mary. I will be careful.’

She reached up and took my hand. ‘You risked much for me, sister.’

‘Then squander not my efforts.’

Outside Mary’s house I sent the groom on an errand of his own. I saw he wished to argue, perhaps fearing for his job if my father found I had been out unaccompanied, but I cast him so haughty a look that he dared not cavil but went off on his way.

At last, alone, I climbed down the stairs towards the river and
found that I must hold the railing. Though it was a fine day, my limbs were shivering.

For two miles up the river my fate awaited me.

As the great Thames ebbed and flowed beneath me, so did my courage. Could I, the descendant of three knights, truly go and offer my innocence without the protection of God’s holy matrimony?

‘Frye Lane or the Savoy stairs, mistress?’ The wherryman broke into my anguished musings.

The former would be quieter and less noticed by the crowds that ever milled near to the old Savoy Hospital.

‘Frye Lane, wherryman.’ He helped me out of the boat and onto the slippery river steps, watching me curiously the while, wondering no doubt what a young gentlewoman did abroad with no attendant. I thought of telling him some story of my groom being taken ill, but why should I lie to a simple boatman?

There was none but myself in Frye Lane and I hurried unseen down the narrow alley towards my destination.

Master Donne’s lodging was found at the back of the great building, a row of black and white timbered dwellings hard by an arch which led towards the thoroughfares of the Strand end of Fleet Street.

Once outside I stopped to pray to the Blessed Virgin, even though I knew that the path I stepped down was a sinful one.

‘Are you lost, my lady?’ a voice behind me asked.

‘Not “my lady”…’ I turned to find Master Donne’s landlord not two feet away from me, and spoke on, my voice as brisk and certain as one who knew what she was about and needed no assistance. ‘Mistress will do well enough. I have a commission for Master Donne.’

‘Indeed,’ he bowed. ‘A popular man with the ladies, Master Donne.’ He smiled unctuously. ‘All with commissions like yourself, no doubt.’

‘Is he within?’

‘Indeed, he is in company with a gentleman.’

As if in endorsement of this I heard a crack of laughter, loud and bawdy, the kind that is shared between men enjoying a joke that concerns a woman.

Coming out of the door, still clapping his visitor upon the back, Master Donne, clad in hose and undershirt, caught sight of me.

The manner of his face was hard to read. I would place it somewhere between delight and devastation.

‘Mistress More… my sweetest Ann…’ The words were out before he had the sense or wit to censor them.

His guest smiled and raised an eyebrow as if my name were not unfamiliar to him.

For once Master Donne seemed at a loss for words. ‘My friend here, Master Davies, is just leaving.’

The gentleman endorsed this with a wink so lascivious I wondered if it had been he who spread the rumours that had come to the ears of Richard Manners.

It was no auspicious start to our encounter.

‘Mistress More has come to you with a commission,’ chimed in Master Haines. The insinuation in his voice was unmistakable.

‘I am glad to get it.’ Master Donne made himself suddenly businesslike, offering to take my gloves and cloak. ‘Can I offer cakes and spiced wine while we talk of it?’