The Lady and the Poet (47 page)

Wat waited at one end, cap in hand. Prudence gave him a swift look of appraisal, and I saw with a shock that Wat was no longer a child but had become a handsome youth, manly enough to draw admiring female glances. As I approached he drew out a letter, sealed with the familiar red stamp. ‘From my master. He bids you read it in private that I may take him back your reply by return.’

My heart jumped in my chest and beat as strong as the great bellows by the fire at Loseley.

In my haste I almost tore the parchment as I opened it, my breath racing and my palms beginning to sweat.

The incumbent of the Savoy Chapel had agreed to wed us. We were to be married the day after tomorrow, hard by his lodgings. His friend Samuel Brooke, who was in holy orders, had agreed to do the office, and Samuel’s brother Christopher would give me away.

A tear sprang into my eye at the thought of the ceremony being so small and secret. If ever I had thought of my marriage as a child, it was with my father leading me to the altar, handing me into the care of my new husband.

I brushed it angrily away. This marriage of ours might be a flouting of convention but it would also break the rule that gave the bride no say nor choice with whom she spent all the days of her life.

For I had chosen for myself. And he was the one man I desired above all others.

Ever resourceful, Wat had come equipped with quill and ink.

I wrote but few words of reply:
I will be ready. May God bless our union.

The strange thought struck me that tomorrow would be my last day as a maid.

Much as I longed for the marriage to take place, I could not banish a mournful sadness that I would have neither mother nor father, not even a sister present at the most important day of my young life.

‘Stay, Wat…’ A thought occurred to me. ‘Can you take a letter to my sister Mary?’

The next day it was hard to escape from Prudence’s watchful eye. I wished to try on different gowns, and assay my hair in a way fitting for a bridal, yet there she was, ever present, as if she guessed and durst not let me out of her sight.

In the end I told her I needed herbs for my father in the small garden and managed to slip away unnoticed.

There had been a sudden flurry of snow in the night, leaving a day that was cold and shining clear. Little grew in the garden now, yet I found enough for my needs and, making sure no eyes spied on me, fashioned for myself a circlet of ivy, its berries black and glossy, and wound it with the last few leaves of vivid green alchemilla. Perhaps a
hellebore in purple or palest pink would complete my headdress, but I could find none in the garden.

I leaned upon a stone urn, overcome at the memory of Bett’s wedding, with its feasting and bawdy merrymaking, and how different my own would be. And yet, what had the future held for Bett? A cloddish husband and a cold early death.

As I turned back towards the house a bright patch of colour caught my eye. Hidden amongst the dead wood and dried-out sweet briar was one single red rose, in bud still, as if miraculously defying all the laws of nature, waiting for this one day to bloom its last.

‘Thank you, Bett,’ I breathed, breaking the stem. ‘This will be my special gift from you.’

That night I slept with the rose, steeped in water, at my bedside, riven by feelings of longing and of fear. At my father’s lodgings all had seemed as on any other day. He had spoken of committees, and of a message he had received from Constance about delays by the stonemasons, and how they blamed the carpenters for not being ready, and how the carpenters in turn blamed them back.

He seemed not like a man who fears his daughter is about to tie the knot in a secret and forbidden marriage.

Before I climbed into my bed I knelt beside it as I had as a child and sought the succour of the Almighty.

‘Dear Lord, who knowest all things, and so knowest the depth and the truth of my love, I am sorry to deceive my father in this. Help me to show him that I act out of love, which must be a blessed gift of God, and will be a loving wife, and, if I am so blessed, a loving and diligent mother. Amen.’

In the morning I sent Prudence away and dressed myself alone, shaking off regret that I had no attendants, nor chattering sisters, no singing or laughing or shared bridal cup of spiced wine to warm the chills of the day.

The gown I had chosen was the one my uncle had praised, a young fresh green, the shade of new shoots when they unfurl their delicate first leaves. My kirtle was of copper, reflecting the glints of my hair and the warm brown of my eyes that Father had once, in happier days, likened to the colour of chestnut.

Would he ever forgive me for this day’s work?

All was now ready. I reached for the circlet of flowers and slipped it inside my sleeve so none could see it. I could hardly venture abroad on some imagined errand with flowers in my hair. At last I put on my mother’s necklace, covered my finery with a black cloak, and was ready.

To my relief my father’s servants were busy about their work when I descended the narrow staircase. Save one.

Prudence stood in the shadows near the great street door, holding it open for me. As I passed she pressed a package into my hand saying, ‘Good luck, Mistress Ann,’ before running back towards the kitchens.

Today I took no wherry, not wishing to dampen my dress, but turned right towards the criss-cross of alleyways that led from our lodgings in Charing Cross towards the site of the Savoy Hospital, built by John of Gaunt and now lodgings for the rich, and, but a stone’s throw away, the Chapel.

Once round the corner, out of sight of the house, I undid the wrappings of my package and had to catch my breath. Prudence had given me a small nosegay made of Christmas roses all tied with green ribbon.

The kind of posy that would be carried by a bride.

I found the chapel and, as I had been bidden, sought out the back entrance. A pale wintry sun shone down upon me as I picked my way past frost-rimed tombstones in the churchyard. Indeed, with the silence and the emptiness I tried to stop myself thinking more of burials than of marriages.

I found myself, to my great astonishment, entering the chapel beyond the altar instead of at the back, as if suddenly on a stage.

A small knot of people turned to stare at me, one, in priest’s attire, whom I took to be Samuel Brooke, smiled and shook my hand. All were clothed in an air not of celebration but of anxiety.

The chapel was much larger than it appeared from outside, lit by a single great candle in the nave, but otherwise lost in shadow. From out of the darkness stepped my bridegroom, clad in black velvet, a froth of gold lace at his neck.

‘Ann, my sweetest love, I can scarce believe this day has come at last.’ He took my hand and kissed it.

‘Nor I,’ I whispered, fear and love overwhelming me in equal measures.

Behind us appeared a greasy old verger with butter stains on his collar, rubbing his hands and peering into the gloom. No doubt he was getting a fat fee for allowing the marriage to take place here. The chapel, it seemed, was within a liberty and not subject to the canon laws as other churches, which led to a profitable industry for such as he. ‘Who is officiating here?’

‘I am.’ Samuel Brooke stepped forward.

‘Then you’d best get a move on. There’s another party coming after you. Secret marriages are as popular as Twelfth Night masques these days.’

I tried not to shudder at the word ‘secret’, for it sounded so furtive.

‘Let us hope the bridegroom’s old enough to sign his name this time.’ The verger laughed at his own joke. ‘Pardon me. I’ll leave you to your offices, then. Prayer book’s on the altar.’

‘I have no need of the prayer book,’ Samuel told him curtly, trying to add some fitting solemnity to the occasion. ‘I am familiar with the marriage liturgy.’

‘God bless you. There’s just the small question of payment.’

The bridegroom took a package from his velvet pocket and handed it over.

Noting my discomfiture, he reached across and touched my hand.

‘Come, Christopher, you are to give the bride away.’

At that we took up our positions. To my surprise I saw John’s reluctant friend Sir Henry Goodyer at a nearby pew, so silent a witness I had hardly noticed him, and another friend whose name I knew not at all.

Together we gathered near the altar, all wishing that the ceremony would be completed before any authority intervened.

A sudden gust behind made us draw in our breath as one and look around, full of fear, to see who it was who had barged so unceremoniously into the chapel—my father perhaps, or Master Manners—and whether their intention was to stop the marriage before it had even begun.

YET IT WAS
neither my father nor Master Manners but a woman, her face hidden by the folds of a black cloak.

As she walked towards the altar she threw back the hood and I saw that it was my sister Mary clad in her blazing-red riding habit, dressed for all the world as if she were upon the hunting field, and in my joy and relief I almost laughed out loud.

‘I told them I went out this morning to hunt the hart,’ she explained to the universal stares of the assembled group. ‘Or would you rather I had said I was bound for my sister’s secret marriage?’

I turned and ran down the aisle to embrace her, tears coursing down my face that I had at least one member of my family to share the most precious and holy day of my life with me.

‘No, sister, we would not. Yet in the house of God it is the custom to leave your riding crop at the door.’

‘Are we
now
all assembled?’ the Reverend Samuel Brooke demanded. I could see he was more nervous yet and wished to proceed as soon as possible. ‘No more surprise guests expected?’

I exchanged a look with my sister. ‘I trust not, no.’

‘Then let us begin. Dearly beloved friends, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation to join together this man…’ he gestured towards John, who smiled, holding my gaze tenderly with his own, ‘and this woman in holy Matrimony.’

Behind us the silence echoed, empty of music or singing, or the
excited murmuring of guests. Samuel Brooke intoned the familiar words of the marriage service, reminding us of the purpose of the sacrament as a symbol of the union of Christ and His church, a remedy against sin and fornication, and to provide the mutual comfort, help and society for the two people so conjoined.

At this I thought of my beloved grandparents, whose union had lasted so many years until only death had sundered it, and yearned that ours would be the same.

‘Therefore,’ the words of the ritual continued, ‘if any man can show any just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.’

At this, I felt every person in the chapel tense, bracing themselves as if against another interruption.

Yet none came.

He gestured then to John and to myself. ‘I require and charge you both as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgement, when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you do know of any impediment why ye may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, ye do now confess it.’

I thought then, with a sudden chill, of Master Manners and felt an overwhelming gratitude that he and I had never formally been betrothed, for such would indeed have stood as impediment to this present union.

At last the longed-for moment came when we were to be forever joined.

‘John Donne, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony?’

In the flicker of the single candle, I watched his beloved face, full of tender, protective passion, looking speakingly at me, and knew that if souls had voices, his would now be answering. ‘Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her, in sickness and in health? And forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?’

I almost smiled at the thought of Master John Donne, creator of so much verse that sang of the joys of the flesh, confining himself to but one woman, yet the sombre sternness of his expression bade me keep my features as solemn as his own.

‘I will.’

Then Samuel turned to me.

‘Ann More, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s holy ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey and serve him…’ Behind John’s shoulder I saw my sister Mary bite her lip at that. ‘… love, honour and keep him in sickness and in health? And forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?’

‘I will.’

‘Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?’

Samuel’s brother Christopher stepped forward.

At that he ordered John to take my right hand in his and repeat the words I had heard so often and yet, in some deep place in my soul, heard here and now for the very first time.

‘I, John Donne, take thee, Ann More, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance. And thereto I plight thee my troth.’