A Net for Small Fishes

by Lucy Jago

  The Queen looked at herself a long while, without expression. If she disliked my yellow starch the news would ripple through the Court and out to the far edges of the country in days; George and I might not survive it. He had stressed this to me when Frankie first suggested the meeting; ‘Nothing ventured …’ I had replied, but was now regretting my own lack of caution. Never had a face said so little as the Queen’s at that moment. Beyond the doors I could hear chatting and laughter; how I wished to be back out there.

  ‘They are brave,’ she said, finally, ‘but I am not so brave.’

  I felt heavy in every part. To agree was insolence; to contradict, also. Frankie was very still beside me. The Queen turned from the mirror and looked at us. Was I meant to apologise? Doubt froze me.

  ‘And so I will require more from you than your starch.’ She smiled. It was as if a shutter had been thrown open to flood the room with sunlight. Frankie let out her breath. The ladies-in- waiting began talking at once, especially those already in yellow. I was still cold from dread and thought it would take me a week to recover.

  The Queen led me to a mound of lumpy sacks in one corner. She spoke quietly, so that only I could hear. ‘I would welcome your talents, Mistress Turner, to turn these clothes belonging to the late Queen into something more of the moment. I know you do not sew yourself,’ she added, even in her majesty not wishing to cause offence, ‘but a change is needed. I am always in a crowd,’ she said, her voice intimate, ‘and I must stand out.’

  Although not long immersed in Court intrigue, I understood her words. For the first time in her long marriage, the King was raising a favourite above her. She needed to recapture his love or, at least, his respect. She faced the same difficulty as Frankie: engaging the attention of a husband who was not interested in her.

  I pulled the clothes from their sacks like a necromancer summoning corpses from the grave. Still perfumed with the dead Queen’s scent, some were encrusted with jewels and gold thread and stood up, as if their late owner still occupied them. I was not alone in feeling her ghost among us, for the Queen offered thanks to God for her predecessor’s long life. The Protestants looked uncomfortable, as if we did some sort of magic, but Frankie and I were at home with such prayers; in gathering darkness, flanked by glittering husks of power that the current consort sought to inhabit herself, I found credit with the Queen and her ladies as if I was, indeed, a magician.

  ‘They stand about like guards,’ said the Queen, eyeing the stiff garments.

  ‘I am a great believer in armour, Your Majesty,’ I said, forgetting myself in my relief. She looked at me with a wry expression and suddenly laughed, very loud and long, so that we all stared in wonder for a moment before joining in.

  There was dignity and courage in the Queen that I admired deeply, beyond the fact of her crown; that she wanted me to display these qualities on her body I took as the greatest compliment. She called for her seamstresses, her French musicians, and for wine and biscuits to be served.

  Once I had chosen the best pieces, she told her ladies to try on whatever they wished from the remainder. Queen Anna, her maids and I retired behind a tiring screen. As I stripped her of all girlishness, she spoke of her mother, still living, whom she described as a wise and affectionate parent and the most learned woman in Europe. The latter she mentioned without embarrassment; I have noticed before that foreigners prize learning, even in women, whereas in this country we hide it, as if the pursuit of knowledge is not godly. The Queen’s message was clear: her mother had withstood forces in Denmark that sought to fetter her. Queen Anna would do the same. She would not allow her authority to be diminished by her husband’s love for Robert Carr. I wondered if he was still waiting outside and if he had any idea of how much the Queen hated him.

  Lady Bedford came to the Queen and asked permission to leave, which the Queen gave. Beyond the screen, I could hear the other ladies calling their maids to pin a ruff, fold a partlet, raise a skirt, tie a shoe. The more that was drunk, the louder they became. It amazes me how much the rich drink. At one point, Frances meandered by, hunting for something to wear on her head.

  ‘Is your husband’s health improved?’ the Queen called out.

  ‘Yes, thank you, ma’am,’ Frankie said, coming near.

  ‘I find our husbands very alike,’ Queen Anna said, having herself drunk enough to untie the tongue. ‘Both suffered greatly in early childhood, both lost their fathers, both have mothers who were unable to care for them. It makes them hard to love but you must persist; there is no joy greater than is to be found in children, and only your husband can give them to you.’ Frankie smiled and curtsied deeply, if a little unsteadily, and the Queen waved her away.

  Studying her reflection gravely, the Queen assessed my tactics. I endeavoured to read her face as I replaced the woman with the warrior, setting out to meet her husband, monarch to monarch. I exposed her chest to the nipple, leaving an expanse of white skin above, smooth as metal, interrupted only by the ruff that haloed her noble head.

  I expected her to lose courage, to demand I reverse my work. She would not be a rare wife who did that; for all those who sought my aid, there were a hundred afraid of it. I finished by pinning her great, jewelled letters to the golden ruff. When I stood back to admire her, I could not read her expression. As we emerged from behind the screens the room fell still, despite the drunkenness of most of its occupants.

  There was a long pause during which the ladies, all tricked up and slightly askew, took in the new Queen before them. My guts churned; Her Majesty looked so serious. After what felt like an hour, but was probably moments, she suddenly laughed. Oh, lovely sound!

  Her ladies clapped, long and hard. The Queen walked over and kissed me on both cheeks. She called her musicians to play and instructed her grooms to fetch any gentlemen still waiting outside. About twenty trooped in, amongst them Robert Carr and my own Arthur. I chuckled like a rook as he stared at me, quite unable to fathom how I could be in the presence of Queen Anna. He looked around the room and then took my hand and kissed it with such fervour I was afeared the Queen would notice. She put up with a great deal without taking a lover and I did not want to earn her disapproval having just won her trust.

  ‘If we could always be thus,’ he said, enjoying the novelty of our being together in his world rather than mine. How proud I was of his love. He was a handsome man, a coming man, and many sought to betroth their daughters to him; but he was faithful to me.

  Robert Carr strolled past and I could not resist calling out to him.

  ‘What a time you have waited!’ I admired his courage in entering a Court where he was loathed, to win over the Queen and her supporters. His use of fashion I also approved. Where I drew on the power of male attire to embolden ladies, he understood that womanish beauty invited possession. Carr’s surfaces were all silk and velvet, spangled and brightly coloured, irresistible to the magpie King whose dull plumage was brightened by the sheen of those he kept close. Carr’s shoulders touched mine, although he was looking at Frankie.

  ‘It was worth the wait,’ I think he said.

  Arthur seemed dumbstruck that in a single afternoon I was better connected than he was after six years. He took my hand again, proud of my advance.

  ‘You have won her over,’ said Frankie, coming up to us, quite drunk. I’m not sure she even noticed that I was standing between Arthur and Robert Carr. ‘I would not be surprised if she asked the King to knight George,’ she said. ‘“Lady Turner”, how does that sound to you?’

  The dance ended at that moment and my cheeks blazed for shame the Queen had overheard Frankie’s presumption. The room was full of chatter and laughter and yet she turned towards us. What must she have seen? I flinch to think of it. Frankie and I, flushed with dancing and our paint smudged; on one side stood my lover, holding my hand, on the other the man Queen Anna most hated at Court. Without the slightest change in her expression, she turned back to her musicians and signalled for another dance. I could n
ot quite enjoy it as before.

  ‘Will you dance, my lady?’ asked Robert Carr of Frankie. She lowered her eyes and did not reply. It amused me that although very drunk she would not stoop to dance with knights, even charming ones. ‘Will you?’ he asked me. I was honoured to be his second choice and danced two in a row. Carr had the knack of making people feel that nobody else interested him. His humour was warm and not too clever, which suited him very well, for otherwise his extreme handsomeness would have kept him apart.

  ‘Can you persuade her to dance with me?’ he asked as he led me back to Arthur and Frankie. I wanted for her the pleasure of dancing with him; but she was implacable in matters of honour. He looked so wistful that Frankie laughed. Then he did too, knowing himself ridiculous. He gave her a deep bow and walked away to find another partner.

  ‘Frankie?’ I was nervous to introduce her to Arthur; she understood his place in my life, although I had never been explicit. She turned to study him, taking note perhaps of his age, somewhere between mine and her own, his handsome face and apparel, but I sensed she saw him very differently from the way I did. He executed an extravagant bow but Frankie struggled to find something to say. Perhaps she was thinking too hard of what she must avoid discussing, such as children and spouses.

  ‘I understand that you are a keen falconer?’ she finally managed. Arthur did his best to be witty, but there was no sympathy between them. Even so, she allowed me happiness where I found it; we were generous to each other in this respect as many are not. Frankie knew as well as I that everything conspires against happiness. Chance, time, the rules of civilised life, grief, pain, an imbalance of humours, all make it extraordinary that any of us are ever happy. When we are, it is fleeting.

  It struck me that Frankie and Arthur could be jealous of each other, wishing themselves sole beneficiary of my love, but I immediately dismissed the thought as extreme hubris for which God would punish me. I prayed to my angel to keep me from too great pride and vanity, for all that I depend on those sins in others. I had reached a place beyond my most preposterous dreams that day, thanks to Frankie; I was not ready to fall.

  It was three in the morning when the Queen withdrew and the party ended. Several of the ladies-in-waiting were asleep on cushions, gentlemen lolling in window seats. Precious pieces of the old Queen’s clothing were scattered about like furniture broken in a fight.

  ‘Shall I accompany you to Whitehall?’ asked Robert Carr of Frankie, as her coach was brought to the door. The puddles had frozen and he was shaking in his silk, slightly damp from exertion. She ignored him and gave me great kisses on both cheeks before climbing in. ‘We’re both going the same way,’ he persisted, smiling at her hauteur. ‘Your maid is with you, there’ll be no talk.’

  As the driver reached his seat, her hand appeared through the unglazed window, holding a fur rug for him to put over his shoulders on the walk home. He took it and blew her a kiss. She sat back so that he could no longer see her and Robert Carr set off walking, throwing the rug over his head and shoulders, like any bog-dweller, laughing.

  Arthur was low in precedence in this august group and it was a long time before his coach was summoned. We fell asleep against each other on the journey and were too tired, once we reached his apartment in St James’s Palace, to take advantage of a rare night alone.

  From that day, for almost a year, I was entirely happy.

  5

  Five days after Christmas, I sat with Barbara beside a good fire, Mary asleep on my lap. She had woken with a fit of coughing and come downstairs. Her little sister Katherine did not want to sleep alone, so she was curled on Barbara’s lap. Henry, finding himself the sole occupant of the bed, had also come down and was sprawled on a floor cushion with the cat. I knew I should get them back to bed but we were too comfortable to leave the warm parlour. Around us were remnants and half-made poppets. Henry had cobbled together some cloth soldiers, veterans of fearful campaigns, so dishevelled and misshapen were they. Katherine’s dolls were slightly less gruesome and Mary had arranged hers, elegantly sewn although she was but six, on George’s chair, little dishes of sweetmeats in front of each. The sweetmeats were a gift from Frankie and the children had spent much time sucking the gold crests from them, laughing at their glinting teeth. I had not seen Frankie for a few weeks. George and I avoided Court over the Christmas season for the King and his nobles gambled and drank so much that a single evening there would ruin us.

  A coach rattled into our street but I did not stir; George was dining at the College of Physicians and would not be home until midnight at the earliest, somewhat merry, accompanied by Sir William Paddy and his armed guards. It was a bad time of year to be out beyond the curfew. London was swollen with visitors, all bored of country mud and Christmas guests. The rich toured the royal tombs at Westminster, the Tower lions, the camel on London Bridge and the playhouses. The poor begged alms. Those not satisfied with meagre charity cut the purses, and sometimes the throats, of bewildered tourists and drunken locals.

  Barbara and I chatted quietly. She was soon to remove to the household of Baron Ellesmere whose second wife, Arthur’s aunt, had offered her an advantageous position. The household was on the Strand, a short walk away. Barbara could meet a good sort of husband there. I had been much preoccupied with finding one without such obvious defects as would accept her with so small a dowry.

  The coach stopped at our door and immediately I was alert. The knocker was dropped and Barbara and I listened as old Maggie answered. I stood, Mary’s sleeping form still in my arms, and opened the parlour door. The cold in the passage was thick as mist.

  To my astonishment, Frankie’s brother stood in our hall.

  ‘Good evening, Mistress Turner,’ said Harry Howard, with a low bow. Although long-married and many times a mother, I still felt like a young girl before these peacocks of the Court; their clever quips, polish and perfume, snared one. Harry was two years younger than Frankie and the glow of his skin made me want to stroke him. I did my best to curtsy.

  ‘None of that!’ he cried, pulling me up and kissing my cheeks and Mary’s head. ‘My sister is outside.’ Barbara came to the parlour door and Harry gazed at her. I would not introduce them, for he was not to be trusted with pretty girls.

  ‘Does Frankie require me?’ I said, shifting Mary’s weight in my arms.

  ‘Require you, no, she thought you might be as bored as are we. Though that cannot be the case in such company.’ He lunged for Barbara’s hand, caught and kissed it. ‘Bring your cloak and pattens,’ he said, as if to her, ‘nothing else is needed.’

  ‘Barbara,’ I said, ‘Richard Weston is in the kitchen and your father will be home around midnight. Sleep in my place and give Mary one spoonful of the syrup if she wakes with coughing. No more than three spoons before morning. Lay her against the warming pan, she must not get cold.’

  Barbara nodded, took Mary from me and climbed the stairs without looking back at Harry. I was proud of her dignity.

  I called old Maggie to bring my best cloak and overshoes and to take the other two children to bed. After several weeks of careful domesticity, I was ready to breathe some different air. Harry handed me into the carriage, although two footmen stood ready to do so. Frankie was asleep in one corner of it whilst two of her elder brothers, Theophilus and Thomas, dozed opposite.

  ‘We’ve had a long afternoon at the tables,’ explained Harry, talkative for a young man of seventeen or eighteen, ‘but we won more than we lost, which I believe is a first for us all. We are celebrating.’

  Frankie roused, saw me beside her and opened her arms. ‘Dearest Anne, I wake and you are here like magic.’

  We embraced and I settled beside her as the coach jolted into motion. At times, our friendship had the ease of loving siblings.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ I said.

  ‘Ah …’ she said, holding a finger to her lips. ‘My brothers think I need to learn new tricks to win over my husband.’ She put her head on my shoulder and
fell asleep immediately, the smell of wine strong on her breath.

  ‘The King held a game yesterday,’ continued Harry as if there had been no interruption, ‘that only those with three hundred pounds on their persons could attend. Lord Salisbury lost five hundred at least. You can buy a decent house with that! He must wish the King had not made it a fashion to lose money to him at Christmas.’

  I tried to look impressed but tales such as these made me feel very far from Court life.

  When we reached Temple Stairs, I roused Frankie and we huddled in our cloaks as we crossed the Thames in hired wherries.

  ‘I hope my husband appreciates the discomfort I suffer for his sake,’ she grumbled. I thought he might. The seduction of Lord Essex was a project in which Frankie’s brothers had recently involved themselves, mainly for sport, but also because the discontent of the Essex faction, further stoked by Overbury’s machinations, was increasingly plain. If Frankie could produce an heir, a child in whom mingled the blood of enemies, they thought the Essex crew would need to complain less, or at least more quietly, at being overlooked for Court positions.

  ‘He did not wish to accompany you tonight?’ I asked.

  ‘He abhors Christmas. He is forced to spend time with people and occasionally to dance. He is in very choleric humour.’

  As we neared Paris Garden stairs, Frankie handed me a full-face mask.

  ‘Wait,’ Theophilus said as he uncorked a silver flask, took a long swallow and handed it round. I went last, not cheered by the grimaces of the others as they drank. The liquid tasted so strong my mouth puckered, as if filled with vinegar, but almost immediately a sense of hot vitality flooded my body from crown to toe. All tiredness vanished and my eyes felt larger and able to see in the dark.