by Lucy Jago
‘What is this?’ I asked, thinking to take it after sleepless nights with Mary.
Theophilus winked and grinned. ‘You are not the only potion-maker, Mistress Turner. Come, the Queane of Holland awaits!’ He climbed the stairs as he tied on his mask then walked off, arm-in-arm with his brothers. I followed, mystified, until I stopped so suddenly that Frankie barged into me.
‘I have heard such scandal of the place I did not believe it existed!’
‘The most wicked in all the world,’ agreed Frankie, the glee in her voice not muted by mask and hood. She linked her arm in mine and pulled me along, not wanting to lag too far behind her brothers. I felt as I had done when Harry related his tales of gambling: out of my depth off an alien coast. Holland’s Leaguer was the most infamous brothel in all these Isles and, possibly, beyond.
The gate into Paris Gardens was busy but all made way for us, for there was no mistaking a party of courtiers, masked or not. To the western end of the vast enclosed field, somewhat obscured by greasy smoke from cookshops, I could make out baiting pits, skittle alleys and taverns. We walked away from their stench and noise along a bricked path. Almost immediately we left the throng and the air cleared. Bushes of rosemary and laurel lined the way and in the distance I could see a fortified manor of great age whose gatehouse was topped with spikes, as at London Bridge, although here there were no heads impaled upon them.
At the gatehouse, Theo handed a token to the keeper, who examined it carefully before tossing it in a bowl and waving us through a wicket door set into the huge, studded gate. The manor was built to withstand a siege. We crossed a drawbridge over the moat, guarded at each end by halberdiers in black and orange, as if the Royal Mint lay within and not a bawdy house.
We followed Theo, Thomas and Harry through a formal garden, neatly kept even in those days of winter. As we neared the door, it was opened by a man so large that he blocked out the candlelight within. He stood aside to let us pass and, once inside, I saw that his complexion, hair and eyes were all white and pink. He wore a black waistcoat above ballooning orange hose that reached his ankles, all his garments of silk. The enormous muscles of his bare arms twitched, as if kicking their way out of his skin. Servants, also in black and orange livery, removed our outer clothes. They took the brothers’ swords and daggers.
Theo then stretched one arm theatrically towards the giant. ‘Ladies, this is Hartmann the Dutch. Do not be fooled. His name means that he is full of strength, not of heart. He is Queane Donna’s personal guard and my friend. Now he is yours too.’ The great white giant nodded and twitched again the muscles of his arms. Frankie squeezed my hand, not from awe, I suspected, but a need to laugh.
When the servants had gone, Hartmann pulled aside a thick curtain to his left, allowing noise and light to pour out. He indicated that we should enter. Frankie’s brothers, clapping each other on the back as if they had achieved something, stepped into the room. I checked that our masks were still in place and followed.
Immediately we were in a different world. Here as elsewhere were shadows and human misery no doubt, but that evening they were banished by a display of glistering wealth and all that opens to it.
The great hall was lit with so many candelabra it was as if the sun’s rays had been caught and released inside. What first drew my eye was a stage at the far end of the chamber, on which was a golden throne. On it sat a woman, unmasked, her large, white breasts entirely naked. From a distance, it appeared that her nipples were gilded. The rest of her body was encased in purple silk, shot with orange, her plump arms visible through the orange gauze of her sleeves. Short skirts revealed pretty ankles in gold stockings above high-heeled shoes. On her head was a jewelled crown and her face, round and attractive for her age, which I guessed was similar to my own, was carefully painted. Behind her throne stood three young women and two girls. The three were dressed in similar fashion to the Queane, although in different colours and with less ornament. All had naked breasts, with nipples unnaturally red. By contrast, the two girls wore ordinary country clothes. Their hair was loose and long, but their heads were covered with plain coifs. They looked like they were being brave.
‘Come, let us pay our respects,’ said Theo, leading us through the thronged room. Although masked, I dropped my head for fear of being recognised. Frankie did not. It took us some minutes to push our way, through clouds of smoke and perfume, past noble bodies trussed and swagged in every hue and stripe. My eyes, behind the mask, missed nothing. Drawing close to the stage, I saw that the nipples of the woman occupying the throne were indeed gilded and those of her handmaidens were stained vermilion.
‘May I present Queane Donna Britannica Hollandea,’ said Theo, gazing at the throne’s occupant. Close to, I saw that she was, in fact, old enough to be his mother, but that did not seem to bother him. She nodded at the Howard brothers, who executed the sort of bow one gave a real monarch. I was shocked at this treachery but around us people laughed and even clapped.
‘Queane Donna rules here at Holland’s Leaguer,’ he explained, indicating the walls. I only noticed then that they were covered in portraits, each with a gilded board beneath bearing a name: Rose Alba, Donatella, Laura, Phoebe, Daphne … It took me a few moments to grasp that these portraits were of the queanes on the stage and those moving between guests, pouring wine. Also prominently displayed was a sign: ‘King James Stuart slept here’.
Harry laughed when he saw me staring at it. ‘He likes Bess,’ he said, nodding at a full-length portrait. The figure was seemingly that of a woman, but the gauzy cloth over the genitals emphasised rather than hid the penis nestling in a hairless groin. Thankfully, the mask hid my look of incredulity: I could gawp as much as I chose, and I did.
‘I thought this place was naughty. So far it is much like the Court,’ Frankie said into my ear, sounding bored.
Our party was handed cups of wine by a bare-breasted young drab. ‘I need a little courage,’ I said to Frankie. She clinked her cup against mine and we lifted the masks to down the contents. Little dishes of stewed prunes were also passed around. ‘Don’t bother with those,’ she said. ‘They cure syphilis but that, thank God, is one predicament we do not face.’ Another queane was handing out small linen bags with a few fat, brown pellets inside that smelt strongly of nutmeg and vinegar.
‘Stick it up your whibwob before he gets started,’ the young drab explained, ‘to stop a baby coming.’
‘The smell alone would be sufficient deterrent,’ said Frankie.
The noise soared with the general drunkenness and, I confess, Frankie and I also grew merry with wine. Many looked repeatedly at the stage. Something more extraordinary was to happen than the tableau thereon. Harry suddenly shouted, ‘Rabbie! Over he’e, Rabbie!’
Harry’s Scots accent was delivered with such precision and seriousness that it took me a few moments to realise what he was doing. He was hailing Sir Robert Carr, who grinned beneath a mask that hid only his eyes. Beside him, also narrowly masked, was Sir Thomas Overbury, pursing his lips at Harry’s mimicry of the King.
As Carr made his way towards us, all eyes turning to watch his progress as sunflowers follow the sun, I had a sudden picture of Queen Anna before my eyes. She had not made me her chief dresser but often asked me to design clothes for public occasions. In them, she was strong and powerful; out of them, she was still ignored, for her husband was entirely besotted with this young man eagerly approaching us, upon whom were heaped estates, titles, responsibilities of government, and kisses, such that the hatred of other courtiers, both Scottish and English, kept pace with his vertiginous rise.
Carr slapped the Howard brothers on the shoulders with a forwardness they suffered only for the sake of further sport with him. Carr glanced at Frankie. She did not acknowledge him. Thomas nodded and walked off towards another group.
‘First time?’ asked Harry of Carr.
‘For Sir Thomas,’ he replied, as Overbury reached them.
Harry and Theo ignored him
.
‘Which one’s yours?’ asked Harry, waving at the portraits. Carr looked at Frankie, again.
‘I just come to drink,’ he said, avoiding the question rather well, I thought. ‘Have you met Sir Thomas Overbury?’ he said, before Frankie’s brothers could divert him. They were forced to acknowledge him with a nod. Overbury should have replied with a low bow but gave the briefest of bobs. I had never seen so public a snub as Overbury gave Frankie’s brothers. Instantly the air around us thickened. Frankie pulled me to her, awaiting a violent reaction. Theo and Harry glanced at each other. Carr laughed very loud and slapped Overbury on the back, as if to remind him to bow, but Overbury ignored his friend and did not break eye contact with the Howard brothers.
‘You are server to the King? How do you find it?’ asked Theo, stepping closer to Overbury and removing his mask; he was a head taller. It was widely known that the King did not like Overbury and Theo’s smile conveyed this perfectly.
‘An honour,’ said Overbury.
Harry moved to stand beside his brother and also removed his mask. He was shorter but broad-shouldered and together they made a formidable pair. They would have been trained since childhood in the use of arms while Overbury was at his books.
‘Does the King like his meat cut thin or thick?’ Harry asked. Overbury flushed with anger and did not reply.
‘He likes it red and plentiful, like his wine!’ said Carr, laughing. Theo and Harry kept their eyes fixed on Overbury. I could not imagine what had persuaded the man into this place, which held everything he most despised. Indeed, he looked like a vicar in hell. Was it simply to keep Carr company? There were, of course, whisperings about the manner of the friendship between them. Overbury behaved towards Carr with the presumption of a man towards his wife, acting and speaking in his name. The King, although above earthly law, also loved Carr in public beyond what any other man would have dared. Such gossip greatly augmented the loathing directed at this pair.
Overbury attempted to move his friend away but Carr was eager to remain in our group, which promised him conversation with Frankie.
‘We have excellent hunting at Audley,’ said Theo, putting his arm over Carr’s shoulders and separating him from Overbury. ‘You must visit. Are you acquainted with my sister, the Countess of Essex?’ Frankie’s eyes widened behind her mask but she had no choice but to acknowledge Carr. He bowed very low and she gave him her hand, which he kissed devoutly. Neither of them mentioned the previous occasion on which they had met.
At that moment music came from the stage. Without us noticing, the queanes had departed and smoke was now drifting across the dais. Men dressed as hags and witches had occupied it, playing instruments and dancing.
Overbury, a handkerchief to his nose, pushed his way back to Carr’s side. ‘You said we would leave before the performance …’
‘No stomach for the ladies, Sir Thomas?’ said Theo.
‘Not this sort,’ Overbury replied, his gaze raking Frankie and me. I felt my body crackle with the fury this insult provoked. Frankie and her brothers moved as one against him, unseen by those around us who were mesmerised by the dancers on stage.
‘Of course, you meant no disrespect,’ Theo said, over the music and drunken cat-calls, leaning in very close to Overbury.
‘Women who venture here defame themselves without my help,’ Overbury replied, openly sneering at him and his sister.
A flash in the candlelight told me that Theo had smuggled in a weapon. It was too dark to see clearly but he was pressing something, probably a small dagger, into the soft place below Overbury’s ribs. Harry moved behind Overbury, making escape impossible. I thought Carr would dither, afraid to offend his new acquaintances, but he stepped forward with no fear of the blade.
‘You’re not helping me make friends.’
‘If you want to make friends with harlots …’ Carr slapped his hand over Overbury’s mouth.
‘Teach your tongue manners or someone will cut it out,’ he snapped.
‘And how then will you lick your friend’s boots?’ asked Theo.
At that moment the Queane’s guard arrived.
‘He has a blade,’ blurted Overbury to Hartmann, the moment Carr removed his hand.
‘You have been troubling of them?’ the Dutchman enquired of Overbury.
‘He is armed!’ Overbury repeated.
‘You wanted to leave,’ said Carr, nodding towards the outer hall.
Hartmann took Overbury’s arm but he whipped it free and walked out before he could be ejected. Carr immediately turned to Frankie and me. With a slight blush, he said, ‘I’m sorry for his rudeness. My friend’s always offending somebody.’
He bowed and made to follow Overbury. Theo and Harry looked at each other, trying to think of some way of keeping him with them, but it was Frankie who stepped forward.
‘Stay, Sir Robert. Your friend can get home on his own two feet.’
I could not tell whether she was growing to like this surprisingly diplomatic eye-catcher, who clearly admired her, or whether she had simply seen a way to show her brothers the power she wielded despite her sex. Theo put his arm around Carr’s shoulders and led him and Harry off to a cupboard for wine, saying over his shoulder to his sister, ‘You’ve got studying to do.’
Slowly, we turned towards the stage. On it, I saw such things as I never thought to see in my life. Frankie and I stood very still, too astonished to feel shame. We did not speak, nor drink.
When finally it was over Queane Donna, naked, stood at the front of the stage watching the audience intently. Her handmaidens walked the two country girls, who had cowered at the back throughout the performance, to stand either side of her, blushing and reluctant.
‘What is she doing?’ I whispered.
‘Taking bids,’ said Frankie. Sure enough, around the room, tiny signs were made. The spell that bound us, broke. I saw Barbara in those two girls and thought I would be sick.
‘I must go,’ I said to Frankie. I threaded my way through the crowd to the entrance hall and allowed the servants to put on my outer clothes. As I went to the door, a massive hand came down on my shoulder. It was the Dutchman. Each time I tried to leave he respectfully, but firmly, prevented me. Frankie pushed her way through the curtain.
‘Sir Robert Carr has gone to fetch my brothers, we will leave together,’ she said.
‘I am sorry,’ I said, half-ashamed not to share the tastes of the highest ranks, at the same time appalled by them.
‘I am glad to be leaving,’ said Frankie, as she was helped into her cloak.
‘They’ve gone,’ Carr said, when finally he returned. He looked embarrassed and it was clear that Frankie’s brothers had gone off with queanes or, worse, had won the bidding.
I made to leave but again the giant prevented me. I felt panicked. I wanted to be home, watching the faces of my sleeping children, away from this depravity. It seemed that I could not leave without an escort and no one here would waste their time on a married, middle-aged, middling sort like me.
‘Mistress Turner, if you would honour me with your trust, I will gladly escort you to your door. I have a guard of four and my own sword and can offer you my protection.’ This was all said without a glance at Frankie. Robert Carr was responding to the distress he saw in me and I was moved by that and was sure that Frankie would be too.
‘With gratitude, sir, I accept your protection.’
Slowly, Frankie removed her mask. Her cheeks were pink and she looked pure and vital compared to what we had just witnessed. Carr stared at her.
‘I too, would be grateful for your protection,’ she said, bestowing on him a smile that was brief but warm. He bowed, I think unable to speak, and accompanied us both home, across the river, to our doors. The gaucheness I felt at my own outburst was soothed by his obvious pleasure in rendering us service, and I was grateful to him. Frankie leant against me in the wherry, laying her head on my shoulder; she thanked me for taking her from that place.
&nbs
p; ‘I cannot think how my brothers expect me to learn anything from Queane Donna,’ she whispered, ‘except how to stomach crudeness.’
For months after that night, Frankie did no more than nod in acknowledgement of Sir Robert Carr, but feelings for him began to stir her heart. She had reached an age to choose for herself whom to love and she was falling for a man who eminently suited her. It worsened her distress in her own marriage, for now she had someone to compare to her husband, and in no area did Essex triumph. It worried me that Carr’s attentions to Frankie appeared to be overseen by Overbury, who could have encouraged them only in hope of the disgrace it would bring on her family if she were discovered in adultery. Frankie told me to stop worrying, that she had no intention of encouraging Carr, his flirtation simply made her feel more loved than did her husband’s scowling.
Friendship with Frankie was bringing me the benefits I had foreseen; foremost amongst them, love. Although I sensed a slight distance between us, as was perhaps inevitable in light of our differing ranks and ages, we were like a happily married couple, our talents complementary and our shortcomings thereby ameliorated. My beloved George was invited to the investiture of Prince Henry as the Prince of Wales; a knighthood was likely to follow. Barbara had settled well into the household of Baron Ellesmere, John was almost ready for Oxford and Thomas had his sword, a gift from Arthur, although it did nothing to alleviate the young man’s hatred of my lover. Mary’s cough did not go away but it did not worsen. Richard Weston redoubled his efforts to recover debts owed us and by that means we kept afloat.
My angel keeper saw me laughing with Frankie, loving my family, dancing with my lover. He must have seen me satisfied and content in every aspect of my life and looked away for a day or two. It was long enough.
