by Lucy Jago
17
‘Mama, you are beautiful,’ said Mary staring up at me. It was not yet nine o’clock but I was dressed, with Barbara’s help, and satisfied with what I had achieved. It was over twenty years since I had last been a bride and I hoped that what I lacked in youth, I made up for in charm and competence.
Henry came towards me, his hands behind his back. The little conjuror brought forth a small bouquet of red anemones.
‘We saved our pennies,’ he said, blushing. I thanked him and his sisters, their gift a blessing on the marriage.
‘John, go to the church. As soon as you see Arthur, run home and escort me there.’
He left and Barbara offered me a cup of ale, but I was too full of nerves to eat or drink, and could only walk about the parlour, laughing at the children’s chit-chat and their wonder at my glamour. Before marrying George, I had felt mainly dread. Arthur was everything George was not, and nothing that George was. At last, our union was to be blessed by God.
The minutes passed and John did not come.
‘Where is John, Mama?’ asked Mary. She was now nine years old and astute.
‘Is Sir Arthur poorly?’ asked Katherine.
‘Why doesn’t he send a note?’ asked Henry, remembering Arthur’s previous messages. I was more alert to the passing of time than ever before; each person who walked beneath the window, every word spoken, every breath, brought with it a growing dread, so that when the quarter bell rang I thought I would go mad with waiting and sent Barbara after John. At the half-hour, they returned together. They looked confused and upset. By the noonday peal, old Maggie called the children to dinner as if to a wake. As the bells struck one, Barbara helped me out of the dress for which I had paid more than I could afford and returned it to the pawn merchant. I did not cry. I felt nothing. I was numb, as if drugged, so heavy a weight pressing on my heart that it could not move me. John went to seek Arthur, but he was not at home.
It was a little after the four o’clock bell when Arthur arrived. He looked not at me but all about, as if in a stranger’s house. Even so, the sight of his handsome face revived me sufficient to stand as he walked into the room, but from under its boulder of care and sadness my heart began to beat so fast I was distracted, as if this was death itself advancing. Parts of my body that were usually dry, such as my cheeks, forearms and the backs of my knees, gave up a sweat; I could feel it pricking up through my skin, and I was so cold my chest trembled.
‘Madam,’ he said, as if reading from a letter. I sat but he did not. ‘As Prince Henry’s body servant, my position at his Court ceased the moment he died. I had hoped,’ he looked increasingly uncomfortable, ‘to join the Court of Prince Charles, now installed at St James’s Palace, but I have not.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It seems that Prince Charles is aware of my …’ Arthur struggled ‘… our long association.’ My body reacted strangely to the news that the heir to the throne knew our sin. The muscles down my back convulsed. Arthur stared at me and I fought to appear calm.
‘I do not know how he has heard,’ Arthur continued, more his normal self. ‘Charles and his brother were not close and now that Henry is gone perhaps Charles wants things to be different. He is only thirteen. But neither he nor my father will own me while I am entangled with you. I must renounce you,’ he finished in a rush.
Finally, I was sufficiently goaded to speak. ‘Your father? But you invited him.’
‘I did not invite him. He heard rumours that I was to marry and rode down. It is the news of the Countess of Essex’s involvement with Mary Woods that has persuaded him you are of bad character,’ said Arthur with unusual bluntness.
I almost laughed. My connection with Frankie, which had once appealed to Arthur, was now the reason to abandon me?
‘And you?’ I said. ‘Do you also think that I, the mother of your three children, am “of bad character”? You know full well that the Countess did not meet Mary Woods through me.’ There was a long silence, filled by the muted sounds of the outside world. Arthur winced at every noise the children made upstairs.
‘It does not matter what I think,’ he said eventually, ‘but what others think.’
‘Make me your legitimate wife, which I am in all but name, and then there will be no scandal attached to us. Your father will come to accept the situation. He will love his grandchildren.’
Arthur looked vexed.
‘It is not seemly to marry a woman who can no longer bear children and those …’
‘I can bear children! I still bleed.’
‘… And those already born cannot be mine legitimately unless I own them, which I cannot do without great damage to my reputation and prospects. My father has made that clear.’
‘It is acceptable to fornicate with a woman for ten years, to have three beautiful children by her, to allow her to buy you clothes and care for you. But to marry her invites scandal?’ I moved closer to Arthur; he stepped back.
‘I am sorry you hoped we would be married,’ he said, increasingly calm in the face of my agitation.
‘Hoped?! It was to be today!’
‘The date was discussed some time ago. We have not spoken of it since.’
‘Indeed, you have not spoken to call it off! And now you intend to forget about me and all that is yours in this house?’
‘I cannot give you an allowance, if that is what you mean, for I have debts.’
‘Debts greater than those you owe our children? Not to mention the promises you gave to a dying man?’ I asked. Arthur did not reply but twisted his cap in his hand, letting the long plume on it flow through his fingers with every revolution. He spoke without raising his eyes.
‘If we meet in public it will be as if I do not know you. I will not write or see you again.’ He hesitated as if to say more, perhaps of how he regretted his treatment of me, how sorry he was that he could not behave with honour, that he would miss watching his children grow, but in the end he just left. He talked with kindness to the urchin holding his horse, but not to me.
I ran out and grabbed his arm, not caring who saw or heard me.
‘Who will teach your son to ride, to handle a sword, to become a gentleman? Your girls adore you! They squeal with delight when you appear and beg to be in your arms. Mary needs medicine and doctors for her cough. You would ride away from all the love that is yours in this house because there is a moment of gossip about the Countess of Essex? There is always prattle about her; it has nothing to do with me. We are your family.’
My words hit the soft point behind his newly donned armour. He held my shoulders and looked directly into my eyes, a tear falling each time he blinked. He leant forward and I lifted my mouth but he kissed my cheek, quickly turned away and swung up into the saddle.
I ran along, clutching at his foot, but he treated me as any beggar and steered a careful route along the narrow row. I knew that this would be the last time I saw him there.
I watched as he disappeared and then for a long time afterwards, jostled by all who passed. Finally, I turned and tried for home as if struggling against the weight of the grey Thames rushing me out to sea. I think Mistress Bowdlery found me. She pulled me from my knees and dragged me home. I curled before the fireplace, a tiny warm patch in the cold room, half in the ashes, half on hard boards. Dust to dust. Would tears, mixed with wood ash, form lye to burn my skin and make soap of me? Then I would serve a purpose. Soap with which to wash my children even if I could not feed them.
A door opened. Arthur with moth-shadowed face? No, mud on worn hem, it was old Maggie who helped me to bed. My mind wandered, further and further into the dark wood. How long does it take a small child to starve?
I lay that way for two days. Even the embraces of my children gave no comfort, for I had failed them. My sister’s voice could not penetrate my madness and my younger brother’s kindness made me shrink deeper into my shame.
Frightened, old Maggie sent for Weston, who was sufficiently perturbed to ask Frankie for help. It took him two days to find her; she was
hiding in her apartments in Greenwich Palace, away from the gossip that was washing around Whitehall about the nature of her friendship with Robert Carr. She came without hesitation, her face obscured by a deep hood, bringing rum and tincture of opium. I wished she would leave; I did not want her to witness my degradation, but she lay beside me on the bed, stroking my hair and chafing my hands. As I did not speak, she talked, mainly of the scandal Overbury had incited with his insult to her.
‘I need you, Anne. Overbury will scupper my annulment. He is hand-in-glove with Archbishop Abbot, both support my husband; without your wits I have no hope of getting the better of him.’ There was never a mention of Arthur. ‘I can appoint my own household when I marry Robin, and you and the children shall live with me. You will be happily married yourself soon; Mr Palmer has intentions towards you, it is quite plain.’ But I did not believe that Frankie or I would marry again; the angels had turned on us.
After a further day and night of my torpor, Weston reappeared.
‘Sir Thomas Overbury is arrested and in the Tower, held close prisoner,’ he announced, out of breath. This news at last cut through the wool in my skull. For the first time in days, I felt that my head and my body were no longer two divorced entities. Frankie stood; the place where she had lain quickly cooling.
‘How do you know?’ she demanded.
‘The Earl of Northampton commissioned me to take a letter to Viscount Rochester who is ill in bed …’
‘Robin? What ails him?’
‘A griping in the guts but it is not serious. The Viscount told me its contents. Sir Thomas was arrested today, during the meeting of the Privy Council.’
‘On what charge?’
‘For refusing the Embassy in Russia.’
Frankie let out a great laugh. ‘Of course he refused it! How could he interfere in everyone’s business from Moscow? Was Robin surprised? Distressed?’
‘I could not tell.’
‘To be held close, forbidden letters and visitors – Robin must have asked that of the King,’ Frankie said, turning to me. I heard, but to my increasing distress, I could not respond; I was locked inside my body. Frankie let out a sharp sigh, impatient with my self-absorption, but I swear I could do no other. She began to pace, muttering, enacting in her mind’s eye all the possible consequences of Overbury’s incarceration. Suddenly she stopped.
‘Weston, I need a new service of you. If my great-uncle can get you the position, would you act as Overbury’s gaoler? Someone we trust absolutely must guard him, to be sure he steals out no letters.’
I could see wisdom in the idea; a written accusation from him would immediately halt the annulment. Frankie would pay Weston, which I could not, but I felt his reluctance and I did not like the proposal either. He was old and should have easier employment. I often needed him at home, not merely for his service but for his unfailing loyalty and steady company. This would be another sacrifice I made for Frankie’s happiness.
Weston was silent a long while, waiting, I think for me to find a pretext to excuse him from this task. But I could not rouse myself. How to shield Weston when I could not protect my own children from want and harm? He glanced at me, but I failed him.I failed him.
He did not look at Frankie but at his hands as he nodded. I am sure he agreed only to protect me from Overbury’s spite, which would damage me as much as Frankie.
After Weston left, I turned my face to the wall and drifted off. I did not seek death; rather I sensed that life was drowning me. I do not remember how long I lay that way as there was nothing to which memory could cling, but at some point I became aware of pain. It disturbed my stupor at the bottom of the deepest, blackest, coldest sea. A spiteful imp tormented me with pins and sharp pinches that made me wriggle and squirm until I was forced to surface. I flailed at the devil who tortured me but by the light of a single candle, opening my eyes, I saw Frankie standing over me brandishing a needle.
‘She wakes!’ shouted Frankie, flushed from her attack. She hauled me up, propping me on a cushion, and washed my face with a wet cloth. Old Maggie hovered beside her with a hot posset that she made me sip before I could sink again. Her face was a breath away from mine and I saw tears streaming along her wrinkles. I stroked the glistening drops that fell on her hands, spotted with age, and the gratitude I felt warmed me a little.
Frankie took the cup and raised it.
‘A toast to Anne and Frankie.’ She drank and then pressed the cup into my hand. The warmth and weight of it shocked me. I had become a ghost.
‘Say it,’ said Frankie, squeezing my fingers on to the cup. She wanted to pull me back from hopelessness, as I had her, but I was tired of struggle. She put her hands either side of my face and blew into my mouth as midwives do to silent babies. The love of one who shares the tribulations of your sex can be as consoling as any marriage. Frankie was showing me that I was not worthless because I had been thrown away.
‘To Frankie and Anne,’ I mumbled and took a large swallow.
‘Louder. Remember, things always change.’
‘To Frankie and Anne,’ I said, not believing it.
‘Christ alive, Anne, shout!’
‘To Frankie and Anne,’ I said, clearing my throat for it was a long time since I had spoken. Frankie grabbed the cup, drained it, and threw it as hard as she could into the fireplace. We both shrieked as it smashed against the backplate. Rum spat blue in the flames. I spun out of bed to stamp on the embers that erupted from the fire and flew over the hearth on to the wooden floor.
‘Now you are dancing!’ said Frankie, laughing.
18
A month later I was greatly recovered and waiting anxiously with Frankie in her parlour.
‘You are sure of the veil?’ I asked, perhaps for the third or fourth time, never more nervous than at that moment. Many people had parts to play, I alone aware of them all. If I had forgotten or overlooked a single thing, if anybody was late, or early, if anybody veered from the agreements they had made or was loose with protocol, both Frankie and I would be entirely undone. It was a strange and unpleasant sensation, to be in a position of the utmost strategic importance, with peril not power my only reward.
‘Lord Northampton has reassured me on that point,’ said Frankie. ‘I feel like a tennis ball frayed with overplay,’ she said, fidgeting ceaselessly. She took my hand. ‘In truth, you risk much. I will never forget my debt to you, Anne, never.’
I was about to wave away her thanks, as I tended to do, but her gratitude brought me such fear that I could not. If there had been a middle way, a safer path, I would have taken it; but without Arthur, I had only the choice of living boldly or barely surviving. He had stopped our stipend and requested of Baron Ellesmere that John and Barbara leave the household so as not to see them more; that was a fearful day. I kept hold of my mind, but my skin broke out again in itchy red patches. Frankie found John a position at her parents’ palace at Audley End, but Oxford was out of his reach. Barbara was home until I could find her another position. Thomas came to tell me that he could not lend me money. I did not doubt his lack of cash; he spent all he had chasing around town, buying clothes and girls beyond his means, much as George and I knew he would.
Prices were rising, and for the first time I was truly afeared of how I was to feed and keep us warm. Everything that could be sold had been, except for George’s chair; we ate the cheapest food, lit no fires even on wet days and no longer took wherries, as resoling my boots was slightly cheaper. I had to search the muddy grass and sparse bushes of Lincoln’s Inn and Moorfields for ingredients for Mary’s syrup. George’s cat had to catch her own food and every other day I did not eat. Eustace, my younger brother, paid some of my rent, which staved off eviction. Even marrying Weston would not help us for long; he was an old man with a son of his own to leave his property to when he died. As the widow of a doctor I had some slight respectability that might allow me to find clients amongst the middling sort, those who knew nothing of Arthur. Loyal and caring thou
gh Weston was towards us, he was a rough man, paid to collect debts because others feared or owed him. As his wife, I would lose the little respect I still commanded and Frankie would be forbidden friendship with so low a person as I would then be. My worries sometimes gave me pains in the head that made my words come out backwards. My life as a widow careened on turbulent waters; I felt very keenly how rocky was the bottom, how flimsy the boat, and how very nimbly and hard I must row. I kept a firm grip on Frankie’s hand, as much for my own comfort as hers.
I was glad of the distraction when her steward announced a woman of middle age and a nervous girl, at least five years younger than Frankie.
‘Lady Monson, good day, and this must be your daughter,’ said Frankie, hiding extreme nerves under a warm smile. The Monson women curtsied low. Lady Monson was wife to Sir Thomas, Master of the Armoury at the Tower and Master Falconer to the King. Reputed the best falconer in Europe, he was also a client of the Howard family, Lord Northampton in particular, and friend to George and Simon Forman. It was Sir Thomas who appointed my brother Eustace to the royal mews and I had always enjoyed his company and was fond of his wife. She was a stout matron with nine living children and a necessarily practical bent of mind.
‘Your ladyship, may I introduce my daughter Janet,’ said Lady Monson. Frankie smiled at the girl and presented her with a small box. The girl opened it mutely. Inside was a ring of garnets and small diamonds.
‘A token of gratitude,’ said Frankie. Lady Monson smiled on behalf of her shy child.
‘Perhaps we should begin,’ said Frankie. I led Janet to the bed chamber. Laid on the bed were copies of the clothes Frankie was wearing, in the same pale green silk, made by a tailor living as far from Frankie’s as possible.
‘Your waist is smaller,’ I said as I helped Janet to change. I set about the white-faced girl with a box of pins. The shoes were slightly large, so I stuffed rags in the toes then arranged her hair and powdered her skin until she looked as identical to Frankie as possible.
