by Lena Kennedy
Wanda grabbed hold of Marcelle roughly as though she were a bag of beans, and dumped her back on the bed saying in a loud whisper: ‘Shut up! You will wake Roger.’
Marcelle suddenly sat up wide-eyed and scared. ‘What is the matter, Wanda?’ she whispered.
‘Matter!’ grumbled Wanda. ‘You was ’avin’ a nightmare and shoutin’ your head off. It was ’nuff to wake the dead.’
Marcelle shivered as she suddenly recalled her dream. ‘Light the candles, Wanda,’ she said, ‘and do not go yet. Stay with me a while.’
‘Tut! Tut!’ Wanda was feeling tired but she lighted the candles and sat on Marcelle’s bed. ‘Now what is wrong with thee? You’ve got no worries, and you’ve got plenty money. It should be me what’s getting nightmares – I ain’t even got a man.’
‘It is the man I see that frightens me,’ said Marcelle, looking from side to side.
‘Well, thee send ’im downstairs, then, I could fair do wi’ ’im,’ retorted the truculent Wanda.
Marcelle stared at the servant sitting there in her absurd-looking nightcap and enormous red flannel nightgown, with those queer blue eyes that sometimes looked green. Then she looked over towards Roger sleeping in his little cot, his curls just peeping over the top of his covers. Wanda was right, she had nothing to be afraid of, so why could she not forget the red-haired young man she kept thinking of as the devil? ‘Wanda?’ she asked timorously, ‘do you remember those three men who came late one night last summer?’
‘Course I do. Weren’t one out in the barn all night wi’ Ruth?’
‘But did you see the other two?’ queried Marcelle.
‘No, I never did. I were never allowed indoors them days, but Ruth do say that one o’ them was a royal prince, but then she were a bit of a storyteller and a liar as well,’ she added scornfully.
‘It is one of those men I see all the time,’ said Marcelle ‘and it frightens me. I keep thinking it is the devil.’
‘There be no such one,’ scoffed Wanda. ‘Wouldn’t catch me believin’ in ghosts and suchlike.’
‘But he walked in his sleep. I saw him then and I still do,’ insisted Marcelle.
‘Nonsense!’ exclaimed Wanda. ‘He be flesh and blood, I warrant you, if he be here. Move over, I’ll stay with thee, and perhaps he might fancy me.’
Wanda’s witty talk made Marcelle giggle and she felt comforted as the warm heavy body got into the bed beside her. How foolish she was! Wanda was right, she had this house, a husband and a baby. What was there to be afraid of?
From that time onward her nerves improved and she was no longer afraid to be alone. As Roger grew and he held out his little arms to her, his soft fingers clutching handfuls of hair, she would say to herself: ‘Now you have enough courage for two – until Roger grows up, at least.’
In the peace and beauty of the Essex countryside, amid the flowers in the lovely garden, Marcelle bloomed and blossomed, her worries and concerns disappeared. Until, that is, when one lovely morning she saw a stranger coming down the path, a middle-aged man dressed in grey. He swept his large hat off with a courtly gesture. ‘Excuse me, ma’am, have I the pleasure of addressing Mistress Mayhew?’
Marcelle blushed. No one had ever addressed her as a married lady before and she had been that for more than a year now.
‘I carry a letter from your husband, from the New World. My name is Mr Spencer, assistant to your husband’s lawyer at the Inns of Court.’
Marcelle flushed with pleasure. Thomas had written her a letter at last! Her heart beat fast with excitement as she invited the lawyer into the house.
In the small sitting room, which now looked quite bare without Annabelle’s little treasures, Marcelle entertained Mr Spencer. Wanda bustled in and out bringing them food to eat and wine to drink. Each time she came in, she flicked her sandy eye lashes and cast coy glances at the gentleman, while Marcelle sat quietly reading Thomas’ letter:
My dearest one.
I do hope this letter finds you well and happy. It is a strange life out here, but it is a very pleasant and fertile country with space for all to enjoy. It is my dearest wish to show this land to you, God willing, and all going well, it will happen. I will not distress you with the hazards of the voyage out here. It took almost a year, but as time passes the voyages out here must improve. This letter I am giving to the captain of a ship returning to England in the fervent hope it will reach you to find that you have had a bonny child and may God protect you both till I return.
By a strange coincidence I have made the acquaintance of a person whom you may recall. His name is Rolly, the strange child-like man who lived at the inn in Hackney where I found you, my love. Poor Rolly was press-ganged aboard but has settled down well. I have grown quite attached to him and have sent a letter to his sister at the inn to assure her that he is well.
Give my regards to Abe and Annabelle as well as to Will the minstrel. Take care of yourself, my love. I have enclosed the address of my brother so that you may write and tell him I am well. Goodbye for a while. Time will soon pass.
Your husband,
Thomas
10
Abduction
Rolly had been missing sometime now and an atmosphere of gloom had descended upon the Duke’s Head Inn. Betsy sat pale with weariness and anxiety. Beside her was a large bottle of strong sweet wine from which she repeatedly filled her wooden cup, commiserating with herself in between each long drink.
‘He’s never been gone this long before,’ she muttered morosely. ‘Something’s happened to him, I’m sure of it.’
Chalky stood with his hands in his pockets of the blue striped apron he wore, looking slyly down at the sawdust on the floor. ‘He could be in the fleet,’ he murmured softly.
Betsy turned her tousled head in Chalky’s direction and sniffed scornfully. ‘Well, he ain’t. I’ve been to all them stinking bleeding prisons. I’ve walked all day and there was no sign of him anywhere.’
‘I meant the navy,’ said Chalky.
‘Don’t be such a bloody fool!’ screamed Betsy, losing her temper. ‘You know how childish he is. He’d never think that one up on his own.’
‘Don’t have to think about it,’ replied Chalky gloomily. ‘They just grab you from behind. That’s how they got me,’ he added.
‘What do you mean, the press gang?’ Betsy demanded. But after a moment’s thought, she shrieked. ‘That’s it! They got him! Where else could he go? Because if he was still alive he would have come home by now.’
‘It won’t kill him,’ said Chalky nonchalantly. ‘He will come home when the ship docks.’ In a good few years, he thought, but did not say so to Betsy, who was crying. Big tears like raindrops ran down her cheeks.
Betsy had a constant love in her heart for that foolish brother of hers, and the thought that she might never see him again was too much for her to bear.
‘Never mind, love,’ Chalky seemed to be kindness itself, and he could never stand to see a woman cry. A very mixed character was Chalky. He filled up Betsy’s cup of wine. ‘There, now,’ he said kindly, ‘you go up and have a nice rest and I’ll keep the bar open. Then later, I’ll come up and we’ll have a nice bit of you know what . . .’ He laughed coarsely, tickling her under the chin.
‘You are a good chap, Chalky,’ said Betsy. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’ She hoisted her tired body from the low stool and, still clutching the bottle in one hand and the wooden cup in the other, slowly climbed the steep flight of stairs to her bed.
Chalky’s sharp yellow teeth showed in an almost crafty grin as he watched Betsy’s plump thighs as she passed. When she had disappeared, he took off his striped apron, carefully dampened his hair and parted it on one side, and drew his hands across his neat waxed moustache. Then he crept out of the house, closing the front door quietly behind him, and made off towards the fields at the back of the inn.
Down where the little brook gurgled merrily over the stones, its clear water showing up a myriad of col
ours, sat Katy, Chalky’s new love. Pink bare feet dangled in the water, and beside her on the bank was a basket of fish which she had brought down to the brook to wash in the cool water before arranging them on the stall her father owned in the market. Katy’s hair hung down her back in dark plaits and the low neck of her red dress exposed most of her snow-white bosom. As Chalky hurried towards her, he licked his lips. Here was Katy, beautiful Katy, a peach, fresh and ripe for the plucking. He slid down beside her. ‘Hallo,’ he said pleansantly. ‘Washed your fish, I see.’
Katy’s dark brown eyes stared lazily at him and, pouting her red lips, she stretched out towards him. As she did so, one white bosom peeped through her blouse, the little nipple like a tiny red rose bud waiting to be kissed.
Chalky stared in fascination and shivered with passion, not daring to raise a hand. The previous morning when he had moved too fast with Katy, he had ended up in the brook with a cockle basket on his head. He had no intention of allowing that to happen again. So now he was back in his stride with his old cautious approach to seduction.
Little did Chalky know that he had met his match. The beautiful, six-foot-tall Katy was twenty, still a virgin, and hell bent on staying that way. She strongly believed in self-preservation until someone placed a golden band of security on her left hand. Nevertheless, she was an expert in love play.
‘Don’t want no help with the fish, then?’ Chalky enquired, staring at her enticing bare flesh.
‘No, thanks, ’tis done,’ said Katy, but her hand was creeping nearer to him, passed his knee until it reached his thigh.
‘Oh, gawd,’ moaned Chalky, ‘don’t do that.’ He pressed closer to her. ‘Oh, give us a kiss, Katy,’ he begged.
Katy pouted her lips in his direction and her hand reached the right spot.
Suddenly Chalky lost control and tried to jump on top of her, only to be thrown off like a leaf in the breeze.
As he rolled over Katy stood up, and loomed indignantly over him. In a voice that grated like sand, she said: ‘I told you not to do that, didn’t I?’
‘But Katy, I love you,’ Chalky almost wept. His face pressed to the damp soft grass for cool comfort.
‘No man’s getting me till he weds me,’ said Katy haughtily, swinging the basket of fish on to her shoulder. She hitched up her skirt to reveal the whole of her sturdy white leg and marched back over the fields to the Broadway Market, where her father would be waiting patiently for the basket of fish.
Cold and shivering but with an inner fire, Chalky crept back to the warm bed of the blousy Betsy. Sleepy and comfortable, she cuddled him close. Now that Rolly had gone there was only Chalky to cling to.
As the weeks and months passed, this strange courtship with Katy made very little progress. Each morning Chalky came timidly to the brook, and just as the male spider taps his feet for fear of the female mate gobbling him up, so did Chalky tap and fidget in an alarming fashion. In fact his nerves were going to pieces he became so harassed. He lost all interest in Betsy, who felt quite neglected and drank more and more sweet wine. She stayed in bed later each day and became very untidy in her dress. The fight had left her completely, and now that Rolly was gone, she had no one to protect her.
Chalky’s vicious temper began to show itself more and more and no matter how hard Betsy tried to persuade him, he would not marry her. So Betsy got fatter and lazier and drank more. Something had to be done; these extreme tensions must come to a head.
Poor old Chalky itched and scratched and walked about feeling very sorry for himself. He was of two minds – one to wait for Katy in a lonely spot, rape her and then disappear with the haul of money he had stashed away, or to stay put and ask for Katy’s hand in marriage from that red-faced fellow of a father. But then there was Betsy. She might turn nasty if he wed another; it was all very worrying.
But it was fate that took a hand in Chalky’s problems. One day Betsy got very drunk and fell down the stairs, breaking both her legs. No matter how hard she tried to stand up, she could not keep her balance and the pain was blinding. She was forced to lie in bed and leave everything in the hands of Chalky who made her very comfortable with a bottle of sweet wine beside her.
Now Chalky could begin his campaign of love with a vengeance. Going down to the cellar he took a few of the gold coins from the jar in its hiding place. Smartening himself up, he went off to visit Katy in her little house in the Broadway. In the little room behind the shop Chalky proposed to Katy in the appropriate manner and although she was smelling of fish, she remained just as desirable to him as ever. Then rattling the gold coins in his pocket, and in the presence of Katy’s three brawny brothers, Chalky asked her father for Katy’s hand in holy wedlock.
Katy’s father wore a dirty fishy apron stretched tight over his fat stomach and a battered straw hat on the back of his head. He surveyed Chalky with a careful scrutiny as if the younger man were one of those boiled lobsters he sold. ‘Who is that woman at the Duke’s Head, then?’ he demanded. Silvery fish scales bounced off his chin as he stuck it out aggressively in Chalky’s direction.
Chalky began to wish he had never come to the house but he stood his ground. ‘She’s my stepmother,’ he said. ‘Me old man got drowned at sea. He left the business to me, he did, so I ain’t short of a few shillings.’ He rattled the gold nobles and pulled out a handful so that the men all got a glimpse of the gold.
The old man pursed his fat lips speculatively. ‘Got a good dowry going with that girl, and ain’t letting her go until the chap not only matches it but doubles it.’ His piggy eyes squinted at Chalky. ‘What’s your offer?’ he demanded.
‘I thought to start off with a nice little partnership – a stall outside the inn with a bit of lobster, crab and shellfish for the late-night customers.’
A beaming smile crossed the fishmonger’s fat features. ‘Well, now, you’ve got your head screwed on the right way, all right. You’re a boy after me own heart.’ He put an enormous arm about Chalky’s shoulder. ‘That’s a good idea. We’ll do a bit of eel in jelly, and Katy could run the inn until you got wed. Shake hands, boy, we’re in business.’ He held out a big, fishy hand and grasped Chalky’s. ‘Katy!’ he yelled. ‘Come in here and get your future husband a drink.’
In her best dress and her long hair in a silver snood, Katy sat coyly next to Chalky on the horse-hair sofa. Chalky sat unusually quietly but secretly he was undressing Katy with his eyes. Katy was aware of this and enjoyed it.
‘Wait till I get you up in the inn, my girl,’ he whispered, and Katy fluttered her dark lashes in anticipation.
The day’s courting was over. Chalky walked back to the inn whistling a tune. Well, that was not a bad day’s work, he thought, especially since there is an extra bit of cash with Katy thrown in, he thought shamelessly as he let himself in to the dark deserted inn. He heard a plaintive voice calling from upstairs. ‘Is that you, Chalky? Where have you been? Me bottle’s empty.’
Chalky grimaced and his face hardened in a cruel look. He would have to sort this out somehow . . .
Frances Howard’s new house was on the estate of her uncle, the Earl of Nottingham who lay very ill with the gout and the ailments of old age at his country house in Halling, near Croydon. All his life Henry Howard had kept away from the court intrigues and loyally served his king and country to the best of his ability. This policy had fortunately been to the advantage of his great family. But new stars had been rising – for James had many favourites – and the old courtiers of Elizabeth’s time were gradually being pushed into the background. So when Henry Howard’s favourite niece wanted to marry the king’s main favourite, Robert Carr, it was a great boost for the Howards, and it would also bring Robert Carr over to their side. Therefore all strings were pulled to help Frances, who was determined to get her marriage with Essex annulled, insisting that it had never been consummated. And there began the weaving of a great web of intrigue to prove that Frances was still a virgin.
With Abe, Annabelle and Merlin inst
alled in her new house on her uncle’s estate, Frances spent most of her time at court accompanied by Annabelle, trying to strengthen her position as the betrothed of the king’s favourite, and Robert Carr seemed to gain more favour from foolish old Jamie every day.
Abe did not like his new home, one bit. In fact he hated it. One afternoon, he leaned over the garden wall to watch the long line of carriages coming out of the city – heavy wagons loaded with goods, mounted men in all their finery and the grand retinue that rode with them dressed all in a blaze of coloured coats and gold braid. Travelling along that winding road sloped out of London towards the west country, they reminded Abe of an army of ants. What a dreary place this is, he thought, with its neglected gardens. Abe shook his grey head gloomily as he surveyed the battered cupids and the sad-looking one-armed goddesses perched in the centre of the lawn. What a contrast to the beloved garden he had left behind. He thought of the neat rows of carrots and onions. ‘I’ll never get used to it here,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Why there’s no room to swing a cat round in.’ He stared moodily towards the distant city, with its row of church spires and haze of black smoke that hung over it. ‘I wonder what that bitch of a countess is up to,’ he pondered. ‘It fair worries me the way she monopolises Annabelle, always out dressed up to kill.’ Once again he shook his old head like an old donkey. ‘Don’t like it one bit, I don’t. We should never have come to this dull house.’
Frances was for once at home, and she was preoccupied as she sat in the long elaborately furnished drawing room with its wall tapestries and luxurious couches, deep in conversation with Annabelle and a young girl. This was a poor Howard cousin and she was almost identical to Frances. To look at her you would be convinced that she was Frances’ twin, since she had the same ash-blonde hair, classic features and same protruding eyes. But the expressions on their faces were totally different: the young girl looked sweet and gentle, while Frances’ full heavy lips only turned down disdainfully at the corners. Frances leaned forward to talk to this young girl, forming each word carefully and making signs with her hands. The young girl touched her lips and with her hands indicated that she understood. For she had no power of speech. She was totally dumb but her hearing was not impaired.