‘Shush, Grisella. I do not need a sweetheart, for I am promised to Malcolm Longfoot, who is sixteen years old, and handsome.’
‘He has pimples and a squint, or I’m a stoat,’ said Grisella. ‘And I expect, like you, he doesn’t have a bean.’
‘Aye, I am poor – and what of it?’ cried Mary.
‘For shame, Grisella,’ I said.
‘Well,’ she said.
The squabble was broken by the arrival of Nicholas’s friends, who came towards us out of the sun, blinking their eyes to make us out in the gloom.
‘How do ye do,’ said Jasper, who was a large sort of boy, with fair hair scissored straight across his forehead and a round face that looked like the product of puddings. ‘This is my cousin Samuel Sherewin. We’re here to follow the secret paths. Nicholas has told us all about it and we want to join your club.’
‘How do ye do,’ said Samuel, with a roguish sort of smile that twisted his face up to one side, the way Joe the cowper’s did – only Joe was very weather-beaten, and married. Samuel was a tall, well-formed boy with broad shoulders and, I thought, a manly way of standing, with his hand on one hip. He had dark brown eyes and light brown hair that curled pleasingly at his neck. I found that I thought him very handsome, and busied myself with my pockets to cover it.
‘Nicky said you might be testy, so I’ve brought a bit of a wench-sweetener,’ said Jasper. Here he winked at Nicholas, folding open his knapsack to show us a dun-coloured cake trussed up in a white linen cloth. ‘It’s an orange pudding,’ he said. ‘Wenches love a pudding.’
‘Oh do we?’ I said.
‘What have you done to it?’ said Grisella, peering in. ‘Why, it’s all squashed – and half of it is crumbs!’
‘And,’ said Samuel, getting a flask out of his belt with a flourish, ‘I have brought cordial that I topped up with sugar when my Aunt Margaret was at her devotions.’
‘You’ll have to swear,’ said Mary quickly. I knew that she had a very sweet tooth, on account of not having sugar at home. ‘It might be well, mightn’t it, Ursula?’
‘Well, you shall have to agree to be in my play,’ I said, in what I hoped was a lordly tone. ‘I have written one and we are to act it in my glade. I won the straw to choose the path.’
‘I am your servant, madame,’ said Samuel, giving me a bow, and then looking at me for such a long time that I smoothed down my hair and fiddled with my collar.
‘I have always wanted to act, and I think I shall do quite well at it,’ said Jasper. ‘Mama says I have a carrying sort of voice, and I believe I can recite quite as well as the next boy, if not better.’
‘’Tis true,’ said Nicholas, who had been lurking near the oak, looking sheepish. ‘Well you better swear the oath then,’ he said, and told them it, and they held their hands aloft and repeated our rhyme.
I do solemnly swear by the cloth of my hood,
to keep the dark secrets alive in Bear Wood;
If I do prattle, or if I do prate,
I know that I’ll meet me a terrible fate;
so I swear by my spit on the mystical tree,
that I’ll always keep mum, by my eye, verily.
‘And now you spit,’ said Mary.
We spat.
I led the way, the others in a straggly line behind me, Nicholas, as usual, bringing up the rear. The new boys seemed much excited by the journey into the deep part of the forest, declaring that they had never been so far in, and wondering at everything they saw. I turned at the top of the ditch to watch them catch their first sight of my glade.
‘Faith, ’tis a famous pretty place,’ said Jasper, taking off his hat, and wiping his brow.
‘You are clever to find it,’ said Samuel, his eyes fixed on mine in a way that seemed admiring.
Nicholas and Mary set about busying themselves in tidying the place up, for it had been many weeks since we had been there, and there were broken branches that had come down in a storm.
‘Which is the stage?’ said Samuel.
‘That high part yonder,’ I said. ‘And those not acting may sit down there, when not called for – that part is the pit.’
‘Do we have costumes?’ said Jasper, striding about in a territorial sort of way that I did not like.
‘’Tis what I am always saying we need,’ said Grisella. ‘It is devilish hard for me to get into my part without some sort of trifle to help, especially if I am to play a man, or a serving wench. I have asked Ursula for a dairy maid’s bonnet, or a tricorn, or a cloak of purple satin, oh an endless number of times, but will she bring ’em? No she will not.’
‘I’m the author, not the mistress of the wardrobe,’ I said, ‘but what is to stop you bringing a hat or two with you other than your own indolence?’
‘It’s her nursey, Mistress Marigold, who has a spanking paddle and an itchy hand to use it, is it not, Grisella?’ said Mary, with a smirk at me.
‘Aye!’ called Nicholas. ‘And ’tis why ye will never see Mrs Griss sit down. She cannot do it, for her back-cheeks are blistered all over.’
‘Indeed they are not, horrid boy!’ shouted Grisella, but her face had coloured up, and she turned her back on us and began to hum a ditty.
We settled to eat the picnic, then, before the pudding could disintegrate further, and though it was as crumbly as Grisella had first thought it, and we had to pass the cordial around and take a great gulp each before wiping the bottle neck for the next child, there was something about the twittering of the birds all around us, and the spots of sunlight on our arms, and the greenish glow of our faces, that made the whole thing quite magical. After some discussion over the parts, we began our playing.
THE PLAYERS
LADY CASSANDRA, a gay young gentlewoman – Mrs Grisella Shadforth
MAUDE, her maid – Mrs Ursula Flight
ROVER, Cassandra’s faithful mutt – Mr Jasper Rackwood
DUKE JOHANNES, a handsome young duke – Mrs Mary Goodsoule
TOBIAS, his servant – Mr Samuel Sherewin
OLD CRONE, a wise woman – Mr Nicholas Danbye
ACT II, SCENE I
A magical forest in England, the stroke of midnight on Midsummer’s Eve. The moon is full: its gleaming light makes soft white shapes which dapple across the leafy earth and the banks of bright green bracken. The sweet scent of honeysuckle drifts across the warm night air. In the distance, the faint and eerie keening of wolves.
Enter CASSANDRA, MAUDE and ROVER, at their heels.
CASSANDRA: How dark it is in the forest tonight and such a perfume that floats on the very air! Methinks this glade alive with enchantment. Ah, such strange things I do to meet my true sweetheart, the Duke, in secret.
MAUDE: Hark! [They listen] The howling of wolves! I pray they will not come close, for I am a simple girl and am much afeard of the beasts. ’Tis said they are the servants of the Devil and do his bidding, on scurvy nights like this.
CASSANDRA: ’Tis the moon that makes them howl so, it is like a strange sort of music on the wind. But do not be afraid, my Maude: we have our faithful Rover with us. He will protect us.
ROVER: Woof!
CASSANDRA: [Petting him] There now, my good boy.
ROVER: Woof!
MAUDE: Hark, what is that? Methinks I heard a twig snap. The crackle of broken leaves underfoot! Someone this way comes.
ROVER: Woof!
CASSANDRA: [Crossly] You must not keep saying ‘Woof,’ Jasper; you’ll ruin the suspense.
ROVER: But I have no cursed lines! I thought perhaps the doggie could have a bit of a chat with Samuel – I mean Tobias – when he comes on.
MAUDE: You’re ruining it, Jasper! Just be quiet, and act your part, like a real dog, or you’ll have to sit it out.
OLD CRONE: [From off-stage] Button it, Jaspie, there’s a good fellow.
CASSANDRA: Let us go behind this blessed oak tree and wait for the handsome lover I pray will soon be mine. And remember, Maude, we must play it as we have schemed.
MAUDE: I am ready, mistress. [They step behind the tree]
Enter THE DUKE and his TOBIAS.
THE DUKE: This must be the place; it is a mysterious and magical glade, just like my Lady Cassandra. How like her to choose it for our tryst. Look, there are fairy rings. We may yet be set upon by elves, for I feel their hypnotic presence even now... Hark! Is that the sinister whining of wolves I hear, Toby?
TOBIAS: Yes, master, but have no fear. I have a big blunderbuss in me kecks that I’ll not hesitate to set off at the first sign of any such abominable beast.
THE DUKE: A good fellow, you.
TOBIAS: Aye.
THE DUKE: Stop! There goes one of the foul canines now! Prithee, blow its guts out before we are all ripped to pieces by its loathsome yellow fangs.
TOBIAS: [Pulling out his gun and pointing it] Ware, evil dog, for I shall send you straight back to the fiery hell from whence you came!
THE DUKE: What is it doing, pray?
TOBIAS: Why, it’s cocking its leg, master.
THE DUKE: Curious creature!
TOBIAS: Now it lays on the ground and begs for its belly to be rubbed, master.
ROVER: Woof!
TOBIAS: Faith, ’tis only a mangy old dog. It looked like a wolf in the moonlight.
THE DUKE: Ah, Lady Luna. Such fiendish tricks she plays on us mortals.
Pause.
MAUDE [Stepping out from behind the tree] Pray, gentlemen, do not hurt my dog, my faithful mutt, Rover.
ROVER: Woof!
THE DUKE [Stepping back into the shadows] [Aside] The game was almost up! Thank Jesu for the moonlight, for I know its artful cunning will conceal me, and with it, my true purpose to trick my Lady Cassandra.
TOBIAS: [Disguised as THE DUKE] Lady Cassandra, is that you? I cannot make out your pretty visage in the dark. The moonlight plays such artful games. Is that my fairest love or else is it a wondrous mirage step’t from my deepest dreams?
MAUDE: [Disguised as CASSANDRA] My love, ’tis I! Is that my dear heart, the Duke Johannes? I cannot see you well, for the light is bad and this forest casts a strange sort of spell to muddle me.
TOBIAS: ’Tis I, my lady love. [He sweeps a bow]
MAUDE: We do not have much time, my Lord. I am come to tell you that my father will have me wed to the evil Count Bonbon and I am to go to his mother’s house tomorrow to prepare for our conjugation.
ROVER: Way hey!
TOBIAS: The scoundrel! The knave! Why, I’ll kidnap you ’ere long and carry you off.
MAUDE: My Lord, you cannot, for I have crept out of my chamber under cover of darkness and will soon be missed.
TOBIAS: I must embrace you then, for your beauty overpowers me.
They kiss.
ROVER: Woof!
TOBIAS: Hold your tongue, dog.
ROVER: That’s not in the script!
TOBIAS: Shush.
Enter OLD CRONE, with a bent back and creeping gait.
CRONE: A word in your ear, Lady Cassandra.
TOBIAS: What? Are we discovered?
CRONE: Nay, be not deranged, my Lord. ’Tis I, Mistress Grundle, who lives in the forest, casting spells and healing the poor souls who stray too far from the path. The Lady Cassandra knows me, for I dandled her on my knee and, like a mother, fed her from my very teats.
ROVER: Oddsfish! Now I’ve heard it all!
CRONE: I’m just following the script, Jasper, so shut up.
MAUDE: My nurse! I can hardly make you out in this flickering and watery gleam.
CRONE: ’Tis I, my Lady. And I am here to warn you, by my dark arts and my cunning. Ware the Duke Johannes! For he is not what he seems.
MAUDE: [Aside] Neither am I, in truth – Oh no!
TOBIAS: Thou lieth, crone!
CASSANDRA: [From behind the tree] Woe, it cannot be!
DUKE: [From the shadows] What devilry is this?
MAUDE: And that’s as far as I’ve got.
DUKE: But it was just getting good!
ROVER: The dog wasn’t. I was quite under-used.
CRONE: Do shut up, Jasper.
ROVER: And why were the servants in disguise as the quality? If they were in a wood and no one there to see them? It doesn’t make sense.
MAUDE: I haven’t got that far yet.
TOBIAS: I thought it was monstrous good.
MAUDE: Thank you, Samuel.
CRONE: I know what he liked!
ROVER: The conjugation!
Exeunt.
IX
MALADY
In which I take a head-cold and pay a call
As the astrologers and almanacs had predicted, the winter of 1678–9 was a hard one – it had snowed straight through from November to February, and we had all of us forgotten what the sight of a blooming flower or green field looked like. My fourteenth birthday passed in a flurry of snow showers. Up and down the country, the endless winter was all anyone talked of – some saying that it showed the Lord Jesu’s displeasure with the liberties of the age – and though I did not quite comprehend what this might mean, my father said that the King was a man who loved beautiful things and to be merry, and the Court become a place of pleasure rather than prayers, and some did not like it.
I wondered at this, and how merriment might be wrong, and how at Bynfield we children were the opposite of merry, for we had become irritable and mischievous with being shut up in the house. We played at hide-and-seek, but it often went on until nightfall, for Reginald was inclined to make his hidey hole so difficult, he could never be found, and the rest of us vexed and exhausted in the hunting for him. We tried to get the little ones to act in a play, but they could not read, and the lines were too long for them to learn by rote, and so the attempt ended with everyone in a disagreeable temper. Hunt the Thimble entertained us for a while, but Catherine was too little to spy it, and Reginald began to grow irked at my helping her, and made a great fuss, which ended in a row, and with everyone weeping, even Mary, who was usually so placid.
It was a bitter Thursday in February and the room grey with early light. We three children, who had been up since daybreak, clustered about the fire, watching Father eat his morning meal, while my mother sat, ready to come to his aid, should he need the salt-cellar, the milk, or a napkin – it was my mother’s great grief that Father was given to using his kerchief, or in real moments of absent-mindedness, his sleeve.
‘They say the frost is still not like to melt for some weeks,’ said my father, tearing at a piece of bread and dipping it in his ale.
‘Who says?’ said my mother, in her sharp way. In the morning light, the wrinkle on her forehead was a long dark crease. Her hair was caught up in two pretty combs but below it, her face was pale, and I wondered if something ailed her.
‘Oh, the astrologers,’ said my father, winking at me. ‘It is said when the snow melts, the Queen will be with child.’
‘The astrologers or the old men at the coffeehouses?’ said my mother. ‘Why, ’tis none of our business whether the Queen is with child or nay. A small wonder the poor woman cannot get a babby when all the men in England have been prating of it from morning until night for all these years.’
‘’Tis everyone’s affair when we need a boy-child for the succession,’ said my father. ‘Else we shall all be cast at sea again. But King Charles knows his business as well as we do. So let us not quarrel of it, wife.’
My mother made a muttering sound, and folded her hands in her lap.
‘What are the coffeehouses like, Father?’ said I. ‘I imagine them full of wise men with deep thoughts, having very learned conversations. I should like to go there, I think.’
‘Papa goes to the coffeehouse and he comes back very smelly,’ said Reginald, lolling against the table, his fat hands slimy with oyster juice. ‘When I am grown up I shall not smoke tobacco or drink a dish of coffee neither.’
‘Oh no?’ I said. ‘Will you drink cordial and fortify yourself with sugarplums, though you are aged and lean on a stick?’
Wh
ile Mother looked the other way, Reginald thumbed his nose at me, then stuck out his tongue for good measure.
‘Papa,’ said little Catherine, ‘is a plop.’
‘Shush,’ said my mother.
‘Botty,’ said Catherine.
The little ones giggled.
‘Your manners are very ill, young lady,’ said my father, scooping Catherine onto his lap. ‘But no more of this gutter talk or your mother will spank you until your botty is red as a radish. I see her fingers itching to do it now, look.’
‘Providing the discipline in this house is something I never itch to do,’ said my mother, and her voice sounded brittle. ‘But one of us must do it, or else everyone run wild.’
I held my breath for the argument that must come.
‘That is so, wife,’ said my father, but his smile was gone, and though he made no further reply, there was something in his eyes that I did not understand.
I had grown bored of drifting about the house. Even my books did not console me. I felt the frigid temperature keenly and, once away from the fire, was ever blowing my hands to warm them; though I tried all sorts of tricks to warm myself, such as hopping on the spot and clapping my hands, the thawing did not seem to last. I had caught a cold, too; the sort that filled up my ears and nose, so I was cross that day, as well as chilled, for I had had a bad night’s rest: the flux from my nose would keep running down my chin, and waking me up, and that morning it had moved to my chest, and I had started wheezing and barking like Muff.
When I was certain that Father was gone, and Mother had bustled off on some mysterious household errand or other, I wrapped myself in my woollen cloak and boots, and slipped out of doors. The world outside was silver-white and very pretty-looking, and after feebly kicking at a snow drift, I took the winding little track that led through the fields behind our house and stamped down the snowy lane. The Goodsoules’ cottage was set off the road and had a sloping, thatched roof. A great brown tangle of briars grew up against the house; under the snow it looked queer and misshapen.
The Illumination of Ursula Flight Page 5