The Illumination of Ursula Flight

by Anna-Marie Crowhurst

  Goodsoule and Mary came in and kissed me awake and put me in my gown of blue and gold: a heavy, brocaded thing that chafed me at the neck and wrists. I had blue silk stockings and my mother’s old lace garters against the Evil Eye and my high-heeled shoes were very fine, embroidered with silver and gold thread, and with a buckle set with pearls. I sat on the stool as Goodsoule uncurled the rags from my hair. When I looked into her face there were tears shining in her eyes.

  ‘Oh my Ursula,’ said she. ‘You have been a daughter to me. And you to wed so young! I thought to have you for some years yet.’

  She wiped her eyes with her hands. Red, rough hands I knew so well. They had taken me by the nose when I was naughty and stroked my poor, hot head in fever.

  ‘And it has pleased God to take your father, but though he cannot walk you to the church door, he will watch you from above, my sweet, and give you his blessing from up on high.’

  I could not answer her. Something had risen in my throat and lodged there, and would not go down. We three of us pressed our heads together and wept.

  I was primped and preened most fully, when Lisbet ran up to say that it was time, and Mother waiting in the hallway for me, and growing evermore impatient for our departure to the church.

  ‘Thank ye, Lisbet,’ I said, getting up, ‘but if I cannot dally on my wedding day of all days, then I do not know when I might.’

  I went quickly past them onto the landing and slipped down the backstairs and along the servants’ corridor to my father’s study. I turned the handle and pushed open the old oak door, as I had so many times before. The frightening silence; the chill of the unused room on my skin. There were only a few ashes now, in the grate, and the books and papers on my father’s desk were all neatly stacked in piles, as they had never been when he was alive. I went over to them, drew up my old low stool and leant on the arm of his chair, now cool to the touch, and covered in a film of dust. I laid my head down and wept there for the loss of him, and for the loss, too, of my whole childhood, for I knew now I must go and be a grown-up, and I did not know how I would do it.

  By the time we set off for the church the sun had gone in and the sky was grey and heavy-looking, the birds flittering about in the branches of the trees and chirping as loud as I had ever heard them. Blue Boy was led to the mounting block and I smiled to see him in my gloom, for Mary and Catherine had decked him with flowers as a wedding gift and he had cornflowers and daisies and lavender wound about his reins and threaded in his mane. He seemed to think himself very fine indeed, picking up his feet and tossing his head up high at every passer-by as we made our way in procession down the path to the church. I found that I had become insensible to my surroundings, even as all the villagers came out of their cottages to smile at me and wish me much joy – I could do little but lift my hand up towards them. There was a distracting thought, too, that swirled about my mind: should I still have to marry if Father had lived? For the idea had descended that I might have changed his mind – he was a reasonable man, in the face of reasoned argument. Mother had seemed immovable though, as she was in all things now, insisting that everything must continue exactly as it had before. There was safety in that for her, I felt – a refuge from the painful novelty of widowed life. But if Father had lived, it might not have come to this.

  My hands had grown shaky and the palms quite damp with sweat before we had reached the church gate, and as Reginald helped me dismount (he did it very ill), I caught my foot in the stirrup and fell against Blue Boy’s flank, dragging my gown in the mud in the process, and twisting my foot right out of my shoe. Then they all went before me, and left me alone before the dim portal to the church, save for Reginald, for he was walking me in, in my father’s place, though he did not much want to do it, and had whined at my mother until she threatened him with the whip.

  Though I knew this was the first time I should lay eyes on my new relations, my mind was a swirling fog as I made my way up the aisle: the rustle of my heavy gown; the click of my heels on the tiles of the floor echoing loudly in my ears. I could not take in who was in the congregation, and afterwards had only a faint impression of a woman with a sharp little face beneath a great Puritan coif that was the fashion of more than five-and-twenty years before, and the reedy girl beside her, who wore a cloud of flaxen hair so far forward on her face, she was little more than a nose.

  At the altar, Tyringham was waiting, grim-faced and stiff in his wedding clothes, and when I got to him, he first gripped my arm, then took my cold hand in his, and I felt that his palm too was moist with sweat.

  When we knelt together, I found he smelt of clove powder and ale. He did not let go of my arm, as the priest began the marriage service, but stroked the fabric of my sleeve, his breath smelling very sour as it puffed onto my face. I tried to smile at him, for my own heart was thumping wildly in my chest, but he seemed not to notice, and I took it to be piety, for he kept his head bowed very low during the prayers and murmured his ‘amens’ in a fervent voice. Before I knew what I was about, I was plighting my troth, and the priest had pronounced us wed.

  There was a long sermon then, about women submitting themselves unto their husbands and having chaste conversation and a mild and quiet spirit – I looked all this up later in The Book of Common Prayer, it having little impression at the time, for I was growing mightily bored at the length of the speech and there were pains in my legs from the kneeling, as well as a prickling of my skin at my being the object of so many pairs of eyes, at the thought of which my armpits grew ever wetter, while sweat beadlets ran freely down my back.

  What a strange and heady thing it was to hear the organ strike up for me, and the congregation singing as I drifted out of the church doors a married woman on the arm of my new husband. My wedding ring felt strange and tight upon my finger, but it looked very well there I thought, and I turned my hand in front of my face to admire it, as we went up the path.

  ‘Take it off a while, and look inside it, wife,’ said my new husband, who was holding me very close.

  I twisted the gold band off with a little difficulty, for my fingers had swollen in the dark, dead air of the church. But I held it upon my palm and saw he had had it engraved, like a poesy ring. On the inside of the band it said in sharp, bold letters:

  NO JOYE IN LYFE LIKE A VERTUOUS WYFE

  ‘I composed it myself,’ he said, watching me push the ring back on my finger. ‘And you shall never take that off again. And so we will have great joy, with God’s help, sweet wife.’

  And with that he gathered me up and kissed me on the mouth, while his hot hands roved about my waist. I held my arms stiffly at my sides, not knowing what else to do. His lips were thin and wet against my own, and the taste of his mouth was bitter and strange, and I thought of Samuel then, and had a little pang that it was not he I was kissing. I felt my husband’s tongue flick around my teeth, and wondered what he was about, but waited patiently, with my mouth opened for him to complete his investigations.

  Just then came a great crack of thunder, and the heavens opened, which made him withdraw and pull me to the trees, but not before great sheets of summer rain plastered my wedding hairstyle over my ears and drenched my gown right through to the skin, where it would chafe me for the rest of the day.

  How strange it was to see my dear Bynfield Hall decorated for our wedding breakfast! We were to spend the night here, and ride on to my new home in the morning, and I gazed with brimming eyes at the long table laid to dine, the silverware all polished for the occasion, and the pretty garlands of twisted ivy that hung from the rafters, for the hours with my family were dwindling and I knew I must savour every sweet moment. I supped cockscombs with pansy, and picked at my oysters, in a silver dish. I had sweetbreads with oranges, I chewed at boiled pike and pineapple. I swallowed all with a tight smile, tasting none of it, for I could not feel joy while the white face of my husband flickered before me in the candlelight.

  ‘You make a very pretty bride, wife,’ said he, at le
ngth. I did not answer. He forked the mutton into his mouth. ‘I am lucky to have such a sweet young maid as you,’ he said. ‘And though I am some twenty years your elder, I hope you can learn to look upon me with some semblance of love.’ He peered at my face to see how I took it. ‘I will try to be a good husband.’

  ‘And I a good wife,’ said I.

  The musicians had struck up, and when the dancing began he took my hand and led us in a courtly passepied, at which everyone cheered, and when it ended, he steered me into the shadows of the hall, his hand around my waist.

  ‘And now I think we will slip away,’ he said in low tones. ‘I will send for a flagon of sack, and we will have it in my chamber.’

  ‘But the dancing is not yet done, sir,’ I said, pretending to laugh.

  I shook my curls and tried to lean out of his embrace. He pulled me closer, tightening his grip. His breath was on my neck, then his wet mouth. His cheek was whiskery and rough. The tendrils of his periwig fell against my face. I looked for my mother over his shoulder.

  ‘You will have ribbons and trinkets and songbirds in cages,’ he murmured. ‘You will have fine clothes sent from Paris and jewels set in Venice.’

  ‘You are kind,’ I said, but my voice shook a little, and he heard it, for he loosened me, and was panting.

  ‘But you are afraid of me?’

  ‘I – I would not leave the dancing.’

  ‘Hush, now. We will go up, but you may return to the dancing, later, if you wish.’

  He had me by the arm and walked me out the door and up the stairs. There was silence now between us, just the whir of my gown and the groan of the stairs as we went up, up, up to begin our married life.

  I

  LOVING

  In which I enjoy my honeymoon

  ACT II, SCENE I

  Dawn. A grand chamber with a canopied bed. The sun is a slanted orange square on the claret-coloured bed curtains. The curtains twitch, and a small white hand is thrust out. The hand wrenches back the curtains – it belongs to a GIRL, who is pale in her creamy shift. She wears a nightcap tied over her curl-papers. The MAN’s head on the pillow beside her is dark. He snores, his mouth a slack, dark hole below his courtier’s moustache. There is spittle on his cheek. The girl looks at him; sighs; then suddenly and violently sneezes.

  GIRL: Ah-shoooo!

  MAN: [Starting up from the bed mid-snore] Whuh?

  GIRL: Forgive me!

  MAN: Mmm. Wife.

  He stretches out his arm and drags her to him.

  There now. My girl.

  She grimaces in his embrace. He strokes her hair. She twitches.

  Good morrow, wife. How did you sleep in my great bed?

  GIRL: Well, not too badly. It was odd being in bed with a man. I have not tried that before, for as you know, Mother does not believe in bundling. I had a queer dream...

  MAN: Hmm, let me see. Was it about... a handsome prince and a pretty young maid?

  GIRL: Nay, sir. It was that I was a famous actress ’pon the stage and was taking my curtseys while all the handsome gallants in the stalls threw yellow roses at my feet. And in the dream I had writ the play as well as acted in it and even the King stood up in his box to shout ‘Brava’ for the finest lady playwright in England.

  MAN: It must be all of that curd-cake you took at dinner. For I fancy whenever I eat it, I have a cauchemar.

  GIRL: Aye.

  MAN: Well now, Lady Tyringham, my sweet new bride, I drifted off last night being so fatigued from the extravagances of our wedding day. But I find myself quite awake now.

  He twists his body, pressing it to hers.

  GIRL: Husband?

  MAN: Aye?

  GIRL: I thought yesterday I heard you say to your mama that fornication was a sin. Did you not say that?

  MAN: Eh? Aye, aye, but ’tis not if it be done in matrimony.

  GIRL: Have you not fornicated before now then? I am trepidatious then, for I hoped you’d know what you were doing.

  MAN: Why I – of course I have. ’Tis different for men.

  GIRL: I have heard that it is so, in all things. But faith, husband, I do not remember the part which says fornication is a sin only to women. I will have to look at my Bible again and apply myself more rigorously to the commandments.

  MAN: [Annoyed] ’Tis not said expressly in the Bible – but ’tis known widely that it be so. I cannot explain it beyond saying ’tis the way of the world. But you are a child still, and would not know it.

  GIRL: Aye, I am but fifteen years old.

  MAN: You have a woman’s wit and way of twisting things about that belies your years.

  GIRL: Thank you, sir.

  MAN: ’Twas not a compliment! Now. [Resuming his nuzzling] Oh, my lambikin. Oh my pretty, silken rabbit.

  GIRL: I must have had it wrong from Mother.

  MAN: [Breaking off] What?

  GIRL: She said that I must allow no man to conquer me that has not first conquered my heart. For ’tis not godly, without love, Mother says. And Jesu will look down and punish they who do not commune together in the spirit of true affection – with an empty womb and a useless, shrivelled seed...

  MAN: Why, but I have! Have I not wooed thee with the softest tongue? Have I not given thee trinkets – and billets-doux – and jewels? Gad – have I not married thee and vowed to cleave by thy side?

  GIRL: Aye, but it has not worked.

  MAN: It has not worked?

  GIRL: Gad, I do look upon you with a kind eye, but I do not yet feel that a spark has been lit... or a fire started in my belly, such as might engulf me in a torrent of molten-hot flames – my mother told me there should be such a fire before I, young girl as I am, consent to submit to ardour. [Aside] ’Tis all a lie, I have read all this in plays!

  MAN: Why, I have never heard the like. Away with this silly modesty, and let us do our duty as husband and wife. The marriage is not legal without it.

  GIRL: With all the guests who came in with us last night and threw the stocking and caroused and bore witness to our bedding?

  MAN: ’Tis not enough.

  He begins to kiss her neck.

  GIRL: I have heard it said that flattery often helps in these matters.

  MAN: [Breaking off again] Flattery?

  GIRL: Aye, and perhaps you should attempt it, for who knows, it may work to soften me, as tallow does a rough and inflexible hide.

  MAN: The Devil!

  GIRL: I will lie here like this, husband, until you have thought of it.

  She serenely closes her eyes, folds her hands.

  MAN: [Muttering] I do not see why – uh – why...

  She does not move.

  MAN: Fine then, have it your way... Oh... your beauty. Gad, I am – struck quite dumb with it.

  GIRL: [Nodding with closed eyes] ’Tis plain.

  MAN: But it also – it fires my soul.

  GIRL: [Opening one eye] Go on.

  MAN: Your face – it – it is so very pretty. And it – your face I mean – would launch a...

  GIRL: Mmm?

  MAN: ... hundred... barges.

  GIRL: That cannot be it.

  MAN: Well then, I am a – a slave to your wondrous charms... I am wretched with love. A poor, poor wretch.

  GIRL: [Wriggling] How so?

  MAN: I’ve got it! Uh, would – would I were a sailor charting the blue seas of your limpid eyes...

  GIRL: Yes… it may be working.

  MAN: ... and your voice is... music. And so sweet. Like the singing of a choir of angels!

  GIRL: [Burping] I beg your pardon. I had a great slab of pie at dinner and it seems it has come back to haunt me. Do continue – I am feeling much more malleable already.

  MAN: I worship at the heavenly altar of your celestial body! I will let my burning kisses fall down onto your lips like hot rain!

  GIRL: [Aside] Everything I have been taught suggests that is impossible.

  MAN: Let me be your dog, I will lie on you!

  GIRL: Oh husband
, I find my heart going pit-a-pat. But it may well be the talk of pie.

  MAN: Wife!

  He pulls her to him. Pushes her arm back above her head.

  GIRL: First, swear that you will have none other but me.

  MAN: I did so on the Holy Book. Yesterday. Now let us get on with it.

  His arms disappear beneath the bedclothes.

  GIRL: Wait! For I am afraid, now I think ’pon it, that I cannot now see the advantage to it.

  MAN: Advantage! Advantage or not, it does not signify for I have the law behind me in this.

  GIRL: The law was writ by men and so it does not surprise me that you have it behind you. What do I have behind me but this bolster – and an invisible army of a thousand angry women with gnashing teeth and hellfire in their eyes? [Pause] But, Gad, I suppose we must try it – for I have always wanted to see heaven.

  MAN: [In the midst of mounting her] Heaven, child? I hope it will not be that bad.

  GIRL: Nay, it has just come back to me now – for I have heard [Aside] or rather, read – that that is the advantage of the sport of love. That the couple may reach such a state of earth-shattering joy that they may – at climax of their sheet-shaking, at the peak of their princum-prancum, at the crescendo of their frenzied feverish fadoodling – actually see heaven. And in truth I am excited, for it must surely be a better sight than Wiltshire. And so let us begin. [Murmuring] Oh it will be so beautiful. I shall tell all my friends that I have seen it and exactly what it looked like.

  MAN: I’m not sure that’s a good idea.

  Curtain

  II

  DOMESTICITY

  In which I spend a quiet afternoon with my husband

  To stand in a field on Tyringham land was to note the vastness, the emptiness of the landscape. It rolled away in all directions: dark green and pale green and brown; unrelieved by a pathway or a dwelling – save for a tumbledown shepherd’s hut that the weather had reduced over time to squat heaps of stones. On the brow of a hill, a line of elms had submitted to autumn and become jagged black things in which rooks hopped about the branches, croaking to one another before wheeling about the sky on their endless mysterious errands.