The Illumination of Ursula Flight

by Anna-Marie Crowhurst

  ‘That is my Lord Hanbury,’ said a young blade in a froth of lace who had moulded himself to my side, his mouth full of the Court tattle, which was all of the King’s many amours, and the playhouse, to which he went daily. He told me how the day before he had seen a play about a shepherdess who had suffered the afflictions of losing first her flock, and then her clothes, and had ended the night going home with a strumpet. I laughed at this, and asked the youth what Lord Hanbury did, as lightly as I could muster.

  ‘My Lord is greatly thought of by the King and has been given many favours,’ he said. ‘Why, he—’

  But then my husband came back and, seeing his scowl, the youth slunk off and I could not ask any more.

  My husband scratched at his nose and complained of a head pain, before telling me at length of the men he had met and the gratifying courtesies they had made to him. I heard his voice, and made quick replies to his speech, but my eyes were on the handsome young man, who now moved to and fro about the room, with a proud, quick step. I saw him go between groups of people, and at each he seemed to provoke laughter. I thought he must be a very merry man indeed and wondered what he said. My husband droned on. As I watched, the young man seemed to catch my glimpse, and then I felt my whole body go stiff, for he had quickly changed his direction, and began to walk towards us, his eyes fastened on me all the while, sweeping from the top of my head to the hem of my gown and back again. By the time he had reached us, I was blazing red.

  Lord Hanbury made a bow and Tyringham did the same – I saw that they knew each other, and that my husband was greatly pleased at his joining us, for he immediately started a conversation about the Dutch, who must be upon us at any minute, and what the King must do about the ships, which were assembled now at Portsmouth. I saw that Lord Hanbury seemed to become fatigued by the conversation, for my husband seemed much excited by the other man’s presence, and could not stop gibbering at him.

  ‘My Lord does me a great honour...’ I heard my husband say, and then later make a strange sort of laugh, which was too loud and too long. Lord Hanbury slid his eyes towards me and then back again, and stopped my husband in mid-flow, and quickly began to talk of painting and of music and the witty verses of Mrs Behn, and I knew my husband must be quite tongue-tied beside him. I found I liked to listen to this stranger’s voice; it was deep and strong, its timbre reverberated in my chest, and something about it pleased me, though I did not know why.

  ‘I do so love a great play, for there is nothing I admire so much as writers,’ Hanbury was saying, and my husband all in a fluster at how to answer him. It amused me to hear of the things I loved and I liked, too, to see him speak: he had a broad chin and above it a mouth much given to smiling and his eyes were brown and gleaming and flashed when he made merry. Twice as he spoke, he looked at me and caught my eye. Twice I stared back at him.

  At length the chatter ended and he turned his body towards me and swept a bow. ‘Your servant, madame,’ he said, his eyes gleaming all the while.

  ‘Lord Hanbury,’ I said, holding out my hand in a queenly fashion, as I had seen the other ladies do.

  ‘And how does the new Lady Tyringham find her first visit to Whitehall?’ he said. ‘Is it not full of much prating and foppery? Or p’raps my Lady only thinks to catch a glimpse of the King?’

  My husband tipped his chin, which I knew was his sign I was permitted to answer.

  I said: ‘But I have already seen him, sir; the toe of his boot is most visible if you look to that cluster of people at the end of the room.’

  He laughed at that and said I was as witty as Mrs Gwynn and must come down from the country as often as I may, to which my husband muttered something I could not hear.

  ‘Where is your wife, sir?’ I said, and he bowed and said she was in the country and there she would remain. Here he held my gaze. I blinked. My husband coughed.

  ‘’Pon my soul, I have a famous thirst,’ said Hanbury, and I could feel him watching my face. ‘’Tis a shame I do not have my flagon of cordial about my person.’

  ‘A flagon of cordial?’ cried my husband, slapping at his shoulder. ‘Nay, let us send for some Rhenish and we shall toast this great night, indeed!’ He motioned for a servant.

  I thought Hanbury would go off then, but as he moved, he turned his body quickly and held out his elbow, most pointedly. ‘If you will allow it, sir, I will present Lady Tyringham to the King and she may look upon his whole, rather than his part.’

  My husband could do nothing but give his pleasure and so I took Lord Hanbury’s arm and felt it firm and strong beneath my own.

  ‘I have got you away at last,’ he whispered into my ear, and I felt a little shiver as his face brushed my neck. ‘I am not sure I shall give you back.’

  I made a strange sound – for I did not know what to say – that came out like a titter, and made me feel foolish. I looked at my feet, and nearly tripped on my skirts.

  He stopped then and said: ‘Lady Cassandra, is that you? I cannot make out your pretty visage in the dark.’

  ‘Pardon?’ I croaked.

  ‘The moonlight plays such artful games. Is that my fairest love or else is it a mirage from my dreams... something something. I cannot remember the rest.’

  He reached for my hand. I found that my arms had gone weak.

  ‘Ursula, can it really be that you do not know me?’ he said, pressing my arm to his body. We passed through a little knot of courtiers and he stopped me behind a great marble statue, on a plinth, of the King, and hidden thus he turned his body towards me and took my hand. ‘’Tis I, Samuel Sherewin,’ he said, staring into my face and grinning all the while. ‘Your old sweetheart, though it has been some years. Do you know me now?’

  ‘Why,’ I said, my mouth hanging open. ‘’Tis – my eye! Confound it – I would not have known you. You are – a man,’ I stuttered in astonishment, and Samuel threw back his head and laughed.

  ‘Aye, and gone are my girlish limbs, my soft cheek, my curls too. I was short then, and a little pipkin of a boy. But,’ he added, eyeing me, ‘I do not think you minded it, when we were there, against the tree.’

  ‘Shush!’ I said, with a curve of my brow. ‘For I am Lady Tyringham now, and you, sir, are saucy.’

  ‘The Devil!’ he said, taking my arm again. ‘You’re rather a pert sort of wench yourself, if memory serves me right. Did you not write a whole play just so you could kiss me?’

  ‘I did not!’ I cried. I saw that a knot of fops and ladies had turned their heads and were watching us with half-smiles twisted on their faces. I flicked up my fan. ‘But I cannot take it in,’ I said. ‘For I did not recognize you as the boy I knew. But now I look at you closely, there is something familiar. Let me see...’

  ‘My lips?’ he said, pursing them. I rolled down my fan and tapped him smartly on the shoulder. ‘Impertinence!’

  ‘Well, I knew you almost immediately, there with your grey-blue eyes, watching all, but saying nothing, memorizing it all I expect – you probably have a paper in your bosom to whip out at the first sign of a pithy phrase. Yes, you are Ursula Flight still, despite your pattens and pearls. You have been deep – very deep – in the country, that I can plainly see, for your gown is cut high as a nun’s and there’s not a speck of rouge or a mouche to be found on your face.’

  ‘Listen to you with your talk of the modes – what would your father say to hear you – and to see you besides? What on earth have you got on?’

  ‘You would not know, country wife, but ’tis the height of fashion and just come from Paris, where ’tis the only thing worn at Versailles.’

  We had passed through a gold door, into an ante-chamber with bright tapestries all about the walls.

  ‘This is not the King,’ I said. ‘Where are you taking me, pray?’

  ‘Oh there’s plenty of time to meet him, for we will all be here ’til cock-crow, making merry, that’s what we do most nights,’ he said, with a flourish of his hand. ‘I thought we might sit in here and you
can tell me all about your beetle-head husband, for he is doltish, is he not? And old – how old is he? He is known here at Whitehall as The Bore, for he prates on and cannot be stopped, though the King seems to find it amusing.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, a little stiffly, for I felt almost ashamed to hear that my husband really was as dull as I had thought he might be.

  ‘You do not think he deserves it?’ said Samuel.

  ‘Oh aye,’ I said. ‘’Tis fitting,’ I smiled. ‘And that is not all that is wrong with him.’

  ‘Tell me all about it,’ he said. ‘Start at the very beginning. When were you married?’

  MY HUSBAND AND I, A CONVERSATION

  June 1682, Henry House, London

  HE: You conversed very long with Hanbury last night; what did you speak of, pray?

  I: Why, I told you, he is my childhood playmate from Bynfield, and so we talked of old times and the places we once knew.

  HE: I came to find you and you were nowhere to be spied.

  I: P’raps you did not see me, husband, for I was in a little room next to Banqueting House, and ’twas heaving with people, but I was sitting on a chaise by the window, and could see the Privy Garden from it, which has a fine sun-dial.

  HE: With Lord Hanbury?

  I: Aye.

  HE: And he too was in a chair?

  I: Aye, husband.

  HE: Which room was it?

  I: I do not know the name of it, only that it was very fine, and had red baize on the walls, and a great chandelier, and tapestries all about.

  HE: Why, that could describe any room in the palace!

  I: ’Twas near a place called the Stone Gallery.

  HE: Towards the Bowling Green? I think that is the Red Room.

  I: I am sure you are right. It was very red.

  HE: And my Lord Hanbury?

  I: Quite a normal colour.

  HE: How does he do?

  I: Why, very well, as you saw when you talked with him. Since I saw him last he has married my Lady Hanbury – the title is her father’s and ’twas a condition of their joining that he took their name, and they have two babbies, both girls, and live at Langley, though he has rooms here, and so is not often in the country.

  HE: I was told by my Lords Dackson and Eaprick that Hanbury has a reputation at Court as a wit.

  I: Indeed, sir? He did not make me laugh overmuch, though I suppose I did chuckle once or twice more than is usual with me.

  HE: You know my meaning – it will not do to start whispers.

  I: Whispers, husband?

  HE: Of an intrigue. Dackson and Eaprick were intimating as much when they saw I could not find you, for everyone had seen you go off with him. I will not be the laughing stock of Whitehall.

  I: If you are, it can hardly be because of one conversation had by your wife, in a very public place.

  HE: Do not trifle with me, madame, for I can make things very hard for you.

  I: [Aside] Yes, I believe you can. – Peace, husband. Peace.

  XX

  FLIRTATION

  In which I enjoy some witty repartee

  ACT II, SCENE I

  Morning. A London town house. A window has been thrown open and the sounds from the street below float up to the room: the clicking of hooves; the shouts of shopkeepers; the bright peals of a church bell.

  A fair young LADY sits in a finely furnished parlour, a little leather book in her hand. She sits up straight, listening, then looks around furtively. Finally, she opens her book and reads. The sound of knocking. Enter JESSAMY, a servant.

  JESSAMY: Please, my Lady, there is a gentleman come to call on you, but the master is out, and said not to receive visitors, but he asks to see you. What shall I tell him, my Lady?

  LADY: Oh! Did he give his name?

  JESSAMY: His card, my Lady. [She gives it to her]

  LADY: Ah, I see. Lord Hanbury is a friend of my husband’s. Show him in, Jessamy.

  Exit JESSAMY. The LADY smoothes her hair and rearranges her skirts. Pats her cheeks. Picks up her fan. Fans herself. Puts the fan down. Enter HANBURY, a tall young man with conker-brown eyes. He is dressed in the habit of a courtier: there are feathers on his hat, jewelled buckles on his shoes, and his waistcoat is embroidered all over with golden oak leaves. He steps into the room and bows with a flourish of his arm.

  HANBURY: Lady Tyringham.

  LADY: Lord Hanbury. ’Tis strange to call you that, I find.

  HANBURY: It is strange to hear it, still. I fear I shall never accustom myself to it.

  LADY: ’Tis the same for me, with Tyringham, I fear.

  HANBURY: You shall always be Ursula Flight to me.

  Pause.

  LADY: Will you sit down, my Lord?

  HANBURY: Thank you, I will.

  They sit staring at each other for a moment. An awkward silence.

  HANBURY: If I may say so, you look famous pretty today, Ursula Flight.

  LADY: I... [She laughs] Well, you are very bold, sir, to lead off the conversation so. But I thank you.

  HANBURY: Well it’s the first thing that came into my head. Apart from ‘How do ye do’ and that seemed a trifle dull.

  LADY: I thought it was your courtier’s habits – flattery and [She looks him up and down] – frippery.

  HANBURY: How dare you!

  LADY: I dare.

  A pause.

  HANBURY: Why, it’s so good to lay eyes on you again, Ursula. The Court can be a hard place, and it feels good to see a friendly face.

  LADY: Aye, it seems very hard to be feasting and dancing and playing at cards all day long. And keeping company with the King and the Queen. And living in a palace. How do you bear it?

  HANBURY: Well...

  LADY: And the beautiful ladies-in-waiting, all white and bosomy and dripping in jewels...

  HANBURY: There are many lovely women, ’tis true. But as I tell them, every one, I’m a married man, and besides that, I’m not rich enough for bastards.

  LADY: I don’t believe you for an instant!

  HANBURY: Well, perhaps ’tis not all bad. But nevertheless, I mean it when I say it does me good to look upon you. Whitehall is not a kind place, though ’tis merry.

  LADY: It all seems so strange to me, coming from the country, as you have said. An odd world, is this London, with the Court and the taverns and the coffeehouses...

  HANBURY: And the playhouses.

  LADY: [Eagerly] Oh, aye, the playhouses! Do you go often?

  HANBURY: Every other day or so – ’tis one of the King’s favourite entertainments, and we courtiers must do as he commands. Also, I like the orange-girls.

  LADY: Oh! I so long to see a play, Samuel. The actors! And the playwright! And the ladies and gentleman of the audience, all a-rapt to see the wonder unfolding before their very eyes...

  HANBURY: Hmm.

  LADY: There is a playhouse very near here, on Drury Lane; do you know it? I have often traced its name on the flyleaf of playbooks: Theatre Royal, is it not a magical-sounding place? My husband says theatres are not a suitable place for godly women, but I have walked by it often (I confess, by my own design, for I am so curious to see what goes on within), and seen many ladies, and gentlemen too, going thither, and all of them the quality. I thought of going when he was at the palace, but the servants are always watching, and would tattle, I fear.

  HANBURY: You have never been to the playhouse then? Not ever?

  The LADY shakes her head.

  You who have been writing plays since you were old enough to read? Why ’tis monstrous cruel, Ursula. ’Tis... inhuman.

  LADY: He is... old-fashioned.

  HANBURY: And a prig and a bully besides, I’ll warrant. And he has made you unhappy. I can see it in your face. It’s true, isn’t it? Gad, what do you do all day? I suppose you are allowed music, at least.

  LADY: Yes, most of it.

  HANBURY: You poor child.

  LADY: I – I don’t think any marriage is easy.

  HANBURY: Poppycock! No
t all husbands are dreary. Some of ’em are merry. Some of ’em are too merry.

  LADY: Well.

  HANBURY: We must correct this wrong. I shall accompany you to watch a play. That will put the light back in your pretty grey eyes.

  LADY: Oh, Samuel, there’s truly nothing I’d love more... But I cannot. For one, I do not know how I would get out.

  HANBURY: There is always a way. Why, the Court is rippling with intrigues and plots and we shall take our inspiration there. Tell me, how often does The Bore absent himself?

  LADY: He goes to Court at first light, for he is working on a vexatious military problem for the King, and often does not return until lamp-lighting.

  HANBURY: Well, we shall have you back long afore then and he’ll never know the difference. The plays usually start at three.

  LADY: Why, now I think you are serious.

  HANBURY: Of course I’m serious, Urse, have never been more so. I will write to you... no that won’t do, he might intercept it. Sit in the parlour window at ten of the clock tomorrow and I will get a message to you, with the whole plot therein. I have a friend – a lady, who shall aid us in this.

  LADY: Of course ’tis a lady...

  HANBURY: ’Tis better that way, if The Bore is not to discover us.

  LADY: Oh, I see. Well then, if you mean it, I will.

  HANBURY: I mean it, Ursula.

  They look at one another. He takes her hand. Kisses it… for just a fraction longer than is usual. She does not move. He traces his mouth slowly around her wrist and touches his lips to the palm of her hand. She spreads her fingers out for him. Another pause.

  I am your servant, madame. Always was, always will be.

  LADY: I... thank you.

  HANBURY: ’Tis I, my lady love.

  LADY: Ha, I... wait... 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!

  HANBURY: The scoundrel! The, er...