The Illumination of Ursula Flight

by Anna-Marie Crowhurst

  My husband grunted a little at this, but let me have my way. I sent for fabrics and consulted colour charts, and after a visit by a short little man with puffed-out cheeks who danced about with a measure-tape and was much given to sighing, the chaise was transformed into a bright swollen thing that no one but Lady Vyne cared to sit upon.

  Then I began a great effort of furniture arranging, consigning the plain blue and white jugs on the mantel to a cupboard and replacing them with a fine silver clock wrought all about with silver leaves, and two great Chinese vases that I filled with armfuls of roses from the garden.

  ‘Does it not look well?’ I said, when my husband came in that evening. ‘For now we are ready for any more visitors who may think to call upon us.’

  ‘Who are you expecting?’ he said, frowning.

  ‘I like to have flowers about me,’ I said quickly, to divert him, ‘for ’twas a habit of my mother’s that I could not have at Turvey.’

  ‘You could have had it there,’ he said, sniffing the blooms and wrinkling his nose. ‘I am certain that Mama would welcome your interest.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘I must see about that then. Sometime.’

  A PACKET OF LETTERS, FOUND IN PAIRS, ONE TUCKED INSIDE THE OTHER

  Ursula, dear,

  I enclose this note from our mutual friend, for I did not have a chance to slip it to you earlier, with your husband prating on, so now I do my duty.

  Should you like to step out to the’ Change tomorrow? I have a fancy for brooches. I shall send my carriage at nine of the clock.

  Dearest Urse,

  Forgive me the time it has taken to write to you, for I was away in the North Country on some business of C’s that he would have no other man do, and did not have a moment to reach for paper or pen, as I hasten to now.

  I find you are ever in my thoughts of late, though I try to push you out, there you are, as I fall asleep, and first thing when I wake, your little face all in rapture at Mrs B, crying, ‘I am changed forever!’

  Might I call upon you soon? I should like us to be friendly, now we are come together again.

  HANBURY

  Dear Arabelle,

  I thank you again for your assistance in all my matters. A visit to the ’Change sounds very fine indeed. I enclose a reply to our mutual acquaintance,

  Yrs,

  Ursula

  Sam,

  I was quite astonished to get your note, and then pleased by it, and then I heard footsteps, and so had to quickly drop it in the fire before I could dwell on it any more.

  I do not think it wise that you call on me here again, for Mrs Gourd has made some sharp comments which I fear she may one day do in the hearing of my husband, who by the by, goes less to Court just now, and so I am not as alone here as I once was.

  I thank you for keeping me in your thoughts, and you are in mine.

  U

  Urse,

  Since our little spree last week Lord Vyne threatens to cut me off and put it around the city that he’ll no longer settle my debts! He is always jesting thus, and that is why I married the man, for I cannot abide ill humour.

  I enclose this from our friend,

  Dear Ursula,

  It seems an age since I saw you (a fortnight) and so strange that you are close to me, though I cannot see you and talk to you as I would wish.

  Arabelle kindly agrees to call upon you, and carry you to a tavern, where if you say ‘aye’ I shall join you, and we shall make merry together, like the good friends we are.

  I enclose a nosegay of violets, which reminds me of the sweet flowers that grew in Bear Wood, and I keep close to my heart now, for they remind me of you.

  S

  Arabelle,

  Your husband loves you far too much.

  The enclosed is for our merry friend,

  U

  Darling Samuel,

  I know ’tis madness, for if I am caught he may carry me back to Turvey and then I am undone – but I am so dull here, for there is nothing in the house left to improve, and I cannot write, for Tyringham watches me, when he is here.

  I will come to meet you, but on the condition that you carry me again to the playhouse, for now that I have been I cannot abide the thought of risking all just for supper. I would see Shakespeare and Jonson and Dryden and Behn – or whatever is on, for ’tis all beautiful, to me!

  Your,

  Urse

  Dear Mrs T,

  I am cheered to hear that I will have the pleasure of your company next Tuesday at one of the clock and I will send my carriage to call on you.

  Ursula,

  Your wish is my command. How I long to see you. My sweet playmate.

  Your own,

  Samuel.

  XXIII

  ADULTERATION

  In which I attempt to conceal my feelings

  I could not stop smiling – that was the first thing I think my husband noticed – I moved about Henry House with my mouth twisting up at the edges and a ready laugh, for everything seemed to be amusing to me, now. Tyringham found me in the parlour, gazing into the distance, and I did not hear him when he asked me what was I about, and if I would converse with him, until the second time he said it. He caught me singing at the window of my chamber and, since my voice was incapable of carrying a tune, moaned at me to stop, to which I only tittered, for nothing he said or did could hurt me any more. I carried my love for Samuel around with me as my shield, and no man, not even my wedded husband, could pierce it. How easy it was to bear his gruff ways and the very boredom of our evenings together when I had Samuel in my head to protect me.

  WHAT I DID

  WHAT I THOUGHT ABOUT

  Sitting by the fire in the parlour while the rain clinked on the window glass, my husband telling me a very dull tale about the history of the Tyringham family, and whence they originally came – from the depths of Northumbria – or was it Norfolk?

  Meeting Samuel at the corner of Long Acre and Drury Lane, and upon greeting me, he taking my hand, and forcefully plucking off my glove, and then slowly and deliberately laying kisses on me from fingertips to elbow, all the while people rushing to and fro, any one of which could have discovered us! (But they did not.)

  Dining with my husband, and he so concentrated on the food he barely spoke (the only word he uttered was ‘Splendid!’ and that was addressed to the turnips), but chewing at his mutton with his mouth open, and getting his cuffs in the gravy.

  Samuel asking to read my latest scribblings, and then, when I met him in the shadow of the Charing cross, asking me to walk with him along The Strand and thence to the river where we took a barge, and he telling me everything he liked about my writing – somehow it has begun to form itself into a play, I know not how! He told me all he thought could be improved upon, for he has seen many plays and knows all the things that need to happen in them. He swearing to take me to the playhouse as often as he can, all the better to improve my writing!

  My husband having Jeremiah to dine with us and they both of them conversing for above an hour about the problem of the succession, but in half-murmured tones, so that I could not properly hear it, but nor could I do anything else, for politeness’ sake.

  Being at the Duke’s Theatre again watching The Forc’d Marriage by Mrs Astrea Behn (I have not until now been able to lay eyes on one of her plays – how wonderful it was!), me in my vizard and cloak, and Samuel very gently touching the back of my neck and behind my ear, and then, while the whole house was in uproar at one of the actors walking off, kissing the self-same spot with such a hot wet mouth I could feel it burning into my skin for hours afterwards.

  My husband grunting while pulling on his boots.

  Samuel telling me he loves me and only me.

  My husband listing aloud the types of foods he would like to see on the dinner table including boiled tripe and calf’s-tongue jelly.

  Samuel coming to call on me disguised in a lorgnette and a different wig to his usual one and he pulling me into my clos
et, and without uttering a word doing everything short of having me on the chair which has been in my husband’s family for four generations and was upholstered, in dull brown damask, by the Dowager.

  My husband accompanying me to church and falling asleep during the sermon about fornication so that spittle ran down his cheek and dripped onto the sleeve of my gown.

  In St James’s Park at dusk with Samuel, where lots of masked ladies and gentlemen went to and fro amongst the bushes, and he leading me into a shadowy thicket and to a broad plane tree and kissing me most thoroughly and murmuring that he adored me, and me murmuring that I loved him – oh so much – and he falling to his knees and climbing right under my petticoats and kissing my knees, and then the top part of my legs most thoroughly, and then letting his mouth drift upwards – oh so gently – across my thighs (which was most ticklish), and then suddenly kissing me at the part of me I did not know could be kissed!!! But him staying there, and going on with the kissing, and lapping, and working at it with his tongue, and something beginning to well up at the heart of me and me clawing at his head under my skirts and then the welling growing and building so that my whole body was tremoring and my mind humming and then – suddenly – an explosion behind my eyes; a shower of stars; and then me falling to the ground, and he falling too, and we laughing together until tears sprang at the corners of my eyes.

  My husband recounting a story about the time he was sent as an envoy by the King to Paris but it being a story I have heard at least three times before so that I could almost recount it word for word. (The punchline is Je n’aime pas manger les poissons.)

  Samuel hiring a sedan chair to convey me in the utmost privacy to his rooms and he taking me in his arms and rolling me onto his bed and us luxuriating there in each other’s arms for above two hours, doing all but lie together fully (for we dare not lest I get with child), and we talking of our hearts’ desires, and all the things in the world we loved, and how we must be together no matter what the cost.

  XXIV

  ANTICIPATION

  In which I am entirely transformed

  THIS BEING THE LAST

  WILL & TESTAMENT of

  Ursula,

  Lady Tyringham, FLIGHT AS WAS,

  OF Turvey Hall,

  LATTERLY HENRY HOUSE, BEDFORD STREET, LONDON

  On this day of our Lord, the 28th of August, 1682

  Being of sound mind (sort of), I set down my final wishes for I am about to do something I am afeard my husband will kill me for should he discover it...

  Oh, such a handsome and witty man Samuel has grown to be! I have had such joy these few months with him – after these past few years at Turvey, I had forgotten what it was to make sparkling conversation and see in another person’s eyes the flash of understanding. He does not begrudge me my writing, but admires it, for he thinks playwrights very clever people, even if they be women...

  ’Tis true he has got very foppish in his time at the Court, but such is the age we live in, and I would rather have a man scented with sandalwood than stinking of mutton gone bad...

  This love Samuel and I have cannot be wrong, really it cannot, for though ’tis against the marriage vows, I was not the first to put them asunder and surely ’tis only just that I seek out my happiness too, for I have been so very unhappy...

  Samuel has a wife, true, but ’twas not a love match and they are cordial with one another but no more, and he goes to his seat but twice a year, and will cleave to me all the rest of the time, for we are both married and in the same condition.

  Oh, how I love S, beyond anything – I cannot stop up my heart! I did not know there could be such happiness as I feel when I am with him... I cannot think of aught but his face, and his eyes, and his arms around me... Yesterday I missed my step on the stair and fell down it, and paid no heed to what I ate (though ’twas a very good cream cake)...

  Samuel Sherewin has my heart and my soul – and shall now, fully, have my body, if I can but get the courage to go to him at the Black Bear, as he has asked me to, tomorrow.

  I have written all night... the sun is coming up.

  Here is my will: ALL TO CATHERINE.

  God give me courage!

  A scrap of paper, inscribed with bright green ink, found inside an old linen press:

  THESE ARE THE POSITIONS WE HAVE DONE:

  The Over and Under

  The How Do You Do

  The Topsy Turvey

  The Merry-Go-Round

  The Howling Hound

  The Whoopsy-Me-Pardon

  The Pestle and Mortar

  The Milking Maid

  The Sailor’s Knot

  The Ride-a-Cock-Slowly

  The Whitehall One-Ball

  The Cat-in-the-Pantry

  The ’Tiring Room Tickle

  The Good Wife’s Encumbrance

  The Gallant’s Cockade

  The Riddle-Me-This

  The Bless-Me-Father

  The Curdled Cream

  The Bubby Blaster

  The Prithee Master

  The Row-Your-Boat-Slowly

  The Maid’s Genuflection

  The Marry-Me-Later

  The God-Give-Me-Mercy

  The Wimple Wetter

  The Bastard Begetter

  The Roundhead

  The Egg Coddler

  The Haystack Splitter

  The-Devil-Take-The-Hinderparts

  The Chamber-Shamer

  The Dutch Invasion

  The Begging-Your-Pardon

  The Old Rowley Poke-a-Holey

  The Blink-And-You’ll-Miss-It – and that was in a confession box, at church.

  FIE!

  XXV

  DETERMINATION

  In which I reach a cross-roads

  It was dusk on a wet November day; outside the sky was leaden, and the cobbles on the street below slick and shiny with rain. The house was strangely silent – no hawkers’ cries rose up to my window, and the weather kept away those who would to and fro about the piazza. We had been in London half a year, and I was a little brought down, for I had not heard from Samuel for the last five days. In recent weeks, carrying my love for him about with me had somehow changed from a thing that lit me up inside, to a burden that was physical and painful to me, and I was now verily sick with love.

  I crept away from the servants to my chamber, and sat hunched on my bed, a volume of Rochester in my hands, a gift from Samuel – he had pressed it on me with a glittering in his eyes which now I had read it, I well understood. ’Twas not the first book he had given me – I had plays by Behn and Etherege and Killigrew bound especially for me in pale and pretty calfskin, and as delicate and beautiful to look at as they were to read. I hugged these treasures to myself – as material proofs of his affection, they were now the most precious things I owned.

  I felt a burn of frustration that my current freedom from my husband was wasted – for Tyringham had gone away to Essex a few days before, and I was rejoicing in the peace of my solitude. How I had tried to suppress the look of happiness on my face as he left! He had bade me be good as he mounted his horse and pressed his long nose to the handkerchief of mine he had asked for and tucked into his sleeve, then trotted off with a jaunty wave of his gloved hand, his sword swinging at his bouncing hip. I skipped into the house and did a little jig of joy.

  I lit the bed-sconces, and drew the heavy bed curtains about me, as was my habit, so that no one might come upon me unawares and see what I was reading. Outside, a gale began to graze the window-panes and rattle them, while I felt the thrill of holding a book in my hands and being, for this rare moment, completely hidden. I let my fingers drift dreamily across the paper and trace the lines of the text. I caressed the lovely leather of the binding: the calfskin was warm in my palms. My mind swirling with dreamy thoughts of Rochester and Samuel – and masked highwaymen in jaunty tricorns besides (for I had not forgot the thrill of the Maidenhead Thicket!) – I slid my hands up my skirts and, holding the book in my left hand, let
my right hand wander slowly upwards, and then I began, with a sigh, to caress myself, for I found now I had been awakened that my veins were ever bubbling with lusty impulse and I needed a stopgap when Samuel was not near, and it was handy that my new hobby could be easily combined with reading.

  ‘Mmm,’ I murmured. ‘Ahhh.’

  Lightning snapped through the air and startled me: I laid down my book and waited for the knocking of thunder I knew must come. A loud clap came from somewhere in my chamber. Thinking something had fallen, I hurriedly pulled down my skirts and parted the curtains and peered through a slit of shadow into the gloom. The flames of the fire had grown low and my eyes laboured in the darkness. I pricked my ears for other noises but no sound, no knock, no movement came; there was only the fluttering of my breath. The wind groaned down the chimney, and I began to think the other noise a figment of my fancy, perhaps a far-off roll of thunder, or the misheard crash of a lightning-broken tree. I picked up my book and tried to find my place.

  The squeak of a floorboard, the tip-tap of a stealthy foot...

  I held my breath.

  The curtain was wrenched aside, and my husband was bending his body to peer into the bed.

  ‘Why, good evening, wife,’ he said, sitting himself down somewhat stiffly on the bed. ‘I am returned.’

  ‘As I see,’ I said, as brightly as I could. ‘I did not expect you so soon.’ Behind my back, I pushed my book underneath the bolster to conceal it.