The Lost Duchess

by Jenny Barden

  She reached the Chapel cloister and almost ran to the far end, then turned left into a passage and left again by the Great Court. She looked out towards the Gate House and thought about dashing for freedom, leaving by the Richmond Road and escaping the palace completely. But of course she would be stopped dressed in the finery she was. Instead she hurried down a stone staircase and entered the cellars beneath the Hall, rushed between barrels stacked almost to the vaulted ceiling, her steps too loud, slowing when she saw a kitchen boy and dodging behind a pillar, emerging once the coast was clear and making for a staircase that would take her back up. Then she took the servants’ way to the little door which led into the Hall near the dais.

  Her hand found the latch and the door opened onto a crowd. She slipped in behind the ladies-in-waiting just at the moment they all bobbed down to curtsey. She followed suit, head bowed, bending almost to kneeling in the hope she would not be noticed. Only slowly did she raise her eyes, heart pounding, trying in vain to calm her breathing, as the herald’s words rang out.

  ‘Sir Francis Drake, General of Her Majesty’s West Indies Fleet …’

  She glimpsed the Queen almost directly before her, clothed as Gloriana in the colours of the rising sun. Turning her head in the direction of all the other ladies, she saw the stocky man with reddish hair who proudly advanced to kneel before the throne. Behind him were two men, and there her eyes locked. One of them was very tall and clothed like an Englishman in doublet and breeches, but with dark skin and tattooed lines over his chin and cheeks, and feathers in his hair which was shaved around a central crest. The other man had a face more handsome than any she had ever seen, fair and strong and as perfect as an angel’s, with clear blue eyes that held her transfixed.

  He was looking straight at her.

  3

  Virginia

  ‘… It is the goodliest and most pleasing territory of the world (for the soil is of huge unknown greatness, and very well peopled and towned, though savagely) and the climate so wholesome that we have not had one sick since we touched land here. To conclude, if Virginia had but horses and kine in some reasonable proportion, I dare assure myself, being inhabited with English, no realm in Christendom were comparable to it …’

  —From a letter sent by Master Ralph Lane, at the new Fort in Virginia, to Master Richard Hakluyt the Elder of the Middle Temple, London, 3rd September 1585

  ‘I have come here before.’

  The tall Indian smiled at Emme in a way that made the lines on his cheeks ripple into crescent moons either side of his wide nose. What he had said was incredible, but little else made any impression on her. Her mind was still reeling from the ordeal of the night before and the revelations of the morning: her degradation at the hands of Lord Hertford and her encounter with the Queen and then Lady Howard. Who was this man? He had been introduced to her as ‘Manteo’, and thus she would address him.

  ‘But how, Master Manteo? When?’

  ‘Two years past. I came here for learning.’

  Inclining his feathered head, with his arms still folded across his broad chest, he walked over to a gentleman with sharp cheekbones who was talking excitedly into the hubbub. She was left with the mariner who had first arrested her with his looks. His blue eyes locked onto her, and she felt touched by warmth as if from the sun that had bronzed his skin, but it was fleeting, like a flash of light from behind dark clouds. What was his name? The events since the last sunset seemed to have fuddled her reason. ‘Kit’ was all she could remember, but she could not call him that.

  ‘Will you tell me more, good sir?’

  The handsome mariner regarded her with an expression between bemusement and gravity, and she realised he had features which would always seem youthful, but that, most likely, he was much older than herself, perhaps by as much as ten years; the tiny creases around his eyes betokened it, and the lack of softness around his jaw. His eyes flickered about the Great Hall, and she followed his gaze, skimming over the hammer beam roof painted blue, red and gold, the battle-scene tapestries brightly lit by candelabra, the portraits of kings between the lofty white windows, the richly dressed courtiers and ladies-in-waiting, the visiting mariners and soldier-adventurers, their ruffs poking above gleaming gorgets, and the door leading to the Privy Lodgings through which the Queen and Sir Francis Drake had just left.

  Then the mariner looked back at her.

  ‘Manteo came here two years ago, brought back by the first expedition sent by Sir Walter Raleigh to explore the Americas north of Florida, but Sir Walter kept him out of sight at Durham House most of the time. Master Harriot, over there, taught him English.’ He gave a nod towards the man with prominent cheekbones.

  ‘That gentleman can speak Indian?’ she asked, amazed.

  The blue of Master Kit’s eyes washed over her, and she caught a trace of the smell of the sea in his clothes. Close to her he seemed as strong as a mast, and his voice had a soft resonance like the boom of a hull sliding through waves.

  ‘He can speak the Algonkian of Manteo’s tribe.’ He looked across to the Indian as if deciding how much to tell her, and she drank in his face while she could. He was the one person in the whole assembly she felt she really wanted to be with, perhaps he had come from places far away and seemed to carry traces of distant shores within him. She could see the gold of hot sand in his hair, and the turquoise of coral seas in his eyes. Her gaze took in his tanned brow and cheeks, and the paler shaved skin above his upper lip upon which she could discern a prickling of blonde stubble. A single gold earring glittered in the lobe of his left ear, the kind of ring that sailors wore to pay for their burial if drowned at sea and washed up ashore. She thought of his face against the winds of the oceans as he spoke.

  ‘Manteo returned to Virginia with the second expedition sent by Sir Walter to establish a fort there, and now he’s come back again with General Lane and his men.’

  ‘You mean those whom Sir Francis has rescued?’

  Master Kit raised an eyebrow. ‘We did as they begged after a wrecking storm blew up. Would you like to hear more?’

  Before she could answer, he had clapped Manteo on the shoulder, and ushered him back towards her. Master Harriot followed together with a crow-footed gentleman with grizzled hair on a head that seemed too big for his gangling body. His fingers were long and graceful and wrapped around a cylindrical leather case of the kind that might be used for carrying papers. He clutched the case to his breast as Master Kit made the introductions.

  ‘Master John White, gentleman limner, artist and mapmaker.’ The man with the large grizzled head gave her a short bow.

  ‘… And Master Thomas Harriot, distinguished astronomer, linguist and mathematician.’ The younger man with high cheekbones bowed as well.

  She curtseyed, but her attention moved back to Master Kit as he invited all three to enlighten her about the new-found land of Virginia.

  ‘It is most goodly,’ Master White began.

  ‘Of a vastness beyond comprehension,’ Master Harriot continued.

  ‘… Abounding with fruit and animals: deer and conies, fish and fowl …’

  ‘The soil is so fertile that it yields crops with little toil.’

  ‘… Grapes and melons grow freely …’

  ‘… The strawberries there are four times bigger than here in England …’

  ‘Great cedars grace the hills fairer than any in Lebanon.’

  ‘… The people are gentle so long as treated fairly …’

  She soon lost track of who was speaking, watching Master Kit while they painted pictures in words of promise, and she saw their enchantment as a paradise in her mind.

  ‘Virginia can be likened to a second Eden: a clean, pure land free of vice and corruption.’

  She turned to Master White whose words had startled her, sensing a shiver of affinity running like quicksilver down her spine. A second Eden. A land where life could begin anew. What would she give to go there? Her mouth opened just as a puzzling question occ
urred to her.

  ‘But why did you leave this country if it is so fine?’

  Master White shuffled uneasily, and she felt his tension, supposing he must have come expecting to speak to the Queen and would be apprehensive because of that.

  ‘A settlement cannot be sustained without farmers and builders, women and children. Our New World colony needs workers and families to have hope of continuance.’

  Women. The word rang through her thoughts; they wanted women. Would they be going back, and would Master Kit be going too? She turned to the Indian, who had barely spoken, wondering whether he thought of his homeland as any less of a delight.

  ‘Master Manteo,’ she began, trying to fix on his dark eyes and not his savage markings. ‘How would you describe your country?’

  The Indian scratched his chin. ‘It smells sweeter than this.’

  Master Kit laughed loudly, and the cheerfulness flashing from him made her smile briefly as well. She wanted to ask more, but Lady Howard interrupted, bidding them proceed to the Presence Chamber since the Queen wished to greet them.

  ‘You as well,’ she murmured to Emme under her breath. ‘Her Majesty has tired of hearing General Lane’s grievances.’

  They swept past Bess Throckmorton, with the French Ambassador leaning over her as if a close scrutiny of her bosom might yield the secrets of English policy, then moved outside and crossed the moat to the Privy Lodgings. In the gallery before the Presence Chamber, Lady Howard spoke to Emme again.

  ‘Intervene if there’s any dissention and keep the talk light. Her Majesty must not be pressured now, not when there’s another plot on her life and her cousin, Mary of Scots, is implicated with some of the traitors still at large.’

  There was no time to respond. The yeomen guard swung open the doors to reveal a shovel-jawed gentleman on his knees who rose, bowed and kept his eyes on the Queen as he walked backwards in leaving.

  ‘Ralph Lane,’ Kit said, low voiced at her side. ‘Erstwhile commander of the fort in Virginia.’

  Emme’s eyes were drawn past the ornamentation that had become familiar: the glitter of badges showing portcullises and roses set high around the walls, the gilding on the ceiling chequered azure and white, the plate on polished tables brightly lit by scores of candles, and the light streaming through high bay windows, softened by carpets and hangings of silk. She saw the Queen sitting in state in hues of rose and gold, with a few of her ladies on cushions nearby, and some gentlemen standing beside her, amongst them Secretary Walsingham and Sir Francis Drake. The sea captain’s stance was confident, legs astride, and he looked resplendent in damask doublet and Venetian breeches, with a wide goffered ruff and jewelled pendant around his neck. A black-skinned youth appeared to be holding his hat, and the room was filled with a pungent aroma from the roll of smoking leaves that the Captain held in his hand. To Emme’s surprise, the Queen appeared not to mind as he puffed on these leaves, thickening the haze in the chamber. He boomed out a greeting while Emme and her companions paid obeisance.

  ‘Master Kit Doonan, Your Majesty, as brave a mariner as sailed the seas, and with him are these gentlemen you have met before: Manteo of Croatoan, and Masters Harriot and White, pioneer explorers of North America.’

  The Queen beckoned Manteo towards her, and spoke when he knelt.

  ‘Manteo, loyal Virginian, we are pleased to welcome you here again. It seems your countrymen have proved not quite the peaceable allies we had hoped for. General Lane tells me they have been troublesome.’

  Manteo stood proud. ‘The Croatans rejoice in the amity of Your Majesty, great and honoured chief over the water. Our land is yours. The Secotans await the discipline that will teach them to show the same respect.’

  ‘We have found only gentle hospitality amongst the Croatans and the Indians further north,’ Master Harriot interjected quickly. ‘They have received us like lords, offering gifts and homage. The land is fertile and their disposition beneficent.’ He glanced at Master White who began fumbling with his folio case.

  ‘The flora and fauna are bounteous in the wider region,’ White said hesitantly. ‘If I may show Your Majesty some drawings and limnings: just a sample of the many which I will work up from my sketches, those that were not lost when we left.’ He shot Sir Francis a pained look, at which the Captain exhaled a stream of smoke.

  The Queen motioned for Master White to move over to the table.

  ‘Please show what you have. I am intrigued to know more, particularly about any findings that suggest this new land may harbour riches.’

  White pulled out some papers and spread them out.

  ‘Of the beasts, we found deer beyond number and bears with magnificent pelts; crabs and pearl oysters; turkey hens and stock doves. As you can see, there are fish of many kinds, good and wholesome to eat. This is called a dorado and its scales shimmer like rainbows, while this, exceeding strange, puffs up like a bladder covered in spines.’

  Emme gazed in wonder at an exquisite painting of an iridescent fish, its scales bright with blue-smalt and gold leaf, and at another delicately rendered watercolour of a fish as round as a football.

  The Queen flicked through the papers. ‘But what of the people, Master White, do they live in cities with wealth to rival that found by the Spaniards in Mexico and Peru?’

  ‘They live in townships like these.’

  He showed a sketch of what looked like longbarns arranged beside a wide central street; the barns were open-ended and covered in something like reed matting. To Emme they seemed curious but hardly worthy of admiration.

  ‘This is Secotan,’ said Master White.

  The Queen placed her finger on a part of the drawing showing a circle of carved posts around which Indians were dancing waving sprigs and gourds. ‘These are the people who were hostile to General Lane?’ She looked up at Manteo.

  ‘Yes,’ he answered, folding his arms.

  ‘Their city seems of little substance: a few rounds of cannon fire would flatten it completely. Do you not agree, Sir Francis?’

  She turned to Captain Drake who pulled a wry face while White looked aghast.

  ‘Would it be worth expending the shot?’ Sir Francis asked jovially and gave Emme a wink.

  Master Harriot broke in, eyes flashing, ‘I hope that Englishmen would show more civility to native peoples who barely know us and are simple souls in need of guidance.’

  ‘Is there gold to be found here, or mineral wealth of any kind?’ The Queen looked from him to White and then Manteo. ‘We need to question the advantage of re-manning the Roanoke fort or establishing any other positions in the territory.’ She looked back at Captain Drake who blew another stream of smoke in the direction of Master Harriot.

  The Captain turned to a model globe and ran the back of his fingers down the east coast of the Americas as far as the Antilles.

  ‘A base from which we could pick off Spanish treasure ships would be useful, the further south the better.’

  Harriot coughed, turned his back on Sir Francis, and inclined his head towards the Queen as he placed the drawings neatly together. ‘There may be precious metals, though as yet …’

  He was silenced by a disturbance at the doors and the sudden arrival of a gentleman who marched straight in.

  ‘Sir Walter Raleigh,’ the herald announced.

  The Queen turned and watched as Sir Walter entered, knelt, strode towards her and knelt again. She gave him her hand which he kissed and then motioned for him to rise with a twinkle in her eyes. ‘My Walter,’ she said softly, and Emme recognised the fond name Her Majesty had for him. ‘Come and slake my thirst in a desert of worry.’

  Sir Walter replied as gently, ‘Always.’ Then he wheeled round to face Captain Drake with an expression as hard as flint. ‘I would appreciate an explanation in private, Sir Francis.’ His eyes narrowed as he took in the papers which Harriot was rolling up. ‘And you may report to me next, Master Harriot.’ A gesture towards the door made plain where he expected him to go, and Secre
tary Walsingham spread his arms to motion everyone else away.

  The exit was brisk and the doors closed quickly leaving Sir Francis and Sir Walter alone with the Queen. Emme found herself with Secretary Walsingham settling like a raven at her side.

  ‘Find Master Doonan lodgings here, then keep an eye on what he does. Let me know if you pick up anything about Sir Walter’s plans for Virginia. The mariner should be easier for you to follow than the Indian.’

  With a nod, Secretary Walsingham was gone, and she was left to hurry after the others. She caught up just as stewards led away Manteo, Harriot and White. Master Kit eyed her quizzically and stepped aside at her bidding; only then did she realise that a boy was with him and that Biddy was following as well.

  The boy did not intrude; he hung back respectfully behind Biddy while Emme walked with Mariner Kit. She supposed the boy must have been acquired on some exotic voyage because his skin was the colour of cinnamon and his features were like a blackamoor’s, except more fine, with a neat pert nose and curling dark lashes to his downturned doe eyes. Another glance back at him prompted Kit to give the boy’s name.

  ‘This is Rob, my page. I would like him to stay with me.’