The Lady and the Poet

by Maeve Haran

  I dressed slowly, never having less reason to want to look my best, dragging a comb through my unruly hair, wishing myself in any corner of God’s earth, save here.

  I had barely finished when Frances, happy as a cork bobbing on a turquoise sea, informed me that my father required my presence in the withdrawing room.

  I had ever found this a forbidding room, in thrall to its great white chimney piece carved from one single piece of chalk, its columns, its huge figures and ugly evil faces peeping out from it to ward off bad spirits. It was never more daunting than it was today.

  My father and Master Manners stood in front of a huge fire, whose logs spat and hissed.

  I was about to enter when I saw that they were quarrelling loudly about some matter, and instinct told me to stop on the threshold to listen.

  ‘I heard talk in London which troubled me greatly,’ Master Manners asserted.

  ‘What talk is that?’

  ‘About your daughter and the Lord Keeper’s Secretary.’

  I stopped short and hung back, my stomach lurching.

  ‘What idle gossip is this? I am surprised, Master Manners, that you listen to such empty chatter.’

  ‘Except that it was from a certain gentleman, an intimate of the secretary’s, and he had it direct from Master Donne.’

  At that my throat tightened over, and I ground my nails into my palms so hard I near drew blood.

  ‘And what is this gossip you speak of?’

  ‘That he and your daughter have been intimate, and on one more than one occasion.’

  My father held fast to the back of a chair as if he might fall else. ‘God’s wounds, man, it is a wicked lie!’

  ‘Know you also what the wags are whispering about her in the Inns of Court?’

  I felt as if I had wandered with no warning into some strange and brutal nightmare.

  ‘That where one has broke the ice,’ accused Master Manners, ‘others may have followed.’

  I longed to rush in and strike him for his foul imputation. In agony I waited for my father to defend me, and insist that he leave our house forthwith.

  Yet my father did not do so. Instead, without a word in my defence, he returned to the negotiation.

  ‘In the light of this unfortunate disclosure I will increase her portion. You may tell your father he may have the five hundred pounds so dear to his heart. On one condition. The betrothal must happen soon. My daughter is impetuous and until this contract is agreed, God Almighty knows what she might do.’

  I hesitated, tempted to run away and throw myself upon the cold ground to weep. For there was a terrible truth that shone through the stain blackening my good name.

  Master Manners had heard of our liaison and the man who told him had had it direct from Master Donne! Had he indeed implied in some boastful manner that I had given him my maidenhead?

  And yet, how feeble was I to believe this slur? Had I not offered it to him myself and he refused me, on grounds of my innocence? Why, then, would he gossip to others of my unchastity?

  ‘Father,’ I stepped out of the shadows, startling both the speakers into silence, ‘why defend you not your daughter’s honour? Does not the Bible say virtuous women have a price above rubies? And yet instead of protesting my virtue you bargain with Master Manners, putting up the price for my alleged incontinence!’

  My father mumbled some half-cooked words of apology.

  ‘Take heed, Father. Think you so little of me? I have been intimate with no man. My maidenhead is as pure and intact as the day I was born.’

  I could hardly add that I had offered it myself to Master Donne and that he, out of honour, had rejected it.

  And yet, though I would never admit it, my righteous anger was built on shaky ground. For how knew Master Manners of our involvement at all, unless Master Donne had indeed spoken of it to another? Could it be that I was deadly wrong in my assessment of his character and he had duped me after all, as he had others before me, into surrendering him my heart and, worse still, my soul, simply to fan the flames of his vanity?

  ‘Ann,’ my father rallied, ‘this matter is between Master Manners and myself and concerns you not.’

  ‘Concerns me not?’ I could hardly credit my ears. ‘When you talk of my dishonour and how it raises the price you must pay him for my portion?’

  ‘Come, Master Manners,’ my father told him, man to man, ‘we will continue our discussion in my father’s library.’

  They stayed within for two more hours, sending only for refreshment to keep up the strength of their negotiation, and with each hour that passed another sliver of my heart snapped off like an icicle in winter.

  If only I had word, a scribbled note, even a message that I was truly loved, I could keep up my resistance. Yet there was nothing. Nothing save the thought, which I could not quite exclude nor stamp out, that Master Donne had indeed boasted of our liaison, turning it by reverse alchemy from the pure gold of love into the cheap dross of bawdy tavern talk.

  Frances, forgetting her pious manners, got wind that more than the usual marriage discussions were taking place. She stopped the servant and took in the tray of cakes and ale herself.

  ‘Your honour is worth an extra fifty pounds, it seems,’ she disclosed, laying down the empty tray, ‘plus some good arable land and, you will laugh at this, a dozen rams. It seems your lord-to-be sees himself a sheep farmer.’

  Noticing how this hurt me sorely, she relented. ‘Come, Ann, Richard Manners is a goodly-looking man. Not like Bett’s great oaf, or Margaret’s solid Thomas, and maybe better than my John Oglander whom as yet I have not even met, though my father says we are going to visit him presently. We are but women. We must be obedient and respect our father’s choice.’

  ‘Mary did not do so. Nick was of her own choosing.’

  ‘And much success he has garnered. I have heard Father often complain to Grandfather that Nick is as much use as a barren womb to a king’s consort.’

  Behind us the door began to open and we jumped up. My father and Master Manners came out, nodding and shaking hands. Now all it seemed for me to be truly betrothed was his father’s final agreement of the new terms. And since these were greatly more favourable due to my sullied character, he would hardly refuse.

  Tonight I would pray to God for that old gentleman, his father, to continue in his prevarication, since it was all that came between myself and a loveless union.

  And what would his family make of me, a young woman whose good name had to be bargained over? I could picture his mother, proud and disdainful, treating me like some servant girl who had lost her reputation and was kept only on sufferance until she committed some small sin and could be turned out onto the streets.

  ‘Master Manners leaves now, Ann,’ my father commanded, ‘show him out to the stables.’

  There were servants and grooms aplenty to do this task, so I knew my father wanted a sign that I would be a dutiful daughter at last.

  Yet I could not talk to him. I could not smile and ease the passage of this future marriage. When we reached the stables I curtsied and began to take my leave.

  But now he had his agreement, Master Manners was as cheerful as a chirping robin.

  ‘Come, Mistress Ann,’ he said, smiling the while, all sign of the sneering accuser gone, ‘let us be friends, since we will be more than that before long. Think on this, if your Master Donne truly loved or respected you, would he tell others of that friendship, knowing how much damage it might do to your good name?’

  I tried to turn away at that, so close was it to my own imaginings.

  ‘I am sorry for my harsh words.’ There was humility in his voice I had not looked for. ‘I am a jealous man, who guards most preciously that which is his own.’

  He seemed to think that I should praise him for his covetous nature and be flattered that he was jealous of my honour.

  He took my hand and raised it to his lips.

  ‘Yet I am not yours, Master Manners. And were I your wife, I
would not be your possession. Souls belong only to God.’

  He laughed bitterly at that. ‘And what of bodies, Mistress Ann? To whom do they belong?’

  I turned away, my face flaming. There was a hunger in his eyes which made me shrink back.

  And then, like a knife that flashes and is put back in its sheath, the look was gone and Master Manners was all friendliness once more.

  ‘Farewell, Mistress Ann, I must now depart to see my father. Yet I believe I will see you very soon.’

  I bowed my head, relieved that he left so speedily.

  Yet I had not long to dwell on my relief for my father, booted and spurred for his ride back to Baynard’s, appeared in the courtyard beside me, his grey eyes forbidding in a face the colour of soured milk.

  ‘See you now what a low, slanderous, sneaking man is Master Donne? He boasts and brandishes your good name about the town as if you were some Cheapside drab willing to give herself to all in exchange for a pint of ale!’

  ‘Father, I…’

  ‘Defend him not! Has Master Manners departed? The sooner he talks to that stubborn father of his the better. If Philip Manners hadn’t been so diligent in rooting out recusants, he’d still be a yeoman tilling his turnips, yet he behaves as if he were doing us the favour.’ He called for his horse. Despite his tiny stature, my father ever insisted on a mount fit for a king, which made him look not impressive, as he intended, but like to a toy soldier on the back of a giant steed.

  ‘Goodbye, Father.’

  My father simply spurred on his horse. ‘Tell your sister we go to the Isle of Wight to meet with her John Oglander. She should make herself ready three days hence. As should you. I wish you may see how a dutiful daughter behaves at the celebration of her betrothal.’ He looked at me narrowly. ‘Master Manners comes also. It is time you learned to treat him as your future husband.’

  That night I hid my tears in my pillow. The twenty-five miles between here and London had never seemed so deep and desolate a divide.

  Chapter 17

  IT WAS MORE than forty miles from Loseley to Portsmouth from whence we sailed to the Isle of Wight and in autumn, as now, the journey was longer. With the days so brief we needs must break our journey and stay somewhere on the road. My grandfather said this should be at the great house of Cowdray with his friends the Montagues. Yet my father would have none of it.

  Last time he did so, old lady Montague had him bring her a whey of cheese, which stank out the coach, and when he was seated next to her at supper she lectured him for an hour or more on the licentiousness of the Court then shocked him with tales of her failing health and how she had recently suffered ‘a sore and extraordinary evacuation both downward and upward’, which put him off his capon with gooseberry sauce.

  ‘I would ride through the night or pay a dozen sovereigns not to spend the night under that old witch’s roof,’ was his final word.

  So that night we stayed at the inn in Midhurst, where my father said we would be well fed, and not have to pay dearly for our accommodation in cheese and chatter.

  To my surprise, Master Manners did not once mention the slurs against my character and instead did all he could to make himself agreeable to me, forever offering me cushions and asking if I was warm enough in the coach or would like a fur cloak to cover my feet. At each stop he handed me out and ran in to make sure I was first at the fireside. Frances smiled and said she hoped her John would be half as attentive.

  Yet I was still holding out and keeping my faith so I listened to his sallies but said little. He took this silence with surprising patience yet that afternoon, while I gazed out of the window, of a sudden he grabbed my hand and swore, ‘God’s teeth, madam, how can you think of Master Donne when all London knows he sports with the Countess of Straven? Is that an honest valuation of your love?’

  When I answered not, he shrugged and said no more.

  Yet my heart felt as if it had been pierced by a poisoned arrow.

  At four of the afternoon we arrived at Portsmouth, which was a town of narrow streets all at right angles to the High Street, its houses but two storeys high, with warehouses right amidst the dwellings, and full of forts and soldiers. Not so many years ago, my father told us, there was a great fear here of invasion by the Spanish Armada. We had been told it was a pleasant place, though it fared better in war than in peace.

  ‘Certainly it has many alehouses and wine taverns,’ my father said, disapproval writ across his face, for he often spoke in Parliament against the proliferation of such places, especially for the poor. ‘I hope they are respectably managed or I will raise the matter with the High Steward.’

  While we looked on he put his nose inside a noisome tavern where sailors mixed with dubious-looking women. Even before he spoke the landlord recognized the arrival of authority. ‘Please, your honour,’ insisted the man, bowing low, ‘I have paid one shilling and six pence to the Clerk of the Peace and another shilling to the Justice’s Clerk for my licence. I run a decent house with no soldiers nor recusants allowed.’

  Master Manners laughed. ‘You wonder who the fellow’s custom is, then. There must be recusants aplenty. My father says that Portsmouth has ever been the chief escape route for priests and for Papists.’

  ‘Indeed? And what has your father to say about my new offer on the settlement for my daughter, more to the point?’

  ‘He considers your new offer now.’ He looked across to me in apology. ‘I would that he committed himself as much as you have, sir. I have good reason to wish it, do I not?’

  ‘Yes. I suppose you do.’ Then he turned to me. ‘By all that’s sacred, Ann, look happier! Here is a young man who wishes to marry you when many would turn away!’

  ‘Must I thank him then,’ I flashed angrily, ‘for his great kindness to me?’

  ‘Be careful, Ann, or Master Manners will think you need the scold’s bridle when you are wed.’ He wrapped his cloak round him, and to the great relief of the anxious alehouse keeper, headed for the docks. ‘I go to see what time our boat will be ready for the island crossing. Frances, come with me.’

  We walked back through the muddy streets towards our coach. Master Manners opened the door with a flourish and handed me in. ‘Your father is wrong, Mistress Ann. I would never do such a thing. Indeed it was your lively mind that drew me to you. If you would trust me, we could share much together of love and contentment.’ His face became serious. ‘I would that you had not overheard my negotiation with your father or the crude words I used the other day. Truth to tell, I was angry on your behalf, that he who professed to care for you would so brutally betray your good name and that even now he frolics in London while you sigh for him here.’

  ‘I sigh for no man,’ I riposted angrily.

  ‘I wish you would sigh for me.’ Before I knew what he intended he had slipped down onto one knee inside the coach, taken my foot in his hand and kissed it.

  My astonishment was so great I knew not what to do.

  ‘You could trample on my heart with these small feet,’ he mused.

  ‘I have no desire to trample on hearts. Consider the mess it would entail.’

  To my surprise he began to laugh and I found my lips curving in unison.

  ‘There,’ he coaxed, ‘I almost teased a smile from you.’

  It was early evening when we took to sea and the Solent so choppy that I felt not at all well and yearned to arrive again on dry land. Frances, of course, found her sea legs at once.

  The short journey was drawing towards its close and we all stood ready to disembark. A sudden squall appeared from out at sea, hitting us sideways, and to my great terror I loosed my grip and began to be swept across the deck until a firm hand grabbed my arm and steadied me.

  ‘Thank you, Master Manners,’ I breathed, my teeth chattering.

  ‘Here, have my cloak. I would not wish to sacrifice you to the sea.’ His blue eyes widened. ‘Think of all the pleasures we would miss if you became Neptune’s bride.’

  I
flushed at the implication of his words and stared shorewards.

  My sister’s future husband, Sir John, awaited us on the cold quayside when we finally negotiated the harbour mouth. I have rarely been more grateful to see dry land. He stood, waving and jumping so he almost dropped the nosegay of bright blooms he carried in his hand. He was not a handsome man, yet he had so much exuberance he put me in mind of a setter dog my grandfather once owned, who could never be trained, and yet whom, despite his stern warnings in public, my grandfather secretly loved. Had Sir John Oglander a tail he would now be wagging it.

  Sir John was of middle height, aged about twenty, with what looked a tendency to plumpness, but his face was so eager and welcoming it took all attention away from any other deficiencies he might have.

  As he helped us out of the boat his gaze alighted first upon me, a questioning look in his face, as if he wondered if I were his betrothed. Yet the uncertainty lasted no more than a moment for Frances, her piety forgotten, pushed past me demanding, ‘Are you Sir John? I am your wife-to-be, Frances.’

  He bowed, looking somewhat taken aback by her youthfulness, though surely he must have known her age, yet he covered it by handing her the flowers. ‘Welcome to the Isle of Wight. I hope you will find it a veritable paradise, as I do.’

  Frances simpered at that. ‘Anywhere containing you, Sir John, would be a veritable paradise.’

  Master Manners exchanged a mocking smile with me at these extravagant words, and I laughed behind my fan, deciding that the couple would be well matched.

  And so it seemed, though Sir John adopted the manner with my sister more of the jovial uncle than the intended husband, which brought out Frances’ best side.

  ‘My house at Nunwell is not too long a ride from here.’ He summoned the horses his grooms were holding. ‘I would have brought the coach but the roads are rutted and full of mud.’

  I was grateful for the chance to ride, for I had not been on horseback for a while and loved the freedom of it. As I rode my coif slipped back and I felt the wind whipping at my hair.