Mistress to the Crown
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I had always trusted Margery. We had become friends at the Cripplegate School for merchants’ daughters and neither of us had found marriage easy. But there was something else that bound me to her family. Not just their help in strangling the scandal that would have dishonoured my father, but Master Shaa’s kindness in persuading Shore to let me have my little enterprise with the silkwomen.
‘Wait-and-see!’ My friend tapped the side of her nose. ‘A surprise.’
‘Oh lord, we haven’t got to watch another pair of priests being flailed around the yard, have we?’ I sat down again with great reluctance. The hour’s sermon on Divine Love, delivered by a Franciscan with a blocked nose, had been tedious. ‘Won’t your children be missing you?’ I muttered.
‘Lizbeth! Be patient!’
The last thing I wanted was to watch some poor wretch doing penance for their sins. God’s mercy! I was the last person to desire to cast the first stone. Part of me was bursting to tell Margery about my encounters with Lord Hastings, but her tolerance of others’ foibles had narrowed since her marriage to the goldsmith Hugh Paddesley, a man I did not care for. Sometimes she sounded more like Paddesley than he did.
‘Ah, here we go,’ she exclaimed, nudging me with her elbow.
A ragtag mob of people, who had not heard the sermon, was thickening the crowd. Alarm bells sounded in my head. Adultery! It had to be adultery! I cast a sharp look at my friend. Had she suspected I was dreaming of taking a lover? No, that was lighting a bonfire with green wood for I read no rebuke in her eyes, and Shore and Paddesley were discussing cockfighting with their friend Shelley. Nothing was untoward.
‘I promise you, Lizbeth!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’ll be glad you stayed.’
There was only one penitent in the open cart, a woman in a white shift with her long dark hair unbound about her shoulders. Not a common strumpet by the way she held herself. Well nourished, too, neither scrawny nor obese. The crowd whooped as the sheriff’s soldiers pulled her roughly down onto the cobbles and untied her wrists. A priest handed her a lit taper, and then with two soldiers ahead of her and two behind her with their halberd blades prodding her forwards, she began her journey of contrition around St Paul’s Yard.
I had seen these walks of penitence before, but today the crowd’s jeers made me shudder as though someone had walked across my grave. The human cockroaches from the back lanes had brought buckets slopping with excrement. Soon the woman’s shift would resemble a filthy rag.
At first she tried to keep her dignity, but as the pelting grew, she started to flinch, her body jerking this way and that like a thief on a hangman’s rope. As she approached our stand, I could see she was about ten years older than I. Her forehead and left cheek were bleeding, and spittle and dung spattered her hair and skin. The thin, putrid shift showed her nipples and she was shivering as though she had the marsh disease.
Shore and Margery’s husband leaned over to spit at her.
‘Come on! Hiss!’ Margery sprang to her feet and, like the other merchant’s wives, shook her fist and jeered. I stood up with the rest but I could not abuse the poor creature. This was no prostitute snared to give the crowd its monthly dose of titillation. She could have been an erring wife or a courtesan; just a woman who had fallen into temptation.
‘Vile,’ I muttered, wincing as I watched the woman whimper and fling up her hands as the stoning began again.
Flushed and pleased, Margery subsided on the bench and put her mouth to my ear. ‘That was your father’s greedy whore. She was caught last week fleecing a merchant from the Grocers’ Guild. Didn’t you hear all the hubbub? The guild has expelled him.’
‘Sweet Christ!’ Now I understood why her parents had hurried mine away. Or had my father done the hurrying?
I searched the faces around me. Did our husbands know?
‘Too tame,’ Paddesley was complaining, with a sneer of nostril. ‘They could have whipped the whore around the yard.’
‘Aye, better sport,’ agreed Shore, which made me want to stick a dagger in him.
‘For my part, I cannot see what charm she held for the poor dotard,’ Master Shelley was saying. ‘Breasts like a beggar’s purse. Whereas that cherrylips a month ago.’ He whistled. His eyes skewed covertly in my direction. ‘Legs to her armpits, but this hag …’
‘Ah, but …’ Paddesley whispered something behind his hand. The other two laughed.
Margery, excluded, reddened. ‘You might give me thanks,’ she muttered, taking out her annoyance on me. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’
‘Pleased! I found it offensive.’
‘Twaddle, Lizbeth! Women like her make it harder for the rest of us.’
‘Make what harder, Mistress Paddesley,’ quipped Shelley, elbowing her husband.
‘Yes, what are you trying to say, pet?’ Paddesley asked, trying to exchange a grin with me.
Margery was already in a nose-up huff. ‘No matter. Can we go now?’
‘Yes, Margery, what did you mean?’ I whispered as we descended the stairs ahead of the others.
She had to be coaxed. ‘Just that respectable wives like us are not supposed to play the games in bed that she does. If we do, we’re accused of being wanton.’
‘So it’s a sin to enjoy a husband’s lovemaking? How very absurd, but then I wouldn’t know, would I?’ How bitter I must have sounded.
‘Well, I think the whore deserved her punishment, Lizbeth. She’s the worse sort, tempting husbands to be unfaithful.’
‘What, you think she’s worse than a common strumpet?’
‘Winchester geese do it to stay alive. And it’s a business transaction for men who have too much—’ She gestured. ‘You know.’
‘Ah, “the fiery men who become ill if they do not have regular intercourse with a woman”,’ I said, quoting a treatise on the issue.
‘Exactly,’ agreed Margery. ‘Whereas that bitch’s sort does it because they enjoy it.’
‘So it’s her pleasure you take issue with?’
‘Well, yes.’
It was a point of view I had once shared. The sisterhood of respectability. Guild wives were supposed to uphold God’s commandments to the letter. But poor Margery was feeding the incubus of Envy. If she could not enjoy the sport of the bedchamber, she did not want anyone else to either.
I, too, had never enjoyed a man’s lovemaking. Suffered, yes. Shore had first used me when I was fourteen years old. His recent impotence was a blessing. Alas, now I was five and twenty! More than half my life gone already. But none of the London guildsmen had measured to my taste. No man except … And into my mind at that moment crept a scheme so outrageously sinful that I halted on the cobbles with a gasp.
‘Lizbeth, what’s wrong? Are you ill?’
‘Possibly.’ I laughed. Crazed might be the word.
Yes, wild, fevered, CRAZED! Deliciously mad with a spire-high, illuminated ‘C’.
IV
I took matters – and courage – into my own hands and trounced off to Beaumont’s Inn.
‘You’ll ‘ave to wait in line,’ the porter growled at me.
Wait? There I was, anxious to give, my heart beating frantically, and ahead of me were forty people, and more arriving.
‘Be patient, dearie,’ said the woman behind me as she heard me sigh. ‘It’s always like this on petition days.’
But then I saw his lordship’s steward come out and linger as though counting us. I left the line and hastened towards him but he vanished inside and the two guards protecting the entrance to the hall slammed their halberds across my path.
‘Take your turn, mistress,’ chortled one of them, ‘unless you’d like to take your turn wi’ me.’
I bit my lip. ‘Very tempting, sirrah, but it’s not that business I had in mind. I’m a mercer come to see Master Hyrst about an order.’
‘Why was yous standing wi’ the petitioners, then?’ demanded the other guard.
‘I thought … well, no matter. A silver penny for whichever of you can take me to Master Hyrst.’
Coin and a woman’s smile are better than battering rams to open doors. Eventually a servant beckoned me through. Master Hyrst stood waiting in the passageway.
‘Good day to you, sir,’ I said with a curtsy. ‘I should like to see my lord.’
‘Oh, would you! Well, you can whistle for that, mistress.’ But then as fortune would have it, Lord Hastings himself came by. The yearning creature inside my body gave a wriggle of delight at seeing him.
‘Mistress Shore, whatever are you doing here?’ He took my hand as I made obeisance and drew me to my feet.
‘I …’ How could I state my real purpose with his steward standing there like a busybody? I had to think swiftly. ‘My gracious lord, I came to ask if you could recommend an honest lawyer. It is a very personal matter.’
Hyrst gave a whoosh of impatience.
‘Fetch the next one in!’ ordered his master and turned his attention back to me.
‘Your pardon,’ I said, looking up at Lord Hastings in utter humility. ‘I truly had no understanding how many people were …’ I half-turned to the door with a lift of hands. ‘Forgive me, I’ll leave at once.’ But his curiosity was whetted.
‘Wait,’ he called out with concern.
Perhaps this was not meant to be, I thought, judging myself such a fool to even believe that he …
‘Why should you need a lawyer, Mistress Shore?’ he asked, pursuing me.
I halted. Could hesitation be honest yet contrived?
‘It’s a very private matter. I … I’ve tried several proctors too and not one was worthy.’
He glanced towards the next petitioner being escorted in and drew a deep breath. ‘Is there an action in process against you?’
‘No, my lord, I wish to bring one against my husband.’
This was a man who could defend himself in battle. He recovered instantly. ‘Hyrst, ask Peter to write a letter of recommendation to William Catesby. If you wait here, Mistress Shore, it will be brought to you.’
‘My lord, I cannot thank you enough.’
‘What else are friends for? Good morrow to you, then.’
Friends? The doors of my life were at last letting in the frightening, sweet breath of the wild woods. The King’s Chamberlain had called me friend.
Master Catesby was my age, the son of a knight and the nephew of Sir John Catesby, who was Justice of the Court of Common Pleas. Sleek auburn hair, the hue of weasel fur, pranced about his shoulders. He was one of those men who lean back nonchalantly when they talk to you.
I had no intention of sleeping with him. Nor he with me, and how assiduous he was in explaining that his clients were dukes rather than housewives and that he dealt in demesnes and not divorce. However, he did not show me to the door before the hour bell had finished striking.
Since Lord Hastings already had an ‘interest’ (Catesby underscored that word rather prematurely), yes, he would recommend a proctor to help me, but there was no precedent for bringing a charge of impotence against a husband. It was clear he thought I had a walnut for a brain.
‘To be frank, Mistress Shore, as far as obtaining a divorce after ten years of marriage you have not got a leg to stand on, but money can open any door, even His Holiness’s in Rome. Money and powerful friends. You have beauteous legs, I’m sure. Do not stand on them, spread them!’
To be truthful, he couched that advice with more circumambulation, but that was the sum of the matter. And the initial cost?
I offered him what I could afford, but to my relief he pushed the purse back at me.
‘I do this as a favour to Lord Hastings. Which reminds me, Mistress Shore.’ He waved my lord’s letter. ‘He’s asked me to give you a message. He desires you to wait upon him tomorrow at a quarter to ten. And, be warned, there is always a price to pay.’ I presumed he meant Lord Hastings expected reimbursement of a horizontal nature, but I was wrong.
‘Divorce is an ugly process, Mistress Shore. Once you are recognised as an oath-breaker and outside the protection of your husband, your credit and reputation will be at stake.’
I rose to my feet. ‘You clearly still think me rash and headstrong, Master Catesby, but women should be free to make their own decisions. If I had a mark for every girl compelled into wedlock, I should be passing rich.’
The lawyer’s smile was as smooth as polished alabaster as he came to see me out. ‘I’ll not argue that one. But on the practical side, what else can girls of respectable family do save marry?’
‘Take up the law, perhaps, Master Catesby?’
‘Heaven forbid, Mistress Shore,’ he laughed, and unlatched the door. ‘Farewell and good fortune! I’d sin my way to matrimonial freedom if I were you.’
Can any prince or ploughman put an estimate on freedom? Freedom to walk alone or with friends? Freedom to choose with whom you share a bed? Freedom to laugh?
Freedom at last to love?
Mornings were not difficult for me to extricate myself from our house; I regularly visited my silkwomen, shopped in Cheapside or, much to Shore’s annoyance, took provisions to feed the street children in our neighbourhood
That hour, as I set foot in Beaumont’s Inn, my courage was wound tighter than a tailor’s yarn. Except … Except if Lord Hastings granted me an audience in his private chamber, could I thank him enough?
Hyrst showed me into the hall and loftily bade me wait there. I did not sit down for I wanted to keep my rose gown free of creases. I’d barbered the nap to make it look new.
Two men servants came past bearing fresh bed linen. They eyed me speculatively as they made their way to the door behind the high table. I did not like their interest. It made me feel cheap.
Hyrst returned less haughty. ‘Mistress Shore, my lord requests that you join him in the garden. This way, if you please.’
My sight of Lord Hastings could have adorned the margin of The Garden of Earthly Delights: a noble lord reading beneath a lathed arbor of vines and rosa alba, with a mazer and a flagon at his knee and a page in attendance.
‘Mistress Shore.’ He set aside his book and stood to take my hand, then bestowed me upon the nearby cushioned bench and sat down again upon his cross-legged chair, beckoning his page to pour me a beaker of perry. The welcome in his face showed I was anticipated and not a pother.
He was clothed simply. A loose-sleeved slate blue mantle, edged with coney, reached to his knees. His shirt was belted and its tails just covered his codpiece. Above the neck of his honey-hued stomacher, the cordals of his shirt were undone and I could see the tendrils of blond hair that must span his chest. To hell with his age! The lusty creature inside me was wide awake. I no longer needed to ratchet up my determination, but I was as nervous as a fieldmouse in short grass.
‘Was Master Catesby able to help you?’
‘Thank you, my lord, he has given me the name of a worthy cleric at the Court of Arches. I am very grateful.’ I was prepared to show him how much.
‘Hell, be done with thanks. Can’t blame you for being wary of lawyers. Escrew you soon as look at you.’ He removed the mazer lid and took a mouthful, grinning at me across the rim. ‘Pretty headdress.’
I smiled, sipped and looked around. Wild strawberries and periwinkles lapped the flagstones where we sat and a chequer-board of well-scythed turves and beds of seedlings was spread before us. ‘This … this is a very fine garden, my lord.’
‘Not of my making, sorry to say. All rented.’
‘Have you lived here for very long?’ Oh, this was not easy.
‘Only since I returned with the King from Burgundy. Before the rebellion, I had rooms at the palace. Still have. This is an extravagance, really. I spend more time at Westminster or Eltham than I do here.’ He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. ‘What was yesterday really about, Elizabeth?’
Elizabeth – my given name – the way he said it was a caress.
‘Are you sure you want to know, my lord?’
He leaned back languidly. His eyes, narrowed against the sunlight, searched my face. ‘Maybe I can assist you.’
I looked down at my lap. ‘I believe you can, my lord, but not in any way you can imagine.’
‘Oh, I can imagine.’ The garland of words was strung out evenly. I glanced up, took breath, trying to ascertain his meaning. Ambiguity might be a delight for diplomats and barons, but for the likes of me? Was this just courtly teasing? If I swept away all artifice and asked him outright, what then?
His blue gaze gleamed as though he guessed my dilemma and swept on past me. A she-blackbird, a creature of carnality so the bestiaries say, was waiting hopefully for a crumb. Like me.
Do it! cried the other creature inside of me, her fists hammering against my ribs.
The hour bells made his mouth tighten. I was but a swift meeting in today’s agendum.
Do it!
‘If it would please you, my lord, I should be willing to lie with you.’ I drew a ragged breath and plunged in even further. ‘Indeed, I should count it as an honour.’
His eyebrows arched like chevrons. ‘My dear, I’ve been solicited by the rich and the ragged but …’ I was studied anew as though he had picked up a magnifying glass to inspect every lesion in my soul. ‘Devil take it,’ he muttered, frowning, ‘you are in earnest.’
I cursed at having cheapened myself in his estimation. This precious friendship would be over now. Desire, spoken, could not be scraped away like errata on vellum.
‘Does Shore’s cockerel not crow enough for you, Elizabeth?’ I must have shaken as though the very air was bruising, because the cynical lines in his expression softened. ‘Hell! Forgive me, that was stable talk.’
Well, I deserved stable talk if I was begging to be treated like a milkmaid, and I could speak it, too.
‘Shore’s cockerel sits on the perch all day and all night, my lord, and so it has been for most of the marriage. We are ill-matched.’ I shook my head in sadness, and then clasped my hands to my lips in contrition. ‘I ask your pardon, my lord. It was presumptuous, pathetic of me to have asked you.’
A gentle finger lifted my chin. Compassionate eyes searched my face. ‘You, the most beautiful woman in London? Oh, Elizabeth.’
His voice held the kindness of a friend once again, but my self-worth was as fragile as a jenny wren’s egg. I did not believe his flattery, of course, but if only he knew the depth, the desperation, of my longing to be held in his arms, valued not judged, and loved, loved for the fledgling lonely girl within me and not my shell. The hope in my eyes must have appalled him. It was probably my imagination but there was certainly a quickening of interest in his.
‘But you could take a lover so easily,’ he said, sitting back and shaking his head in wry amazement as he looked at me. ‘Damn it, any merchant in England worth his salt would fall before you on his knees and beg.’
‘I don’t know about that, my lord. They certainly hang around my doorway like flies in search of fresh meat. See, I, too, disdain ragged manners and gutter purposes.’
It was too painful to tell him that, after one of my husband’s married friends had tried to assault me, Shore had blamed me and then monstrously suggested I lie with the man. ‘What in fucking hell does it matter if he tups you?’ Shore had said. ‘He’s a worthy fellow. At least that way you might provide me with an heir. You like playing with his children well enough.’
I looked across at Lord Hastings with a wry smile, trying to reclothe my vulnerability.
‘Then I must count myself most favoured,’ he was saying, ‘however …’ He stood up and paced to the edge of the arbor. I watched in dismay as he thrust his hands on his waist and cast his gaze upwards, letting out his breath with a sigh of amused wonder before he swung round to face me. ‘And you consider me as manna from Heaven?’
I bowed my head in respect. ‘I know you would be kind with my ignorance and gentle in teaching me.’
‘Teaching!’ He dragged his fingers across his jaw. ‘Oh, sweetheart, was ever man so tempted?’
‘Then you agree?’ Excitement eddied through me. Would this divine man initiate me into Paradise? Oh, when, when? This moment even? Except his fingers were plucking at his golden troth ring. O Jesu, no!
‘Do not take this wrongly.’ A refusal? Please God, make him say yes. ‘This is not a simple matter, Mistress Elizabeth.’ He leaned a raised elbow against the weathered lathes. ‘I was just thinking – remembering a Christian woman I once knew who fell in love with a Jew, loved him so much that she converted to his religion and became more devout than he.
‘Now, from what you have told me and from what I have observed, it seems you have behaved with propriety all these years and suddenly you want to change your coat. Dangerous waters, Elizabeth. If you throw your values overboard, what chart shall you steer by?’ His expression was telling me of an even deeper concern.
‘I thank you for the warning, my lord,’ I murmured with my head bowed like a daughter and then I looked up with a wicked grin. ‘So your concern is I shall become an apostle of the creed of lust, and end up raddled with the crabs?’ And before he could answer, I added soberly, ‘Or are you afeared I shall fall in love with you?’
Relief swept into his face. ‘By the Saints, you never hide your meaning, do you?’
I smiled, my heart aching. ‘You have been a light in the darkness of my world, my lord. Surely friends can be honest with each other?’
He nodded, not guessing me a liar. ‘Then, to be honest and speak plainly, I have a wife and family I love dearly. Kate and I do not spend much time together. I have my court duties. She has the children. Since her brother Warwick’s death, she rarely steps foot in Westminster for reasons I am sure you can understand. Yes, I admit I am not faithful to her in body.’ He grimaced in self-judgment. ‘But where my heart is not engaged, making love does not seem like such a betrayal.’
‘Then make love to me.’ I tried not to sound like a desperate beggar.
‘I’m grown fond of you, Elizabeth. You’ve been a temptation since I first saw you. Ah, a plague on it!’
I watched him drive his bejewelled fingers through his fine, fair hair. Must I go down on my knees?
‘I am not assured this is the path for you.’
‘Path, my lord?’ I retorted, looking at him through my lashes. ‘Blind alley, rather! I’m stitched in a cered cloth shroud on my way to the grave if I don’t struggle out while I have the life force still in me.’
‘The path to Hell, sweetheart,’ he repeated firmly.
I rose and held my hands out to him. ‘Then lead me down it.’
We stared at each other not like friends or lovers but like two knights agreed to a tournament. I was waiting for an invisible marshal to give us leave to gallop at each other, but Hastings stepped back, laughing, hands raised
‘Christ save me! Not now, you hungry puss, we’ve insufficient time.’
‘Ohhh,’ I protested. ‘How long do you need? Shore only took a heave and a groan when he managed it at all. Do you want me to undress, is that the reason?’
He smiled, reached out to draw my face towards him, and kissed my brow. ‘My poor innocent Elizabeth. Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow at two.’ A finger under my chin to make me listen. ‘Put on a veil so no one will recognise you and come to Gerrard’s Hall in Basing Lane. Ask for the chamber for Master Ashby.’ I must have looked shocked for he added, ‘See, I sound heartless and you are offended.’ He turned away, dragging his fingers down his face as if he was disgusted with himself.
‘No,’ I lied, picking up his book. ‘But should I not come here? I could creep through the postern like a thief before curfew.’
‘No, Gerrard’s will preserve your reputation and my privacy. And now, I’m afraid, I must ask you to leave.’ Oh, he was all instructions and purpose now, other business tugging at his thoughts, but how could I resent that?
My fingers stroked the leather cover.
‘My lord?’