LIBERTINE in the Tudor Court: One Night in Paradise / A Most Unseemly Summer

‘Then you’ll do it?’

‘I think I’ll have to, Belle. But…oh, no!’

‘What?’

‘This is the one with the…oh, lord! What would Cousin Hester say?’

‘She’s not going to know unless someone tells her. It’s what Sir Nicholas will say that’s more interesting,’ she said, cheekily. ‘Think of that, mistress. This’ll show him what he’s missed better than anything could.’

‘I had thought of that, Belle.’

‘Well then, step out of this lot. Stand still and let me undo you.’ She spoke with a mouthful of pins as she detached the sleeves, bodice and skirts while Adorna still ticked off her list and handed out silver kid slippers, silk stockings, tridents and masks to the ladies’ maids.

There was only the smallest mirror available for her to see the effect of her disguise as it was assembled, piece by piece, upon her slender figure. But both maid and mistress noticed the women’s admiration as the silver-blue tissue was girdled beneath her breasts, neither fully exposing nor hiding the perfect roundness that strained against the fabric at each movement. Others were more daringly exposed, but not one was more beautiful than Adorna, so Maybelle told her as she placed the silver mask over her face and teased the pale hair over her shoulders.

‘There now,’ Maybelle said, placing the papier-mâché conch-shell on Adorna’s head. ‘It’ll take ’em a while to recognise you in that.’ Not for a moment did she believe her words, for there was dancing to be got through before the masquers could be revealed, and Adorna’s shimmering pale gold waves were far lovelier than the wigs.

‘So this,’ Adorna muttered, ‘is what Seton means by stage fright.’

With the last checks in place and the head-dresses imposing an unnatural silence upon the eight Water Maidens, they waited for the trumpet-call to herald the entry of the masquers. Then the door was opened, assailing them at once with a blaze of light and jewels, colourful and glittering clothes, eager faces and the dying hum of laughter. Blinkered by the small openings in the masks, they saw little except the immediate foreground, but now Adorna realised how this hid their blushes as well as so many leering eyes that strained to examine every detail.

Surrounded by her favourite courtiers, tall and handsome men, the Queen was seated on a large cushioned chair at the far end of the imposingly decorated chamber that glowed warmly with tapestries from ceiling to floor. The latter, clear of rushes, had been polished for dancing and now reflected the colours like a lake through which the eight glamorous masquers glided in pairs, each pair led by a semi-naked child torch-bearer with wings.

One child, mounted on a wheeled seahorse, asked the Queen to approve of the masque, but Adorna’s eyes had rarely been so busy in trying to seek out, without moving her head, someone she recognised. Her father would be otherwise engaged with the props behind the scenes, the organisation and mechanics of the clouds, the little Water Droplets, the noise of the thunder and the giant sun’s face that smiled and winked. While she paraded and danced a graceful pavane she could not help wondering what he would say when he knew.

The doubt about his approval nagged at her, blunting the pleasure of seeing Sir Nicholas’s reaction to what she intended to deny him. The pleasure waned even further as she became quite certain that Sir Nicholas was not present. Some of the other masquers were having no such qualms, for they had already made some minor adjustments to reveal more than had originally been intended, but it was after the pavane that a shriek and a sudden parting of the crowd indicated that there had been an invasion of sorts. A group of tall silver-clad men, glittering in satin-beaded doublets and silver-paned breeches, strode fiercely through the open door, yelling and whirling white fishing-nets about their half-masked heads.

‘Ho-ho!’ they called. ‘What treasures do these fair Water Maidens bring? Yield them up, Maidens! Yield up, we say!’

This was the part of the masque about which Adorna had been kept in the dark, being concerned only with the women’s department, but now she recognised at a glance both the Earl of Leicester and Sir Christopher Hatton by the shape and colour of their beards. They threw their nets about with gusto, making the women guests yelp with excitement, but it was the Water Maidens who had to be netted, and it was they who fled furthest.

There were some, naturally, who did not make it too difficult for the fabulously dressed Fishermen with the white ostrich-plumed caps, but Adorna was not one of them, suspecting that Sir Nicholas was probably a Fisherman with his sights on one of the others. This was her perfect chance to be netted by someone else, to let him see, as Maybelle had said, what he was missing.

‘Here, my lady,’ she laughed, removing her conch-shell head-piece and handing it to a courtier old enough to be her mother. ‘You could be netted, if you wish it.’

Willingly, the lady held it above her head, drawing the Fishermen’s attention while Adorna skipped aside to find one of the eight who looked least like Sir Nicholas, a ploy that misfired when, as she dodged Sir Christopher’s net, she whirled round to find that the man she had hoped to evade had spotted her. His wide shoulders, proud bearing and dark hair could not be concealed by the silver half-mask any more than she was by her complete one.

Across the long room they surveyed each other, one with legs apart, menacing and determined, the other equally adamant that any man would be preferable to this one, at this moment. She slipped away to where guests shoaled like fish, but it was too late to mingle with them before his net flew through the air towards her.

She threw up a hand to ward it off, catching it and hurling it aside scornfully, feeling a surge of triumph as she planted both feet firmly on it, glaring at the Fisherman. The guests, unused to anything but a token show of resistance, roared their approval of her clever ruse and turned to watch what would happen next while, at the far end of the room, the Queen’s head appeared above all the others to see what was going on.

Ready to sprint off again at the first hint of approach, Adorna was not prepared for the sudden shift under her feet as Sir Nicholas yanked hard at the net, pulling it on the slippery floor to unbalance her and bring her down on to her side with a sharp slap. Then, laughing softly, he hauled his net back and shook it out unhurriedly, his voice challenging and strong. ‘Come on, Water Maiden!’ he called. ‘You should be as used to this performance as I am by now. Come, let’s have a look at your bounty, eh?’

The men yelled and clapped, but Adorna’s expression was well hidden behind her mask, though her voice betrayed enough to suggest that this was not all an act. ‘I’m a cloud, Sir Fisherman! A mist. A waterfall. I have no fish, no bounty. You’ll get nothing from me. Go and seek your bounty elsewhere.’ Quickly, she scrambled to her feet, vexed that her flimsy bodice had not been designed for this kind of activity and that her legs, usually concealed, were now perfectly outlined for all to see. Hoping once more to hide in the arms of the guests, she turned towards them. But they were far too occupied in cheering her bravado and in ogling her charms to move aside and, before she could think of an alternative, the net came swinging towards her once more to fall neatly over her head and shoulders.

A roar of approval went up in the crowded room, the men calling for Sir Nicholas, the women calling for Adorna to do something. But it was obvious who would win with the net tightening about her, pinning her arms helplessly to her sides and, unlike the others who had been carefully drawn towards their captors, she was hauled unceremoniously across the floor to the slow clap of the guests, totally unable to resist the strength of his arms.

‘Now, my beauty,’ Sir Nicholas said loudly as she drew nearer, ‘are you going to reward my efforts? What’s it to be this time?’

In the Queen’s presence, her answer would have been totally inappropriate. His taunts infuriated her, as did the guests’ enjoyment, nor did the concealing comfort of her mask last long when he pulled her close and lifted it to reveal her flushed and angry face.

‘Mistress Adorna Pickering,’ he laughed. ‘I would have recognised your…er…face anywhere.’ His eyes were not on her face. Then, as if she had indeed been a netted mermaid, he picked her up in his arms and brought her head slowly up to his and, before his lips met hers in this public and humiliating display of mastery, she saw the gleam of exultation in his eyes, the white flash of his teeth.

‘No!’ she whispered, angrily struggling against his wicked grip. ‘You are making it look as if I am…we are…’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I am, aren’t I?’

Even here, in the worst of circumstances, when his kiss was the very last thing she wanted, there was a moment when she became deaf to the yells of approval and heard only the way her heart danced to a rhythm of its own. He kissed her through the net as if no one else had been there, as if the reward he took was no paltry thing but worth all the discernment he could give to it, and it was only when the kiss ended that her other senses returned, with her anger. By then, it mattered nothing to anyone except herself, for the crowd were dispersing and making ready for the dance, still laughing at the rough diversion, both men and women envying the two masquers.

The Earl of Leicester slapped Sir Nicholas on the back as Adorna was carried to one side, his lazy and open examination of her dishevelled attire adding to her chagrin by his unconcealed approval of the contest. ‘I see what you mean, man,’ he murmured into his ear. ‘Time for some lungeing then, eh?’

‘Put me down!’ Adorna snarled, hating them. ‘How dare you manhandle me in this way before Her Majesty, sir?’

He placed her upright within the shadowy window-recess that opened immediately on to the River Thames, admitting the night air that helped to cool her flushed face and neck.

‘Her Majesty is as much amused as everyone else.’

‘Except me!’

‘And you cannot go before she does. That would be a breach of etiquette. Besides,’ he said, easing the net away from the tangle of fringes and stars, ‘the masquers have to dance together first.’

She tried to step away, but he pulled her back and held her against the wall while he untangled her hair. ‘Stand still,’ he said, ‘or I’ll have to hobble you.’

‘Don’t dare to speak to me as if—’

His kiss was meant to be a gag and, in that, it was more effective than even he had expected, given Adorna’s fury. He did not allow her to recover herself, but seemed intent on keeping a firm hold on the authority he had won. ‘As if you were a filly?’ he said, holding her eyes and beating them down with the unflinching brown jasper of his own. ‘You believed that a box on my ears would bring me up short, did you, lass? Well then, just recall that day you sat up there so safely in your saddle and asked me about fillies, and I said I’d tell you someday. Ah, I see you remember that. Well, I’m telling you now, Mistress Adorna Pickering, and we’ll take it in easy stages, shall we?’ He removed his mask at last. ‘The introductions are over. Your education begins here. Now, the musicians are starting up again, the galliard, and you must dance with your captor.’ He stood back to release her, holding out his hand.

She shook with outrage, more than ever aware that, for all her plans, this was going disastrously wrong. She would not give him the satisfaction of her immediate obedience; instead, a myriad of schemes fought for the right to make her as difficult, rebellious, intransigent and downright impossible as any woman had ever been or could ever be, just to show the arrogant savage what he was up against. Seething with vexation at her own lack of opportunity, she ignored his hand just long enough to see a slight movement of his body, a warning that she had better give in.

Haughtily, she placed her hand in his and felt his warm fingers close over hers. She had never seen him look so handsome. Or so dangerous. ‘My captor only for this dance, Sir Fisherman,’ she said, darkly. ‘A net is not the best means of catching water, you know. You’ll have to do better than that before you start your self-imposed role as tutor.’

‘Oh, I will, Maiden. I will,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll do much better than that, believe me. I won’t even need half a chance.’

‘Not a ghost of a chance.’ She allowed herself to be led into the formation for a galliard, though her mind was churning over the fact that so far he had offered no explanation or apology for last night, not even a reference to it. Which showed him to be both heartless and mannerless, a man to whom Hester was more than welcome, if she wanted him. From now on, she vowed to herself, she would not only place Hester in his path, she would hurl her bodily into it, whether she wanted him or not.

He was, as she had seen before, an excellent dancer, and more than once during the lively galliard, she felt the Queen’s scrutiny as she received whispered information into one diamond-weighted ear. As a partner, he could not have been bettered; graceful, sure of his movements, strong and athletic, and during those brief moments of physical contact, she could almost believe that their animosity was a thing of fiction. He would not let her go, but kept hold of her for the next dance, and she was too close to Her Majesty to make a fuss.

The coranto, with its leaps and little running steps, was one in which the Queen herself was an expert, an even more intricate measure than the gay galliard. Here the man could vary the steps at will, taking his partner with him as long as she concentrated. Adorna came close to containing her anger in the heat of the exercise, particularly when he held her above him with his hands around her waist, both of them in complete unison, at one with the rhythm, the steps, the lifts, as if they had rehearsed together. None of which should have been possible between two people so incompatible on every other level.

For the sake of good manners, not to mention the Queen’s presence, she was obliged to swallow further biting comments with the dainty tid-bits he offered her from the banquet prepared in the chamber next door, though it was she who drank liberally of the wine being offered. More than once he reminded her that it was undiluted, that the Queen herself always took water with it, but the impulse to gainsay him at every opportunity had now taken on the dimensions of a crusade against his tyranny, and she took far more of the wine than she needed to quench her thirst, just to thwart him. He need not treat her like a schoolboy. Education, indeed!

It was at the informal banquet that she saw Master Peter Fowler from the opposite side of the chamber. She could have sworn he had not been there earlier, but then his duties could have been the reason for that. All the same, she was relieved that he had not seen the undignified duel between herself and Sir Nicholas, though it appeared to be the presence of the latter at her side that prevented Peter from coming to speak to her. She smiled at him, but her smile was acknowledged only by a bleak expression of discontent that slid from her to Sir Nicholas and back again. She made a move to go to him, but found that the firm hand on her waist was manoeuvring her round to speak to other guests, as if on purpose to deflect her interest, and she knew then that the rivalry between the two had begun in earnest with neither her consent nor approval. It looked as if Peter had been warned off and that he had accepted the instruction, being in no position to do otherwise. She made a note to herself to reverse the situation as quickly as possible, but when she next looked, Peter was nowhere to be seen.

More than once, in the hours that followed, the idea of seeking her father’s protection came and went. It had always been a useful gambit, always successful. But for once, and for a medley of strange and disturbing reasons, she was glad that her father had not been present, the same reasons telling her that, this time, it would be best for her to handle the problem alone.

‘You’ve had enough,’ Sir Nicholas said, in a low voice, returning the full glass to the server.

Adorna tossed her pale hair over her head and reached out to retrieve the wine from the man’s hand, downing it at one go before he could move away. She handed him the empty glass with a smile. ‘I think I’m the best judge of that, Sir Shiffer…shiff…Fisherman,’ she said. ‘Or had you intended to instruct me on what to eat and drink, too?’