One Night in Paradise

‘Yes,’ Hester whispered. She looked around her at the white plasterwork and the warm tapestried walls. ‘It’s cool and quiet here. I remember how I liked it before, long ago.’

‘Well,’ Lady Marion said, leading her towards the carved oak staircase, ‘a lot’s happened since then, and now you’re a woman of independent means, free to do whatever you wish. You’re our guest for as long as you choose to stay.’

There was no corresponding flash of delight at hearing her new status described. On the contrary, the very idea of having to make her own decisions was apparently not something she looked forward to with any relish. Sir William Pickering, Sir Thomas’s cousin, had died at the beginning of the year, leaving his fortune and his house in London to Hester.

‘Did you bring your maid with you?’ said Adorna. ‘If not, you shall share Maybelle with me. She knows how to dress hair in the latest fashions. Come, shall we find your room? The men will bring your baggage up.’

Cousin Hester’s mourning-garb was only to be expected, in the circumstances, though neither the hostess nor her daughter would have allowed themselves to look quite so dowdy as their guest had the same thing happened to them. While they were not particularly in the forefront of fashion as those at Court were, neither were they ten years behind it as Hester was. Her figure could only be guessed at, concealed beneath a loose-bodied gown closed from neck to hem with fur-edged ties, puffed shoulder-sleeves and tight bead-covered under-sleeves. The hair to which Maybelle may or may not have access was almost completely hidden beneath a black french hood that hung well down at the back, though the bit of hair that showed at the front was brownish and looked, Maybelle thought, as if it needed a washing before it would reveal its true colour.

After her father’s reproach the day before, Adorna now exercised all her charity towards her half-cousin, knowing little of the background of experience which had kept Hester inside her protective shell. For a woman of her age, she was impossibly tongue-tied and, for an heiress, she was going to find it difficult to protect herself from fortune-seeking men of whom there were countless hereabouts. Adorna managed it by virtue of her closeness to her parents; Hester would not manage it at all without some help. Yet on their guest list for Saturday, Adorna and her mother had already paired off this pathetic young lady with Sir Nicholas Rayne who might, for all they knew, be one of those sharks from whom she would need protection. On the other hand, they might suit each other perfectly. Strangely, the idea had lost its appeal for Adorna.

Having helped to unpack Hester’s rather inadequate belongings and a very limited range of clothes, Adorna conducted her on a tour of the house, which she believed would make her feel more at home. Inside, there was much of it that Hester remembered, but outside, the large formal garden had been restructured into a series of smaller ones bounded by tall hedges, walls, trellises and stone balustrades, walkways, steps and spreading trees. The banqueting house was also new to her.

Adorna opened the double doors to reveal a marble-floored garden-room with windows on all eight of its sides. The ceiling was prettily plastered with clouds and cherubs bearing fruit, and the panels between the windows were painted to represent views of the garden beyond. In the centre of the floor was a round marble table supported by grimacing cherubs.

‘For the banquets,’ Adorna said, ‘the suckets and marchpanes. I’m making them ready in the stillroom. We’ll come out here after the last course and nibble while the servants clear the hall ready for the entertainment.’

‘Tonight?’

‘No, tomorrow. About thirty guests are coming to dinner. Didn’t Mother tell you?’

The colour drained from Hester’s face. ‘Guests? Oh, dear.’ Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Perhaps I should stay in my room. I’m in mourning, you must remember.’

‘Hester, dear…’ Adorna drew her down to a stone bench fixed to the wall ‘…being in mourning doesn’t mean you have to avoid people. It’s nearly seven months since Sir William died, and how often did you see him in your twenty-one years?’

‘Two…three times. I don’t recall.’

‘So, you can still wear black for a full year, if you wish, but Sir William would not have wanted you to hide away for so long, would he? After all, he was a man who lived life to the full, I believe.’

She supposed Hester to know at least as much as she did about Sir William Pickering, who had once believed himself to be in the running for the Queen’s hand in the days before the Earl of Leicester. She had shown him every favour and he had exploited that favour to the full, making himself extremely unpopular while he was about it. But the Queen did not marry him and he had retired from Court, permanently unmarried but not chaste.

‘Did your aunt never tell you about her brother?’ Adorna said. ‘By all accounts your father was a remarkable man. In the Queen’s Secret Service, a scholar, a fine handsome man. Women adored him, and he must have loved your mother and you very much to have wanted you to inherit his entire wealth. He doesn’t sound to me like the kind of man who would want his daughter to hide herself away when she has the chance to meet people. My mother and father will be here, remember. We’ll take care of you.’

Hester, who had been gazing at her hands until now, sighed and stared out of the window. ‘Yes…but…’

‘But what?’

‘Well, you’re so used to it. You know what to say, and you’re so beautiful, and fashionable…and…’

‘Nonsense! Some of the most fashionable ladies are not beauties, and some beauties are dowdy. Everyone has at least one good feature, and you have several, Hester.’

‘I do?’

‘Of course you do. The secret is to make the most of them. Would you like me to help? I can, if you’ll allow it. Maybelle and I can do your hair, and we can find something a little prettier to wear?’

‘In black?’

‘In black, but more flattering. Yes?’

At last a smile hovered and broke through. ‘All right. And will you tell me what to say, too?’

‘Ah, now that,’ Adorna said, ‘may take a little longer, but I can certainly try. The first thing to do is to smile.’

By the time Sir Thomas returned to Sheen House in mid-afternoon, the transformation had begun and the outmoded mousy young lady who had been greeted by Lady Pickering was not quite the same one who curtsied gracefully to the master of the house, though the effort of it robbed her of words. Between them, Adorna and Maybelle had worked wonders. The hair had now been washed, burnished and arranged into a small jewelled cap that sat on the back of her head like a ripe hazelnut. Hester’s straggly eyebrows had been plucked to form two slim arches, and her faint eyelashes had been darkened with a mixture of soot and saliva, which seemed to work very well. Even those few measures had been enough to convert an ordinary face into a most comely one, but Hester’s greatest assets were her teeth. Once she began to show their dazzling whiteness, there was no reason why she should not smile more often, Adorna told her.

Under the loose gown, she was found to be as shapely as most other young women, if somewhat gauche, not knowing what to do with her hands. Or her head, for that matter. But when she tried on Adorna’s black taffeta half-gown with the slashed sleeves and the blackwork partlet, then the new Hester began to emerge.

Teaching her how to move with confidence did not produce such instant results, for there were years of awkwardness and tensions to remove, nervous habits and self-conscious fumblings to eradicate which could not even be mentioned for fear of making them worse. So Adorna advised her to listen rather than to talk. ‘It’s easy enough,’ she said. ‘Men will talk about themselves until the moon turns blue and then some more. You’ll only have to nod and they’ll never notice you haven’t said a word. You can’t fail. They’re all the same. Just smile at them, and they’ll do the rest.’

Hester did not recognise the cynicism, never having found a pressing need to express herself on any particular subject, so the advice was well within her capabilities. She had noticed the palace wall beyond the Pickerings’ garden and wanted to know if that was where Sir Thomas worked.

‘No,’ Adorna told her, ‘my father’s offices and workrooms are round the back, not far from the tennis court and bowling alley. That wall is the Queen’s Gardens. Would you like to see?’ She had noted Hester’s interest in their own.

Predictably, the response was muted. ‘Well…er, might we not be intruding?’

Adorna laughed. ‘Meet somebody? Well, probably the odd courtier or two, or the gardener. Come, let’s show off the new Hester.’ The new Hester followed, dutifully.

The palace itself dominated a large area of the riverside, spreading backwards and upwards in a profusion of towers and turrets that pierced the sky with golden weather-vanes, shining domes, flags and chimneys. The colours of brick and stone mingled joyfully with flashing panes of glass that caught the sun, and the patterns that adorned every surface of the façade never failed to enchant Adorna. But Hester’s eyes were too busy searching for any sign of life to enjoy them. On a rainy day, Adorna told her, one could still walk round the magnificent garden beneath the covered walkway that enclosed all four sides, but Hester was still unsettled. ‘What’s that shouting?’ she whispered, nervously.

‘The tennis court, over there at the back. Shall we go and see?’

‘Er…there’ll be people.’

‘They’ll be far too busy watching the players to see us.’ Adorna took her arm and drew her gently onwards towards the sound of people and the curious pinging noise that became a hard clattering the nearer they walked.

The tennis court was a roofed building like the one at Hampton Court Palace that the Queen’s father had had built. They entered through an arched doorway into a dim passage where suddenly the clatter and men’s cries became sharper, and Adorna felt the resistance of Hester’s arm as she drew back, already fearing what she might see. Although Adorna could sympathise with her cousin’s dilemma, she saw no point in balking at the first hurdle. She placed Hester in front of her and steered her forwards, smiling to herself at each reluctant step.

The light came from windows high up on the two longest sides; the walls built up high had galleries running along them under sloping roofs upon which the hard balls bounced noisily before hitting the paved floor in the centre. A net stretched across the court, visibly sagging in the middle while four men, stripped down to doublets and hose, whacked at the ball with short-handled racquets. The two women sidled into the gallery where men and women leaned over the barrier to watch the play with shouts of, ‘Well done, sir!’ echoing eerily, laughing at the men’s protests, their shouts of jubilation.

They found a space behind the barrier, Adorna nodding silent greetings to a few familiar faces, feeling Hester flinch occasionally as the ball hit the wooden roof overhead and rolled down again. It was only when she gave her full attention to the players that Adorna realized she was within an arm’s length of Sir Nicholas Rayne whose aggressive strokes at the leather ball were causing the marker to call out scores in his favour, though she could not begin to fathom out why.

Almost imperceptibly, she drew back, wishing she had not come, yet fascinated by his strength and agility, his amazing reach that scooped the ball up from the most impossible places, his quickness and accuracy. At one point, as the players changed ends, Sir Nicholas was one of those who pulled off their doublets, undoing the points of their white linen shirts. Rolling up their sleeves, they showed muscular forearms, at which Hester was obviously disturbed. ‘Should we go, Adorna?’ she whispered.

The name was caught inside a moment of silence, and Sir Nicholas turned, stared, and deliberately came to the barrier where they stood. He rested his hands just beyond Adorna’s. ‘The Mistresses Pickering. Welcome to Richmond, mistress,’ he said to Hester. His appraisal, Adorna thought, must have been practised on many a likely-looking horse, though thankfully Hester would not realise it.

But his narrow-eyed survey of Adorna was of a more challenging variety, and his personal greeting to her was no more than, ‘Enjoy the game, mistress,’ which she was quite sure did not mean what Hester thought it meant.

She was given no time to find a reply, for he walked quickly away, swinging his racquet, while she was torn between making a quick and dignified exit or staying, hoping to put him off.

It was Hester’s astonishing response to the greeting, predictably delayed by nervousness, that decided the course of action. ‘Thank you, Sir Nicholas,’ she said to his retreating back.

‘What?’ Adorna whispered, staring at her guest. ‘You know him?’

Hester nodded. ‘Uncle Samuel and Aunt Sarah often invited him to Bishops Standing before he left to join the Earl of Leicester’s household. I’ve not seen him for a year or more. He’s always so polite, but I never know what to say to him.’

For someone who didn’t know what to say, that was the most Hester had said since her arrival. Which, Adorna thought, meant either that Sir Nicholas was the cause of some interest within the timid little heart or that her own efforts were already bearing fruit. Unlikely, after such a short time. ‘Did he visit often?’ she probed, watching him.

‘Quite often. He and Uncle Samuel used to play chess together, and hunted, and talked about horses.’