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Authors: Mary Sharratt
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Youâll go blind from all the Latin and Greek sheâll make you read.â
Aemilia could not keep herself from gazing at Susan as though she were a goddess. She would worship her forever! Brother and sister smiled at her, their kindness warming her as tangibly as the heat from the torches that ringed the table.
Papa, this is my new life!
Here she was, surrounded by learned people who had traveled the world. Here she sat with such noble company at a table strewn with rose petals while the stars blazed overhead.
6
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HREE MONTHS ON , A EMILIA rose in the misty light of a September dawn and splashed water on her face. Mornings began early at Grimsthorpe with prayers in the family chapel at six, followed by her lessons at six thirty.
She gazed into the steel mirror Mistress Locke had given her before returning to London. The gift had surprised her, considering how Mistress Locke despised every form of vanity. She could still hear Mistress Lockeâs voice.
Let this be a mirror of your virtue.
Tugging the comb through her hair, she smoothed her unruly curls as best she could, before tying them back with the pale violet ribbon Lady Susan had given her. How her fingertips thrilled just to touch the slippery satin. Over her new linen shift, she laced her new bodice and skirt, both gray to befit her station as a young scholar, yet Lady Susan had chosen the most delightful tone of gray that was nearly rose. A joy it was to feel the linen and lawn rustling around her as she walked. When she beheld her reflection, she could barely contain her delight.
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A EMILIA PURPORTED HERSELF WITH as much dignity as she could as she descended the grand staircase to the family chapel with its stark whitewashed walls, its windows devoid of colored glass, and its single unadorned cross. Catherine Willoughby suffered no popish ornamentation. While the servants assembled on the main floor of the chapel, Aemilia took her place with the family in the balcony above. Lady Susan, Catherine Willoughby and her husband, and John Wingfield, the schoolmaster, all listened to the service with rapt attention, their eyes closed to better concentrate on the scriptures. Perry, meanwhile, looked as though he could barely stay awake. When Aemilia caught him yawning, he winked at her. His betrothed, Mary de Vere, had come to visit. As pale as alabaster with her ice-blond hair, she looked at him through her eyelashes. Lady Maryâs family was rich and ancient, her brother Edward one of Her Majestyâs favorites, but Aemilia thought she was nowhere near as lovely as Lady Susan.
With Mistress Locke gone, Aemilia set all her hope and affection on Susan. She had already written a poem for her but was too embarrassed to show it to her lest she deem it doggerel.
Â
Noble Mistress, your rare perfections shone in the Glass
Wherein I saw my every fault.
You the Sunâs virtue, I that green grass
That flourishes fresh by your clear virtue taught.
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W HEN THE SERVICE HAD ended, Aemilia shyly took her idolâs hand and walked with her to the schoolroom. Aemilia wanted to be nowhere else but here, taking her place at her desk with the tomes in Latin and Greek, with the foolscap cut into quarto size, and the quill and ink. The human skull on her schoolmasterâs desk served as a reminder that life was short and all earthly existence must end. Aemilia must seize every moment to grow in wisdom and grace until she could become Susanâs equal in learning if not in wealth or birth. Susan was even more learned than Anne Locke. She read Aristotle in Greek and could debate with the schoolmaster in Latin.
In truth, there was an air of loneliness in Lady Susan, though she appeared to try her best to hide it and not allow her melancholy to be a burden to others. A childless widow at twenty-three! Aemilia swore she would be a solace to her, her faithful handmaiden who would make her proud. Susan certainly seemed to love these hours in the
Aemilia could not keep herself from gazing at Susan as though she were a goddess. She would worship her forever! Brother and sister smiled at her, their kindness warming her as tangibly as the heat from the torches that ringed the table.
Papa, this is my new life!
Here she was, surrounded by learned people who had traveled the world. Here she sat with such noble company at a table strewn with rose petals while the stars blazed overhead.
6
Â
HREE MONTHS ON , A EMILIA rose in the misty light of a September dawn and splashed water on her face. Mornings began early at Grimsthorpe with prayers in the family chapel at six, followed by her lessons at six thirty.
She gazed into the steel mirror Mistress Locke had given her before returning to London. The gift had surprised her, considering how Mistress Locke despised every form of vanity. She could still hear Mistress Lockeâs voice.
Let this be a mirror of your virtue.
Tugging the comb through her hair, she smoothed her unruly curls as best she could, before tying them back with the pale violet ribbon Lady Susan had given her. How her fingertips thrilled just to touch the slippery satin. Over her new linen shift, she laced her new bodice and skirt, both gray to befit her station as a young scholar, yet Lady Susan had chosen the most delightful tone of gray that was nearly rose. A joy it was to feel the linen and lawn rustling around her as she walked. When she beheld her reflection, she could barely contain her delight.
Â
A EMILIA PURPORTED HERSELF WITH as much dignity as she could as she descended the grand staircase to the family chapel with its stark whitewashed walls, its windows devoid of colored glass, and its single unadorned cross. Catherine Willoughby suffered no popish ornamentation. While the servants assembled on the main floor of the chapel, Aemilia took her place with the family in the balcony above. Lady Susan, Catherine Willoughby and her husband, and John Wingfield, the schoolmaster, all listened to the service with rapt attention, their eyes closed to better concentrate on the scriptures. Perry, meanwhile, looked as though he could barely stay awake. When Aemilia caught him yawning, he winked at her. His betrothed, Mary de Vere, had come to visit. As pale as alabaster with her ice-blond hair, she looked at him through her eyelashes. Lady Maryâs family was rich and ancient, her brother Edward one of Her Majestyâs favorites, but Aemilia thought she was nowhere near as lovely as Lady Susan.
With Mistress Locke gone, Aemilia set all her hope and affection on Susan. She had already written a poem for her but was too embarrassed to show it to her lest she deem it doggerel.
Â
Noble Mistress, your rare perfections shone in the Glass
Wherein I saw my every fault.
You the Sunâs virtue, I that green grass
That flourishes fresh by your clear virtue taught.
Â
Â
W HEN THE SERVICE HAD ended, Aemilia shyly took her idolâs hand and walked with her to the schoolroom. Aemilia wanted to be nowhere else but here, taking her place at her desk with the tomes in Latin and Greek, with the foolscap cut into quarto size, and the quill and ink. The human skull on her schoolmasterâs desk served as a reminder that life was short and all earthly existence must end. Aemilia must seize every moment to grow in wisdom and grace until she could become Susanâs equal in learning if not in wealth or birth. Susan was even more learned than Anne Locke. She read Aristotle in Greek and could debate with the schoolmaster in Latin.
In truth, there was an air of loneliness in Lady Susan, though she appeared to try her best to hide it and not allow her melancholy to be a burden to others. A childless widow at twenty-three! Aemilia swore she would be a solace to her, her faithful handmaiden who would make her proud. Susan certainly seemed to love these hours in the
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