strand of pearls.’ My aunt handed me the necklace she had brought with her and helped me put it on. I looked at myself in the glass and saw my aunt’s reflection behind me. The tenderness on her face made me wish, with a sharp pain, for the mother I had hardly known, struck down so early in childbirth. There was no portrait of my mother and she died before I was old enough to fix her face in my mind’s eye, yet I did recall the eyes. Rich brown, like those of myself and my brother Robert, and direct in their gaze. Too direct, some said, for a maiden of my tender years.
And then, just as were are to leave, my aunt remembered something and led me, alone, through her bedchamber, and the two or three rooms adjoining, to her private closet.
It was a small room, wainscoted, containing little but table, chair and chest. She lifted the chest, in which were stored spare hangings, and removed a pouch of velvet.
‘Take it. I came upon it amongst some old treasures and meant to give it to you before now.’ She handed me the pouch and I untied the lace and discovered a silver case, inlaid with enamel filigree, a pretty thing. The catch was stiff and wanted not to open. Of a sudden it sprang apart like a Jack-in-the-box and the face I had not seen since I was four years old looked up into my eyes. My mother!
In my soul I knew such a yearning for her, as if my very heart would burst from my chest. I felt her presence, leaning over my shoulder, whispering that she had wanted to give me a mother’s softness, to hold me to her, to temper my father’s choler, his helplessness in dealing with such a great brood of girls. I had to hold on to a chair-back, my knuckles whitened by the force of my longing.
My lady aunt leaned over and placed her hand under my chin. ‘She would be proud of you, Ann. And now, let us go to Court.’
To my great excitement we went downriver to Greenwich in the Lord Keeper’s barge, with liveried servants to announce our status. I was amazed to see that the river was almost as crowded as the road had been. Stately barges ploughed their way up and down between the Queen’s various palaces, past the gardens on the river bank and the vast mansions where her advisors and courtiers lived, with their private stairs down to the water. Tiny wherries darted about, a comic sight with scruffy boatmen rowing grand ladies in their gowns and ruffs, hardly able to fit their fine dresses inside the craft.
A tilt boat overtook us with well-dressed courtiers fanning themselves under a rich red canopy, a lute player sitting on the deck softly singing a melancholy song. My aunt told me that often in summer the Queen and her ladies took to the river in one of her barges and rowed up and down to feel the breeze.
‘She knew that in her honour the church of Lambeth undertook to ring the church bell at her passing.’ My aunt smiled at the memory. ‘And sometimes she went back and forth five or six times that they might keep tolling. As I recall the vicar complained that he could not afford to keep paying the bell ringers! Her Majesty retorted that her people should want to ring the bell for her without payment!’
All along the river front were small stairs dipping vertiginously down into the water. Well-off Londoners in search of a wherry gathered here to shout ‘Oars!’ or ‘Westward Ho!’
On the south bank we passed Southwark with its pits for bear and bull baiting, and went on towards London Bridge. Beyond were the legal quays, where I was astonished to see almost a hundred ocean craft lined up all the way from the bridge to the city, loading and unloading their cargo by way of ingenious pulleys to be assessed for customs duty.
After that we rowed on towards the daunting white stone of the Tower of London. I shivered as we passed the Traitor’s Gate, thinking of all those who had entered it, not knowing if they would ever emerge. One of them, my aunt reminded me, had been the Queen herself, placed there by her
And then, just as were are to leave, my aunt remembered something and led me, alone, through her bedchamber, and the two or three rooms adjoining, to her private closet.
It was a small room, wainscoted, containing little but table, chair and chest. She lifted the chest, in which were stored spare hangings, and removed a pouch of velvet.
‘Take it. I came upon it amongst some old treasures and meant to give it to you before now.’ She handed me the pouch and I untied the lace and discovered a silver case, inlaid with enamel filigree, a pretty thing. The catch was stiff and wanted not to open. Of a sudden it sprang apart like a Jack-in-the-box and the face I had not seen since I was four years old looked up into my eyes. My mother!
In my soul I knew such a yearning for her, as if my very heart would burst from my chest. I felt her presence, leaning over my shoulder, whispering that she had wanted to give me a mother’s softness, to hold me to her, to temper my father’s choler, his helplessness in dealing with such a great brood of girls. I had to hold on to a chair-back, my knuckles whitened by the force of my longing.
My lady aunt leaned over and placed her hand under my chin. ‘She would be proud of you, Ann. And now, let us go to Court.’
To my great excitement we went downriver to Greenwich in the Lord Keeper’s barge, with liveried servants to announce our status. I was amazed to see that the river was almost as crowded as the road had been. Stately barges ploughed their way up and down between the Queen’s various palaces, past the gardens on the river bank and the vast mansions where her advisors and courtiers lived, with their private stairs down to the water. Tiny wherries darted about, a comic sight with scruffy boatmen rowing grand ladies in their gowns and ruffs, hardly able to fit their fine dresses inside the craft.
A tilt boat overtook us with well-dressed courtiers fanning themselves under a rich red canopy, a lute player sitting on the deck softly singing a melancholy song. My aunt told me that often in summer the Queen and her ladies took to the river in one of her barges and rowed up and down to feel the breeze.
‘She knew that in her honour the church of Lambeth undertook to ring the church bell at her passing.’ My aunt smiled at the memory. ‘And sometimes she went back and forth five or six times that they might keep tolling. As I recall the vicar complained that he could not afford to keep paying the bell ringers! Her Majesty retorted that her people should want to ring the bell for her without payment!’
All along the river front were small stairs dipping vertiginously down into the water. Well-off Londoners in search of a wherry gathered here to shout ‘Oars!’ or ‘Westward Ho!’
On the south bank we passed Southwark with its pits for bear and bull baiting, and went on towards London Bridge. Beyond were the legal quays, where I was astonished to see almost a hundred ocean craft lined up all the way from the bridge to the city, loading and unloading their cargo by way of ingenious pulleys to be assessed for customs duty.
After that we rowed on towards the daunting white stone of the Tower of London. I shivered as we passed the Traitor’s Gate, thinking of all those who had entered it, not knowing if they would ever emerge. One of them, my aunt reminded me, had been the Queen herself, placed there by her
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