The Dandelion Seed (19 page)

Katy’s dark brown eyes stared lazily at him and, pouting her red lips, she stretched out towards him. As she did so, one white bosom peeped through her blouse, the little nipple like a tiny red rose bud waiting to be kissed.

Chalky stared in fascination and shivered with passion, not daring to raise a hand. The previous morning when he had moved too fast with Katy, he had ended up in the brook with a cockle basket on his head. He had no intention of allowing that to happen again. So now he was back in his stride with his old cautious approach to seduction.

Little did Chalky know that he had met his match. The beautiful, six-foot-tall Katy was twenty, still a virgin, and hell bent on staying that way. She strongly believed in self-preservation until someone placed a golden band of security on her left hand. Nevertheless, she was an expert in love play.

‘Don’t want no help with the fish, then?’ Chalky enquired, staring at her enticing bare flesh.

‘No, thanks, ’tis done,’ said Katy, but her hand was creeping nearer to him, passed his knee until it reached his thigh.

‘Oh, gawd,’ moaned Chalky, ‘don’t do that.’ He pressed closer to her. ‘Oh, give us a kiss, Katy,’ he begged.

Katy pouted her lips in his direction and her hand reached the right spot.

Suddenly Chalky lost control and tried to jump on top of her, only to be thrown off like a leaf in the breeze.

As he rolled over Katy stood up, and loomed indignantly over him. In a voice that grated like sand, she said: ‘I told you not to do that, didn’t I?’

‘But Katy, I love you,’ Chalky almost wept. His face pressed to the damp soft grass for cool comfort.

‘No man’s getting me till he weds me,’ said Katy haughtily, swinging the basket of fish on to her shoulder. She hitched up her skirt to reveal the whole of her sturdy white leg and marched back over the fields to the Broadway Market, where her father would be waiting patiently for the basket of fish.

Cold and shivering but with an inner fire, Chalky crept back to the warm bed of the blousy Betsy. Sleepy and comfortable, she cuddled him close. Now that Rolly had gone there was only Chalky to cling to.

As the weeks and months passed, this strange courtship with Katy made very little progress. Each morning Chalky came timidly to the brook, and just as the male spider taps his feet for fear of the female mate gobbling him up, so did Chalky tap and fidget in an alarming fashion. In fact his nerves were going to pieces he became so harassed. He lost all interest in Betsy, who felt quite neglected and drank more and more sweet wine. She stayed in bed later each day and became very untidy in her dress. The fight had left her completely, and now that Rolly was gone, she had no one to protect her.

Chalky’s vicious temper began to show itself more and more and no matter how hard Betsy tried to persuade him, he would not marry her. So Betsy got fatter and lazier and drank more. Something had to be done; these extreme tensions must come to a head.

Poor old Chalky itched and scratched and walked about feeling very sorry for himself. He was of two minds – one to wait for Katy in a lonely spot, rape her and then disappear with the haul of money he had stashed away, or to stay put and ask for Katy’s hand in marriage from that red-faced fellow of a father. But then there was Betsy. She might turn nasty if he wed another; it was all very worrying.

But it was fate that took a hand in Chalky’s problems. One day Betsy got very drunk and fell down the stairs, breaking both her legs. No matter how hard she tried to stand up, she could not keep her balance and the pain was blinding. She was forced to lie in bed and leave everything in the hands of Chalky who made her very comfortable with a bottle of sweet wine beside her.

Now Chalky could begin his campaign of love with a vengeance. Going down to the cellar he took a few of the gold coins from the jar in its hiding place. Smartening himself up, he went off to visit Katy in her little house in the Broadway. In the little room behind the shop Chalky proposed to Katy in the appropriate manner and although she was smelling of fish, she remained just as desirable to him as ever. Then rattling the gold coins in his pocket, and in the presence of Katy’s three brawny brothers, Chalky asked her father for Katy’s hand in holy wedlock.

Katy’s father wore a dirty fishy apron stretched tight over his fat stomach and a battered straw hat on the back of his head. He surveyed Chalky with a careful scrutiny as if the younger man were one of those boiled lobsters he sold. ‘Who is that woman at the Duke’s Head, then?’ he demanded. Silvery fish scales bounced off his chin as he stuck it out aggressively in Chalky’s direction.

Chalky began to wish he had never come to the house but he stood his ground. ‘She’s my stepmother,’ he said. ‘Me old man got drowned at sea. He left the business to me, he did, so I ain’t short of a few shillings.’ He rattled the gold nobles and pulled out a handful so that the men all got a glimpse of the gold.

The old man pursed his fat lips speculatively. ‘Got a good dowry going with that girl, and ain’t letting her go until the chap not only matches it but doubles it.’ His piggy eyes squinted at Chalky. ‘What’s your offer?’ he demanded.

‘I thought to start off with a nice little partnership – a stall outside the inn with a bit of lobster, crab and shellfish for the late-night customers.’

A beaming smile crossed the fishmonger’s fat features. ‘Well, now, you’ve got your head screwed on the right way, all right. You’re a boy after me own heart.’ He put an enormous arm about Chalky’s shoulder. ‘That’s a good idea. We’ll do a bit of eel in jelly, and Katy could run the inn until you got wed. Shake hands, boy, we’re in business.’ He held out a big, fishy hand and grasped Chalky’s. ‘Katy!’ he yelled. ‘Come in here and get your future husband a drink.’

In her best dress and her long hair in a silver snood, Katy sat coyly next to Chalky on the horse-hair sofa. Chalky sat unusually quietly but secretly he was undressing Katy with his eyes. Katy was aware of this and enjoyed it.

‘Wait till I get you up in the inn, my girl,’ he whispered, and Katy fluttered her dark lashes in anticipation.

The day’s courting was over. Chalky walked back to the inn whistling a tune. Well, that was not a bad day’s work, he thought, especially since there is an extra bit of cash with Katy thrown in, he thought shamelessly as he let himself in to the dark deserted inn. He heard a plaintive voice calling from upstairs. ‘Is that you, Chalky? Where have you been? Me bottle’s empty.’

Chalky grimaced and his face hardened in a cruel look. He would have to sort this out somehow . . .

Frances Howard’s new house was on the estate of her uncle, the Earl of Nottingham who lay very ill with the gout and the ailments of old age at his country house in Halling, near Croydon. All his life Henry Howard had kept away from the court intrigues and loyally served his king and country to the best of his ability. This policy had fortunately been to the advantage of his great family. But new stars had been rising – for James had many favourites – and the old courtiers of Elizabeth’s time were gradually being pushed into the background. So when Henry Howard’s favourite niece wanted to marry the king’s main favourite, Robert Carr, it was a great boost for the Howards, and it would also bring Robert Carr over to their side. Therefore all strings were pulled to help Frances, who was determined to get her marriage with Essex annulled, insisting that it had never been consummated. And there began the weaving of a great web of intrigue to prove that Frances was still a virgin.

With Abe, Annabelle and Merlin installed in her new house on her uncle’s estate, Frances spent most of her time at court accompanied by Annabelle, trying to strengthen her position as the betrothed of the king’s favourite, and Robert Carr seemed to gain more favour from foolish old Jamie every day.

Abe did not like his new home, one bit. In fact he hated it. One afternoon, he leaned over the garden wall to watch the long line of carriages coming out of the city – heavy wagons loaded with goods, mounted men in all their finery and the grand retinue that rode with them dressed all in a blaze of coloured coats and gold braid. Travelling along that winding road sloped out of London towards the west country, they reminded Abe of an army of ants. What a dreary place this is, he thought, with its neglected gardens. Abe shook his grey head gloomily as he surveyed the battered cupids and the sad-looking one-armed goddesses perched in the centre of the lawn. What a contrast to the beloved garden he had left behind. He thought of the neat rows of carrots and onions. ‘I’ll never get used to it here,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Why there’s no room to swing a cat round in.’ He stared moodily towards the distant city, with its row of church spires and haze of black smoke that hung over it. ‘I wonder what that bitch of a countess is up to,’ he pondered. ‘It fair worries me the way she monopolises Annabelle, always out dressed up to kill.’ Once again he shook his old head like an old donkey. ‘Don’t like it one bit, I don’t. We should never have come to this dull house.’

Frances was for once at home, and she was preoccupied as she sat in the long elaborately furnished drawing room with its wall tapestries and luxurious couches, deep in conversation with Annabelle and a young girl. This was a poor Howard cousin and she was almost identical to Frances. To look at her you would be convinced that she was Frances’ twin, since she had the same ash-blonde hair, classic features and same protruding eyes. But the expressions on their faces were totally different: the young girl looked sweet and gentle, while Frances’ full heavy lips only turned down disdainfully at the corners. Frances leaned forward to talk to this young girl, forming each word carefully and making signs with her hands. The young girl touched her lips and with her hands indicated that she understood. For she had no power of speech. She was totally dumb but her hearing was not impaired.

‘Listen, my dear,’ Frances said, looking earnestly at her. ‘Do you think you can manage to do as I ask? Remember, it is very important for me to get my marriage annulled. Do you understand?’

The girl nodded her head.

‘Good,’ replied Frances, looking satisfied. ‘Now we are on the way to success. Come my love, we will rehearse again.’

The little Howard cousin was dressed by Annabelle in a plain dress and a long veil. Over and over the two women explained to her what the matrons of the court would do and say when they examined her to see if she was a virgin. They would ask if her name was Frances Howard, and then she must only nod her head. This young girl whose tongue gave no sound was the child of a Howard who had married a poor village girl in Ireland. The rebels had burned their house and her parents but the little girl had escaped. But she had never uttered a word since. She had been taken into the Howard family and brought up with the rest but very few knew of her existence. Now a good use had been found for the poor young child by her own scheming family.

The fact that this preposterous plot succeeded highlights the formidable power of the Howard family. The matrons who examined Frances Howard proclaimed her still a virgin after two years of being married and there was much gossip and many jokes. The great committee of Bishops granted her divorce on the grounds of her husband’s impotency. When the news leaked out, there was much gossip and many jokes. Most of the court knew of Frances’ many little indiscretions, not the least of which was with Robert Carr’s secretary, Thomas Overbury. And he was not slow to talk of this. Thomas was a writer of poetry and he was reported to be the author of a scurrilous poem that had been read out at the Mermaid Inn in Fleet Street, a place patronised by the leading literary lights of the day.

The news of her annulment made Frances extraordinarily happy. Now the only cloud over her bright horizon was the fear that Robert’s secretary would go too far with his indiscreet talk.

Several weeks later, Frances stared at her white-faced reflection in the new Venetian mirror which had been a gift from great Uncle Henry. Behind her Annabelle brushed her mistress’ long blonde hair. Frances’ greeny grey eyes gloated as she looked at herself. ‘I fooled them,’ she said. ‘Fat old hypocrites, those Bishops. And I’ll get him too, that Thomas. I’ll teach him to revile me,’ she threatened.

‘Are you talking to yourself, Madam?’ asked Annabelle as she pulled the jewelled comb through the long strands of fine light hair.

‘Well, what if I am?’ Frances retorted harshly. ‘Really, Annabelle, you do say the silliest things.’

Annabelle’s pale face betrayed the fact that she was not very well. The late nights and the temptations of the town did not seem to be agreeing with her.

‘I need something from Merlin,’ said Frances. ‘How is he these days? I intend to silence that snake Overbury and I will need your help.’

‘But my lady,’ pleaded Annabelle, ‘why not leave well alone? Soon you will be a great lady when you marry Robert. Surely it is not wise to cause trouble.’

‘Don’t be a fool!’ sneered Frances. ‘I will do as I please. Who is to stop me now?’

Annabelle sighed, her brow wrinkled in a perplexed expression. Where was it all going to end? How gladly she would give up this life for the peaceful scene of Essex and Craig Alva again, but Frances was a Howard and greed and ambition were two very important ingredients of her make-up. Annabelle knew that she had no choice.

That afternoon Frances rode through the city streets in her new carriage which bore a coat of arms and was carved and gilded. Beside her sat Annabelle who pressed a posy of rosemary close to her nose because she was afraid of the plague which still hung about the city. Frances wore a velvet outfit which was bedecked with jewels. She was travelling to Holborn House to meet great Uncle Henry the oldest and the wiliest member of the Howard family.