The Passage (15 page)

March 1685

We finally reached Sir Benedict’s house by nightfall.  It stood proudly amid a large park; the thick stone walls rising toward a purpling sky; the windows alight with the last rays of the setting sun just skimming the tree line and glinting off the diamond-paned mullions, and the chimneys just black stacks against the last of the light quickly fading into darkness.  Like most houses built more for protection than beauty, Sir Benedict’s house was forbidding and impregnable, but I’d never been so happy to arrive at a destination.  By this point, I didn’t care if I had to pretend to be the mistress of a baboon as long as I got to get off the horse.  My back was on fire after nearly twelve hours in the saddle without any kind of back support, and my legs vibrated with tension and fatigue. 

I smelled of horse; my inner thighs were raw from chafing against the saddle, and I was so thirsty my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.  I’d had nothing but ale all day, and some water would taste like ambrosia right about now, especially if it came in a clean glass.  All I wanted to do was bathe, have something to eat that wasn’t bread and cheese, and lie down, but that was not to be.  I had to join Hugo and sup with Sir Benedict, a meal which would probably last several hours and during which I had to play the part of the adoring mistress, not a resentful, tired woman who would have gladly strangled the arrogant bastard who abducted her and put her through this agony.

I was shown to my room where I fell onto the bed, desperate for a few moments’ rest.  A pretty young maid arrived shortly after, followed by a strapping youth who carried two sloshing buckets and grunted with effort.  The maid pulled out a hip bath and the boy poured the water into the tub, tugged his forelock at me, and departed happily, no longer burdened. 

“Shall I come back to help you dress, Mistress?” the girl asked as she openly studied me.  Had word already spread that Lord Everly arrived with a mistress in tow?

“Yes, that would be most helpful,” I replied, eyeing the hip bath with suspicion.  I’d seen one before, but had no idea what one was meant to do with it.  Did I just sit in it and soak my nether regions or did I use the hot water to give myself a sponge bath?   People of this time usually bathed in some kind of garment, so I was afraid that if I stripped down and sat in the tub, someone might walk in on me and suffer a seizure from the shock.  I opted for the sponge bath and washed hastily, grateful for the warmth of the water after the gathering chill of the night.

I had just slipped my chemise back on when the maid appeared, ready to assist me.  I would have chosen one of the less extravagant gowns, but Hugo asked me to wear my best, so I selected the moss silk.  He’d given me a brief set of instructions just before we arrived, but I was still worried, unsure of what was expected of me, especially when it came to our host. 

“What if Sir Benedict asks me questions?” I grilled Hugo, conscious of the fact that I would have a very difficult time conversing intelligently with anyone of this time period.  I knew very little of the politics or the social tidbits that any woman would be privy to.  I also had no idea what to say if Sir Benedict asked me anything about my opinions or about my stance on Monmouth’s attempted rebellion.

“Don’t worry, he won’t ask a thing.”  Hugo was looking at me in a way that suggested that he was holding something back.

“How can you be so sure?” I couldn’t imagine that the man would just ignore me for most of the meal and ask me nothing, especially since my presence was unexpected and was bound to cause some speculation on the part of our host.  Hugo sighed, clearly unhappy to have to explain the facts of life to me, but he had no choice since I was badgering him relentlessly.

“Since Sir Benedict has never heard of you or your family, he will assume that I plucked you out of some theater or brothel; therefore, the only thing he’ll want to know about you is how you might look wearing nothing but a smile, and if you keep me satisfied in bed.”

“You don’t mince words, do you?” I asked irritably, wondering if he was picturing me in nothing but a smile.

“I was just giving you a truthful answer.  It certainly wasn’t meant to offend.  You are a beautiful woman, and any man will have lustful thoughts about you within moments of meeting you.  I’m sure you already know that.”  He didn’t add that I was too old to play coy, but I blushed all the same, suddenly feeling naked under his gaze.  Did he have lustful thoughts?  Is that what he was telling me?  I couldn’t think about that at the moment.  I was at his mercy, and I needed to believe that there were boundaries between us.

I sat still as Polly brushed, braided and twisted my hair, finally wrestling it into an elaborate coif.

“Will this do?” she asked shyly, twisting her hands in front of her.

“Yes, thank you, it’s very nice,” I replied.  “Where did you learn to do that?”

“I used to be Lady Nolan’s maid before she passed.  She was a beautiful lady who liked to look her best and wear all the latest fashions even when in the country.”

“How old was Lady Nolan?” I asked, wondering about Polly’s mistress. 

“She had thirty-two years, madam, so not so very young.” What Polly meant was that Lady Nolan was quite old.  A woman was at her prime at twenty, middle-aged by twenty-five, and practically geriatric by thirty. 
Did Hugo think me old?
I suddenly wondered?

“What did she die of?”  Polly seemed taken aback by my unnatural curiosity, but she answered nonetheless as she set about dressing me.

“She had a weak heart.  It just gave out one day.”  Polly shrugged as if that was the most natural thing in the world and went on with her work.  I couldn’t help wondering what that meant in modern medical terms.  Did she have a heart attack or maybe high blood pressure?  I had no way of knowing, but I felt sad for the no-so-young, fashionable woman who died before her time. 

“Hold out your arms, madam,” Polly instructed as she fixed the sleeves to her satisfaction, and then tied the laces of the bodice and tucked them beneath the bustle of my skirt.  I gaped at myself in the mirror.  I was sure that somewhere in there was still the same Neve Ashley I’d always been, but the woman who gazed back at me was a stranger.  Polly insisted on applying some make-up to make me look “just the thing” as she put it.  I rejected the thick, white paste for fear that it was lead-based, but allowed Polly to coat my face with some rice powder and rub a little cerise powder into my cheeks.  She would have gladly plucked out most of my eyebrows and probably a good deal of my hair as well to give me a larger forehead, but I stayed her hand and allowed her to just shape my eyebrows a little, leaving her clucking with disapproval. 

I handed Polly the jewel case, sitting regally in front of the mirror as she draped the necklace over my powdered bosom and closed the clasp.  “You do look lovely, madam.  Do you have any patches?”

I was about to reply in the negative when there was a knock at the door and Hugo was admitted into the room.  I rose from the settee shyly, standing in front of him like a child waiting for a parent’s sign of approval.  He was rather splendid himself in a suit of midnight blue, the coat liberally embroidered with a pattern in silver thread and a snowy cravat that frothed at his throat and offset the dark curls of his wig.

Hugo didn’t actually have to say anything because his face said it all.  His expression was one of surprise, admiration, approval, and pride all at once.  “You look very beautiful, Mistress Ashley.  That color suits your complexion.  Shall we?”  I gave him a slight bow and took his proffered arm.

The dining room was ablaze with candlelight, the flickering light reflected in the numerous silver platters and goblets and setting the table aglow.  I couldn’t even begin to guess what some of the dishes were, but they looked exotic in the extreme, the presentation an art form in itself.  Our host, a man in his late forties by the look of him, came to greet us, his eyes devouring me in a way that left me feeling naked despite all the layers of clothing I was safely swathed in.  He must have been handsome in his day, but age, poor nutrition, and overindulgence showed in the sagging of his jowls, the puffiness beneath the eyes, and the sallow complexion offset by his ginger wig, which was elaborate.  He wore a patch on the right cheekbone, which suggested that he fancied himself quite the dandy.  A younger man, no older than twenty-five, was also present; his dress and manner more somber and practical.  He didn’t appear to be Sir Benedict’s son, and I could tell by Hugo’s expression that he hadn’t expected him to be there.

“Lord Everly, it’s been too long,” Sir Benedict exclaimed.  “Have you recently been at Court?”

“I was in London at Christmastide, but was given permission by His Majesty to return to my estates at the New Year,” Hugo replied.

“Allow me to introduce my secretary, Edmund Somerville.  A most industrious young man.  I don’t make a single decision without him.”  The young man blushed furiously and bowed to Hugo and myself, clearly feeling a little awkward at being included.  I gave him a sympathetic smile, feeling just as awkward myself.  I was terribly nervous, but it seemed all I had to do was look pretty.  No one expected me to converse or even think, which in this case was a relief.  Since Sir Benedict was recently widowed, I didn’t have to worry about being interrogated or snubbed by his wife.  I was the only woman at dinner — an ornament.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mistress Ashley.  It’s been far too long since a beautiful young lady graced my table.  Please, sit next to me.  This seat used to be occupied by my dear wife, but she’s no longer with us and I would see it filled, if only for one night.”

“I hear you’re to marry again,” Hugo said as a servant placed a slice of venison on his plate.  Hugo didn’t decline, but I knew he wouldn’t touch it since it was Lent. 

“Yes, you heard correctly,” Sir Benedict replied as he took a mouthful of venison and raised his eyes to the heavens in his apparent delight.  “Delicious, as always.  Do try it, Hugo.”

“It’s beyond compare,” Hugo replied smoothly as he pushed the meat around on his plate.  “Who is the lucky woman?”

“I’m afraid I must keep it a secret for now,” Sir Benedict answered playfully, “but I will say that she’s very young and very comely.  Edmund here is still negotiating the marriage contract, and the lady’s father is being somewhat unreasonable.  I do hope to be wed soon.  It’s high time I had an heir.  My dear wife was unable to give me one,” Sir Benedict explained, giving me a petulant look worthy of a child.  “I did so hope for a son.  Three daughters were what the Good Lord granted us, but it’s not a complete loss.  Girls are useful for making valuable alliances,” he said brightly, raising his cup in a toast.  “To beautiful young ladies.  May they delight us always.” 

I was loath to admit that Hugo had been right.  Sir Benedict’s eyes frequently strayed to my breasts and I felt his leg brush against mine under the table.  He’d dare go no further since he deigned me to be Hugo’s property, but he wasn’t averse to copping a feel if possible.  I tried to discreetly move away, but it didn’t work.  Sir Benedict’s fleshy hand brushed against my thigh, making me shift uncomfortably in my chair.  My eyes met those of Edmund Somerville across the table, and I felt a strange kinship with the man.  He knew what Sir Benedict was doing and felt sympathy for me.  He had such a pained look on his face that I couldn’t help wondering if secretarial skills were all that were required of him.  Perhaps Sir Benedict used him to procure other services discreetly, so as not to put off a future father-in-law.

Course after course was brought out with Sir Benedict eating heartily and Hugo only tasting the fish and vegetable dishes.  Despite the gorgeous presentation, the food tasted either bland or over spiced, made with a slew of ingredients that didn’t, in my opinion, even go together, which was ironic since Sir Benedict boasted at length about his Clerk of the Spicery whom he’d acquired in London; a man knowledgeable in the various spices and their effects, as well as their uses in medicinals and tonics.  I thought I just might need a tonic after the last concoction I tried, so decided not to eat any more and just move my food around the way Hugo did. 

The men kept the conversation neutral for my benefit, exchanging bits of Court gossip, discussing the plays and musicals they had seen when in London, and commenting on the latest fashions.  Sir Benedict wouldn’t appreciate being quizzed on his loyalties in front of a courtesan; that conversation would come later.  In the meantime, it was all light banter, with me chiming in from time to time when I felt it safe.

“Mistress Ashley, do you sing?  Oh, I would love to hear you.  Give us a song,” Sir Benedict implored as he squeezed my knee.  He probably did think I was an actress.  “There’s a pianoforte in the salon.  Do you play?  Say that you do.” I did actually play a little, and the promise of escaping our host’s groping hand was quite an inducement.

What’s a good seventeenth-century song?
I thought frantically as I followed Sir Benedict into the salon with Hugo at my side.  I could think of only one and hoped it would be all right.  I sat down at the instrument and tested out the keys while the men arranged themselves around the room.  It was out of tune, but it didn’t matter.  Combined with my awful singing it would probably make the men want to run for cover.

I began to sing “Lavender Blue,” to the obvious delight of Sir Benedict. 

“I love that one,” I heard him saying to Hugo, who was watching me with interest.  I was glad I remembered the words.  My mother used to sing that song to me when I was little since it always seemed to put me to sleep, and it was one of the nicer memories I had of her.  She was still happy then, still in control.  Thinking of my mum and the home I’d left behind nearly made me cry, but this wasn’t the time to come apart.  I blinked away the tears as I tried to concentrate on the words, putting home out of my mind for the moment.  I had a part to play.