‘Quite correct,’ said the countess. ‘Here is paper and ink, let your imagination run riot, Lizzie, then we’ll bring your dream to life.’
Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest, nervous at this challenge, but there was love and excitement shining from every face, including an expression of adoration from her younger sister Muriel. Flattered at the confidence her mother and the other women showed in her, she gathered her courage and smiled in response.
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’ll sit by the window where the light is better. It shall be a work of beauty.’
A servant hurried over with an easel as Elizabeth settled herself on the cushions by the window. She stared at the blank page, considering all she had learned about the poet John Skelton during his stay at the castle and what he would consider a fitting tribute to his talents.
A man in his thirties, the poet appeared much younger. When he had arrived with the rains of April, he had surprised all the ladies with his cutting-edge style. He wore the newly fashionable short gowns with long trailing sleeves. At first, thesehad been fur-lined, but the warmer weather had caused him to switch to linings decorated with elegant, embroidered patterns.
His curly light brown hair was long, flowing to his shoulders, and he would often wear a cap of velvet, usually positioned at a rakish angle across one eye. His close-cut beard enhanced his strong jawline and narrow face and he knew how to use his good looks to charm his audiences. Elizabeth found him unnerving, especially when he flirted with her, holding her gaze a fraction too long, allowing his fingers to trail along her arm, occasionally standing too close, and always his gentle voice with a hint of a French accent, which she knew to be contrived, teased her.
He will like a crown, she thought,as though he is an emperor,ruling his flock of women.
With great concentration, she began to draw, but after a few moments, she was distracted by the crunch of footsteps on gravel and, as though she had summoned him with her thoughts, John Skelton appeared through the summer morning haze, strolling along the paths of the formal garden. He moved with the smooth agility of strength gained from hours in the lists training in combat and jousting, and with the confidence of one who knows he is good-looking and admired.
Unexpectedly, John looked up and the weight of his stare felt heavy upon her as their eyes locked. He gave her a knowing smile, his handsome face and dark eyes alight with mischief as, with a fluid movement, he removed his hat and swept a low bow.
A deep blush stained Elizabeth’s cheeks; at fifteen, she was not yet accustomed to the attention of men. For years, she had watched from afar as her mother and sister had charmed the vast male contingent in the castle, but none of these males had ever more than glanced in her direction. In the past months, though, she had noticed a change and it both flustered and excited her in equal measure. The ever-shifting household of family, friends and visitors was largely male and the curiousglances which were now thrown in her direction increased with each passing week.
Her mother had always told her she was beautiful, but, as Elizabeth, Muriel and their cousin Margery agreed, this was the job of a mother, ensuring the next generation was aware of their worth. Elizabeth was the eldest daughter from the Howard marriage, the daughter of an earl, and whether she had been pretty or plain, her mother would have announced her as the greatest beauty since Helen launched a thousand ships. Such comments and reputation were necessary for paving the way to impressive betrothals.
Her eldest half-sister, Margaret, had been married when only ten years old and sent to live with her husband, John Sandys’s family. After she was widowed, she then married Sir Thomas Bryan and now had two children, Francis and Elizabeth, with another on the way. Elizabeth hardly knew her, but on a brief visit, she had been surprised at the strong resemblance Margaret bore to their mother. Anne, too, was as tall and slender as the countess, and Elizabeth, smaller in stature, always felt overshadowed by the glamour and confidence Anne exuded as she swept into rooms, commanding attention with a toss of her head. The countess’s hair was dark, with tentative silver strands making lines through its glossy length; Anne’s was a few shades lighter with hints of auburn, while Elizabeth’s hair was lighter again with blonde and copper lights. The youngest, Muriel, favoured their mother.
Skelton stood up from his bow, replaced his cap, then bent to the nearest rosebush and removed one of the early-flowering varieties. He kissed it, offering it up to her before tucking it into his doublet near his heart. Elizabeth looked away, trying not to giggle at the extravagance of his gesture. Skelton turned to leave, but before he had moved a few steps, one of her mother’s servants ran up to him, ushering him towards the castle.Elizabeth turned away, returning her attention to the drawing and, with swift, confident strokes, she finished her sketch of a classical laurel wreath which she had embellished with twists of ivy. As a final flourish, she added a series of delicate rosebuds.
By the time John Skelton arrived in the countess’s chamber, Elizabeth had regained her composure.
‘I shall regale you with poetry while you work,’ said Skelton after the countess had welcomed him and called for refreshments. ‘My muse guides me towards a great work. I am inspired by the travails of the poet Dante Alighieri in hisDivine Comedy.He faced the inferno and purgatory, with its nine circles of hell, until he discovered paradise. There is also the work of our own Geoffrey Chaucer and his poemThe House of Fame. With my offering, I shall prove my love and gratitude to the Howard family who has treated me with such kindness.’
‘What is your poem about?’ asked Anne.
‘It is set on a ship of fools where my hero, Drede, faces seven tempters: Favell or Flattery, Suspicion, Harvey Hafter – a rogue, Disdain, Riot, Dissimulation with his two-sided cloak and Deceit. Each in turn welcomes Drede, befriends and betrays him. It’s a lesson about life and how we must learn from every situation, always reaching for virtue.’
Agnes gave an involuntary giggle before hastily turning it into a cough. Skelton gave her a surreptitious wink.
‘My poem is now midway through and Drede is torn between his twin desires of his longing for immortality and his yearning for earthly fame as a poet. At first, he is melancholic and depressed, before he has a dazzling dream that takes him to the pavilion of Dame Pallas and the palace of the Queen of Fame?—’
‘And you say Geoffrey Chaucer wrote a poem calledThe House of Fame?’ interrupted Margery. ‘How interesting.’
Skelton’s irritation at the incursion on his recital was fleeting. He forced a smile and continued, ‘Indeed, and this iswhy I intend to include the great man, Chaucer, in a scene where a jury is called to judge whether Drede is a real poet. The other two wise men will be John Gower and John Lydgate.’
‘I shall look forward to reading it,’ said Margery, neatly stitching a rosebud from a small piece of red satin, her brown eyes wide with innocence.
Elizabeth suppressed a giggle. Margery could not bear artifice and her tone was one of gentle sarcasm. Anyone aware of her wit and humour would recognise she was mocking Skelton’s pomposity.
‘Will we appear in your poem, Master Skelton?’ asked Anne, accepting a laurel leaf made from green velvet, beautifully stitched with silver thread, from Elizabeth before sewing it with the others onto the willow frame they were using to create John Skelton’s garland.
‘Indeed,’ he exclaimed, ‘Lady Elizabeth has inspired me to compare her with Criseyde from the epic poemTroilus and Criseydeby the wondrous Mr Chaucer. I shall describe her as “pleasant, demure and sage”.’
Anne chuckled and Elizabeth squirmed with a mixture of embarrassment and delight at being noticed by a man, who, despite his overblown manner, was undeniably handsome.
‘We shall look forward to reading it,’ said the countess with a wry smile. ‘Lizzie, sit with me a while.’
Elizabeth rose from her position on the floor and walked sedately towards her mother, aware of Skelton’s eyes on her as she moved. Her mother patted the embroidered stool beside her.
‘We shall finish these rosebuds for Anne to add to the garland,’ said the countess.
‘Yes, Mama,’ said Elizabeth.
