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“Bess - ” he said at last almost timidly in her ear. “Bess - let’s go from here.”

Lord Thanet heard him and cried, “Aye, let us! ‘Tis dull sport today. The dogs are poor.” He stood up and flung some shillings into the pit where the bear wards scrambled for them. “We shall go on the river!” he cried. Elizabeth at once acquiesced. Though she longed for it she was afraid to be alone with Harry.

They went down to the wharf at Baynard’s Castle where Lord Thanet’s own barge was kept and the Earl’s four oarsmen rowed them upstream, expertly threading a way amongst the busy traffic of barges laden with farm produce or lumber; of ferries whisking across to Southwark, of pleasure-boats like their own.

The water lapped, the spring air grew softer and more golden as the sun dipped towards the leafing oaks and elms beyond Westminster. They were young and happy, all of them that afternoon, and not the less so because each had a secret distraction to be surmounted. Seaton’s had to do with the religion which he dared not avow. Thanet’s with his state marriage to Lady Margaret Sackville which would take place next month and mean the curtailment of such diversions as this, while the young ladies’ enjoyment was spiced by the simple fear of discovery. Elizabeth and Harry too had their preoccupation, but it was so immediate that they both shrank from the next step, and were content for the present to drift and wait. She had removed her mask when the other girls did, and looked up once into Harry’s face. The long meeting of their eyes was as intimate and frightening to her as the ultimate caress, and she moved from him a little, crying wildly, “Oh see, what is that barge down there? Aren’t they the royal arms?”

“By God, it is!” cried Thanet, peering ahead over the water. “It’s Their Majesties. Ladies, your masks!”

Chloe and Sylvia did not have to be told. Both were known to the King, who, unlike his father, James, was extremely straitlaced, and endeavoured to regulate his court with the strictness of a Papist convent or a Puritan minister’s household - much as either of these comparisons would have outraged his dedicated Anglicanism.

Elizabeth also replaced her mask, though there was not the slightest danger of recognition by the King, and she almost forgot Harry in her fascinated curiosity.

The royal barge, bound for the Palace at Greenwich, where Their Majesties proposed to sojourn, was elaborately carved and gilded, pennants fluttered from the corners of its striped silk awning, England’s shield was mounted on the prow. The King and Queen sat in twin armchairs, making the very picture of marital felicity, for they were holding hands, and the little French Queen, in her seventh month of pregnancy, had proudly made no attempt to conceal it. She was smiling and pointing out something on the bank to her husband, who inclined his head gravely and nodded.

How
small
they are! thought Elizabeth, amazed. And how much like anybody else. The Queen looked no bigger than Martha, and in fact she slightly resembled Martha. The King’s plumed hat hardly reached to the top of his chair. But as the royal barge came abreast of them Elizabeth saw that the King was not just like anyone else. He had a cool majestic stare, a palpable aura of authority. He raised his hand upon recognizing Lord Thanet, and both barges paused while the oarsmen’s skilful feathering kept them stationary.

“Oh Christ - ” whispered Chloe, curtseying, and pulling her head deep into her hood like a turtle. “Pray that he passes on quickly!” But Charles was in an amiable mood, enjoying the spring with his wife of whom, since the death of his favourite Buckingham, he had at last become very fond.

“Well, Thanet,” called the King graciously, his stammer hardly noticeable today. “ ‘Tis a pleasant afternoon for the river, you have a charming p-party I see.” His eyes roamed benevolently over the young people. “Isn’t that the Lady M-Margaret with you?” he asked, referring to Thanet’s affianced.

Chloe and Sylvia quaked, and it took them all a minute to realize that it was Elizabeth the King was indicating with his thin white hand.

“No, sire,” said Thanet quickly. “Lady Margaret is out of town. This is a friend - a cousin of this young gentleman, who has lately come from Barbadoes,” he added, hoping to distract the King from awkward questions.

“Ah, yes, that troublesome colony,” said the King indifferently. “Strange, she resembles the Lady M-Margaret somewhat. Who are these young people? You may p-present them.”

Thanet hissed “Unmask” to Elizabeth, who obeyed while she curtseyed, and Harry bowed low as best he could in the cramped space, while Thanet spoke fast. “This, Your Grace is Henry Winthrop, Esquire, second son to John Winthrop, Lord of Groton Manor in Suffolk, and also attorney at the Court of Wards and Liveries - and this is his cousin, Mistress Elizabeth Fones, daughter to an apothecary on Old Bailey Street.”

The King nodded graciously, but was obviously not interested in this undistinguished lineage. “Ah yes, I see now that there is no real resemblance between M-Mistress Fones and the Lady M-Margaret.” His eyes started to roam towards the other occupants of the barge, as if he were also going to demand their identity, but the frightened girls were saved by the Queen, who leaned forward with sudden interest to examine Elizabeth. “Fones?” she said in her strong French accent. “Fones -
mais e’etait surement le nom de la petite itn-pudente
- ”

The King turned towards Henrietta Maria with his habitual grave courtesy, but he frowned, for he disliked her to talk French. “What do you mean, Madam?”

“Lady Carlisle, she ‘as told me of a - very, how you say -
bold
apothecary’s daughter called Fones, it was an amusing story - as dear Lucie tell it - except, now I remember, the girl would not go to church on Christmas, zey are Puritans,
sans doute.”
The Queen laughed, for her friend had made a witty anecdote of her encounter with Elizabeth, and used it to ridicule the bigotry and money-madness of nonconformists in general. The Queen, who took nothing seriously, was diverted by this coincidence, but the King was not.

He inspected Elizabeth again and said, “Does your apothecary shop serve the C-Countess of Carlisle?”

“It did, sire,” answered the girl, scarlet-cheeked. The King moved his head until his cool stare rested on Thanet.

“I find your choice of friends a trifle singular, my lord. I d-did not know that you were of the same rebellious stamp as the Earls of Warwick and Lincoln.”

“I’m not, Your Grace, I assure you,” cried Thanet sincerely. “You
cannot
doubt my proven wholehearted loyalty to Your Majesty’s’ belief and wishes.” The King remained sombre for some moments while he searched the young earl’s frank eyes, then the royal face was illumined by its rare, sweet smile. “Aye, I believe you,” the King said sighing. “I’ve had m-many vexations of late, and become harsher by them, I fear.” He waved his hand and settled back in his chair. “Enjoy your outing, my g-good Thanet.” The royal barge proceeded downstream.

“Whew - ” said Robert Seaton on a long whistle. “I’m glad that’s passed over. I feared we might all be hauled off to the Star Chamber!” Though he tried to jest, his voice was unsteady, and they were all shaken. Chloe and Sylvia, emerging from their hoods, burst into nervous titters mixed with tears.

“Nay,” said Thanet, answering Seaton. “The King is just, and gracious, no matter what the Commons think of him. He has cause to detest some of the more fanatic of the Dissenters - not of your ilk, to be sure,” he added, kindly to Elizabeth.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, subsiding on the bench. “Sorry to be the cause of - of your embarrassment. I was that moonstruck I didn’t know what to do - but fancy being presented to the
King!
”

“Aye, that’ll be something to tell!” said Harry. “What
did
you do to the Lady Carlisle, sweetheart?” he added chuckling, and looking at her with even deeper admiration. They had been jarred out of their enchanted quietude, but this whole episode had increased her attraction for him. She had been specially noticed by royalty, had been mistaken for one of the most aristocratic ladies in the land, and now he was charmed with her reluctant account of her pertness to Lady Carlisle, though Elizabeth did not share his amusement. It was far more upsetting than flattering to find that she had been the subject of unfavourable comment in the highest circles, and she was shrewd enough to fear any conspicuousness at present when one’s family held views that Charles detested. But we are such small fry, she thought, and the King was not
really
angry. Soon Harry put his arm around her, and she forthwith ceased thinking and only felt the honeyed closeness of their bodies.

The Abbey bells were ringing for vespers when the barge reached Whitehall and they all disembarked at the Palace landing. Led by Thanet they took, a short cut through the Palace courtyards and emerged in St. James’s Park which, though not open to the general public, was nonetheless thronged today by pleasure-minded aristocrats and all those who had been able to bribe their way past the gatekeepers.

There were many distractions in St. James’s Park; bowling greens, ornamental water jets, a cock-fighting pit, the remnants of the menagerie King James had established, several taverns and oyster booths, but at none of these did the young people linger.

“Where are we going?” Elizabeth asked dreamily, as Thanet continued to walk rapidly up a path, while Chloe clung to his arm.

“Mulberry Gardens,” said the Earl, trailing his ringers over Chloe’s bare shoulders. “Where there are pleasant bosks of privacy.”

“Amorous seclusion,” affirmed Seaton, tightening his arm around Sylvia’s waist. He glanced at Harry and Elizabeth. “Of which we
all
stand in need, it seems.”

Sylvia giggled and tossed her yellow curls. “Oh la, sir! What could you mean?”

Harry laughed, a little off-key. He leaned over and kissed the top of Elizabeth’s head. “It will be good to be alone, sweetheart,” he whispered, “For that we’ve never truly been.”

Nor should be now, she thought in panic. I must go back. Dear Jesus Lord, give me strength to run away. But her feet continued walking on the brick path which led to the Mulberry Gardens.

The grove of mulberries was thickly grown and nearly in full leaf; though the trees had been unsuccessful in nurturing the silkworms for which King James had planted them some twenty years ago, they gave a delicious shade and formed green tunnels, while dotted here and there amongst the trees were rustic ivy-shielded arbours furnished with benches. Some of these arbours were already occupied, murmurs and low laughter floated from them, and in one a man sang slowly the most poignant and voluptuous of tunes, “Greensleeves”.

Elizabeth’s chest constricted, her hands grew damp. “Let us stay with the others, Harry!” she cried and looked around anxiously. But their friends had disappeared. “I don’t like it in here,” she said, her words tumbling on each other. “It’s cold and dark. I want to go back!” She turned and made to run down the path, but Harry seized her and held her tight against him. He looked down into her averted face and sang in tune with the unseen voice from the arbour near them:

“Alas my love, you do me wrong, to cast me out discourteously
.....
Greensleeves is all my joy, Greensleeves is my delight;
Greensleeves is my heart of flame, and who but my Lady Greensleeves?”

“Nay,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You do
me
wrong to sing that. Greensleeves was a harlot, and I am not one!”

“No, Bess,” he said hoarsely. “You are my love, though never did I know it till today. Raise your head and look at me!”

She obeyed slowly, her eyes black in the shadow of the leaves. As he kissed her, a sobbing laugh rose in her throat. Yet far off a tinny little voice piped like a farthing whistle: What are you doing, you fool?

“Let me be - ” she whispered, pushing against him. “Harry, let me go.”

He shook his head and kissed her again with all the provocative ardour of experience, and with the fierce new passion she had aroused in him. “I love thee, Bess.” He put his hand on her breasts and pulled her against him. She shrank back though her breathing quickened. The tinny whistle voice had stopped. “Wait - ” she stammered. “Please - I’m frightened, let me think - ”

He laughed at this; softly. He glanced towards the arbour where the man had ceased to sing. “Come then, my love, we will walk a bit. I would not force thee, Bess.”

He encircled her with his arm, and she walked beside him blindly. Her mind swam.

They came to the beginning of the wilderness or maze, where the close-cropped yews encircled a bank of moss, Harry spread out his scarlet cloak, sat down on it and pulled her beside him. He flung his plumed hat and sword on the ground, and smiled at her. “Since you will not kiss me, then drink, sweetheart,” he said. From his belt he detached the same leathern flask she had seen in the garden. He offered it to her, and when she hesitated he tilted her head against his chest, and laughing held the flask to her lips. She drank, nor this time felt the burning of her throat, or anything but warmth and greater ease. She drank again, and then Harry finished the flask. “You see, Bess - ” he said quietly. “You have no need to fear me.” He lay back on the moss bank and looked up at her. It was nearly dark now by the yew hedge, and very still. She heard the sound of her own quick breathing, mingled with his, but neither sound seemed real.

He lifted his arms and reaching for her drew her down beside him. As he turned she felt the hard thudding of his heart and the hotness of his mouth. And now when he put his hand on her breasts, she did not draw away.

They lay on the moss bank together until a vaporous little sickle moon glimmered through the leaves, and somewhere towards Knightsbridge an owl hooted, when Harry started and sat up. “ ‘Tis late, Bess. I must get you home.”

She sighed a little and, smiling drowsily into the darkness, touched his cheek with her hand. “Aye, I suppose we must go, dear.” She rearranged her dress, smoothed her hair, and wrapped herself in her cloak, for the night had grown chill. “How strange it is,” she said with wonder, “that I feel no shame.” Why do I not? she thought. Is it that I am by nature lewd and depraved? Was my uncle then right? John Winthrop’s condemning eyes seemed to stare at her, but had no power to reach her yet.