Authors: Eve Edwards
17
Greenwich Palace
Clément Montfleury had come for his daily courting visit as approved by the Queen. Jane had to force herself to remain seated in the sunny corner by the window as he strolled around her father’s fine chamber. She would have preferred to have run screaming from the room.
‘And when we get home to France,
ma petite fleur
, we will have such a grand celebration. The whole countryside around the estate of
mon père
will rejoice that I have brought home such a beautiful English bride.’ Montfleury flicked at a clock on the mantelpiece, disturbing the finely balanced mechanism so that it struck prematurely.
Jane got up. ‘Oh, is that the time? I really must go.’
He seized her hand, bending her arm forcefully so she took her place again. ‘
Non, non
, it is not the hour,
ma belle Jeanne
. This clock, it go off too early.’ He kissed her aching fingers in a gesture that could be mistaken for affection. ‘Remember, everyone watches, everyone sees at court. We must be the perfect lovers.’
Why?
Jane wanted to shout. What was the point of this elaborate farce? The ‘everyone’ he was so worried about knew full well that he did not care for her as man should for the woman he is to marry. He was only pleasing himself by making her put up with his ridiculous attentions.
‘How go the preparations for your wedding clothes, my dear?’ Montfleury asked loudly, spotting the Earl of Wetherby standing by the door in the inner room of his suite.
Jane studied her hands, bathing them in the sunlight as if that could bleach away his touch. ‘They are progressing.’ She had in fact given no orders for new clothes – had not been able to stomach the idea.
‘Excellent. I want you to look magnificent on the day we wed. You must be a credit to the house of Montfleury.’
She felt too dispirited to bother with a response. What did it matter? She could come dressed in a sack and they would still insist she marry. Her father had made it all too clear that if she refused to go through with the wedding, he would lodge a plea with the Queen that Jane was not mentally capable of managing her own affairs and should be placed under his control – in effect, imprisoned at his pleasure. Jane had not needed much persuading that even marriage to Montfleury would be better than that.
The Frenchman did another promenade of the room, a frown burrowing two creases at the top of his pronounced nose. ‘I am concerned,
ma chère
, that you do not seem interested to hear what arrangements I have made for after our wedding, where we will live and so forth.’
‘I assumed, sir, that we would live in France.’ Jane pleated and unpleated her skirt with restless fingers, crushing the expensive silk. Milly would be cross with her for treating it like this. She brushed the cloth smooth.
‘Not necessarily. I have looked through your holdings. You have a dower interest in a pretty property in Kent, very convenient for my business in the southern ports. I thought you would lodge there.’
Jane remembered the place – it may be pretty but it was little more than a draughty manor house, deadly cold in winter. ‘Indeed, sir? And do you plan to live there with me?’
He flicked at a speck on his sleeve. ‘From time to time. I will be very occupied with my interests. I have to travel much.’
Jane did not know whether to laugh or cry at this announcement. She had imagined an exile in France with his family, but it appeared that after their wedding visit, he intended to abandon her in England and go on his merry way. She would be living a half-life in retirement, but perhaps that was better than living unloved among strangers. However, she could foresee one problem.
‘I understand, sir. You do know that my late husband’s stepsons dispute my claim to the dower rights?’
He sniffed. ‘They are, how you say,
vulgar
men. I have met with them and asserted your claim. I have sworn that you are not a virgin, that your marriage was complete.’
Jane blushed. ‘You told them that!’
He shrugged, entirely unembarrassed by the subject. ‘But of course. I said we had anticipated the marriage bed and I found all was in order – you had been a wife in truth as well as name.’ He examined her flushed cheeks. ‘I hope,
ma chère
, that I do not perjure myself? You have rid yourself of your innocence? It would be very inconvenient if you had not as your stepsons are demanding that you be examined by a doctor and for some reason they cast doubt on my having bedded you.’
Jane had never felt so humiliated in her life. ‘I would not wish to inconvenience you, sir. The matter has been seen to.’
‘
Bon
.’ He bowed. ‘Then I bid you good day, my lady. Until the same time on the morrow.’
Jane watched him go. He paused to exchange a few words with her father, both men at ease with each other; soon laughter rumbled in the next room. Montfleury had a skill for making male friends. His outward effeminate appearance disguised a mind like a trap, quick to snap up any and every advantage. But did he really care so little about her honour? A strange husband to hope his future wife was not chaste. Maybe he thought sending her to the lonely manor in Kent would be defence enough from further indiscretions.
The irony was that for the first time in her life she had reason to be grateful for her stupid interlude with Ralegh. Without that, she did not doubt that Montfleury would be pushing her to take a lover to secure her dower rights; or worse, he would have forced himself to volunteer for the role. That did not bear thinking about.
13th July
Outer Banks, somewhere in North America
My dear Jane,
God has blessed our little expedition beyond our expectations. Fine weather has wafted us with all speed across the Atlantic and miraculously we have arrived without loss of life or serious incident. We made landfall in the Caribbean and were fortunate to find sweet water on our first island and no hostile Spanish to greet us. We then turned north and made our way along the coast of the land called Florida until we met with a chain of islands our captain calls the Outer Banks.
James lifted his pen from the paper and gazed out at the new land he could see through the window. They were sheltered in a lagoon, a perfect harbour once past the dangerous shoals. The coastline flourished with vines and tall cedars – it truly looked a land of milk and honey, such as had been promised to the Israelites in the Old Testament. Many among the crew were expressing the same thought; some believed they had found a new Eden, innocent of mankind’s devious ways. Only Diego was unimpressed. He had been the first to note the natives in their little boats spying on the strange ships, and had pointed out to Barlowe that the land was clearly inhabited. It would be foolish to think it a safe terrain or somewhere that could be counted as their discovery.
‘Ah, son, but it’s not a Christian prince that owns this land, so it’s ours to claim,’ Barlowe had replied affably, as if the presence of other people was no more problematic than reports of a herd of deer.
Diego had been furious with the captain, but wisely waited to make his thoughts known to James in private. A charge of mutiny would not make for an easy voyage. While James could see the logic of Diego’s position, he himself was less worried in the rights of the locals; the land looked big enough to support both American natives and European settlers with much room to spare.
James returned to his paper.
Diego has recovered from his seasickness now we are in the shelter of a lagoon and I am busy trying to fatten him up for the homeward journey. I have never seen someone so o’er set by the sea. Tell Mistress Porter that he should remain on dry land for the rest of his life.
Diego entered the cabin. ‘The captain’s putting ashore. He asks you to join the landing party.’
James grinned and stretched. ‘Excellent.’
Diego plucked the quill from James’s fingers before he dribbled ink on his sleeve and rested it carefully on the writing desk. ‘Writing to her again?’
James pulled on his doublet over his shirt. ‘Of course.’
Diego held out James’s hat. ‘You are in love with the lady, sir. You might as well admit it. And she loves you.’
Clapping the round brimmed hat on top of his salt-matted hair, James laughed. ‘I know. I had to take myself away in order to come to my senses. Somehow it all seems much clearer out here.’ He glimpsed his reflection in the cracked shaving glass he’d tacked to the wall. ‘Not that any woman in their right mind would want me now – I look like a heathen.’
Diego shook his head. ‘No, sir. Heathens are much cleaner than you – trust me, I know.’
The pair joined the ship’s company waiting by the boats. First, Barlowe led them in a prayer, thanking God for their safe arrival. He then divided his men up between the craft. James and Diego found seats in the second vessel, arriving on the beach only a few yards behind the captain. Barlowe did not wait for the seamen to pull the boat out of the surf; he was over the side, wading through the shallows with the enthusiasm of a child on the first snowy morning of winter.
‘Gentlemen, have you ever seen a land like it?’ The captain waved his arms to the smooth sand, pale yellow with a sprinkle of black grains. Sandpipers flocked to the water margin, sticking long beaks into the tidal flats. A flotilla of pelicans bobbed on the sea a stone’s throw from the landing party, oblivious to the strange new creatures invading their fishing grounds. James marvelled at their capacious beaks, wondering how they could manage to fly with so much weight up front.
Now on dry ground, Barlowe took his musket off his back and primed the chamber. He stamped his foot on the sand. ‘Witness, my lords and gentlemen, I claim this land in the name of her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth.’
Fortunately, only James caught Diego rolling his eyes in exasperation. He nudged him in the ribs, warning him to behave.
Tucking his powder horn away, Barlowe wiped his brow and gestured inland. ‘Come, let’s see what fresh meat we can find.’
After loading his gun with powder and shot, James followed. Diego had a hunting bow, which he held at the ready; he appeared far less overawed by this experience than the Europeans. They trailed the captain up the dunes, treading in his footsteps in the virgin sand, and entered the forest, marvelling at the huge red cedars that flourished so close to the stormy Atlantic.
As they penetrated deeper inland, James regretted his woollen doublet – the humidity was punishing. He unhooked it to let it gape open, but still the sweat trickled down his back. Envious of Diego, who had sensibly dressed only in a light shirt and linen Venetians, he vowed to take more notice of his servant’s preparations in future. Diego looked almost at home.
It was no good. James wasn’t going to be able to hit a thing with perspiration dripping in his eyes. He pulled off his doublet and hat, then his leg hose.
‘Here, man.’ He passed them to the nearest seaman. ‘Put these back in one of the boats for me and there’ll be a groat waiting for you when we get back to the
Bark Ralegh
.’
The sailor grinned at the prospect of making easy money. ‘Aye, aye, my lord.’
James wafted his shirt free of his sticky back.
‘Better?’ asked Diego wryly.
‘Much.’
Diego passed him a bunch of berries he’d just plucked from an obliging vine. ‘They’re good – I’ve tried them already.’
‘Food taster now? Is there no end to your talents?’
‘Probably not.’
A musket exploded ahead.
‘A hit!’ shouted Barlowe.
He was hidden from their view by the sudden exodus of a flock of white cranes rising from the brush all around them. James laughed: they were like the spirits of the blessed on Judgement Day rushing to greet their Lord. Their long legs dangled as they flapped into the air, then they wheeled away, making a deafening clamour like the shouts of the heavenly host in the book of Revelation.
‘Glorious!’ he exclaimed.
‘Not good eating,’ remarked Diego more prosaically, putting his arrow back in the quiver.
They caught up with Barlowe, who had just dispatched the deer he had brought down with his shot.
‘How like you this land, my lord?’ the captain asked James, tucking his knife back in his belt and nodding to a crewman to drag the beast back to the beach for butchering. ‘I have never before seen such abundance of game. There’s nothing to match it in Europe.’
‘You are right, sir.’ Movement above caught his eye. James shouldered his musket, aimed and fired, bringing down a duck on the wing.
‘Good shot!’ Barlowe applauded. ‘We feast tonight – on the beach. You, lad.’ He turned to his cabin boy. ‘Tell the cooks to build fires to roast the meat on the strand.’
Their hunt continued to prosper, game absurdly easy to kill as it wandered into their path, too innocent of European men to flee the report of the firearms. After months of salt pork, the mood was near euphoric as the catch continued to mount. Leaving the crew to their slaughter, Diego filled a couple of baskets with berries to add to the bill of fare, and then joined James sitting on a sunny rock by the fire pits.
‘This is a slice of heaven,’ remarked James, spitting a pip into the sea.
Diego winced as another salvo echoed in the trees. ‘Until we arrived.’
The natives made contact with the English crew a few days after they had landed on the island. The Indians approached with caution, but without fear, first showing themselves on the next promontory along from the ships’ mooring, then paddling right on to the beach. James was intrigued by their appearance: their skin was the hue of burnished copper, their clothes minimal, their body ornaments a mixture of paint, metal rings, beads and feathers. He had never seen anything like them before, even in the books in Ralegh’s library.