I quickly learned that where it had been my lady’s pleasure to encourage me, it was Mistress Griffiths’ to cause me to stumble. My lady had put out her hand to guide me even as she made it seem that the taking was mine. Mistress Griffiths held back so that I did not know which way to move until I got the trick of watching my neighbour from the corner of my eye.
‘You have much to learn of women as well as dancing,’ Mistress Griffiths said as we bowed to each other at the end of the coranto.
‘You must dance with the other my ladies Amyntas, or they will be jealous. But you must return to me again.’
So I took out each one in turn and whether it was the music, the motion or the touching of hands and meeting of eyes, I felt myself lifted up in an eager body, proud and full of a new quick spirit that found an answer in my partners. Then I thought of Thenot’s words in praise of Astrea that she was both a ‘manly palm and a maiden boy’ and that I was myself indeed the two in one. And I found that I could cause the maidens I danced with, apart from Mistress Griffiths, to raise their eyes to mine and then to cast them down again simply by my own gaze upon their faces.
My lady too observed all this which was a kind of play acting, and whispered laughing. ‘Have a care, Amyntas, or you will have all the ladies in love with you and what does the player say: “that they had better love a dream”.’ Then she sighed. ‘How my brother would have smiled to see his Arcadia played out in this sport of ours. But you must beware Mistress Griffiths who is not as enamoured of you as the rest or inclined to fall under your spell. Her eye is on marriage for wealth and position not an idle dalliance with one of neither. She may yet unmask you and then I cannot save you.’
I should have taken warning from this but I was too dazzled and besides she said it laughing as a thing of no importance and as if she jested merely.
The next day I took a quiet horse and rode into Salisbury, pausing on the brow of the hill before the city to look down at the spires of its churches rising above the huddle of roofs, and, taller than all, the great needle of the cathedral piercing the winter sky. I rode down to the market where stalls were set up for the goose fair with all manner of birds, fishes and sweetmeats for the Christmas feast.
I was afraid the noise would alarm the horse so I dismounted to lead it. Suddenly a young pig that had been tethered by a leg to a post bit through the thong that bound it and set off through the market square with a hue and cry after it. A young boy was nimblest and at last contrived to throw himself upon the piglet and pin it to the ground and was given a groat for his pains. Away from the market, and in the din of birds clucking in their baskets, wheels over cobbles and the bawling of the hucksters I mounted again and turned right through Green Croft, past the Pheasant and up towards our house beside St Edmund’s church where I had lived in what seemed a whole life ago. Now the house must be another’s. I stared at its dark windows and felt in a sudden rush the loss of my father as I had not done before then, so that tears came into my eyes. I had not wept till now.
As I sat there on the patient animal whose flanks were wreathed in the mist of its own breath in the frosty air, a door was opened to the house of our former neighbour, Dame Milburn.
‘Why is that you Master Boston? I came out to see who had stopped at our door on such a fine horse. I am glad to see you for I have a packet that was come for your father and I not knowing where to send have kept it these three months.’ And she was gone back into the house before I could speak but soon to return with what I perceived from the shape must be a book. I got down from the horse to take it from her.
‘Why,’ she began again, ‘how you have grown and in such fine clothes too. Where may I find you if another such should come?’
‘I am in the Countess of Pembroke’s service and go with her wherever she goes to any of her houses but you may send for me at the great house at Wilton for her people there will know where she lies.’
‘And what news of your sister? Is she not married?’
‘She goes where I go, and is not yet married nor like to be. I thank you for this. I shall go into the church and say a prayer for my father.’
‘He was always a kind man to me and gave me physick freely whenever I was sick.’
‘And you would give us some of your baking in return.’
‘You shall have some now, Master Boston, for your father’s sake. I was all day baking yesterday against Christmas when my daughter will come visiting with her husband and little ones. But there is enough and to spare.’ And she was gone back into the house to return a moment later with an apple turnover in a napkin which she pressed upon me.
‘Thank you mistress. I will eat it on my journey back to Wilton.’
I tethered my horse to the lychgate of St Edmund’s and went inside. I knelt above where I knew my father lay in the side aisle. Yet I could neither feel his presence nor find words to pray. Instead I vowed that one day he should have a monument upon the wall close by that all should know a great physician lay there who might have found out all the secrets of the world, one who was not proud but healed the poor and sick, that would not become a great lady’s lapdog. Then I began to question myself that I should be her amusement and be played with for her sport. But I was like a linnet straining at a silken leash who fears lest she indeed break it and be let fly away into hunger and dark.
Soon I too grew cold and got to my feet again. It was as if a portcullis had come down between me and my old life so that I could only look through the bars but not touch what lay beyond. And how would it be if the gate were drawn up and I were thrust out, with the gate fallen to behind me and no way back? How could I enter again that former world?
When I got back to Wilton it was nearly dark, the day being so short. ‘My lady is calling for you,’ the secretary said in a great fluster and wringing of hands. ‘You must go to her at once in her chamber.’
‘May I not shift my clothes a little?’ for they were greasy and stained from riding.
‘No you must come at once.’
So I entered where my lady was pacing the floor and fell on my knee before her.
‘Where have you been? How dare you be absent when I need you.’
‘Madam I went to visit my old home and pray in the church where my father lies.’
‘Yes, yes. Well I suppose we must excuse filial piety. What have you there?’
‘I was still holding the little packet. It was something that came for my father. Our old neighbour gave it to me.’
‘Let us see what is in it. We are in need of some diversion. Bring it here.’
And when I had given it to her: ‘I cannot read the marks on the seal.’ Her soft white fingers broke the red wax on the covering. ‘It must be undone fully to reveal its secret.’ Again her hands moved to press back the wrapping. ‘I believe it is a book.’ She took it out and opened the front cover. A letter was tucked inside it. ‘What is this? A book of love poems? De Magnete. The work of William Gilbert, physician to the queen’s majesty. The letter is addressed to your father. What does it say Amyntas?’
She handed it to me. I unfolded it and began to read. ‘He does not know that my father is no longer living. It says madam, that he would value my father’s opinion on the book, whether his idea be right or no. He hopes that my father is well and continuing with his experiments. That they are both old men with little time before them and must do what they can while they may.’ I felt the tears begin to start in my eyes again.
‘You weep for your father child, as I weep still for my brother,’ the countess said putting out a hand to take mine. ‘That is becoming in you.’ The tears still flowed but at her touch I felt again the rush of