LIBERTINE in the Tudor Court. Juliet Landon
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each pair led by a semi-naked child torch-bearer with wings.
One child, mounted on a wheeled seahorse, asked the Queen to approve of the masque, but Adorna’s eyes had rarely been so busy in trying to seek out, without moving her head, someone she recognised. Her father would be otherwise engaged with the props behind the scenes, the organisation and mechanics of the clouds, the little Water Droplets, the noise of the thunder and the giant sun’s face that smiled and winked. While she paraded and danced a graceful pavane she could not help wondering what he would say when he knew.
The doubt about his approval nagged at her, blunting the pleasure of seeing Sir Nicholas’s reaction to what she intended to deny him. The pleasure waned even further as she became quite certain that Sir Nicholas was not present. Some of the other masquers were having no such qualms, for they had already made some minor adjustments to reveal more than had originally been intended, but it was after the pavane that a shriek and a sudden parting of the crowd indicated that there had been an invasion of sorts. A group of tall silver-clad men, glittering in satin-beaded doublets and silver-paned breeches, strode fiercely through the open door, yelling and whirling white fishing-nets about their half-masked heads.
‘Ho-ho!’ they called. ‘What treasures do these fair Water Maidens bring? Yield them up, Maidens! Yield up, we say!’
This was the part of the masque about which Adorna had been kept in the dark, being concerned only with the women’s department, but now she recognised at a glance both the Earl of Leicester and Sir Christopher Hatton by the shape and colour of their beards. They threw their nets about with gusto, making the women guests yelp with excitement, but it was the Water Maidens who had to be netted, and it was they who fled furthest.
There were some, naturally, who did not make it too difficult for the fabulously dressed Fishermen with the white ostrich-plumed caps, but Adorna was not one of them, suspecting that Sir Nicholas was probably a Fisherman with his sights on one of the others. This was her perfect chance to be netted by someone else, to let him see, as Maybelle had said, what he was missing.
‘Here, my lady,’ she laughed, removing her conch-shell head-piece and handing it to a courtier old enough to be her mother. ‘You could be netted, if you wish it.’
Willingly, the lady held it above her head, drawing the Fishermen’s attention while Adorna skipped aside to find one of the eight who looked least like Sir Nicholas, a ploy that misfired when, as she dodged Sir Christopher’s net, she whirled round to find that the man she had hoped to evade had spotted her. His wide shoulders, proud bearing and dark hair could not be concealed by the silver half-mask any more than she was by her complete one.
Across the long room they surveyed each other, one with legs apart, menacing and determined, the other equally adamant that any man would be preferable to this one, at this moment. She slipped away to where guests shoaled like fish, but it was too late to mingle with them before his net flew through the air towards her.
She threw up a hand to ward it off, catching it and hurling it aside scornfully, feeling a surge of triumph as she planted both feet firmly on it, glaring at the Fisherman. The guests, unused to anything but a token show of resistance, roared their approval of her clever ruse and turned to watch what would happen next while, at the far end of the room, the Queen’s head appeared above all the others to see what was going on.
Ready to sprint off again at the first hint of approach, Adorna was not prepared for the sudden shift under her feet as Sir Nicholas yanked hard at the net, pulling it on the slippery floor to unbalance her and bring her down on to her side with a sharp slap. Then, laughing softly, he hauled his net back and shook it out unhurriedly, his voice challenging and strong. ‘Come on, Water Maiden!’ he called. ‘You should be as used to this performance as I am by now. Come, let’s have a look at your bounty, eh?’
The men yelled and clapped, but Adorna’s expression was well hidden behind her mask, though her voice betrayed enough to suggest that this was not all an act. ‘I’m a cloud, Sir Fisherman! A mist. A waterfall. I have no fish, no bounty. You’ll get nothing from me. Go and seek your bounty elsewhere.’ Quickly, she scrambled to her feet, vexed that her flimsy bodice had not been designed for this kind of activity and that her legs, usually concealed, were now perfectly outlined for all to see. Hoping once more to hide in the arms of the guests, she turned towards them. But they were far too occupied in cheering her bravado and in ogling her charms to move aside and, before she could think of an alternative, the net came swinging towards her once more to fall neatly over her head and shoulders.
A roar of approval went up in the crowded room, the men calling for Sir Nicholas, the women calling for Adorna to do something. But it was obvious who would win with the net tightening about her, pinning her arms helplessly to her sides and, unlike the others who had been carefully drawn towards their captors, she was hauled unceremoniously across the floor to the slow clap of the guests, totally unable to resist the strength of his arms.
‘Now, my beauty,’ Sir Nicholas said loudly as she drew nearer, ‘are you going to reward my efforts? What’s it to be this time?’
In the Queen’s presence, her answer would have been totally inappropriate. His taunts infuriated her, as did the guests’ enjoyment, nor did the concealing comfort of her mask last long when he pulled her close and lifted it to reveal her flushed and angry face.
‘Mistress Adorna Pickering,’ he laughed. ‘I would have recognised your…er…face anywhere.’ His eyes were not on her face. Then, as if she had indeed been a netted mermaid, he picked her up in his arms and brought her head slowly up to his and, before his lips met hers in this public and humiliating display of mastery, she saw the gleam of exultation in his eyes, the white flash of his teeth.
‘No!’ she whispered, angrily struggling against his wicked grip. ‘You are making it look as if I am…we are…’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I am, aren’t I?’
Even here, in the worst of circumstances, when his kiss was the very last thing she wanted, there was a moment when she became deaf to the yells of approval and heard only the way her heart danced to a rhythm of its own. He kissed her through the net as if no one else had been there, as if the reward he took was no paltry thing but worth all the discernment he could give to it, and it was only when the kiss ended that her other senses returned, with her anger. By then, it mattered nothing to anyone except herself, for the crowd were dispersing and making ready for the dance, still laughing at the rough diversion, both men and women envying the two masquers.
The Earl of Leicester slapped Sir Nicholas on the back as Adorna was carried to one side, his lazy and open examination of her dishevelled attire adding to her chagrin by his unconcealed approval of the contest. ‘I see what you mean, man,’ he murmured into his ear. ‘Time for some lungeing then, eh?’
‘Put me down!’ Adorna snarled, hating them. ‘How dare you manhandle me in this way before Her Majesty, sir?’
He placed her upright within the shadowy window-recess that opened immediately on to the River Thames, admitting the night air that helped to cool her flushed face and neck.
‘Her Majesty is as much amused as everyone else.’
‘Except me!’
‘And you cannot go before she does. That would be a breach of etiquette. Besides,’ he said, easing the net away from the tangle of fringes and stars, ‘the masquers have to dance together first.’
She tried to step away, but he pulled her back and held her against the wall while he untangled her hair. ‘Stand still,’ he said, ‘or I’ll have to hobble you.’
‘Don’t dare to speak to me as if—’
His kiss was meant to be a gag and, in that, it was more effective than even he had expected, given Adorna’s fury. He did not allow her to recover herself, but seemed intent on keeping a firm hold on the authority he had won. ‘As if you were a filly?’ he said, holding her eyes and beating them down with the unflinching brown jasper of his own. ‘You believed that a box on my ears would bring me up short, did you, lass? Well then, just recall that