Silence And Shadows Collection

Chapter 1-2

When the longcase clock chimed four, echoed as always by the bells of St Paul’s in Bedford Street, I put away my work and took off my smock before running downstairs to the receiving hall and tugging the bell pull to summon my maidservant. I hastily wrote on my pad, telling her I would go in her stead to Whitehall to fetch Penny home. She was visiting her friend whose parents had rooms off Wood Yard far from the King’s where I had been earlier. I am truly determined to make myself go out whenever I can and here was another opportunity. I hope the more I do so the easier it will become, though it is far from that yet.

Bess had Papa’s town coach sent round and I hurried to it in light already fading into evening, though the street was still lively with traffic. Coal smoke rose from every chimney to shroud the twilight and taint the air with its acrid odour. Inside, I pulled a rug over my knees for even through my fur-lined cloak, the air was chill.

Sam would soon be home from the French court, where he has been these last many months, and I longed for him in a way that almost overwhelmed me for I have known him my whole life. Loved him my whole life, and it felt a part of me was missing without him. ‘Sam.’ My breath misted the air in front of me. Yes, I can speak, though he is the only one to hear me now. And unbroken silence for so long has taken its toll upon me. So, this damnable thing must end, but I shall need his help to do it. Yet I laugh as I write. Why? Because he really should turn his back on me; I am so burdensome to him. He is too honourable to do it, of course.

It had begun when I lost my mother to the sweating sickness – well in the morning, dead by dark. Felled by shock and grief … and then impotent rage at her loss, my voice had truly deserted me for a time. I was twenty. Penny but four. I remember how powerless I felt, and silence gave me a sense of agency when it became something I could control. How glad I was for it, too, when Papa married Catherine Villiers just two months after her death. I used it to hurt then … and do still … so fittingly damaging myself most of all. Can Papa ever forgive me? For I know it must end now. And I must start by talking to him. Might it be that Sam’s prolonged absence has taught me a salutary lesson by opening my eyes to just how much I too need the easy chatter not possible with pencil and paper?

Penny was ready for me at the Foyles’ lodgings. I wrapped her in her own warm cloak and kissed her; she was so happy to see me when she had expected Bess. I smiled at her excitement wishing I could speak to her. What madness that I cannot.

As we crossed that icy court an odd young man came into view, appearing to dress himself as he walked. On hearing our approach, he looked up with such a strange expression on his swarthy face, I was quite unnerved. As I walked away towards King Street and my coach, Penny tugged at my hand.

‘A pretty man.’

I have never felt so brittle, as though one sharp blow would shatter me. I exhale, allowing fatigue to sweep over me for it can never be this arduous again. Can it?

Raphael

RaphaelJames Villiers led them through the crowd, turning heads with his dark and glossy handsomeness. He might have turned mine too, had my inclinations been such and I lacked knowledge of his reputation for violence and absence of scruples. No. Villiers seemed a man best avoided.

Yet many eyes both male and female followed him. Many lips were licked. While there is no doubt he is a very fine fellow, he had the look of a man too much reliant on his foppish clothing to get him noticed and in that he was not alone, of course. Though, as a Florentine not long to these shores, what did I know of English fashion and its artifice? My own clothes were tailored in Florence and sent by my father. Though I did appreciate the current English vogue for high-heeled shoes, which I adopted with deep gratitude. In truth, I know more of an English lady’s clothing than of a gentleman’s, I am somewhat ashamed to admit, with no little experience gained from its removal. I had moved away then, vexed by Villiers strutting; every stride, every arch sideways glance had the look of a performance refined before a looking glass. Although I turned back on hearing the name Susannah murmured through the crowd, intrigued to know who this might be and why her presence should cause such a stir.

Sir Richard Gresham followed behind James with his wife, Lady Catherine, upon one arm – just as polished and gem-encrusted as her son – and a slender girl on the other. So, this was Susannah Gresham. That I had never seen her until then was perhaps unsurprising considering the interest her attendance had provoked. It was her paleness that held my gaze. For I come from a land where such colouring is so rare and eye-catching, heads turn on the street to stare. Pale hair. Pale skin. Though with too little womanly flesh to be thought a beauty at court, she was without artifice in fine blue silk and a simple mantua. Should I not regret her lack of gems for I am here to sell them, after all? Yet she took my breath away.

I could not help but imagine peeling off those layers to expose more of that silky whiteness. But how was I back to such thoughts, as a man of seven and twenty, when I had once foresworn them? Though, Christ help me, I now took what was offered again. Which was plentiful enough. Though I do not know entirely why this should be.

Please do not think me unaware of my own shortcomings. Three elder sisters took care of that. I was only outstanding in my ordinariness and never at any stage in my life have I had sufficient stature. Hence, the heels. Still, I could not be entirely without charm. A warm body rolled in against me then, a small hand caressing my chest and moving slowly southwards.

‘Raphael, my dearest, you must soon away. My husband expects me prompt to supper, so I should begin to dress for it.’

The hand, I am ashamed to say, found no work necessary and not through any effect of her presence beside me. Of course, I soon rolled over her and there my musings on Susannah Gresham should have been abandoned but, to my further shame, they were not. With eyes closed, a woman’s body need not be her own, though I had to disregard some of milady’s fleshly curves beneath my hands. I do occasionally doubt I am quite a gentleman.

Charlotte lay n***d atop her bed while I hastily dressed, ready to vacate her rooms so she might summon her maid’s assistance. She looked peevish and impatient as she twirled a strand of auburn hair around her finger. It was not a pretty look. Viewing her dispassionately – and all passion had by now entirely left me – she was a touch too plump, not forgetting she was ten years my senior. Nonetheless, she was generally willing and, indeed, more than a little able. When I smiled at her she returned it, looking quite herself again. I bent to kiss her, cupping her ample breast to let her know I would return another day and left her bedchamber, hastening through her ill-lit parlour with its paltry fire and whiff of mould, out into the freezing, gloomy court.

Away from the grand houses and lodgings, Whitehall Palace more resembled a ramshackle city quarter, and Sir Joshua’s rooms were about as far away from the King’s as was possible. Knighted for making him a generous loan – still outstanding, no doubt – Lady Canford had once caught Charles’s eye. I felt certain he had, along with many others so lodged, now quite forgotten he housed them at all.

I stopped a moment in the dismal yard to button my Brandenburg when soft footsteps on the gravel claimed my attention. I looked behind me to see Susannah Gresham approaching, hand in hand with a small girl who appeared her very double. Both were swathed in winter mantles. Her sister, surely? I had not known she had one. I doffed my hat, which I knew from feel had been a little askew and bowed. ‘Signorina.’ She brushed past me without acknowledgment. The little girl looked over her shoulder as they swept by and smiled. It was an enchanting smile and I had little doubt her sister’s would look much the same. I wondered if I should ever see it. And, yes, encountering her in person, I was mortified by the thought of my all too recent base imaginings and more than a little grateful for the shadows in which to hide it.

Returned to my Cheapside house, the contrast these surroundings made with Charlotte’s shabby and faded lodgings was certainly startling, not least for their Florentine décor with all its opulent white Carrara marble and gilded carvings. The fire was heaped high with blazing coals, the drawing room bright with candlelight. My father’s house had been bought as a London investment, and as a place from which to ply our trade with King Charles’s court. We sold him gems. We sold gems and jewellery to all of them and the only obstacle to this most pleasant and lucrative of relationships between a seller and a buyer, was their constant unwillingness to pay. This appeared to operate in direct relationship to their wealth. That is to say, the richest were most reluctant and the poorest most eager, so they may not appear lacking in funds.

Giuseppe, hearing the clatter of my footsteps on the marble stairs, soon arrived with wine and a letter from Papà. He held the silver tray balanced over his shoulder on one hand, the other placed behind his back. His black hair tied neatly at his neck. In the Rossi livery of green and gold, his face shone with his idea of the deference I deserved as my father’s son. He had been my childhood companion and played the part of my obsequious servant … when he remembered it. Or, indeed, wished to. I took off the flowing wig I only wore at court and tossed it onto a chair, smoothing my own hair which now more resembled his. In truth, we had much in common in appearance. The same colouring and slender build, though he was my elder by three years.

‘Wine first, Signore, eh? This letter has a bad feel to her, something cattivo.’ He placed his salver down and crossed himself, blinking as though seeing something invisible to me.

cattivoI rolled my eyes and held my hand out for a glass, my thoughts still full of Susannah Gresham. ‘Grazie, Nonna.’ I emptied it rapidly and held it out for him to refresh.

Grazie, Nonna‘Ah, you sense it, too, my dearest padrone?’

padrone‘I sense nothing of the sort. It’s a letter full of orders and complaints just as always. It can wait while I drink to an apparition of beauty.’ I swallowed several large gulps.

‘Ah, please God, a fine vergine this time. Not another old puttana, giving you the c**k rot.’

vergineputtanaI smiled. ‘A very fine maid, indeed.’ Though not in my imaginings.