Silence And Shadows Collection

Chapter 2-1

Diary: January 4, 1676

Diary: January 4, 1676I shall enjoy writing this entry. I smile as I do so.

Today I made a new friend who came to Henrietta Street for Papa to make his miniature. His name is Thomas Monkton, and he is Lieutenant of the Yeoman Guardsmen at Whitehall Palace. I was busy at my table when Edmund brought him up. He is a bear of a man with a mane of his own dark hair tied at his nape. Papa’s wig conceals his fuzz of grey hair, for which he is grateful. I wonder if it is true the fashion began because the King wished to cover his own thinning, grey hair?

Lieutenant Monkton was in his full uniform of scarlet and gold, with its crowned Tudor Rose, shamrock and thistle, and the royal cypher emblazoned upon his chest. Papa appeared slight beside him though he is taller than most.

He likes to work from life directly onto precious metal so his sitters must wait between each firing. And whilst he waited for Papa to finish his preparation – which he prefers to do himself – he came to my table.

‘Do you mind if I watch you?’

I wrote, ‘Please do.’ I was unsure if he was aware of my silence, but he made no indication he was surprised by it. Unexpectedly, his presence did not discomfort me.

He looked at my watercolour. ‘Lady Castlemaine is very beautiful. I didn’t know she has green eyes.’ He narrowed his. ‘The boy favours the King, though.’

I nodded and began to build up translucent layers of red to achieve the depth of colour needed to suggest the drape of her mantua, upon the gold oval. This was the second of the two the King had requested. One for himself and one for Castlemaine.

‘Would you tell me what you’re doing? What sort of paint do you use and why only one colour?’

I took a moment to write, ‘It is a paste made from powdered glass and metal oxides mixed with oil. Each colour must be applied separately.’ I dotted another layer to deepen the colour in the fabric folds.

‘Why?’

I wrote. ‘When I’ve finished, it will be fired in the kiln. The colour needing the longest firing time must be done first with the rest added in the correct order.’

‘I had imagined you’d work all the colours together, just like in other paintings.’ He shook his head. ‘You have such a steady hand with those tiny brushes. This sort of skill and delicacy leaves me a little unnerved.’ He looked down at his own great paws.

‘You have other skills, I’m sure.’ I wrote.

He shrugged and began describing his typical day, weaving such a tale I found myself both enchanted and amused by his self-deprecation. Yet, oddly, his soft voice did not distract me as he told of his duties policing the court in the King’s name, handling everything from drunken courtiers, assaults, and petty disputes, to running the King’s spaniels in St James’s Park at his whim. I smiled, not quite believing that.

When Papa returned to his table, he squeezed my shoulder as he passed though I did not look up.

‘Come, Thomas. Let us begin. Oh, and could I ask you to persuade my daughter to attend tomorrow night’s ball, if you can–’

I knocked on my table and wrote, ‘I have already agreed it.’

‘Have you now, my dearest girl? And whom is this worker of miracles who has prevailed upon you after we have so often tried and failed?’

‘Frances Stuart.’ I wrote.

Papa’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Richmond? Well, well. How unexpected. I wonder why she would ask you … and why, indeed, you would agree?’

These are questions I have been asking myself ever since. When I visited court earlier with Penny, she had taken much trouble to engage me in conversation, pressing me to attend the Twelfth Night Ball. She was so effusive and warm, I had found myself agreeing to it. She had waylaid me waiting outside the King’s presence chamber after he had asked for Penny, whom he had not seen for some time. Yet I could not understand why the duchess had done it when we had barely acknowledged each other before. Though I had been aware of her as a presence often beside the King when I had last visited court regularly and had painted her once, we spoke little then. In truth, it was almost as mystifying as my consent.

* * *

Diary: January 6, 1676

Diary: January 6, 1676I attended the ball in the end last night, though I had often thought to change my mind. When Sam said he would accompany me, so I need not travel in our coach with my father and the Villiers, I relented. Catherine was not happy with my decision, insisting we should arrive as a family.

‘We’re not a family, though. Surely even someone with her limited intellect can recognise it.’ I said to Sam when we were alone in his carriage.

‘You are still your father’s daughter, Sukie, don’t forget that. And Penny too.’

I felt myself redden, though not for the reason he would imagine should he see it in the gloom of the single candle lamp. ‘Why then were we not sufficient for him? Why inflict the Villiers upon us?’

‘Because he fell in love with her, perhaps? We can question his taste and we do, do we not?’

We smiled at each other.

‘Yet was he not entitled to search for happiness? Though perhaps after a seemlier wait.’

I frowned. ‘If he did fall in love, she manipulated it … and certainly never reciprocated.’

His coach took us to the Holbein Gate, where we were waved in from the queue by an attendant checking for those warranting immediate entry. The Richmond coat of arms on the invitation prevailed.

Once inside, we made our way across The Court lit by blazing torches, to the Great Hall where the ball was already well underway, music and raucous laughter reaching us as we walked with many others towards the entrance with blazing light and the din of a multitude of voices flowing out to meet us. Sam looked well in his French finery. A coat and waistcoat of periwinkle blue edged with fine silver embroidery, white lace cravat at his throat. My pearl grey gown, violet mantua and skirts gathered to show violet taffeta petticoats, were not entirely unbecoming either. Still, we both looked a touch dowdy alongside many of our bewigged and bejewelled fellow guests.

Inside the Hall, the evergreen boughs and branches of holly hung with aromatic pomanders, added their scent to that of hot beeswax and perfumed revellers, but did not quite conceal the faint sour smell of too much overheated flesh. Though an orchestra played at the other end of the great chamber, and some were dancing, most paraded the floor both to show themselves and locate those with whom they wished to converse. Fans were fluttered beneath shining eyes. Lips licked and smiles flashed. Many glasses of arrack and claret were quaffed. While gentlemen guffawed and lit their pipes, ladies eyed each other with speculative disdain.

After some time meandering through the gaudy, rustling crowd, we found a quieter spot near an exit into a small, closed courtyard where we could watch. It was here Lieutenant Monkton found us, entering via that court with a companion. This man was of slight build, dark haired and tawny-skinned with a wide smile revealing straight white teeth as he laughed with the lieutenant. When he noticed us, he stood stock still, the smile falling from his face like a candle snuffed. I turned to Sam thinking there must be some animosity between them, but he appeared as puzzled as I. Thomas turned to see why his friend had stopped.

‘Ah, Mistress Gresham. I am glad to have found you so easily.’ He looked around at the milling crowds. ‘We came in through a private entrance. I might be off-duty, but I still have my keys.’ He tapped the pocket of his russet velvet coat.

I wondered why he was so eager to locate me and gestured towards Sam.

He bowed to Thomas. ‘Samuel Carter.’

‘My oldest and dearest friend.’ I wrote for him to read aloud, which he did with a self-deprecating smile.

Thomas placed his hand on his companion’s shoulder. ‘And this is my friend Raphael Rossi.’

He bowed to Sam before lifting my hand to his lips, which were cool and soft. Raphael Rossi. I knew the name. The Italian Jeweller whom it is said beds ladies faded past the first bloom of youth in return for their purchasing his gems. He is much in demand I am told, and had it not been he I saw dishevelled in Wood Yard? I sighed. So many women believing themselves winning love when, in truth, they were mere playthings taken so easily with empty words. How had they become quite so complicit in it all? Yet most seemed content enough. Jesu, and what sort of paragon was I to grudge them such? Too scared of life to even live it.

I refocused my attention, finding Raphael Rossi only slightly taller than I, leaving our eyes almost on a level. His were large, dark lashed and an amber-flecked deep green. Truly, the green of winter moss. I had never seen their like before. Mine seemed involuntarily locked with his while he stared at me so intently. I began to feel some alarm until his gaze left me, suddenly. I turned to see the Duchess of Richmond approaching through the crowd, which parted for her tiny form as though choreographed to give her passage. She made quite a sight in her gown of crimson encrusted with pearls, gathered away from golden petticoats with a gossamer lace gorget around her shoulders. She greeted Raphael Rossi very warmly indeed.

‘Raphael, my dearest. You look most fine this evening, does he not, Susannah?’

And he did, in a green satin coat and waistcoat edged by a wide band embroidered in gold thread, a combination that having now studied them, I saw closely matched his eyes. Was she his latest faded lady? Though, in truth, there was nothing faded about her. Her disfigured skin did nothing to dim her glowing beauty. If he were bedding her, I hoped they kept it from the King. He had refused to recognise Castlemaine’s last daughter as his. He did not always share well. Yet the duchess had not the look of a woman easily conquered even though Raphael Rossi clearly would not often encounter resistance.

‘Duchess,’ he said, bowing before kissing her hand.’

Duchess not Your Grace. That told me much. They were definitely close. When she turned to me, I curtseyed, noticing Sam and the lieutenant had moved away before she acknowledged them, leaving me standing alone beside the jeweller.

‘Susannah. I’m so glad you and Raphael have met at last. I hope you might get to know one another. You must have so much in common. You with your skill at portrait miniatures and Raphael’s with gems.’ She lifted a ruby necklace from her throat. The gold setting was as fine and intricate as a piece of lace.

I wrote, ‘It’s very beautiful. Like fronds of foliage hung with scarlet fruit.’ His teeth flashed in a rather attractive hesitant smile, where one side of his mouth lifted moments before the other. There was something charmingly engaging about it.

‘I used botanical forms as my inspiration, Signorina.’ His deep voice was honeyed by an Italian accent, matching it to perfection.

I curtseyed again to the duchess and wrote, ‘I should return to my friends, Your Grace.’ I did not wait for her reply. My heart already pounding alarmingly without Sam beside me. I had seen them step out into the small court and followed. He stood alone in a patch of light thrown out from the hall. ‘I still don’t understand why she was so keen for me to come–’