Alchemy. Maureen Duffy

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 heat in my secrets and my heart rise up in my chest as if to burst. ‘Ah Amyntas, you are too soft-hearted. The world is a harsh place,’ and she drew me to her, pressing me to her bosom where with the scent of her and its touch I felt myself near to swooning.

      ‘Go and shift yourself child,’ she said pushing me from her. ‘You stink of horseflesh. Come back to me when you smell more sweet.’

      ‘That will be never then madam,’ Mistress Griffiths said for she had stood by all this time in the hope to hear my lady chide me or even to see me put out of her service.

      I hurried then to shift myself as the countess bid lest Mistress Griffiths should do me an injury in my absence. Taking a sconce I made my way along the dark passages to the armoire by my pallet where I was used to hang my clothes, and rinsed my hands and face in a basin of rosewater for sweetness. But when I returned to my lady’s chamber I found her mood altogether changed. Signor Ferrabosco had been sent for to sing to her a song of her brother Sir Philip.

      What have I thus betrayed my liberty?

      Can those black beams such burning marks engrave

      In my free side? Or am I born a slave

      Whose neck becomes such yoke of tyranny?

      

      Virtue awake, beauty but beauty is.

      I may, I must, I can, I will do

      Leave following that, which it is gain to miss.

      

      Let her go: soft, but here she comes go to,

      Unkind, I love you not: O me, that eye

      Doth make my heart give to my tongue the lie.

      The last sighings of the lute strings died away. ‘Are my dear brother’s verses not beyond compare? When will there be some such another again? Bring me my purse Mr Samford.’ And she took from it a gold piece and gave it to the musician. ‘You have earned this not just by the composing of the music but by the singing and playing of it. Even Tom Morley could not have set it better. But it has made me melancholy. What sport have we?’

      ‘Madam,’ the duenna said, ‘the mummers await you in the great hall with their play of Christemas as is your custom to see and hear at this season, if it please you now. Or they may come again another time.’

      ‘No СКАЧАТЬ