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Elizabeth, both by temperament and destiny, was to experience many overwhelming emotions in her life, but never one so gaily reckless, yet compelling, as the physical passion which awakened in that London spring. Though for some time, neither she nor Harry recognized the strength of their attraction for each other. He plunged at once into the pleasures of London, and found Robert Seaton a resourceful guide, nor did lack of money particularly embarrass the young men. Shopkeepers were willing to extend credit to such dashing gallants, and moreover Seaton’s boast of friendship with the Earl of Thanet happened to be true. They were soon caught up by that young nobleman’s set, and found ready entertainment not only at Thanet House in Aldersgate Street, but in various other fashionable houses. There came, however, a day when Seaton’s long-suffering landlady turned him out of his lodgings for nonpayment of rent, and rather than confess this to their aristocratic friends, Harry airily invited Robert to share his room at the Foneses’. When Thomas was informed that he had a new guest, he demurred feebly, but there was little he could do, since the young man had already moved in, and also Thomas’s health had failed again.

He was attacked by bronchitis, and when the fever receded he suffered from joint pains so violent that for some days he could not even feed himself with his throbbing swollen hand. The dreary and familiar sickroom routine recommenced. But Elizabeth was scarcely aware of it, except that it gave them complete freedom below stairs, where Harry and Robert took to inviting their friends in for drinks, or even meals, and the house rang with the sounds of young male laughter. Elizabeth moved in a daze through the sickroom and apothecary duties she could net avoid, but all her thoughts were of Harry and his merry companions who treated her with flattering warmth.

It was on Lady Day, March 25, that the new year of 1629 officially began and it was four days later, on Palm Sunday, that Elizabeth’s maidenhood ended. It had rained all morning, but by noon the blue sky was studded with puffy white clouds, while the wet red roofs and grey cobblestones, the garden flowers and the great rushing Thames all sparkled under a warm sun. To non-Puritan Londoners it was a day of festivity, and after church the streets were full of strollers in spring finery. The tavern doors stood open, and from the more raffish ones drifted lute-accompanied voices of Singing Girls wooing customers with bawdy music.

Edward Howes, stalking along the Fleet towards Elizabeth’s home, was not one of the merrymakers. His long head drooped, his short-sighted eyes peered down at the cobbles; there was no spring in his heart. He had for some time been trying to deny a painful realization. Bess had not grown to love him during the three months of their betrothal, she did not even hate him, which might have been encouraging. She simply, and increasingly of late, acted as though he did not exist at all. She forgot when he was coming and was often out with her cousin Harry when he arrived, having left no apology; or if she received him, it was with the glazed look of boredom, before she turned her long glowing eyes on the young cavaliers who were now always lounging about the apothecary shop. And especially she turned those eyes on Harry Winthrop. Edward had not seen her alone in weeks, and his patience had finally fractured.

“Her conduct is insupportable I” he muttered as he rounded the corner on to the Old Bailey and collided head-on with a muffin man. The muffins flew in all directions, the man shrilled with anger, but Edward strode on. On Easter, the very next Sunday, the first banns were to be cried in St. Sepulchre’s, as had been long ago agreed. And yet she behaved as though he had no more right to her company than a butcher boy. Thrice cursed by Harry Winthrop for so unsettling her with his rowdy ways, and his gallantries, and his new scarlet suit, and his mincing high-born friends. To be sure, these might unsettle any silly lass, Edward thought, at once excusing her; maybe all she needed was a stern talking to, and he as her betrothed had set out today with that purpose.

He clamped his jaw and knocked on the shop door. Richard was inside reading the Bible; he unbarred the door and let Edward in, then surveyed him with some sympathy. “If you’re looking for Mistress Elizabeth she’s not here, Mr. Howes, she’s gone off junketing wi’ Master Harry, My Lord Thanet and that there Seaton -  and on the Sabbath too.”

“Where have they gone?” said Edward grimly.

The apprentice shrugged. “I heard talk o’ St. James’s Park, an’ summat about a bear-baiting, an’ they was wondering would there be a masque shown anywhere, but Seaton he said No, because it’s still Lent.”

Edward drew in his breath sharply. “They wouldn’t take her to a bear-baiting, or a theatre!”

“Little ye know!” answered Richard. “Master Harry he does as he pleases and Mistress Bess
she
does as he pleases too, and who’s to stop ’em!”

“They must be stopped!” Edward banged his hand on the counter. “I’ll talk to Mr. Fones now, myself. He can’t know what’s going on.”

“No more he does, the mistress says he’s that fidgety and ailing, she don’t want him vexed; properly cozened and hoodwinked
she
is by Master Harry too. It’s Harry this and Harry that, till you’d think he was King himself ... or more likely the Devil!”

Edward frowned, much perturbed, and yet unwilling that the apprentice should forget respect for his betters. “Guard your tongue, Fitch, that’s no way to speak!”

The apprentice jerked his head defiantly. “Well, we needna be so high and mighty, Mister Howes. For there’s devilish things a-going on. Wot about that man o’ his - Peyto? He’s an Egyptian, for all they try to hide it, and he’s fair bewitched the maidservants wi’ his fortune-telling and his greasy blandishments. That’s by days - nights he spends in Tib’s bed, or sometimes Cook’s. A fine godly home this’ll be wi’ a gaggle o’ gipsy bastards underfoot i’ the kitchen.”

“That’s unfortunate,” said Edward stiffly, “but the morals of the Foneses’ servants are scarcely my concern.

“Aye - “ said Richard, “ ‘tis your betrothed you think on, and I’ll say naught to fret ye there - though I might - except how do ye like that your sweetheart should consort wi’ a scarlet Papist?”

Edward started and glared at the apprentice. “You’re mad!” he cried. “Henry Winthrop is no Papist!”

“Nay, nay - not Master Henry, ‘Tis that Robert Seaton. I’ve had suspicion, an’ this morn I followed him when he sneaked out at dawn. D’ye know where he went? To Newgate gaol where they’ve lodged those viperish Jesuitical priests the Queen brought over. I saw that Seaton a-kneeling in the gaol courtyard, an’ the priest signing crosses over him, and muttering the filthy prayers o’ Rome. And they say there’s a cell inside wi’ candles and crosses and all manner o’ idols for the saying of
Mass
!”

Edward bit his lip. “You must keep quiet about this,” he said sternly after a moment. “I’ll tell Mr. Fones. This whole matter is far worse than I thought.”

“That it is,” agreed the apprentice with gloomy relish. “And danger on all sides, now the King’s to rule the country by hisself, and no one to gainsay him.”

Though there was scarcely room amongst Edward’s personal worries for national affairs to affect him at present, he knew that most of London was gravely disturbed by the King’s furious action a fortnight ago, when His Majesty had forcibly dissolved Parliament without granting any of its requests. There had been a shocking scene when Black Rod knocked upon the great Commons door at Westminster, thus notifying the Speaker that the King commanded them to adjourn. The frantic members who saw their last hopes vanishing had wept and shouted, they had locked the doors and forcibly held the Speaker in his chair, while they hysterically passed their resolutions anyway, regardless of His Majesty’s pleasure. And Sir John Eliot had cried out in a great voice, “None have gone about to break Parliaments, but in the end Parliaments have broken
them!
” Now Sir John Eliot and several other members were imprisoned in the Tower, and the King was about to make a proclamation signifying his intention of ruling without any Parliaments in future. The citizens saw their precious liberties threatened and the power of Rome returning, the Puritans saw themselves in imminent danger of active persecution for their beliefs, and all of middle-class England quailed at the menace to its purses, from which the King might now extract what he wished without hindrance.

A dismal world this one is becoming, Edward thought as he climbed the stairs to knock on Thomas Fones’s chamber door. Nor were his spirits lightened by a distressing interview with a peevish and harassed invalid.

For Elizabeth it was not a dismal world. It had the glitter and sparkle of the diamond brooch which fastened the ostrich plume to Lord Thanet’s upturned hatbrim, and it had the rich softness of Harry’s new scarlet velvet suit. They rode in Thanet’s coach toward a bear-garden near Blackfriars, and the coach stopped along the way to pick up two pretty masked ladies, thus rounding out the party. The ladies were painted and scented and fashionable. They were introduced only as Chloe and Sylvia, and it soon appeared that they had taken these pseudonyms from a court masque they had recently attended. It also appeared from Thanet’s jests that they had husbands somewhere, but wherever or whoever these were, the absent husbands in no way affected the damsels’ complaisance.

The coach, large as it was, seemed cramped for six, so Chloe, giggling, presently established herself on Lord Thanet’s lap.

“An excellent idea!” cried Harry, and Elizabeth’s heart paused while she saw him glance at Sylvia who had clusters of yellow curls, and what seemed through the mask to be a languishing glance. Elizabeth knew that she herself looked her best. Powerful incentive had overcome her distaste for sewing, and under little Martha’s awed gaze she had been working secretly at night to refurbish her most becoming gown of saffron silk until it approximated the style of court ladies. She had cut the neck down to show the top of her breasts, she had ransacked the coffer of laces left by her mother and pieced together some strips of Venice needlepoint for a falling collar and cuffs. She had made herself a black silk mask, and she had dusted herself with powdered orris root. Fortunately her cheeks and lips were highly coloured by nature, for there was no rouge in the shop; Thomas refused to stock it, though many other apothecaries did a brisk business in cosmetics. She had finished her toilet with lavish application of gillyflower essence she had herself distilled, and she had felt satisfied with her efforts until she examined Chloe’s and Sylvia’s voluptuous elegance. Now she was not so sure. And her relief was tremendous when Harry suddenly turned and carelessly scooped her up on to his knees.

“Mistress Sylvia shall be for Seaton!” Harry said grinning. “I’ll make shift with my little cousin,” and he .added some ribald words in a Carib
patois
she did not understand but which caused the other men to roar with laughter. Though the Earl of Thanet had not, like Seaton, lived on Barbadoes he knew much about it, being a friend of Lord Carlisle who claimed it, and brother to Sir William Tufton whom the King was appointing as the Island’s new governor; a . prospect gratifying to Harry who saw therein the means of special privilege when and if he should return to Barbadoes.

But at that moment in the coach Harry had no thought of his nebulous future, for he was startled by his sensations as he held Elizabeth in his arms. They had had no close contact since his impulsive kiss in the garden. He had enjoyed her company, and seeing that the other men admired her had good-naturedly included her in some of their more suitable festivities, but he had given her little personal attention, while he amused himself in other quarters. And besides, though Harry was neither introspective nor conscientious, he had paid heed to the bars between them - their relationship so close that it was almost fraternal, and her betrothal to that gangling lawyer’s clerk of his Uncle Downing’s.

Now he felt Elizabeth tremble and yield her soft weight against his chest. He smelled the flowery clove perfume from the dark curls on his shoulder; and he plunged with the suddenness of drowning into love. Or at least into desire of a kind he had never felt before, since beneath its physical urgency there was tenderness, and uncertainty of his own attraction for her - a type of doubt which had never troubled him with other women. Yet he could not doubt long, for she fell as silent as he did. The amorous skirmishes and jests of the other four washed unnoticed around them. They were afraid to speak or move lest they shatter the drugged sweetness which overpowered them.

“Come, come, you both!” cried Seaton as the coach stopped by an alley which led to the Bear Ring. “By our Lady, you’ve not gone to sleep, have you? Hasten or we’ll miss the famed Norway bear that’s already killed twenty dogs I”

Elizabeth roused herself and slowly slid from Harry’s knees to the step of the coach, where Seaton gallantly helped her to the ground. She drew her thin brown wool cloak tight around her and pulled the concealing hood over her head, feeling as giddy and unreal as though she had drunk a flagon of madeira. Harry came up behind and silently offered her his arm. She took it with a sensuous shiver, and they walked together up the alley to the Bear Ring behind the other laughing couples. Neither of them spoke.

Lord Thanet had reserved a box in the covered galleries which surrounded the bear-pit; a bowing attendant ensconced them in cushioned chairs, and at the Earl’s command brought them sweetmeats and ale. Elizabeth tasted nothing. She had never seen a bear-baiting, and normally, being fond of animals, she might have been revolted by the anguished howls of the mangled dogs and the ferocity of the chained bear. As it was, the gruesome shambles of ripped guts and spouting blood was tiny and far off, as though she saw it through the wrong end of her father’s spyglass.

The crowd roared and stamped, applauding now the bear, now some more valorous dog who managed to get a grip near the bear’s jugular vein before the murderous claws tore him to ribbons. Thanet and Seaton laid bets, Sylvia and Chloe shrieked and shuddered and beat their fans on the chair backs. Harry tried to join in the furore, but the sport of which he was a connoisseur did not interest him today. He looked at Elizabeth’s full slightly parted lips, at the cleft in her round chin, at the curves of her breasts, and could not stop staring.