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“Never mind, Papa,” she said in some contrition, patting his shoulder. “Trust me - pray don’t fret.” She ran downstairs to the shop, where a supercilious footman in the Carlisle livery was bullying Martha.

“So, Mistress - “ he greeted Elizabeth, “ ‘ave ye brought it at last? ‘Tis ‘alf an hour gone, by St. ‘Pulchre’s bell thet ‘er lidyship’s been waiting,” but his face softened as he stared at Elizabeth. “Naw then - ye couldn’t ‘elp it, no doubt, sweet’eart.”

She pushed past him and, opening the shop door, stepped outside. The magnificent Carlisle coach and four restive black horses blocked the street. A baker’s cart was drawn up patiently behind the coach, a crowd of urchins and beggars surrounded it. A postilion stood at the horses’ heads, soothing them. Elizabeth glanced at the gilded coach with its glass windows, at the coat of arms emblazoned on the door. Lucy, the Countess’s own arms - Percy impaling Carlisle, for she was the daughter of the great Earl of Northumberland. For a moment Elizabeth’s courage failed her, then she tapped resolutely on the windowpane while the coachman looked around in astonishment, and the footman came hurrying out of the apothecary shop.

A dim figure moved inside, a face covered by a fashionable black velvet mask; peered through the window. Then the door was opened. “What is it, young woman?” asked a cool, pretty voice, tinged with the Border accent.

“I am Elizabeth Fones, the apothecary’s daughter, m’lady,” said the girl, curtseying. “I’ve brought you the mithridate, my father being ill, and we crave pardon for the delay. There is one new secret direction for the taking of it that your ladyship should know.”

“Indeed?” said the voice. The moment the coach door opened the beggars had rushed forward, and were now whining in chorus, with outstretched hands. “Alms, your noble ladyship, Christmas alms for the love o’ God ...”

“Come in here, mistress,” said the Countess to Elizabeth, motioning with an ermine muff; as the girl obeyed and entered the coach, the Countess called impatiently to her footman, “Throw that rabble some farthings and be rid of them!”

Elizabeth sank nervously on to the purple velvet cushions beside the Countess, for there was no other place to sit. There was warmth in the coach, from a foot-warmer of live coals, and it was deliciously perfumed by the jasmine which exuded from the great lady’s furs and from her ringlets of gilded hair half concealed by a rose satin hood. Elizabeth sniffed appreciatively, knowing from experience in the stillroom the difficulty of extracting scent like this, and she kept respectfully silent, bearing as best as she could the scrutiny of unseen eyes.

She knew that all court ladies wore masks when they went abroad, but she found the nearness of one slightly disturbing and wondered if it hid any ravages of the smallpox from which Lady Carlisle had suffered some months before, when the apothecary had filled prescriptions frantically sent in for the Countess by the Queen’s own physician. At least the pouting rouged mouth and white chin below the mask were flawless.

“Give me the mithridate,” said the Countess, stretching out a gloved hand on which sparkled three diamond rings. “It has great efficacy as your father makes It and I wish to take some now for plague prevention since I am driving into the City,”

“It
is
a powerful preventive, madam,” said Elizabeth, while her heart beat fast, “but only under certain conditions ... it they are not fulfilled it may prove quite useless,” And slit held the flask tight on her lap.

“Ah . . .. ?” said the Countess. “And what condition makes the potion sure of success?”

“That before it is taken it is first
paid
for, my lady.”

The Countess started, “Why, you brazen baggage,” she cried, the sparkling hand raised to box Elizabeth’s car.

The girl moved back quickly. “It is not from brazenness I speak, but from justice. My father is ill, times go badly with us, the mithridate is very costly to make, and so were all the other remedies we’ve sent you these past three years, Were we wealthy folk we would deem it honour to serve your ladyship for nothing, but we are not-.”

The Countess’s anger ebbed, and the lightness of spirit which so endeared her to Charles’s little French Queen, now bubbled up. She began to laugh. “My dear lass, do you think I occupy myself with petty tradesmen’s accounts? My steward attends to those,”

“But he hasn’t, my lady.” said Elizabeth.

“Belle sainte vierge!”
cried the Countess, using the Queen’s favourite expletive. “Here’s a wee terrier that’ll worry a bone till Doomsday. How much do I owe you?”

“Ten pounds, your ladyship - including this.” She touched the flask.

“So much?” said the Countess, faintly surprised. “Well, child, I’ll instruct my steward to pay you after Twelfth Night. You may send your account again.” As Elizabeth made a sound of disappointment, she added, “Come, you don’t think I
go
abroad with a pocketful of sovereigns like a money-changer, do you? - Look, my dear, here’s a Christmas handsel for you, as earnest of my intent.” She drew from her muff a small scented handkerchief, embroidered with a coronet and edged with Mechlin lace, “Now give me the flask.”

Elizabeth murmured thanks for the handkerchief and surrendered the flask, for there was nothing else to do, but there was a hot baffled feeling in her breast. The Countess had been kind enough; no doubt she meant to speak to her steward, but this would be the end of it, Elizabeth was sure. Elizabeth revered King Charles, and was fascinated by the few glimpses she had had of Queen Henrietta Maria, who was of exactly her own age; she would, indeed, have described herself as a passionate royalist. And yet, the discontent in London, the feeling of oppression and injustice in the air, had affected Elizabeth too, and this encounter with Lady Carlisle seemed smothering and inconclusive. It was like trying to make a permanent dent on a swan’s-down cushion.

St. Paul’s bells began to peal for noon service, while Lady Carlisle tilted the flask and swallowed some of its contents. Though the great cathedral stood on the other side of London Wall, they heard the melodious clangour through the coach windows.

“I must hasten,” said the Countess. “I wish to hear our good Dean, Master John Donne, preach - the King is so fond of him. If you go to the service, mistress, you may ride in my coach as far as Paul’s.”

“Oh, no thank you, my lady, we don’t attend church on Christmas.”

“Indeed?” Elizabeth felt the sharpened attention behind the velvet mask. “Why not? Are you dissenters, then?
Puritans?”

Elizabeth winced at the term, though of recent years it had been so often applied to anyone who opposed Bishop Laud’s Papist tendencies that the Winthrops and many others no longer resented it.

“In a way, perhaps, madam,” she answered uncomfortably.

“But that is very wrong!” cried the Countess with anger. “Wrong-headed and disloyal to the King who knows what’s best for all of us. Do you
dare
to question the Established Episcopal Faith of England?”

“Oh, I do not - “ protested Elizabeth, a little frightened. “I was raised partly in the old ways, at least our Parish Church, St. Sepulchre’s, I think conforms to what the Bishop says.”

The Countess was not listening. “That’s enough, mistress,” she said coldly. “Had I known the Three Fauns Apothecary Shop was owned by Puritans, I’d never have granted it my patronage. Good day. No,” she added, as Elizabeth unhappily made to give back the handkerchief, “you may keep that because it’s Christmas, no matter how you stubborn fools deny the spirit of Our Lord’s Day of Birth.”

So Elizabeth descended from the coach. She watched the postilion mount the off leader and sound his trumpet, while the footman climbed behind on the box. The coachman flicked at the four horses, and the huge gilded vehicle lumbered off down the Old Bailey towards Ludgate. The traffic penned up behind gradually began to move. Elizabeth re-entered the shop where Martha had been crammed against the window, watching.

“What happened, Bess? What took so long? I thought you’d never come out of the coach. Fancy talking all that time to the Countess of Carlisle!”

“Far better if I hadn’t,” said Elizabeth mournfully. “She’ll not use
us
again for her remedies. Father will be ... will be ...” she sighed, sinking down on a stool. “Though ‘twas not because I tried to get the account paid, ‘twas because we’re Puritans. Oh Lud - “ she sighed again, and put the little handkerchief on the counter. “At least, I got this ... as a Christmas gift. And the beggars got a few farthings too,” she added with bitterness.

Martha did not understand. She gave a cry of delight and pounced on the handkerchief. “Oh
₅
‘tis so beautiful, how can thread be wove so fine ... and the lace; like frost flowers!”

Elizabeth looked at her sister. “Take it, Matt, dear, if you like it ‘Tis yours, a Christmas gift.”

“Oh, Bessie, you’re good to me!” Martha kissed her sister. “How Madge and Dolly will envy when I show them this. I’ll put a mask on my face and wave this handkerchief and pretend
I
am a Countess!”

Elizabeth smiled, thinking how easy it was to please Martha, whose chief happiness still lay in pretending . . . and in playing with the waxen doll baby her stepmother had bought for her at Bartholomew’s Fair years ago.

The door opened and Richard Fitch stamped in bearing a wooden keg. “Whew, it’s cold!” he said to the two girls. “Water’s near froze in the conduit... Mistress Bess, your lover’s a-coming up the street, I saw him turn the corner,” He gave Elizabeth a malicious look.

“I’ve told you not to speak of Mr. Howes like that!” she snapped. “I
presume
you mean Mr. Howes, since he’s coming here for dinner.”

“Well, he’d like to be your lover,” said the apprentice, “and from what I hear, the Master’s going to give you to him, lessen ye can quick snare yourself something better like a knight or baronet.”

Elizabeth bit her lips and turned away. She was accustomed to Richard’s baiting, which she knew sprang partly from his resistance to the attraction she had for him, but his words now gave her a shock, for they exposed something she had avoided facing.

Thomas Fones was inclined to accept the offer Edward Howes had made for her hand two days ago, and unless she could muster a more convincing reason against the match than her disinclinations she was like to become Mistress Howes before long. And live at Aunt Lucy’s! she thought with increased gloom. Lucy Winthrop had long been married to the prosperous attorney Emmanuel Downing, and Edward was his law clerk. But it was not her father’s command that Elizabeth dreaded; though he was stubborn enough, she knew how to manage him. This marriage proposal was backed by John Winthrop as well. Which was a very different matter. Since old Adam’s death nobody in the family had ever questioned her Uncle Winthrop’s decisions, and least of all Thomas Fones,

The shop bell jangled as the street door opened and Edward Howes walked in. He was in his early twenties, tall, and stoop-shouldered, rather like a heron, even to the untidy crest of drab hair on his narrow head. His grey doublet and breeches hung limply on his lean frame and were well spotted with ink and sealing wax. His eyes were vaguely blue, the eyes of a sensitive dreamer, and indeed of late he dabbled secretly in alchemy and mysticism. He had attended Oxford, and excelled in mathematics, he was thoroughly versed in law and the classics. In moments of embarrassment he often became pedantic, and he was never easy with Elizabeth whom he desired to the point of anguish at times, and who treated him with alternations of tolerance and boredom.

His long, eager face lit up as he saw her behind the counter, and he walked boldly towards her with hands outstretched. “How do you, Bess? Nay, leave your pills and potions be - for as John Lyly has said, ‘Where is that precious Panacea which cureth all diseases ... or that herb Nepenthe that procureth my delight?’ Not on the shelves, Bess - but in your own heart - I hope?”

She smiled faintly and let him take her hand. “I fear my heart will dispense no merry medicine today, Edward, and that it lacks the wish to.”

He swallowed, dropping her hand. “Cruel heart, then,
O Cor Crudelis
! Why does it lack the wish?”

“For I am in a sorry mood.”

“On Christmas?”

She shrugged. “And what is Christmas to us, Edward? You know well what my Uncle Winthrop and my Aunt Downing think of Christmas. No matter, they aren’t here, and we have for dinner a Christmas pie thick with plums. Come and eat it with us.”

They dined at the long oak table in the hall, all the Foneses except Thomas. Priscilla sat at the head in his place, with Edward on her right. She chattered at him and he was content to be silent and watch Elizabeth, whose discontent with life gradually lessened under the delectable influence of suckling pig and roast goose, of marrow puddings and herb tarts, and especially of the strong ale she had herself made last year.

And when they had finished they sang madrigals together, softly so as not to disturb the ailing father upstairs, though he did not disapprove of singing which was part of the English inheritance back to the days of the wild Norsemen’s invasion and the minstrels.

Even John Winthrop had not yet come to frown on secular music, if it were seemly, for knowledge of part-singing and some instrument were signs of gentle birth,

Elizabeth had enough skill with the lute to strike a few chords, and she dearly loved to sing, especially the silver harmonies of Thomas Campion. Martha had a sweet little voice to follow the air, the children Sam and Mary piped off and on tune, while Priscilla wheezed in an adequate contralto, hut at the discovery that Edward had a true baritone, Elizabeth looked at him with startled, if momentary, pleasure.

They sang “Now winter nights enlarge the number of their hours . . . now yellow waxen lights shall wait on honey love,” and as the young man caught her eye, she felt a quiver of sensual excitement, born of the song, though she tried to attach it to Edward. They sang “The Silver Swan” and they sang Christmas songs, “Wassail, wassail all over the town,” and “The Holly and the Ivy”,

They might have sung all afternoon, except that Thomas sent word down by one of the maids that he wished to see Elizabeth. At once her gaiety was extinguished and her heart sank. He was going to ask her about Lady Carlisle! But he did not, for his thoughts were full of another matter.