Remembrance
There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance. Pray you, love,
remember.
~ Ophelia, from HAMLET, Act IV, Scene 5
Mistress Mary Goslick lifted the embroidered hem of her cambric smock as she hurried along the damp and dewy path that wound through the magnificent gardens of Hampden Hall. She wore only a sleeveless, golden surcoat over the light, white material of the undergarment. Her long chestnut-colored hair was loose, hanging in bumpy tendrils.
All was in an uproar. Her world was upended. She tried to apply the disciplines her tutors had taught her, to gather her emotions, focus her thoughts, and reinforce her resolve to survive.
She inhaled deeply. The early morning perfumes of spring were nearly overwhelming. She passed a small field of bluebells under a grove of young oak trees, then came to the stream that had been carved and sculpted by the 6th Lord of Exbury when he beautified this park a year before he was so suddenly taken from the earth.
She followed the bank of the stream as it curved sinuously and then descended gurgling over elaborate stone slab steps flowing towards the lake in the dell. She stepped through stands of lilies, jacinths, tulips, and columbine, then moved around huge and ancient mossy trunks. She stopped, and gazed before her as if waking from a dream.
She was at the edge of deep green water in a large and secluded grotto. Shreds of mist still hung in the air. Birds were beginning to wake. In the first rays of pale sunshine breaking through the boughs overhead she could see banks of flowering shrubs, blooming hedges and mounds of multi-colored blossoms reflected in the glassy depths of the lake. Mary felt the beauty and peace of the place settle over her fear and grief like the cool hand of an angel. She raised her skirt higher as if treading on holy ground, and gently advanced along the perimeter, aiming for the opposite side where she knew a small pavilion was hidden among the willow trees. There she intended to take refuge, to think and collect her wits.
She froze as she heard underbrush crack; something was moving behind her. She darted another few feet, her hem catching on a twig. She stopped again. A chill rose up her spine; the hairs on her arms lifted. She regulated her breathing and straightened, turned in place.
He was there, like a wraith, standing in a mass of daisies and rosemary speckled with blue florets, the color of the Virgin’s cloak. His head was thrust forward, his chin grizzled. His blond hair seemed to fly in all directions. His doublet was open and his shirt ripped. His saffron silk hose were torn and dirty and one was rolling down. His fashionable black and russet trunk-hose were loose and open in the front, the bombast gone. Something dark splotched his collar and one of his dangling sleeves.
Mary felt fury and terror at once. She lowered her eyes and kept her voice steady while she said, “How does your honor?”
The man staggered towards her. She looked up to see that his eyes were completely black and gleaming.
“I humbly thank you. Well … well, well, well….” He stopped a few feet away.
“My lord Robert….” she began.
“Are you honest?” he asked, hissing the last syllable through his teeth.
“My lord?” Her back was to the water, and he was too close. She tried to concentrate, to weigh her options.
“Are you fair?”
She raised her eyes and stared with courage and firmness at the madman in front of her, Robert Hampden, son of Robert the 6th Lord, nephew and step-son of the present 7th Lord. “What means your lordship?” she asked.
“I did love you once,” he said.
“Indeed, my lord, you did not.”
His face twisted and grew ruddy. “Then I was deceived,” he shouted.
“I am the daughter of your father’s steward. My brother Anthony, who you counted once as your friend, is among the Earl of Southampton’s favorites….” she said, trying to reason with him.
“Your father is dead, he is flaxen and white as snow. I sent him to hell,” Lord Robert said, and then giggled. “He was spying on me.”
“I think not, my lord. I asked him to keep watch. I feared for my safety when I re-delivered your trinkets and letters. It was not seemly for you to tender such affection; I am your steward’s child.”
“You jig, you amble, you lisp, you make your wantonness your ignorance. It hath made me mad….”
“No, not I, my lord,” she said. “Your affections have been most unwanted. We grew apace, your tutors were my own. My family’s fortunes are dear to me … I am called as a Maid of Honour for the Queen, blessed be she….” Mary’s voice had risen, and she realized she had said too much, betraying the very nub of her fear.
Lord Robert smiled in a crooked, thin way that wasn’t really a smile. “Thou art a whore, and have no honor. Thou art the spawn of a putrid family line. Your father furthered the ambitions of another whore, my lady mother….”
Mary started to move backwards, then tried sidling further away from the water, crossing Lord Robert’s field of vision while he seemed distracted by the vision of his mother, the Countess Exbury.
“You are all whores,” he growled, noticing her movements. “You are breeders of sin. Get thee all to a nunnery. If thee I marry, I will give thee plague for thy dowry. Be thee chaste as ice and pure as snow, thou shalt not escape….” He lunged for her, and grasped her with both hands.
Mary stiffened as his fetid breath and darting eyes pushed within an inch of her face. Her flesh ached where he squeezed her upper arms. “You murdered my father,” she whispered. ”
“Sir Laurentius Goslick, a traitor. What was his part in the play? My father dispatched, so that my uncle could marry my mother and take my lands and titles….”
“The 6th Earl of Exbury was stricken by the plague. Your mother waited the customary one month, wearing the veil and rosemary. You were a minor and would not have inherited in any case. The 7th Earl in truth saved your lands for you, as he was childless. Else, one-third of these estates would have passed to Countess Exbury and to her new husband, had she chosen elsewhere.” As he was silent, she desperately caught his stare and looked up at him in a supplicating way, intently searching his expression, his eyes for any sign of reason. “Please, my lord,” she said as softly as she could, “all will be well.”
His face seemed to change shape as if made of wax. It transformed into a dark, snarling mask. He shook her, making her head flip back. “Not so,” he screamed. “Nothing will be well.” And he threw her to the ground, onto a bed of violets
She was disoriented and dizzy. Her body would not respond. She gritted her teeth and pushed herself upwards with every ounce of her strength. But in an instant, he was on top of her, biting her breasts, groping and tearing her clothing. “I want to live,” she cried. “Oh God give me justice….”
#
Henry Wriothesley, 3rd Earl of Southampton, did not conceal his tears. In his finest attire sparkling with jewels and thread of gold, his shiny auburn hair curling over his shoulders, he sat at the table with his friends and guests and openly wept as the clerk of the chambers from Hampden Hall, sent by the Earl of Exbury, described the recent tragic events.
Southampton was presently passing a few weeks in Palace House, the former Beaulieu Abbey converted by his grandfather, Thomas Wriothesely into a stately manor. Plague raged in London, where he usually spent his time, and the theaters were closed. Dining with him this evening were some of the neighboring gentry, and a combination of Strange’s and Admiral’s actors who were touring the countryside. Led by Edward Alleyn, these players were to perform that evening in the great hall.
All were silent now, their hands lowered, food untouched, as the clerk from Exbury continued, “Her body was spied floating in the lake, twined with garlands of violets, pansies, crowflowers, and daisies. Her head was crowned with a willow wreath. Her garments have not been recovered. His Lordship, the Earl of Exbury, is much aggrieved to tell you that the body of Sir Laurentius was discovered behind a curtain in my lady Countess Exbury’s bedchamber. And Master Anthony’s body was much defiled before the men of his household were able to recover it from a woodland area on the estate. May it comfort all of us to know that he died avenging the foul abuse and murder of his sister, and the slaying of his father.”
Southampton raised one hand while he covered his face with the other. The clerk, who was standing several feet from the table, facing the head, also tried to hold back his emotions.
One of the guests asked, “Where is the young lord Robert now?”
“By your leave, may I speak, my lord?” the clerk asked Southampton. As the other nodded, the clerk continued, “The men of the household were able to subdue him and now the dungeon has him. The Earl of Exbury has made it known that lord Robert will be traveling abroad and will not return for many years. My lordship worries about his family, and their good name, and their future. You are also in his thoughts, my lord Southampton, and your affection for and connection with Master Anthony.”
Wriothesley was handed a cloth by one of his servants; he used it to dry his face. He sighed. “Lord Hampden is wise to lay the matter with me first,” he said. “This story requires good and careful consideration, ” He leaned to the side and looked at his guests one by one as they sat at the table. “Tis my belief no one here will carry the tale?” He was their patron and this was not a question, but a command. “Return to me in an hour,” Southampton said, once more regarding the clerk. “I will have a letter for you to deliver to Exbury.”
The clerk bowed in a sweeping way, and left the room.
Southampton remained silent for a moment. None of his guests dared lift a bowl or tankard or touch the food piled on the pewter trenchers. Then he stirred and raised a cup of wine. “Let us drink to the memory of Mistress Mary and Master Anthony Goslick, fair, honest, and lovely were they both.” As all followed suit, the earl turned to the slightly older man seated at his left shoulder, and leaned towards him. He whispered, “Accompany me to my closet, and stay upon me, Will. The account of these tragic events must needs be sorted and put to rights, before the whole reaches the ears of the Queen.”
