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    From His Mistress
    From His Mistress
    From His Mistress
    Ebook256 pages5 hours

    From His Mistress

    By Carole Somerville

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    About this ebook

    Compelling story of the poet John Donne and Anne More’s clandestine courtship, secret marriage and the ensuing consequences of their having broken the conventions of that time.

    Anne More (born 1584) was a woman ahead of her time who refused to be restricted by the then Laws and conventions relating to marriage. Her father was a wealthy land-owner and member of Parliament and Anne was brought up by his sister, Lady Egerton (the Lord Keeper’s wife) at York House in London. It was at York House where Anne and John conducted their secret love affair, both knowing that John’s meagre resources could never make a match for the highly respected George More’s daughter. In 1601 the couple were secretly married. When Anne’s father found out he had John instantly dismissed from Egerton’s service and imprisoned in the Fleet. John was eventually released and up until Anne’s death in 1617 they were devoted to each other.
    The 16th Century poet John Donne wrote some of the greatest love poems in the English language. “From His Mistress” offers insight into Anne’s family, her relationship with her father, the restrictions placed upon women at that time (social, religious and educational) and the reasons why their courtship had to be kept a secret.
    Theirs was one of history’s greatest love stories. "From His Mistress" is the story of their sensational marriage.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCarole Somerville
    Release dateSep 30, 2011
    ISBN9781465941794
    From His Mistress
    Author

    Carole Somerville

    Carole is a qualified astrologer and has a degree in Psychology, Education and English Literature. She is also a Certified Reiki Master. Astrology is Carole's main subject. Psychology, the tarot, dream interpretation, history and spiritual realms fascinate her too. Carole has been addicted to writing from the moment she could hold a pen and counts her blessings to have been able to make a career out of something she loves.In the 1980s Carole was the leading writer for key astrology magazines in the UK including Destiny, Your Stars, Exploring the Supernatural and Your Future. In the 1990's Carole's print media clients extended to include The Daily Mirror, The People and Destiny. Carole's work began to incorporate problem pages, dream analysis and information booklets. Between 1994 and 1996 she was astrologer for the Scottish newspaper The Sunday Post. This led to Carole becoming astrologer for a number of other regional newspapers.Carole has also worked as a consultant for the Psychic Friends Network and helped them establish and then write their quarterly magazine Destiny. In recent years along with Carole's astrological work, she has been studying complementary therapies and Reiki. Her books include fiction as well as non-fiction.

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      Book preview

      From His Mistress - Carole Somerville

      Prologue

      Jan 1612 Prologue

      Jan 1612

      To John Donne

      Sir,

      Godspeed your man who will deliver this grim news into your safe expectant hands. Curb your delight my sweetest love on saluting your messenger's return for he brings you no circumstance for gladness. The vision in your room recorded in your dispatch was not, perchance, a dream. Could it be that our two souls longsince united, ne'er to be parted allowed that brief moment's shadowy encounter? Thereby to offer two estranged hearts solace in my hour of pain.

      My prayers give thanks to the Lord who empowered me to conceive; the Lord who infused seven quickening souls into each separate conception and who hath thus far brought Constance, John, George, Francis, Lucy, Bridget and Mary into this world. But that same womb from which they were safely delivered was, for our eighth child, but a house of death.

      Forgive my long silence but ‘tis you, beloved husband, not I who the writer be. Be not anxious as I am in good health.

      I am so much in earnest in loving you.

      Written from the Isle of Wight.

      A. Donne

      Good health, pah! Frances Oglander folded the letter she had just written at her sister's dictation with more force than was necessary. "And what is all this nonsense about the Lord infusing you with 'seven separate souls?' - That be ‘John Donne' talk that is. Upon my oath, ‘tis his insatiable appetite that is to blame for your perpetual state of expectancy, not anything to do with the Lord!"

      Anne Donne closed her weary eyes and leaned back against the pillows. Have I not explained myself well?  My aim was to ease his grief and the guilt he must now be feeling. She was silent, thinking for a moment. Tell me, have we time to quickly write it again?

      Frances was horrified. ’Tis just like you, dear sister, to always think of others before yourself. Her eyes held a trace of impatience. "You are the one we should all be worried about, not your gallivanting Lord and Master. At any rate, since when have I been able to write quickly without getting ink blots all over the parchment?  No Anne, this note will have to suffice."

      Lying in the large walnut bed, Anne pulled up the sheet to shield her face from the flickering firelight. She was unaware of it but all that showed beneath an unruly cap of dark curls was a pale face with wide, deep green eyes above a sensitive mouth. Perhaps I should write it myself?

      Pray spare yourself the labour, Frances said, almost sternly, as if putting Anne to shame for even making the suggestion. Whether it be a second, third or fourth attempt, I warrant you would still refrain from telling John how much you have pined for him since he left for Europe. Neither would you mention, I hasten to add, how poorly thou hast been these past months since. Her hand crept to the edge of a portrait hanging on the wall of a somewhat superior young man, extravagantly dressed, painted in the shadows as was the new custom. Absently, she checked her fingers for dust as she contemplated the handsome features of her brother-in-law. I still contend that if he had not been so occupied with arguing his case, John would have noted how ill you were even before he left.

      ’Tis not true, Anne replied in an affected voice which implied that the statement had hit a raw nerve. "John did show concern, she added. Which is why he would not leave 'til I promised to spend the winter in Nunwell. He knew I would be safe with you. Besides, he was himself so low in melancholy that I could not deny him the chance of accompanying Sir Robert on his European tour."

      Bosh! exclaimed Frances. Constance is not so young that she fails to notice what is going on.  You pleaded with your Lord and Master not to go but how was it that he eventually got around you? The small woman paused to recall the words of her niece. Did he not wonder, she began to quote, how it was that you loved him as much as you say if thou would insist on holding back his ambition, wasting the best years of his life?

      And you believe a nine year old child? Anne neither admitted nor denied that the words were true. She pressed her lips together a trifle stubbornly. Alas, sister, he needed to get away to find himself again.

      Which of course, is something he cared not to do in Mitcham; a small enough village, so I be told.

      Anne sighed deeply, knowing full well how stubborn her sister could be. ’Tis also noted for its good air and choice company. But as pleasant as the land around it may be, the cottage itself leaves a lot to be desired. Frances, ‘tis so far removed from Loseley House you would not believe it. The rooms are so dark and poky that even in the summer there be no escaping the damp that seems to permeate everything.

      Then thanks be that you are spending the winter here with me, Frances replied, grimly. Not that it has helped save the poor child you have just lost but little Lucy's cough be well healed now. She sat on the edge of Anne's bed, taking one of her hands and giving it a gentle squeeze. That said, no amount of warmth and light exercise will fix you if your body is not given some respite from these frequent pregnancies.

      Anne's pale face turned scarlet. ’Tis a week since my mischance and I feel much stronger now. The physician told me I could take some air tomorrow.

      But dare thee tell your virile husband of the doctor's warning that your good health depends on a period of abstinence on his part?

      Laughter suddenly twinkled in Anne's deep green eyes and her sister saw some of her old spirit return. I should hope he is following such orders to the letter since he be in Amiens and I here!  Furthermore, what does the physician know about my constitution with his melancholic complexion that seems to have deprived him of all good spirits. He should perhaps stop studying so hard and take some of the light exercise he hath just prescribed for me!  Besides, she added pointedly, he has to give out some advice to warrant his ten shilling fee.

      There came a slight tap at the door and Anne looked up with pleasure as her eldest daughter entered the room. She held out her arms and Constance bounded across the floor, jumped onto the bed and clumsily clasped her arms around her neck. How are you, mother? I thought you might enjoy a game of cards but I do not mean to impose on you.

      Anne smiled down at her daughter, holding her close for long loving moments. Perhaps later. For the moment I have a desire to sit by the fire and read.

      Instantly Frances glided across the room to help her sister out of the bed and onto the hard, straight-backed chair by the fire. She began plumping up an embroidered cushion to place behind the invalid and was told not to fuss to which she chided playfully:  Thou art worn out and weary, yet you would deny me the chance to pamper my sister who I love dearly. What think you, niece?

      Constance giggled as she settled herself down onto the rush-covered floor beside her mother, placing her head in Anne's lap. If father were here, he too would have out one of his medical books, demanding that all proper precautions be taken to balance mother's humours.

      Your father spends too long with his nose in his law and medical books, retorted Frances then instantly regretted the outburst, not having meant it the way it sounded.

      Anne felt her daughter stiffen and Constance's chin tilted up defiantly. Father would be very attentive in his administrations.

      Frances laughed at the thought. I am sure he would be dear, do not take on so. But there are some forms of ministration that come with a higher price than others. She grinned impishly as she caught her sister's warning glance and then relented in a half-apology, I meant no criticism of your father. Now I must go find his messenger to have this letter despatched forthwith.

      At the door, she hesitated, settling the folds of her plain gown - despite her fine station, Frances had never been one to lean toward extravagance. - Her face softened as she glanced back at mother and daughter, the firelight casting a warm orange glow around them. Truly Constance was the most heart-warming child. It will be some hours yet before dinner is served, she advised gently. Do not tire your mother and be sure to leave her to rest awhile.

      The door closed softly but France's voice could still be heard singing down the corridor:

      "A woman is a worthy wight,

      She serveth man both day and night,

      Thereto she putteth all her might,

      And yet she hath but care and woe."

      Left on their own, Constance whispered, Aunt Frances be mad at father today. Methinks she wants him home so we can return to Mitcham.

      Anne leaned back against the cushion. ’Tis not so, dear. We have not overstayed our welcome. Frances loves having us here - gamesome children and all. Indeed I think the longer she is able to keep your father and me apart the better. But not for the reasons you think.

      Constance sighed impatiently. Everyone is talking in riddles today.

      Anne began to stroke her daughter's shining dark curls, her fingers playing with the ribbons of rose and blue. She could sense that the young girl had something on her mind and waited patiently until Constance had found the right words. They weren't long in coming: I had it from Lucy that grandfather was mad at my father for marrying you.

      Anne's hand stilled as she sucked in a long breath, trying to calm her disquieting emotions. Whatever she had been expecting to hear, it was nothing like this.

      On feeling her mother stiffen, Constance's next words came out in a hurried garble: And that grandfather had him thrown into prison. Is that true?

      A frown wrinkled Anne's brow. How was she to address this?  Disjointed answers flickered through her dazed mind but all she could think to say was: Constance, what have I told you about listening to gossip? I must warn my sister about her servants' wagging tongues.

      The girl’s body relaxed, visibly relieved. I knew ‘twas an untruth. So ‘tis not father's fault that you have suffered so much hardship these past years like she told me?

      Anne felt as if her heart had been crushed, the conversation having taken her totally by surprise. There was a momentary silence before she decided that having heard the gossip, her daughter deserved to hear the truth. It is true that there was some trouble around our marriage but ‘twas not unanticipated. We were prepared for my father's wrath. She tucked a stray curl behind her daughter's ear. Our love was too strong for anyone to destroy and life at Mitcham is not too bad, is it? We have had our happy times despite the difficulties.

      But how could it be, mother? How could my father have been made to suffer just because he loved you? They say that people are treated like dogs in prison. That they are starved and tortured. I cannot bear to think of him so. Constance began to weep softly and seeing her daughter's eyes awash with tears, Anne tried to console her: They were hard times I own, but ‘twas God's will that our marriage was meant to endure. It was ordained from the dawning of time; of that I am most sure.

      For a long time they sat in silence, then suddenly Constance looked up into her mother's face and pleaded, Tell me about it, please?

      All Anne's attention appeared to be concentrated on the wall where was hung the portrait of her husband and for one sharp second her mind flashed back to another place and time. Then, with a resigned sigh, she acknowledged to herself that Constance was old enough now, to hear the full story.

      Quietly, she began.

      - Chapter One -

      It was through a strange twist of fate that I first met your father at York House where I was staying with my Aunt and her new husband, Sir Thomas Egerton. My Aunt was Sir Thomas's second wife and she had been a widow with a son (my cousin Francis) at the time of their marriage. She was my father's favourite sister and together they had formed an arrangement that in return for my father helping to raise and educate Francis, Elizabeth would take care of me and introduce me to London society.

      I was actually spending some time with my family at Loseley, when my step-mother Constance expressed a desire to visit London and it was arranged that cousin Francis should accompany her on her journey. Just prior to setting off, Constance twisted her ankle after falling down some stairs. Her physician pronounced her as not being fit to travel so I persuaded my cousin to take me in her place.

      I departed from Loseley in such unnecessary haste that there was no time to make any proper preparations, much to the chagrin of my maidservant. But I was young, high-spirited and so eager to escape the quiet of the country that my father laughed off the servant’s complaints and readily agreed that there would be no harm in my cutting short my visit to Guildford to return to York House. Later, he would harken back to those fateful words and whereas for a while, this may have been with a sense of regret, for me, there was always a feeling that what happened then, and what transpired afterwards, was meant to be.

      York house is a rambling old mansion with an extensive garden stretching down to the river Thames. I was never in awe of the establishment for Loseley House is rather a splendid building itself. But there was always so much going on in London that I found the place far more preferable to the quiet of Loseley.  Also, I was rarely, if ever, short of company. There was Sir Thomas's eldest born son and namesake, Thomas, his wife Betty and their three young daughters. His younger brother John was a regular visitor and of course, there was my cousin Francis. Such a large household also needed a sizeable staff. But when you consider that my father kept a household of fifty servants including a chaplain at Loseley, this was again something which at that time, I took for granted.

      I remember that the moment we arrived at the Palace, I jumped eagerly out of the carriage, skipped up the steps of the building's gracious entrance, ran through the long gallery (almost falling over the girls' skittles which were always left for a servant to tidy away) and made straight for the kitchens.  I used to spend a lot of time in this part of the house as I was forever hungry no matter how large a meal I may have just eaten. 

      Cook greeted me with her usual show of affection. Well look who be visiting us now, she called cheerfully to the others, as if I had been away for years. And here we be, putting on a surprise banquet in honour of mistress Anne's arrival!

      It was then that I looked around and noticed the masses of food that seemed to fill every flat surface: loaves of bread, trenchers of cold meat, salad, pastries, pasties, jellies, marzipan and almond biscuits. At another table, a servant was vigorously buffing the silver. I felt my face warm to match the colour of the cherries sitting in a wooden bowl beside me. All this, for me? I asked, incredulously, having really believed her assertion.

      Cook laughed heartily and threw me an apple which I caught deftly with one hand. This be what you are wanting, I presume my little Lady. She turned away to add pepper to the soup then having left me in suspense for long enough decided to answer my question. Sir Thomas junior will be returning later today with the Lord Keeper's new Secretary. The whole household is buzzing with the news and this evening supper will be a double-celebration in honour of Sir Thomas's new knighthood and to welcome your Uncle's new member of staff. Why do you not go and watch for them arriving?

      Fourteen summers I may have been, but I was not insensitive. I knew when someone was telling me she was busy and that if I stayed around, I would only be getting in the way.

      As it is, I did not witness the new Secretary's arrival and to tell the truth, I had no real interest in the stuffy old gentlemen of Court. The day turned suddenly cold so I chose to pass a pleasant enough afternoon with my Aunt in the sewing room. Later, I fell asleep in my bedchamber. I awoke with a slight headache and not at all in the mood to dine on ceremony. I therefore took no care in dressing; throwing myself into a gown which I had grown out of the year before and allowing my maid hardly any time at all to tidy my hair.

      Thus it was not until supper that I was introduced to John Donne. Everyone was already at table when I made my late, flustered appearance into the dining hall, sliding to an ungainly halt on the highly polished wood floor.

      Madam, how many times do I have to tell you not to run in the house? my Aunt chided me through gritted teeth as I walked now more sedately around the table to seat myself down beside her.

      Once I had got my breath back, out of the corner of my eyes, I discreetly scanned the faces, noticing that many were familiar. There was my cousin Francis, Aunt Elizabeth, Sir Thomas, his two sons and his two secretaries: George Carew and Gregory Donhault; there were also several others who were not so well known to me. Already the men were deep in conversation that none paid attention to my late arrival, possibly because they had all become quite accustomed to seeing me regularly charging about the Palace like a wind from the Atlantic.

      Servants came in; wine and food bearers swiftly serving all. Food filled the table in abundance from roasted meat of pig and deer, fowl dishes of pheasant and quail, vegetables steamed with herbs and bread topped with mustard. Once Sir Thomas had said grace I broke off some bread, placing it alongside the meat on my trencher. Spirits were high and voices floated over me as I allowed my gaze to carelessly wander.

      Then suddenly, with a start of surprise, my eyes came upon a man who was quite unlike any of the other gentlemen in the room; there was a quality about him that drew my immediate regard.  He was not old, bald and wrinkled as I had been expecting, indeed he was startingly handsome with thick black hair, heavy brows that shaded the slope of dark eyes and a light moustache that accentuated the bold outline of his lips. Verily,  I cannot tell you what a  powerful impression my Uncle's new Secretary made on my fragile young heart. - Recently, before leaving for Europe, John wrote a poem in which he coined his tears with my face. How does it go?  Something akin to:

      "Let me power forth

      My tears before thy face, whilst I stay here,

      For thy face coins them, and thy stamp they bear

      And by this Mintage they are something worth."

      In like manner, it was from the moment I first saw him, eternally and always, that John Donne had imprinted himself on my heart.

      He was sitting at the far end of the table next to Sir Thomas and I found my eyes fixed upon him as he turned to murmur something to the servant filling his goblet with wine, making her laugh out loud.  Even then, he emitted an air of easy authority; it was there in the hard-boned sculpture of his face and in the dark recesses of his eyes. Eyes that were as sharp as a hawk's and as they caught mine, he smiled a smile of such charm and ease that in that very instant I fell hopelessly and helplessly in love.

      I may have been young, but I was no fool and when suddenly I realised that I had been staring and that in that unguarded moment  I had left my feelings wide-open for him to see, I knew too that as far as John Donne was concerned, I was a plump, juvenile rather clumsy young lady of no consequence. From his amused expression it was obvious that he was remembering my ungainly entrance and for the first time that I can remember I felt angry at my carelessness and lack of

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