Even now, as he sat at his desk, face furrowed, pen to lips, his reveries kept drifting back to Anne. They gave him no mercy. Images of her raced through his thoughts without respite. He recalled how she sat at the virginals; her talented fingers caressing the keys; the way she looked up from the musical score, smiling demurely.
Pushing all thoughts of Anne from his mind proved impossible. After an hour or so of trying, Edward resolved to break free of her spell by concentrating on someone who aroused only contempt in him: Burghley.
Soon the Earl was looking down at four lines he'd penned:
"The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,
Is only fit for treasons, plotting and spoils,
The motions of his spirit are dull as night."
It was a serviceable enough sentiment but it did little to distract him from thoughts of Anne. Could he find solace in writing about this new yearning? Setting the page aside, Edward dipped his pen, turned to a clean sheet of paper and tried for something a little more romantic.
Hours later, despite scratching the pen over page after page, all his work had been tossed aside. Nothing his quill crafted could match the passions Anne aroused in him.
Tossing the pen aside, Edward slammed his palms down on the table. Leaping up, he stalked the carpet in agitated frustration. What was it about her that stirred him so? If he could only discover that, then he'd be better able to resist her. Like many of the thoughts that occur to men in the early morning hours, this idea had immediate appeal.
Abruptly, not knowing beforehand that he'd do it, Edward summoned a groom. Soon he was astride his favorite horse, cantering over to Whitehall. It wasn't difficult for Elizabeth's favorite to enter the palace late at night. He hurried down empty corridors towards the sleeping quarters. Finally, Edward stood outside Anne's bedchamber.
Suddenly, the Earl felt timid and flustered. Taking a firm hold on all his courage, he eased open the door and slipped quietly inside Anne's dark bedchamber.
His heart pounding, Edward crept on tiptoe towards her sleeping form. What if she should wake? What if he should be discovered? The consequences were unthinkable, but he couldn't stop himself. Edward was pulled towards her. As he drew near, his entire body began to tremble with repressed excitement.
He debated turning back at every step but then he saw her sleeping face and, suddenly, all the risks seemed worthwhile. Anne was lying peacefully with her head turned towards the open window. Soft moonlight revealed the young maid's exquisite features, framed by a white lace pillow. Fragrant breezes drifted in from the garden, gently ruffling her long black hair.
Anne's generous lips were slightly parted and as she exhaled they made the faintest cooing sound. Hardly daring to breathe, Edward bent close to this perfection. Her face filled his eager, covetous vision. The maid's flawless skin glowed with a taut, silky-smooth sheen. Edward found himself mesmerized by the minuscule hairs that clung to her like golden fur begging for his touch.
The Earl stayed close to Anne for several minutes, intent on memorizing every detail of her. Then with a gentle sigh, he turned and stole out of the bedchamber.
Edward rode away from Whitehall with his head tilted back, admiring the innumerable stars. The Earl's mind was calm, his thoughts untroubled. He had decided to court and win Anne Vavasor. A sweet sonnet took shape, soaring in flowing rhythms across the sparkling night sky.
-:-:-
The following evening, Anne entered her bedchamber dressed for sleep. As the maid climbed into bed, she found a sheet of paper, neatly folded and discreetly sealed, lying on her pillow next to a single red rose.
Unsealing the poem, Anne began to read,
"How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st
The wiry harmony that mine ear confounds,
Do I envy those keys that nimble leap
To kiss the tender fingers of thy hand,
Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap,
At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand!
To be so tickled, they would change their state
And situation with those dancing chips
Over whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,
Making dead wood more blessed than living lips.
Since saucy keys so happy are in this,
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss."
Carefully folding the sheet of paper, Anne repeated part of the last line softly to herself, "Thy lips to kiss."
Then, leaning forward with a sudden, gleeful giggle, she blew out the candles, plunging her room into darkness.
1651
"Beggin' your pardon, Ma'am."
The old woman looked over at Ben, surprised by his interruption, "Yes?"
"I'm very sorry, Ma'am..."
"What is it?"
"Well, Ma'am, beggin' your pardon, Ma'am, but I ran all the way from Cripplegate, Ma'am and I have to..." Ben stood up, his face twisted into a pained expression. He crossed his legs. "You know..."
"Oh very well. But be quick about it or your master will hear ill of you."
"Thank you, Ma'am," said Ben, rushing for the door.
Gnarled hands toyed with the book in her lap, but the old woman was in no mood to read. Now that she had begun Edward's story, she was amazed at how vivid her recollections were. It was so easy to conjure up the past. The memories were all there, waiting for her. Perhaps it might be better if they weren't. Hadn't she been made old by her secrets? Had not carrying them withered her before her time?
Ben hurried back into the room, resumed his seat and picked up the pen. He glanced at the old woman and was once again astonished at how old and white she looked. One thing was sure; the old crow had never worked a day outdoors in her life. What was she saying?
"We were speaking of?"
Ben looked down at his pages. "Err...poems, Ma'am."
"Ah yes. Poems. Well, now that Edward's sonnet had been successfully delivered, he launched his campaign in earnest. The utmost discretion was essential. They called Elizabeth the Virgin Queen, you know.
"For once, Edward decided on a prudent course. Next day, as he feasted with the Queen, the Earl kept a goodly distance from Anne. He deliberately refrained from even looking in her direction, lest an adoring glance should betray his intentions.
"That evening, the entire Court attended a masked ball. Attired in a lavish costume,
