Exit Lady Masham by Louis Auchincloss Page A
Authors: Louis Auchincloss
Tags: General Fiction
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suggested that marriage was a possible consequence of his possession. I got my just deserts.
6
M
y cousin the Duchess used to say that there were women who conceived if a man so much as kissed their fingertips. It seemed I was one of these. After our marriage Masham kept me constantly pregnant, and the brief intimacy that preceded our lawful union proved equally fruitful. I had my first dizzy spells within days after I first succumbed to him.
I awoke immediately from my feverish daydreams. I was not sure that I had not been mad. What was horribly clear, at any rate, was that I had placed myself on the road to certain disgrace, that I had destroyed in one moment the safe and comfortable port that I had miraculously reached after a lifetime of desolation. And for what? A great love? Even at my headiest moment I had not regarded my feeling for Masham in that light. A great pleasure? Well, I have never made love with any other man, but if his performance was the equivalent of Marc Antony's, or of any of the fabled amorists of history, the delights of the body have been sadly overrated. And I do not care if one day Masham
does
read these lines.
My strongest reaction was shame, shame that I had been party to such a sham proceeding, shame of my low excitement at the prospect of my own debasement, shame at the folly with which I had turned from my beneficent mistress to give myself to the first rake that solicited me. On the morning when I first realized my condition, I turned away sharply from its odiously smiling cause. Masham had been waiting for me outside the Queen's door.
"Keep your hands to yourself, sir!" I hissed when he tried to put his arm around me.
"Hey, now, Abbie, what has come over you?"
"That I've been a fool once doesn't mean I must stay one!"
And I swept off, to leave him gaping.
Harley, from whom nothing at court could be long concealed, deduced at once what had happened from Masham's account of my behavior. We were now at Hampton Court, and he bade me visit him in his apartments, which were in the old Wolsey section of the palace, small dark rooms with massive chests, red hangings and linen-fold paneling. I stood by a narrow window, looking bleakly down on the courtyard while he, in his bantering tone, reproached me.
"That you, dear coz, of all people, you, our admired 'Mrs. Still,' you, the very embodiment of prudence and decorum, should prove a wanton! You make me feel that I have been a sadly behind-time Laertes. I should have warned you not to open your chaste treasure to our captain's 'unmastered importunity.'"
"Laertes! It is of another of Master Shakespeare's counsellors that
you
put me in mind!"
"Do you mean Cressida's uncle, you hussy?" Harley exploded into a fit of laughs mingled with rasping coughs. "But, my dear girl, I wasn't trying to bring you to Masham's bed! On the contrary, I expected you to be a pinnacle of virtue! The worst you could say of me was that I was a marriage broker."
"Marriage! That's something you can forget about now."
"What makes you say so?"
"Because Mr. Masham will not marry a whore!"
"Ah, my dear." Harley's tone was kinder now as he took in my tears. "Mr. Masham is still serious about marriage. Only his price has gone up."
"His price?"
"He expects the Queen to make him a peer now."
"He won't ask her
that
!" I cried in dismay.
"No. But I shall."
"Oh, Mr. Harley, the shame of it! I can't endure it."
"Tush, tush, child. The Queen's a Stuart; never forget that. Think of her father and uncle! I have arranged more difficult matters with her. Masham will not get all he wants, but he will get something. And I shall be surprised if we do not have a royal godmother at your son's christening! Cheer up, lass."
"But I don't want to marry Mr. Masham!"
Harley wagged a finger at me. "You should have thought of that before you let him tumble you."
What could I say? Of course I was going to marry Masham if there was any way it could be brought about. The alternative was
6
M
y cousin the Duchess used to say that there were women who conceived if a man so much as kissed their fingertips. It seemed I was one of these. After our marriage Masham kept me constantly pregnant, and the brief intimacy that preceded our lawful union proved equally fruitful. I had my first dizzy spells within days after I first succumbed to him.
I awoke immediately from my feverish daydreams. I was not sure that I had not been mad. What was horribly clear, at any rate, was that I had placed myself on the road to certain disgrace, that I had destroyed in one moment the safe and comfortable port that I had miraculously reached after a lifetime of desolation. And for what? A great love? Even at my headiest moment I had not regarded my feeling for Masham in that light. A great pleasure? Well, I have never made love with any other man, but if his performance was the equivalent of Marc Antony's, or of any of the fabled amorists of history, the delights of the body have been sadly overrated. And I do not care if one day Masham
does
read these lines.
My strongest reaction was shame, shame that I had been party to such a sham proceeding, shame of my low excitement at the prospect of my own debasement, shame at the folly with which I had turned from my beneficent mistress to give myself to the first rake that solicited me. On the morning when I first realized my condition, I turned away sharply from its odiously smiling cause. Masham had been waiting for me outside the Queen's door.
"Keep your hands to yourself, sir!" I hissed when he tried to put his arm around me.
"Hey, now, Abbie, what has come over you?"
"That I've been a fool once doesn't mean I must stay one!"
And I swept off, to leave him gaping.
Harley, from whom nothing at court could be long concealed, deduced at once what had happened from Masham's account of my behavior. We were now at Hampton Court, and he bade me visit him in his apartments, which were in the old Wolsey section of the palace, small dark rooms with massive chests, red hangings and linen-fold paneling. I stood by a narrow window, looking bleakly down on the courtyard while he, in his bantering tone, reproached me.
"That you, dear coz, of all people, you, our admired 'Mrs. Still,' you, the very embodiment of prudence and decorum, should prove a wanton! You make me feel that I have been a sadly behind-time Laertes. I should have warned you not to open your chaste treasure to our captain's 'unmastered importunity.'"
"Laertes! It is of another of Master Shakespeare's counsellors that
you
put me in mind!"
"Do you mean Cressida's uncle, you hussy?" Harley exploded into a fit of laughs mingled with rasping coughs. "But, my dear girl, I wasn't trying to bring you to Masham's bed! On the contrary, I expected you to be a pinnacle of virtue! The worst you could say of me was that I was a marriage broker."
"Marriage! That's something you can forget about now."
"What makes you say so?"
"Because Mr. Masham will not marry a whore!"
"Ah, my dear." Harley's tone was kinder now as he took in my tears. "Mr. Masham is still serious about marriage. Only his price has gone up."
"His price?"
"He expects the Queen to make him a peer now."
"He won't ask her
that
!" I cried in dismay.
"No. But I shall."
"Oh, Mr. Harley, the shame of it! I can't endure it."
"Tush, tush, child. The Queen's a Stuart; never forget that. Think of her father and uncle! I have arranged more difficult matters with her. Masham will not get all he wants, but he will get something. And I shall be surprised if we do not have a royal godmother at your son's christening! Cheer up, lass."
"But I don't want to marry Mr. Masham!"
Harley wagged a finger at me. "You should have thought of that before you let him tumble you."
What could I say? Of course I was going to marry Masham if there was any way it could be brought about. The alternative was
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