A little over a century after John Lumley returned Nonsuch to royal ownership, Charles II gave the estate to his mistress, Barbara Villiers. Just like Lumley, she too was burdened by immense debt. Her solution was somewhat more extreme than his: she had Nonsuch – renowned as one of the most glorious Renaissance palaces in Europe – demolished.
It is now a municipal park.
Author’s note
This story is, of course, a fiction, though some of the characters in it did exist. We can never really know what it was like for them to live in Elizabeth’s England. Like all their kind, they thought differently, spoke differently, understood their world differently. But I’m sure their emotions were no less vibrant, no less unruly, than ours.
Fortunately for us scavengers of history, so many superb historians and writers have thoughtfully left their best dishes lying alluringly within reach, to provide us with at least a taste of the world in which those characters lived. I am indebted to Ian Mortimer and Liza Picard, whose The Time Traveller’s Guide to Elizabethan England and Elizabeth’s London respectively are such wonderful gateways to the world in which my story is set. John Stow’s A Survey of London, written in 1598, was equally indispensable; as was Jeffrey Forgeng’s Daily Life in Elizabethan England. I should also make mention of Lauren Kassell’s Medicine & Magic in Elizabethan London; Thomas Wright’s Circulation, a fascinating account of how William Harvey discovered the true function of the heart; Roy Porter’s Blood & Guts; and John Dent’s The Quest for Nonsuch.
I must also offer deep gratitude – though, sadly, neither is alive to receive it – to my English teacher, Mr Mortimer, and to Mr Pugh, my history teacher; both from Enfield Chase Secondary School. It’s indicative of schooling in the 1960s that I have absolutely no idea of their first names.
Nor must I fail to acknowledge the immense help I’ve received from my agent, Jane Judd, and from Sara O’Keeffe, Susannah Hamilton and the team at Corvus. I must also thank Mandy Greenfield for her eagle’s eye.
But the greatest debt – given that the writing life can be uncomfortably solitary, and not just for the author – I owe to my wife Jane. Without her belief and encouragement, I doubt a word of this tale would have survived to reach the printed page.