Still, she can抰 sit on her back-doorstep all evening. Ruth goes back into the kitchen and stirs the sauce. It needs something but she can抰 think what. She adds some salt, pepper and a splash of her wine for luck. She puts on some water for the pasta. Then she goes into the sitting room where Kate is still watching the quiz show. Ruth thinks of the English teachers and their Zoom quiz tomorrow. Which of Shakespeare抯 heroines said this? Well, she抯 got better things to do. Or has she? Will Nelson still be with them tomorrow? If so, it抣l be the first time she抯 ever spent a complete Saturday with him. What will they do? It抯 not as if they can have a day out after all. They can take Bruno for a walk, she supposes. They can have supper together and watch a film on Netflix. Don抰 think about it, Ruth tells herself, and then you won抰 be disappointed. She opens her laptop. She抣l get some more marking done.
She sees immediately that she has new emails from Peter and Shona. She opens Shona抯 first, to put off the other.
Shona has sent the text of 慣o Althea, from Prison?by Richard Lovelace.
When Love with unconfin鑔 wings
Hovers within my Gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at the Grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fettered to her eye,
The Gods that wanton in the Air,
Know no such Liberty.
When flowing Cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,
Our careless heads with Roses bound,
Our hearts with Loyal Flames;
When thirsty grief in Wine we steep,
When Healths and draughts go free,
Fishes that tipple in the Deep
Know no such Liberty.
When （like committed linnets） I
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, Mercy, Majesty,
And glories of my King;
When I shall voice aloud how good
He is, how Great should be,
Enlarg鑔 Winds, that curl the Flood,
Know no such Liberty.
Stone Walls do not a Prison make,
Nor Iron bars a Cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an Hermitage.
If I have freedom in my Love,
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone that soar above,
Enjoy such Liberty
慦rong but romantic,?thinks Ruth. It occurs to her that Lovelace is the ideal name for a Cavalier. She is sure that Richard loved his lace, not to mention his plumes and velvet. She抯 not sure what to make of the poem. 慣angled in her hair?is quite an image. She imagines Althea with miles of golden hair, like Rapunzel. But being trapped in hair is another imprisonment of sorts. 慒ettered to her eye?is unpleasant too, when you come to think of it. There抯 lots of flying imagery, lots of wings. Even fish get a mention. Are they flying fish? Maybe Lovelace, too, found comfort in nature while incarcerated. Maybe he too had a pet crow called Corbyn. 慖f I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free . . .?Ruth thinks of Nelson. Are they free because they are under lockdown?
To escape from this train of thought, Ruth clicks on the email from Peter. There抯 an attachment too. Should she open it? If so, there抯 always a danger of disappearing down one of those rabbit holes that seem to be one of the hazards of a solitary life. You run the risk of becoming tangled in the hair of memory. Too late, she has already clicked on the icon. Thought you抎 like to see this. It抯 a photograph of Ruth in this very room, sitting on the sofa with a kitten on each shoulder. Flint and Sparky, ginger and black-and-white. Like the two ravens of Odin. The room hasn抰 changed much, the same sofa and bookshelves, although there were more gaps then. The television is smaller and boxier and there抯 a framed poster of Devizes on the wall. Peter, a Wiltshire boy, must have taken it with him when he left. Ruth herself looks almost unbearably young and happy. Her hair is longer and her cheeks rounder. She抯 wearing a UCL sweatshirt and jeans. Ruth can almost hear Peter laughing as he took the picture. The Cabin.