Roses in Moonlight (29 page)

“He’s had quite a blow to the head,” Mary said with a frown.

“Shall I call for a surgeon?”

“Only if you intend to cut off his head, but then where would that leave you?” Mary said with a smile. “What he needs is rest. Probably several days here in one of your most lovely chambers, being waited on constantly by your prettiest maidservant.”

Thomas blew out his breath. “He’s insufferable.”

“But continually nipping at Burbage’s heels,” Mary pointed out. “And insufferable as he might be, he acknowledges your patronage every chance he has.”

“That’s because I keep paying off his bloody gambling debts,” Thomas said, then he clamped his lips shut. “My apologies, Lady Mary.”

She waved aside his words. “Not to worry, my friend. You are too kind to him, but that is known generally as well. There is the problem of this coming afternoon, though.”

Thomas looked at her in alarm. “What is to be done?”

“Something,” Mary said firmly. “His career will be over if he doesn’t appear on stage.”

“But he’s been in the Tower—”

“On false charges,” Mary finished for him. “Come, Thomas, and be reasonable. You know he hasn’t the wit or the stomach to steal Cooke’s treasure. He has ample for his needs, especially since his greatest need is the adulation of his audience.”

“There is that,” Thomas agreed slowly.

“Do you truly believe he would trade that for a paltry handful of gems?” She laughed softly. “No, my friend, you know him too well for that. He was delivered into your hands by a power we likely couldn’t begin to understand and surely shouldn’t question. Take the gift, nurse him to health, and be prepared to be showered with purchases of your goods by grateful lovers of his work.”

“That still doesn’t solve the problem of this afternoon.”

Derrick cleared his throat. “What’s this afternoon?”

They turned and looked at him as one. Mary tilted her head to the side and considered. Thomas stroked his chin, then looked at her.

“There’s a resemblance,” he noted.

“They could be brothers,” Mary agreed.

“Indistinguishable, truly.”

Derrick felt his mouth fall open. “What,” he managed, “are you suggesting?”

“
Hamlet
,” Mary said crisply. “Sir Richard is starring, but he obviously won’t be there today. You must, Lord Derrick, take his place and save his reputation.”

“But . . . but . . .”

The other two simply watched him in silence.

Something rushed through him. He wasn’t quite sure if it was terror or adrenaline.

To play Hamlet at the Globe?

Mary waved him away. “Go clear your head, good sir,” she said, shooting him a look that brooked no disagreement. “I’ll arrange the rest. Sir Thomas, if I might ask a favor of you. There is someone I think needs to be sent for as quickly as possible.”

Derrick felt himself being pulled from the room and realized it was Samantha doing the pulling. She continued to pull until she’d gotten him outside in the courtyard. To his surprise, the sky was lightening, though he certainly couldn’t remember that much time having passed. He looked at her in surprise.

“Am I in shock?”

“Probably.” She took his hand she’d been holding and kept it in both her own. “How are you?”

He dragged his free hand through his hair. “I’m not sure.”

“Really?”

He looked at her helplessly. “Common sense dictates that we pack up and leave immediately, whilst there’s still time and the cover of darkness. Or what’s left of the darkness.”

“But?”

“But if we go and your ancestor doesn’t perform, who knows what repercussions there might be?”

She blinked, then she laughed softly. “Someone wants to tread some boards, methinks.”

He pursed his lips. “You are a cynic.”

She put her arms around him, then smiled up at him. “I don’t think you have any choice,” she said. “Like Granny said, his career will be ruined if he’s not on stage this afternoon. By the way, how did it go in the Tower?”

“Too easy,” he admitted. “But we found Francis Cooke waiting for us in Sir Richard’s cell. He knows about the time gate and was the one to slip the gems in your bag.”

“Where is he now?”

“Tied up with a note pinned to his shirt.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Really? What if he blabs?”

Derrick took a deep breath. “He knows my name, but hopefully there’s not another Derrick Cameron lingering in London at present. As for anything else?” He shrugged. “No one will believe him. They’ll probably lock him up in Bedlam.”

“Do they have it now?”

“I imagine Francis will find out. He might find out other things when it’s discovered that he was stealing from his father.”

She nodded, then rested her head against his shoulder. “It’s very pretty out here this time of the morning.”

“Are you trying to distract me?”

She sighed and tightened her arms around him. “You going to be okay?”

“Do you really want the answer?”

She lifted her head to look at him, then froze. “Company at twelve o’clock.”

He looked over toward the house, then pulled Samantha behind him. He supposed that was overkill, but it had been that sort of day so far already.

Sir Thomas stopped a handful of paces away, Lord Walter Cooke in tow. Thomas cleared his throat.

“Lady Mary asked me to send for him,” Thomas said.

“And I came quickly,” Lord Walter said, looking as if he didn’t dare hope for anything. “Do you have tidings?”

Derrick found a linen envelope pressed into his hand. He stepped forward, inclined his head, then held out the packet without comment.

Lord Walter felt it, apparently realized what he was holding, then looked quickly at Derrick in surprise. “How?”

Derrick fumbled behind him for Samantha’s hand, then pulled her forward to stand next to him. “I’m sorry to tell you this, my lord, but your son stole the gems.”

The man closed his eyes briefly. “He has threatened to many times. How do you know?”

“Through a set of strange and mysterious circumstances I dare not tell, though you can thank my wife for their safe return.”

Lord Walter considered. “Where is my son now?”

“I can’t say,” Derrick said, hoping that sounded more like he couldn’t say than he wouldn’t say.

The man closed his eyes briefly, then nodded. He stepped forward, took Samantha’s hand, and bent low over it. “I don’t know how to thank you,” he said quietly. “Your bravery—”

“Lord Derrick is too kind,” Samantha said. “It was his bravery that brought us all to this place at the right time. He is the one who deserves your thanks.”

Thanks were extended all around. That and a dozen gems that were extracted from the linen, carefully tied up in what even he could see was an exquisite handkerchief, and handed to Samantha.

“A small token.”

“Oh, I couldn’t—we couldn’t—I mean—”

“I believe it is because of you that a miracle was wrought. My family will be forever grateful.” He nodded briskly. “I will see that Richard Drummond’s name is cleared, now that I have the proof.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Samantha said gravely.

Derrick watched him and Sir Thomas return back to his house before he heaved a sigh of relief. “Tell Granny good-bye, Sam, and let’s get out of here.”

“Not so fast, my lad.”

Derrick looked at Samantha’s great-aunt, who was wearing a look of calculation he didn’t care for in the least. “I’ve had a change of heart,” he said firmly.

“What you have, my dear Derrick, is a sticky wicket. How much do you know about Richard?”

“More than I want to—”

“But perhaps not as much as you should. Let me enlighten you further. He’s a Scot, which you may or may not know. His uncle is the laird John, who is also Samantha’s great-uncle the appropriate number of times removed. Richard disagreed with his uncle about the course his life should take, then ran away to London to seek his fortune. He worked first to lose his accent, then to learn his trade. He is, I can safely say, one of the great actors of his generation.” She paused and looked at him seriously. “But you could fill his shoes, I think. It’s uncanny how much you resemble him. Good Scottish genes, I suppose.”

Derrick considered, then looked at Samantha. “We saw him in Newcastle, didn’t we?”

“As a ghost?” she asked in surprise. She thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “I think so.” She laced her fingers with his. “It makes you wonder why he was there, doesn’t it? For all we know it was to get us on the path that led us back here.”

He rubbed his hands over his face and suppressed a groan. “Hot pins.” He looked at her. “Red hot.”

She smiled. “We’ll be watching from the floor.”

He shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this.”

“I think you already agreed to it. Besides, you’ll have rave reviews. Think how green your brother will be.”

He laughed a little, because there was nothing else to do. He looked at Samantha’s great-aunt. “Well, Madame Torturer, can you get me backstage?”

“Already seen to.”

That’s what he was afraid of.

“Go on, Sam, and put him to bed for a couple of hours,” Mary said. “I’ll see the gossip spread properly about Sir Richard’s miraculous liberation from the Tower, then we’ll get Derrick to the theater.” She rubbed her hands together enthusiastically. “I love a good play.”

Derrick watched her go, then looked at Samantha. “And you? What do you love?”

She leaned up and kissed him quickly. “Tell you later. You look like you need a nap.”

“What I need is a stiff drink.”

She laughed and pulled him back toward the house. He went, because she was surprisingly strong and because he was exhausted. He nodded to Oliver and Peter on his way, then allowed Samantha to get him all the way to their bedroom and put him to bed. She took off his boots, then leaned over and kissed him softly. He frowned as she straightened.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it, sport. You need your beauty rest.”

But she did do him the favor of lying down on the other side of the bolster.

“Set your alarm and I’ll check it,” she said.

He sighed, then did as she bid, because he had the feeling there was no getting out of what he was scheduled to do in a few hours. He put his arm around her and the bolster both, then propped his head up on his hand where he could watch her.

“I think I like you,” she said with a sleepy smile. “Break a leg later this afternoon.”

“Will you come?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

He lay down, closed his eyes, and tried to sleep, though he had the feeling he wouldn’t come close to managing it.

The Globe.

Hamlet.

He could almost not bear to think about it.

S
amantha
stood on the floor of the Globe, at the back where she could lean against the wall and have drinks spilled down the back of her simple lower-class-gal dress, and contemplated the quirks of Fate.

For all the time she had spent in the theater, she had to admit that she had spent very little of that time in front of the stage. She had mostly stayed behind the curtains, fixing costumes, reassuring her father that he was the most amazing thing to hit the stage since Sir Laurence himself. That she should find herself standing in the cheap seats, in the original Globe, waiting for a production of
Hamlet
in which she knew the star . . . well, it was memorable. She might have to make a list.

First on that list would be waking up to find herself alone in bed with the bolster. She’d sat up quickly, fearing that she’d been left behind, only to find Derrick sitting in front of the fire. He’d been as motionless as a statue, staring out the window as if he contemplated dire things. She’d crawled out of bed—again being quite grateful they hadn’t had to come to Elizabethan England in the winter—and gone to kneel in front of him.

He’d studied her for so long that she wondered if he’d forgotten who she was. Then he’d simply smiled that charming, half-crooked smile she had come to love and leaned over and kissed her very softly.

She’d known he would survive.

She had called her maid to help her dress, then insisted that they leave Lord Derrick alone, no reasons given. She’d seen him fed, watered, then ferried off to the theater.

Second on her list would be cleaning up evidence of their stay with help from Granny Mary. She had given Lord Walter’s gift back to her great-aunt and asked that she find a particularly unique yet believable way to get them back to him. She had been given a rucksack of things Granny hadn’t let her sort through, things she was sure James MacLeod wouldn’t have approved of. But when it came to that feisty, amazing woman who was seventy-five years young, there was just no arguing with some things.

She’d rolled her dress up far enough to have it fit in Oliver’s pack and set off for the theater with Derrick’s lads in just ordinary middle-class women’s wear. Sir Thomas had been faintly horrified, but seemingly been willing to accept Mary’s excuse that Samantha just wanted to mingle with the common people whilst in London.

The lines to get into the Globe had been appallingly long, but she’d waited, then taken up her current spot at the back of the crowd. She supposed she would have been able to see more if they’d bought seats a level up instead of standing on the floor, but Oliver had insisted it was better where they were.

In case they needed to make a hasty getaway, of course.

If she were going to be honest with herself, that wasn’t what worried her. It was one thing for Derrick to have the guts to get up on stage. It was still that one thing for him to have the sheer audacity to get up on a stage that found itself in Elizabethan England.

But it was another thing entirely to hope he remembered lines from a play he’d auditioned for over a decade ago.

“Not to worry.”

She looked at Oliver who stood on her left. “Worry?” she said, her mouth horribly dry. “Why would I worry?”

Oliver smiled faintly. “He has a photographic memory. Leaves the rest of us at a disadvantage.”

Peter snorted. “And you can pick any lock ever created. Nothing is safe.”

Samantha looked at him and smiled. “And you could probably bring down the world’s banking system with a few clicks.”

“Well,” Peter said modestly, “probably.”

She took a deep breath, then took another handful of them. All right, if Derrick knew his lines, that was at least one thing she didn’t have to worry about. And she had read his college reviews. If he was only half as good presently as he had been in the past, well . . .

The guards suddenly took their place on stage and she realized the time for fretting was over.

The play was the thing.

She forced herself to remember not to lock her knees and made a conscious effort not to wring her hands. She thought perhaps she didn’t breathe at all during the scene with the guards and ghost, and she was certain she hadn’t swallowed as the bulk of the court took their place and Claudius started pontificating. She closed her eyes, because she just couldn’t watch.

“A little more than kin, and less than kind.”

She opened her eyes and found Derrick there, on stage, at the original Globe.

And she realized in that moment that that was where he belonged.

Well, not in 1602, but on stage. It was hard to deny his beauty, but that was just the start of it. As the play wound on, as far as she was concerned, he
was
Hamlet. If there had ever been anyone born to keep his head while everyone around him was losing their minds and trying to make him look like the crazy one, it was Derrick Cameron.

She wasn’t even sure she had noticed whether or not they’d taken an intermission. She was fairly sure she hadn’t taken a decent breath until the final scene when Hamlet was fighting with Laertes. The swordplay was terribly real and she couldn’t help but notice the maniacal grin on Laertes’s face as he and Derrick sparred.

And then Hamlet fell.

And the rest was silence.

Well, it was for the space of approximately five seconds before the crowd erupted in thunderous cheers and clapping. She looked first at Oliver, who was making a tremendous noise, then at Peter, who was watching her.

“He’s good,” was his only comment.

She supposed that was the understatement of the year.

And then Oliver swore. “Bedamned guards. Pete, get her to the gate. I’ll fetch Derrick.”

Samantha wasn’t sure that was such a great idea, but Peter was apparently utterly uninterested in her input. She wasn’t sure how he managed it, but he got them both out of that crazy crowd. He ran with her, keeping hold of her hand until he found a place for them to stand near the ring of mushrooms. She heard all kinds of commotion coming from inside the Globe, which alarmed her greatly. She looked at Peter.

“Is he okay?”

He held up a finger. “Out yet?” He frowned, then looked at her. “They’re working on it. Oliver says to go ahead.”

“No.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “As you will.” He paused. “I think he’s having a hard time getting past his adoring fans.”

She didn’t doubt it. She waited with Peter for what felt somewhat like an eternity, then finally saw Derrick and Oliver trotting toward them with a purpose. She hardly had time to say anything before Derrick had grabbed her by the hand and hauled her with him toward the gate. They clasped hands, the four of them, then stepped inside the circle.

A woman screamed.

Samantha looked over her shoulder and saw the Eye, then the Globe behind them. The cluster of people they’d simply appeared in the midst of were backing away, as suspicious as medieval Londoners.

“Magic show!” Derrick called loudly.

“Paging Rufus,” Peter said.

“Walk quickly,” Oliver suggested.

Samantha supposed there was wisdom in that, though at least a couple of teenagers were calling for more tricks. She clasped hands with Derrick and they hurried for the street. She was enormously grateful when that sleek black Mercedes appeared by magic at just the right spot at the curb. She didn’t even hesitate; she simply flung herself into the backseat, not complaining when Derrick piled in on top of her and she almost gave herself a black eye against the door.

“Sorry,” he gasped. “Oliver,
move
. And shut the door.”

The car pulled away before Oliver managed that, but apparently the three crazies she was with weren’t unaccustomed to taking off with the doors open. Samantha managed to get herself upright, then switch seats with Derrick so his head wasn’t crushed against the roof. He buckled her in, buckled himself in, then sat back with a sigh.

“Clear?” he asked.

“Fully,” Peter said. “Thanks, Rufus.”

“My pleasure, and no, I wasn’t in the loo, you little—”

Oliver laughed and peeled off his headset. “Now,
that
was a proper adventure.” He looked around her at Derrick. “Where do we go next?”

“Go ask James MacLeod,” Derrick wheezed.

“Where to, Master Derrick?” Rufus asked.

Samantha found Derrick looking at her. She held up her hands. “I don’t care.”

“I do,” Peter said pointedly. “I want a decent shower.”

“What the hell,” Derrick managed. “The Ritz, Rufus, if you please.”

Samantha found her hand taken. She looked at him and realized he was watching her closely. She simply returned his look, thinking that perhaps he might enjoy what he was fishing for if he had to wait a bit longer for it.

“Well?” he asked, finally.

“Brilliant.”

“Tolerable.”

“How’re those hot pins looking?”

He laughed a little. “Don’t ask me right now. I might give an answer I’d regret later.”

She squeezed his hand, hard. “I’ll give you a full review when we’ve eaten something I recognize.”

“I’ll do better than that,” Oliver said. “I recorded the entire thing.”

Derrick laughed a little. “You didn’t.”

“Had to stay awake somehow, mate.”

Samantha laughed at Derrick’s curse, then leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. She had started a list earlier that morning, but realized she hadn’t finished it. She wasn’t quite sure what it would contain, but she knew what the last entry would be.

All’s well that ends well
.

Or maybe all good things ended at the Ritz. She didn’t know, but she was happy to have the chance to decide.

•   •   •

S
he
stood in the bathroom the next morning, looking at herself in the mirror. Did it show, that place she’d been? She didn’t feel any different physically, but she was definitely different mentally. She had stood in the midst of history and watched it roll on around her.

She was changed.

She considered braiding her hair, then put the brush down and walked out of the bathroom. No braid, no polyester, no quarter.

Derrick was sitting on the couch simply staring off into space. He looked at her immediately, then blinked in surprise.

“No braid?”

“Elizabethan England.”

He stood up, then walked over to pull her into his arms. He looked down at her seriously. “My turn today.”

“Is it?”

He bent his head and kissed her, so apparently it was.

“You know,” she managed a few minutes later, “you’ve got to stop that. It’s distracting you from stuff I’m sure you should be doing, like deciding what to have for breakfast.”

He smiled, kissed her once more, then put his arm around her and led her over to the couch. “Order whatever you like. I’ll trust you.”

“Well, it can’t be any worse than what we ate on our little trip to the past.”

“Please,” he said with a shiver. “Let’s not think about it.”

“And I think that was the good stuff.” She looked over the menu, ordered something hearty for him and less hearty for herself, then set the phone aside and looked at him. “Well?”

He took a deep breath, then reached over and handed her a manila envelope.

“What’s this?”

“Something Cameron sent over this morning. Faxes from Jamie.”

“Did we change history—” She stopped, then smiled. “No, I don’t imagine we did. Are these reviews?”

“I can’t bring myself to look.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you were astonishing.”

He blew out his breath. “I shouldn’t care.”

She reached for his hand. “You know, it’s a little frightening to think about failing at something you love. But you didn’t fail. You were riveting.”

“You just like me.”

“Yes, and I told you how absolutely amazing you were at least a dozen times last night.”

“I thought that was just to impress the lads.”

She smiled, because she didn’t believe that for a minute. “Where are they, by the way?”

“Off doing what they do. Wreaking havoc, making hay, causing a ruckus. Fetching reviews from Cameron and delivering them to me here with a smirk.”

She smiled and reached for the envelope. She pulled faxed copies of photocopies of what looked to be originals of some kind of seventeenth-century
Variety
magazine. She found what she was looking for, then handed it to him.

“You left women swooning and men wishing they could wield a sword like you.”

He smiled briefly, read, then slid the pages back into the envelope.

“Nice.”

She laughed a little. “That’s all you can say?”

“It’s what I did, not who I am.”

She smiled. “I said that first.”

“Well, aye, lass, I think you did.” He leaned toward her, then stopped. “If I start that up again, we’ll never get out of here.”

“Are we going somewhere?” she asked.

“I thought we might take a little trip north to Stratford. You should see Anne Hathaway’s house whilst we’re there. Not to be missed.”

“Is there an ulterior motive to this trip?”

“Come along and find out.” He nodded toward her room. “What’d Granny give you?”

“I didn’t want to look yet, because I was afraid of what Jamie would think. But I’ll go get it.”

She retrieved the pack from the dresser and carried it back in to find that Derrick had her bag sitting on the table. He looked up.

“Cameron brought this as well from its hiding place in his safe. I’m curious as to what it contains.”

“Which first?”

“Gems.”

She watched him pull the clear zippered bag out of her purse and lay it on the table. He opened the bag, spilled the gems out, then blinked in surprise. “There are forty-eight.”

She took a deep breath. “I know.”

He considered, then looked at her quite seriously. “I’m not sure, Miss Drummond, that I have told you adequately just how I feel about you.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “Do I want to hear it?”

He took her face in his hands, then kissed her, a whisper of a kiss she barely felt. He pulled back and looked at her. “If I tell you now, I’ll unman myself by a display of unseemly emotion.”