The Betrayal (11 page)

‘How long would a woman take to recover from such a misfortune?’ I asked Mistress Midge.

She shrugged. ‘It all depends on how well she was to start with. And the mistress has never been strong, we know that.’

‘So perhaps two weeks …’

‘Maybe as long as three,’ she said, ‘although of course there’s nothing to stop Dr Dee and Mr Kelly coming to London on their own.’

‘Of course not,’ I said, and began praying fervently that they would not.

‘In the meantime,’ said Mistress Midge, ‘what are we to do about the list sent to Dr Dee of all the stuffs we want? What are we supposed to do about getting tradesmen in to fit the house ready for the family?’

I shrugged, shaking my head to say I had no idea. In truth, I was already more worried about being on stage at the Curtain and wondering what I had let myself in for …

As if in answer to Mistress Midge’s worries, however, someone pounded on our front door the next afternoon. When I went to open it there stood a messenger – a lanky chap in a tweed doublet – holding a letter.

‘I bring an important missive,’ he said, and handed over a folded parchment bearing Dr Dee’s seal. ‘I was instructed by Dr Dee to tell you to go to the scrivener at the sign of the gold quill, who will read it for you.’

‘But I …’ I began, and then merely curtseyed, hiding a smile as I did so. In spite of writing to Dr Dee in my own hand – and my unformed and scratchy writing could in no way be compared to the scribing of a scrivener – it was obviously beyond Dr Dee’s comprehension that a humble maid could read or write. ‘I shall do so, Sir, I thank you,’ I said.

I did not go anywhere, of course, but took the letter
straight to Mistress Midge, who, as the senior member of our little household, removed the seal, unfolded it and handed it to me.

The letter, in Dr Dee’s flowing hand, told us to apply to certain offices in the Strand, where he had appointed an agent, Mr Compton, who would verify any purchases of furniture and also appoint and pay the workmen needed to finish the house. There was no mention of when the family might arrive nor of the condition of Mistress Dee, but of course he wouldn’t think to appraise mere servants of these matters.

The following morning Mistress Midge put on her best feathered hat and prepared to take herself off to speak with Mr Compton, and I decided to take Sonny along to the Curtain with me. I thought he would add to my credence as a boy – we could be lads together; brothers.

At first he was horrified at this, and when I told him that I’d been asked to act upon the stage, grew somewhat confused.

‘Let’s get this right, Missus,’ he said. ‘You’re going to be a girl acting a lad acting a girl.’

‘That’s right.’

‘But ’tis against nature. ’Sides, you don’t look like a boy.’

‘I don’t look like one to you,’ I said, ‘because you know I’m a girl.’ As I spoke I was buttoning up my boyish jacket and pulling on long socks. ‘But to anyone seeing me for the first time … well, if you see someone
dressed as a lad, you naturally think he’s a lad.’ I turned and tried to catch my reflection in the kitchen window. Not wanting to have my hair scraped back in such an ugly fashion under a coif all the time, the previous night I’d asked Mistress Midge to cut it with her kitchen scissors. It now came down to my ears, which was short for a girl but rather long for a boy.

‘What do you think to my hair? Do I look like one of the palace pageboys?’ I asked Sonny, but he just sniggered by way of reply.

Dressed and capped to my satisfaction, the thought of the small adventure I was about to embark on put me in such high spirits that I couldn’t resist acting the lad all the way to the Curtain. Much to Sonny’s dismay I knocked off his cap, chased after a dog and even spent some time looking in the window of a barber-surgeon’s shop, pondering aloud whether or not I should go in and be shaved.

He, growing more and more embarrassed, at last turned to me indignantly. ‘By your leave, Missus …’

‘I’m not a missus at present,’ I whispered.

‘Well then, by your leave,
Sire
, from now on I shall walk several steps in front of you, for at the moment I feels like I’m taking part in a play-acting meself.’

The Curtain was a surprising building, for it had been built especially as a theatre (the first proper one in London, I heard someone say), and was shaped inside as an ‘O’ with wooden seats all around and the stage jutting out into the audience. It could hold many more
people than could stand on the balcony of an inn and would, I was sure, be more agreeable to work in from the actors’ point of view.

I found Mr James backstage in the tiring room. This was full to heaving with actors, their wealthy patrons and other hangers-on, some masked, some not, and all dressed exceeding well. Seeing so many notable people about caused me to rather lose my boyish bluster and slip back to being a girl again, but Mr James (who was wearing black velvet edged with gold, and had the largest ruff and the fluffiest beard in the place) was preoccupied and didn’t seem to notice.

‘I’ve brought my little brother,’ I said, my hand on Sonny’s shoulder. ‘I thought he might be able to help by standing outside and offering playbills to people.’

‘Indeed, indeed!’ Mr James said expansively. ‘Do go to the front of the building, dear boy, and give assistance where you can.’

Sonny shot an alarmed look at me.

‘Off you go,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you at the front after the performance.’ I gave a short bow to Mr James and tried to recapture my devil-may-care attitude. ‘I am at your disposal, Sire, for whatever part you wish me to play.’

Mr James took a step backwards and looked me up and down. ‘I’ve been thinking about your role today, and believe you may be more suited to act a
lady
.’

I smiled, pleased at this.

‘I have you in mind to play Mistress Mistletoe, for so few of our actors are refined enough for such a part.
You’ll not actually have any words to say, but we need someone who can move across the stage looking beautiful and engage the audience’s emotions. Do you think you could do that? Do you think you could play the female, bewitching and flirtatious, yet rather shy?’

‘I’ll certainly try, Sir,’ I answered.

‘Excellent! Our wardrobe mistress will supply you with gown and visage, and then you must ask for a copy of the play from the stage manager and ask him to mark your entrances and exits.’

I nodded and he clapped his hands. ‘Run along, then, dear boy.’

The wardrobe mistress, Mistress Hunt, was the only other female in the place and worked from a large curtained-off area in the tiring room surrounded by rails of clothing and baskets of materials.

She looked me up and down and nodded her approval. ‘You’ll do very well as Mistress Mistletoe. The boy who played her last time was too stout to fit properly into a gown. The one before
that
was so tall that I had to add a flounce to the bottom of his kirtle or you would have seen his hairy ankles.’

I smiled at this and she added, ‘You’re much better proportioned, young sir, and will make a mighty fine lady.’

Before I could stop myself, I curtseyed to acknowledge this compliment and Mistress Hunt went off into peals of admiring laughter, saying she saw that I was in character already.

It was fortunate that she handed me my petticoats and boned farthingale first, so that I could step into these and remove my breeches under cover, so to speak. I knew it might be slightly more difficult to hide the shape of my upper body, but that morning I’d had the wit to put on a tight, laced bodice which flattened me considerably. I told Mistress Hunt that I intended to leave this in place, saying I had a weak chest and suffered badly with coughs and colds.

Mistress Mistletoe, the wardrobe mistress informed me, was a rich and unhappy young heiress who’d been married for her money and crossed in love. I was to wear a fine gown and accessories, all of which had been donated by a wealthy lady whose husband was a patron of the theatre.

‘It’s a fine and beautiful outfit and not a year out of fashion!’ said Mistress Hunt.

‘But why …’ I began in high-pitched surprise, then lowered my voice to sound more manly. ‘But why would she give such a gown to the theatre?’

‘Bless you for being a lad!’ said the wardrobe mistress. ‘Don’t you know the aristocracy will not wear anything that’s even slightly out of date? As soon as news of the latest fashion arrives from Paris, they have to have their wardrobes updated.’

‘But why don’t they
sell
their clothes?’ I asked in amazement, for I knew that the market in garments was such that they might be sold on for years and years, their fabrics becoming weaker and more delicate until
even the poorest beggar couldn’t wear them and they were sold for cleaning rags.

‘The greatest of our ladies have no need of money,’ Mistress Hunt scoffed.

‘Then surely the kind thing to do would be to pass their unwanted gowns on to their ladies-in-waiting?’

She shook her head. ‘Servants – even a great lady’s servants – are not allowed to wear luxurious fabrics or deep colours. Did you not know that only a countess may wear cloth of gold or purple silk, and only a baron’s wife can wear silver lace, and a knight’s wife embroidered taffeta? Oh, there is no end to the rules and regulations about these things.’

I shook my head in surprise. ‘But whose orders are these?’

‘The queen’s. So the great ladies who patronise the theatre pass on the gowns they deem unfashionable to their favourite group of players. And that is our great fortune!’

When she unwrapped the bodice, kirtle and sleeves I was to wear I was quite overwhelmed and speechless, for they were the most beautiful garments I’d ever seen (apart, perhaps, from those heavily jewelled and embroidered gowns worn by Her Grace). The material was billowing silver tissue and the centre of the kirtle was ruched back to show a frontispiece of heavily embroidered lace which matched that on the bodice and hem.

‘What do you think?’ said Mistress Hunt.

I gasped out a few words, and then tried to curb my fervour a little, knowing that a lad would not be so overcome by a mere gown.

‘And there are jewels and pearls that will further enhance you.’

‘And are those … ?’

She laughed. ‘No, alas. The great ladies do not patronise us to that extent, to give us their gemstones.’ She looked at my hair and shook her head slightly. ‘But your hair will not do, so we must find you a wig and some hair ornaments and a pretty fan.’ She smiled at me. ‘It’s mighty pleasurable to be able to dress a boy who has so many girlish attributes. Let’s hope that you don’t grow too stocky and man-like as you get older.’

‘Yes, let’s hope that,’ I said, with more meaning behind my words than she could ever know.

By the time Mistress Hunt had finished, my dear old ma would not have known me. Indeed, when I looked in the polished steel mirror that hung on the wall of the tiring room, I hardly knew myself, for apart from the beauty of the gown, my wig, fair as summer corn, was now finished with ribbands and combs, my feet were daintily shod in silver slippers and my neck was adorned with ropes of pearls. I looked every inch the rich young heiress I was supposed to be.

I only had to come on to the stage twice, and both times but briefly, so it hardly seemed worth the tremendous effort it took to prepare me. However, it seemed my new persona was popular amongst the
audience, for as soon as I stepped nervously on stage (where I had to pretend to discover my betrothed deep in conversation with another lady), they began clapping and stamping on the ground, and someone even threw flowers. I was not vain enough to take this admiration personally, however, for I knew that they were merely applauding the seemingly remarkable transformation of the boy that they thought I was, into a girl. How I’d have loved my ma to have seen me dressed thus, though, and my sisters, and most of all, perhaps, Isabelle, whom I knew would relish hearing every last detail of my gown.

After the performance I was asked to go into the tiring room to mingle with the vast multitude of admirers who’d come to pay their respects to the players, and at this time I was immediately approached by two other actors who’d played women. They seized me and were determined to make a great fuss of me, linking arms and pledging that they were going to be my close and special best friends.