The Fool's Girl (17 page)

‘There are other factors involved.’ Violetta said, grateful to Guido for siding with her. ‘I have an obligation to Master Shakespeare. He has offered to help me, and I cannot turn my back on him now. Someone powerful has taken an interest in this. I would not see Master Shakespeare suffer or come to harm because of me. I’ve seen what the powerful do when their plans are thwarted. They will crush him like a shell.’

‘What does that matter?’ Stephano looked at her, exasperated.

‘It matters to me.’ Violetta glared back.

Stephano threw his hands up and walked off.

‘Go after him, Guido,’ Violetta said. ‘You understand. I have to go through with this. Make him see sense.’

Guido nodded and followed him. Immediately Feste hopped up on the settle, taking his place.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked. ‘Lovers’ tiff?’

Violetta was sniffing back tears. ‘Don’t you start!’

‘Look at him. Flashing his money about, buying barrels of sack for the company, trying to be every man’s friend . . .’

Violetta didn’t rise to that, or any of his other comments. She ignored him, sunk in her own misery. Feste hopped off the settle. Time to liven things up.

‘Very good of you, young sir,’ he said, lurching over to Stephano. ‘And what coinage might that be? Venetian ducats, by any chance?’ He held out his hand. ‘If it’s their money you’ve got, how about sharing it around?’

‘Of course!’ Stephano shook out coins from his purse.

‘Thank you. Very kind.’ Feste pocketed the money. ‘Now let’s have a dance,’ he shouted over the growing hubbub. ‘Clear the tables. Let’s have a jig. Sir Toby was a great one for a jig. And a round, masters, he loved a round.’

He jumped up on to a table and began to sing, conducting those around him. Bit by bit, the rest joined in, playing anything that came to hand, rattling spoons and bones together, beating out time on pans. Once the round was established, he jumped down and caught hold of Maria, dancing her about the floor.

‘Like old times, eh, mistress? Merry times they were. Do you remember? When we were all together. When we were young.’

Maria begged him to stop, pleading she was quite out of breath. She wiped away tears, whether of mirth or sorrow it was hard to tell.

‘I’m sorry, love. Let us not quarrel.’

Violetta looked from where Feste and Maria were dancing. Stephano had come back to her.

‘I wanted us to be together,’ he said as he sat down next to her and took her hand. ‘Forgive my eagerness. I had not thought of what it would mean. I do not want us to be the clients of Venice. I’ll do whatever –’

‘I’ve been looking for you.’ Feste came staggering towards them, waving his empty tankard at Stephano. ‘Sack’s gone. You have plenty of money, young master. Your purse fairly bulges with Venetian gold. Another barrel for me and my good friends here.’ He waved his arm in a vague way, indicating the company, and nearly overbalanced.

Stephano put out a hand to steady him.

‘Perhaps you have had enough, my friend,’ he said.

‘Who says?’ Feste stood swaying. ‘Who are
you
to say?’ He squinted up at Stephano. ‘Who says you are my friend?’ He shrugged him away. ‘Whose friend are you, anyway?’

‘I meant no offence.’ Stephano put up his hands to placate the clown, unsure if what he said was serious or in jest. ‘I just meant . . .’

He did not want any further quarrels. He went off to buy more wine.

‘What did you mean?’ Feste shouted after him. ‘What did you mean, exactly?’

‘That is enough!’ Violetta grabbed Feste by the arm. ‘What do
you
mean?’ she whispered furiously as she dragged him down next to her on the settle. ‘Being rude and discourteous to Lord Stephano. Begging off him. I saw you. We do not do that to friends.’

‘He’s no lord here, and he’s no lord to me. No friend, neither.’

‘He is my friend.’ Violetta glared at the clown. ‘What is the matter with you?’

‘How do you know?’ Feste suddenly sounded remarkably sober.

‘How do I know what?’

‘How do you know this isn’t a trick to make us trust him? Mighty convenient, his turning up at the playhouse yesterday.’

‘There is no art in it. He was just there,’ Violetta said. ‘The same could be said of me. Or you.’

‘You’ve changed your tune. Hardly a minute ago you were sitting here weeping.’

‘I was not weeping!’

‘Not far off it.’

‘We had an argument, that’s all.’

‘Care to tell me about it?’

‘I might. When you’re sober.’ Violetta turned on him. ‘What’s wrong with you, Feste?’

‘I just don’t trust him.’

‘You don’t trust anybody!’

‘Not true, although I trust very few. I trust you. Even though you are young and the young are apt to be betrayed by their hearts, and other parts.’ Stephano was now talking to Will Shakespeare, but all the while glancing towards Violetta. He could not keep his eyes off her. ‘I do not want to quarrel with you, over this or anything else. What’s left, if we fall out? If he be true, then he will show his metal. If he be false –’ Feste shrugged – ‘there’s no helping us. And who’s that man over there?’ His eyes narrowed to slits. ‘The one dressed in black who holds himself like a sword for hire. He’s been watching you all the time.’

‘His name’s George Price. He’s been sent by Secretary Cecil to look after me.’

‘Tell him to go away. ’S not necessary. ’S my job.’ Feste set off muttering, ‘Tell him myself.’

Halfway across the room his knees gave way. He began walking as if he was sinking into the floor. George Price caught him by the arms and hauled him to a corner where he could sleep it off.

Will had remarkably good hearing and the equally useful ability to talk and listen at the same time. He went over to Violetta.

‘It seems your clown has doubts about Stephano,’ he said to Violetta.

‘Feste can be wise when he’s sober,’ she said, ‘but he is a fool when he’s drunk. He’s just jealous.’

‘I wonder if we might talk.’ Will beckoned for Stephano to join them.

He told them of his meeting with Cecil and what he proposed to do. Violetta looked at Stephano. They could not betray Master Shakespeare now. After Will had finished telling them what was in his mind, she took Stephano’s hand and they slipped away together. The quarrel had been patched, but they had more to say to each other now. Violetta would be leaving London, the day after tomorrow at the latest. Stephano would be leaving tomorrow. They would each be facing their own separate dangers and might not see each other for a good while. If Will’s plan succeeded, they would be returned to their country, Lord and Lady of Illyria. If it failed . . .

It was best not to think on that. Will’s scheme was still growing, forming and changing in his mind. He was not about to tell the whole of it to anyone, any more than he would share the workings of a play, because he never quite knew what was going to happen. Even then, when the work was finished, each actor conned his own lines, so the entire thing existed only inside Will’s head until it was revealed in performance. Only he knew how each part was put with another, how they all fitted to make the whole. So it would be with this enterprise. He had his cast assembled, in his head, at least. Will felt a chill of excitement running through him. The risks were great. It was impossible to know if he could bring it about. Even if he had everything in place, the cast was likely to be unpredictable. Lives and liberty depended on this, and life is not a play.

‘Penny for them.’

He turned to find Simon Forman by his side.

‘Not worth a groat.’ Will smiled, accepting the cup of wine Forman offered him.

‘I’ve done your chart.’ Forman held out a rolled-up scroll.

‘Oh.’ Will took the scroll tied with black ribbon, but he did not open it. ‘Thank you.’

‘It makes interesting reading.’

‘I’ll look at it later,’ Will tucked it into his jerkin. ‘My thanks again.’ He drank off his wine. ‘I must go.’

Forman would have liked to discuss the chart with him, but Will was already moving away. The doctor watched him making an easy progress, saying farewell to one and then another, thanking Mistress Maria. He was a thoroughly pleasant fellow, nothing unusual about him, nothing to make him stand out from the ordinary. But the chart said otherwise. Forman had checked and checked again, not quite believing what he was seeing. He had done charts for the lowest to the highest, from innkeepers’ wives to peers of the realm and Her Majesty’s ministers, but he’d never seen one like it before. He wondered what Will would make of it.

Someone called his name. He turned to see one of his patients approaching, so he did not see Will toss the scroll into the fire.

.

17

‘Thought is free’

By the morning, the news was out that the theatres were to be closed. The Globe was in a roar.

‘They talk of plague, restless apprentices,’ Burbage fumed, ‘but I’ve not heard of either. There’s always plague somewhere, and the young are ever restless. If they want disturbance, they’ll get it when this becomes common knowledge. If you ask me, it’s neither reason.’ He paced up and down in front of the stage. ‘It’s those Puritans among the City Fathers putting pressure on the Privy Council. They would close us down for ever if they had their way.’ He turned to Will. ‘It will happen one day, mark me. Not in our lifetimes, maybe, but it will happen. They would kill all joy and amusement; have us on our knees night and day.’

Will voiced his outrage as loudly as the others. Closing the theatres meant lost revenue, which hurt him too, although sometimes he welcomed a hiatus. The appetite for plays was never satisfied and often left him exhausted, his wellspring of ideas reduced to a trickle. This time he had other reasons, but he was careful to keep them well hidden.

He waited until Burbage had run through his stock of dramatic postures, from head-clutching despair, to hair-pulling frustration, then fist-clenching rage, snarling and roaring to match the bears in the garden. Only when he had finished did Will suggest that he might take a group on tour. The very idea brought on another bout of snarling. Burbage hated touring, declaring he had done enough of that in his youth, traipsing behind a cart, covered in mud or choking on dust. He wasn’t about to start again now. He did not like leaving London, or the comforts of home. Unlike most actors, he was notoriously uxorious, enjoying the company of his wife in a house that swarmed with children.

‘I did not say
you
,’ Will pointed out, ‘but
I
. Perhaps north. Up to Stratford. I have been thinking of paying a visit. Kill two birds with the one stone.’

‘Hmm.’ Burbage left off his railing. ‘Not a bad idea. At least we’d have some money coming in.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘Not a bad idea at all. You can’t take my best men,’ he warned, ‘in case we open again.’

‘I wasn’t thinking of doing so.’ Will smiled. ‘Just a small company, mostly ’prentices and men who live in the shadow of others. We can double parts, triple if need be. We will need a few props and costumes, but it might be worth it. We could do well.’

‘That you could, that you could. Might as well put the trappings to work as let them lie idle. Men too. High Wycombe, Oxford, Banbury . . .’ He began counting off towns on his fingers. ‘Not less than twenty shillings in a small place, forty in a larger. I’ll dust off the cart, pack it with the things you need. Axles need greasing. Hasn’t been used for a long time. You collect your company together. And be sure to keep strict charge,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘Don’t let them get into fights!’

Will left Tod to get the word around to those he wanted to take with him. He had a meeting to attend.

The new house that Cecil was having built on the Strand was a vast mansion facing on to the river. It was not quite finished. Cutters worked on blocks of pale stone, and the facade was still covered in a framework of wooden poles.

‘I hear that you are now a man of property, Shakespeare,’ Cecil said, rolling up the plans that he had been studying.

‘Why, yes.’ Will tried not to sound surprised at how much Cecil knew about him. ‘I have bought a new house in Stratford, although it is little more than a hovel compared with this and has needed much work doing to it.’

‘Houses are a grievous expense. They eat money.’ Cecil looked up, his eyes hooded. He had a way of making the most innocent utterance sound like a threat. ‘You must be anxious to see how it goes.’

‘It should be done by now.’

‘In my experience, the work is never done. One job begets another. There always seems to be some other thing to do.’ Cecil glanced about as all around men scurried, wheeling barrows, carrying hods, shinning up and down ladders. His presence acted like a stick in an ant heap, stirring the workmen into frantic activity. ‘I find I must visit often or nothing is accomplished.’

‘My wife, Anne, oversees the work.’

‘The good Mistress Anne, quite so. She must miss you when you are in London.’

Will assented.

‘Another sound reason to return to Stratford. We must keep our intention well hid, as I’ve said to you before. I’ve closed the theatres, so you are free to tour.’

Will nodded again. ‘I’ve just come from the Globe. They are preparing the cart.’

‘When do you intend to depart?’

‘We go tomorrow. We’ll join up with the carrier Will Greenaway. He leaves from the Bell Inn on Carter Lane.’ It was best to travel in company as a safeguard against thieves and rogues on the road.

‘Very wise. You’ve met my man George Price?’ Cecil did not wait for an answer. ‘He and some of his men will be joining you, to keep an eye on things. Now, it is my understanding that the party of interest, this Sir Andrew, the Jesuit Malvolio and the Venetian Ambassador, will also be travelling shortly.’

‘They are set to take a circuitous route north, visiting various houses.’ Will told him what he had gleaned from Stephano.

‘Dispensing Mass and sedition.’ Cecil frowned. ‘Visiting houses sympathetic to their cause.’

‘Indeed.’ Will agreed. ‘No doubt.’

‘How did you find this out? By means of the shewstone?’

So he did know. The news jarred him, but Will fought hard not to show it.

‘Oh, yes.’ Cecil nodded rapidly, as if he’d guessed Will’s surprise. ‘I know about that.’

‘How?’

‘You do not deny such a thing exists?’

Will shook his head. What was the point of it? His face darkened. It must be Forman. He was a fool to ever have trusted him.

‘Not your friend Forman,’ Cecil said, guessing that thought too. Will wondered why he wanted the stone. ‘I have it from another source. The Ambassador may or may not know of its existence, but someone at his court certainly does. Some woman who serves his daughter went to see a City soothsayer. During the consultation, she boasted of a stone of rare power that would soon be in her hands.’

‘No.’ Will thought to take the conversation back to Cecil’s earlier question. ‘That is not how I know about their plans. I have a spy in their camp.’

‘Do you now?’ Cecil’s face showed something like admiration. ‘Very enterprising. More than I’ve managed to establish. His Excellency is a source of information, when it suits him, but he is hardly likely to supply day-to-day intelligence.’ He gave Will a thin smile. ‘Well done!’

‘He tells me that they should arrive at Sir Andrew’s estate something short of midsummer. They will wait there for others to join them from other parts of England. Once they are in residence, my spy is set to do me another service.’

‘Who is your spy?’ Cecil asked. ‘The boy Stephano?’

Will nodded. ‘I think he will prove useful and I believe that he can be trusted.’

‘I don’t doubt it. We have the girl. Now, what of this stone?’ Cecil asked, suddenly eager. ‘Have you seen it yourself?’

‘I have,’ Will answered warily.

He reminded himself to go carefully. To Cecil, people were pieces on a gaming board, to be moved here, moved there, knocked over, discarded. He had reminded Stephano to be just as careful. His Excellency the Venetian Ambassador was likely to play the same way.

‘I would dearly love to see it.’ Cecil’s eyes grew dark and took on a sudden gleam, like lead new cut.

‘Things like that are seldom to be trusted,’ Will said. ‘It could be nothing more than a conjuring trick.’

Secretary Cecil did not like to be contradicted. His look sharpened to steel.

Will was aware of the danger, but he would protect Violetta. He would not deliver her and the stone into Cecil’s hands. Who knew what he would or would not do to get the secret from her? To be able to see from a distance, without the need for any physical presence – it was a sorcery sought by all in Cecil’s world.

‘What I mean is . . .’

Will paused while he drew the right words together. He had to find ways of placating this man of power, while diminishing any offence offered to him and drawing his attention away from Violetta.

‘What do you mean, Master Shakespeare?’ The Secretary’s tone was ominous, his brows knitted further together. His grey eyes were dull now, as heavy with threat as the sky before a storm breaks. Then the clouds dispersed. ‘But there will be time for that afterwards. Let us deal with this other matter first. When
that
is successfully concluded, you can bring her and this shewstone to me. If she has it, I want to see it. It is your duty as Her Majesty’s loyal subject. I want to see this girl before His Excellency takes her into his protection.’

Shakespeare nodded, though he had no intention of ever keeping his promise. To do so could condemn Violetta to the Tower, kept captive for ever, never to return to her native Illyria, like some princess in a fireside tale.

‘I am Her Majesty’s loyal subject,’ Will said firmly. ‘I will do all I can to prevent this plot from succeeding. I do not want to see her kingdom torn apart and bonfires set up in every marketplace.’

‘I know, I know. You are right to admonish me. The stone is a distraction from our main purpose. Succeed in this, and I will see to it that Her Majesty learns of your loyalty. She is a great admirer of your work. She greatly enjoyed the play at New Year. I’m sure she will want your company to appear before her when that time comes round again.’

‘We are honoured by her interest.’ Will bowed low. ‘I will make sure that I have a new entertainment to offer.’

‘We will always be in need of entertainment.’

Neither would dare to utter it, but they both knew that, given her age and frailty, the Queen might not be there next year. Will’s company could be playing to a different court. Cecil looked about; his nimble, restless mind was already moving on to other things. ‘This affair must be kept most secret. Tell me, Master Shakespeare, do you like gardens?’

‘I do, sir,’ Will replied, wondering at this new turn in their conversation. ‘So does my wife. We plan to plant one at my new house.’

‘So do I.’ Cecil gave a rare smile of real pleasure. ‘We will be planting here.’ He waved towards an unpromising area of trodden grey mud and churned yellow clay that ran down to the Thames. ‘John Gerard will supervise the work. You know him?’

‘I know his
History of Plants
.’

‘Quite so. An excellent work. He has devised wonderful gardens at Theobalds, my country place, and Burghley House. I wish him to do the same here. He has collected many rare and interesting specimens. From time to time I will have seeds and slips sent to you from our nurseries with advice as to how they should be treated.’

‘That is most kind, sir.’ Will bowed.

‘Not at all. We can learn from plants: which is wholesome, which is poison and which pernicious weed. Which should be kept and nurtured, which plucked out. I will let you know how things are growing here. You, in turn, can tell me how things are in your garden.’