The Opening Night Murder (14 page)

Now Suzanne saw his plan. He would take her to the king and let Charles tell her no, so he wouldn’t have to say it himself. As he guided her from his rooms she blinked back disappointment. But as anger rose to take its place she swallowed that also because she realized what Daniel said was true. There was no theatre without the king, no business without his approval, and so they must petition him. The sooner the better. She nodded and allowed Daniel to draw her along with him to the presence chamber so the king could tell her to go home.

Daniel walked much faster than Suzanne and pulled her along at a slight trot across the courtyard, through some rooms and out to another courtyard. They crossed it at the same pace while palace denizens and workers stared at their hurried
passage. They entered another stone building and breezed past the guard with no more than a nod of recognition to the earl. Up some stairs and to the opposite end of a great gallery lined with windows, through another door, and they were finally halted by a row of more guards with pikes just before the entrance to what appeared to be the royal presence chamber.

One of the guards came forward to hear Daniel’s business with the king, then disappeared deeper into the palace. Perhaps a minute later he returned with news that the king would hear him, and Daniel drew Suzanne onward.

Just inside the chamber loitered a cluster of nobles in private conversation that didn’t seem to involve their sovereign. Dressed in the height of French fashion, they wore the long wigs in vogue because the king never let himself be seen without one. Everyone knew his hair was thinning badly, and he never left his privy chamber without a prodigious head cover with great masses of dark curls that draped over his shoulders, down his back, and over his chest halfway to his waist. His court, filled with older men whose hair was gray and thinning, were happy to emulate him, so enormous wigs could be seen nearly everywhere in London these days. Even Daniel, whose hair was thick and not yet entirely gray, wore an elaborate wig befitting his rank.

She recognized each man as a former client from the early days of the Commonwealth, when everyone had been much younger. Names escaped her. She had never kept track of names because even if she was given one it was usually false. She remembered faces according to their preferences, physical oddities, and limitations both physical and emotional.

She remembered the tall one with a bright red wig required her to moo like a cow when he was in his throes. He paid her
extra because her animal noises were so enthusiastic and “realistic.” She dared not contemplate what that might mean.

The one who appeared in control of the conversation at hand, whose brocade jacket glittered in the sunlight streaming through the window, had never taken much of her time but paid well regardless. She thought him a true gentleman and remembered him warmly.

The third was a vague memory of those days, though she was certain she’d seen his face before. The three glanced at her as she passed, and she could see not one of them recognized her.

Good.

Voices of children came from ahead, and as Daniel and Suzanne entered a well-lit chamber with large, wide-open windows, she realized the king was entertaining some of his children by mistresses he’d kept in France. Neither of those women seemed present at the moment, but several courtiers watched as two boys of eleven or twelve played at sword fighting with wooden swords, chasing each other about the room with great noise of shouting and laughter. Their governesses observed from the side, laughing and applauding as if they were the boys’ mothers, and Charles laughed with his sons as he lounged on a great wooden chair raised on a dais. He tossed advice to whichever boy was losing at the moment, and egged them both on with an enthusiasm Suzanne had never seen in a father toward his sons. Particularly her own father had never enjoyed any of his children this well, not even her brothers. A warmth crept into her heart, and she was gladdened to see a ruler who appreciated his family.

Daniel drew her onward by the arm, past the cluster of courtiers who appeared not to notice their passing, but Suzanne could sense their attention on her like the heat of a large fire. This close to the king, they now noticed her ordinary
costume and lack of fine jewelry. She was a commoner, and there was no hiding it.

She then realized she was hanging back, which surprised her because it was unlike her. Very little frightened her, so she shouldn’t be intimidated by even Charles. There was nothing magical or immortal about him. What made this encounter different from meeting anyone else was that this was the king. What made the king different was that he wielded a great deal of power and could take things away as readily as he could give them. Suzanne was accustomed to being in the presence of men who had more power than she, because most men were more powerful than most women, particularly herself. Though she currently lived in more or less comfortable circumstance, just then she had nothing much that could be taken from her beyond her freedom and her life. Since she had no reason to believe she would be thrown into the Tower of London and beheaded even if she misspoke today, she had nothing to fear from the king. At the moment, to her, he was little more than a richly dressed man who was in a position to make her dream come true, which would surely be good. Either he would or he wouldn’t, and neither case was life-or-death. All fear fell from her and she began to imagine the king would give her what she wanted.

She picked up her pace as she and Daniel were announced. The king turned a genial smile on them, and Daniel immediately halted his approach for a deep bow. Suzanne followed suit with the deepest curtsey she could manage without any practice. She faltered in her balance, but counted herself fortunate not to trip to the floor like a collapsed tent. A breeze lifted curtains at the window, and she welcomed it for taking the sudden sweat that beaded on her brow. She regained her balance and stood as straight as she could once she stopped teetering.

“Greetings to my loyal Throckmorton! How fare you today?”

“Well, your majesty. And I hope the day has treated yourself well.”

“What brings you to me this fine morning?” Morning had passed at least an hour ago, but Suzanne felt her heart lift that the king seemed in a good mood.

Daniel replied, “Please forgive the unscheduled visit, your grace. I have an urgent and private petition that should require but a moment of your valuable time.”

Charles had been caught somewhat in disarray with his coat thrown across a chair and the neck of his shirt quite open, but he didn’t seem to mind much. He waved off the apology as if it were nothing to barge in on the monarch during a personal moment with his children, closest advisors, and immediate servants. “Dear Daniel, what is the matter at hand?” The breeze lifted a curl in his tall, heavy brown wig, and he brushed it back. It lifted out of place once more, and he tucked it back in so it would stay. It appeared a bit odd, stuck in like that, but it apparently didn’t annoy the king anymore and nobody was likely to tell him he looked odd.

“I wish to petition your majesty for a patent to stage performances of plays within the city.”

“Plays? Theatre?” It was a fairly unusual request, and his majesty might have thought it too minor for consideration. But the mention of theatre brought a light of curiosity to his eye.

“Yes, your majesty.”

Charles’s smile dimmed, and he had the beady look of a crow eyeing a fresh carcass. “You’re aware, Daniel, there are already troupes sanctioned by myself and my brother. The first
theatre is under construction and there are plans for a second. We’ve no need for a third.”

“Yes, your majesty, the nobility are well served by the king’s and the duke’s fine players. There is no theatre that is to be preferred over the royal troupes, for they bring the best from Paris and make it their own. However, there are many in London who could benefit from a theatre more suited to commons. Less sophisticated folk, who might not understand the new plays. A friend…that is, the son of this woman here, whom I’ve known for many years, wishes to address this need among the commons. That they might also enjoy performances of sanctioned plays.”

The puzzlement deepened, and the king straightened his seat in the chair to lean forward as if to hear better. “Why can they not pay their penny and stand with the groundlings in our theatre once the duke’s troupe has their public venue? Or else be happy with the commedia dell’arte, which is more to their liking and understanding in any case? What interest could the masses have in serious theatre?”

Suzanne knew she had to reply to that, for Daniel wouldn’t answer well. “Your majesty, if I may…” The king thought for a moment, then nodded that she might speak. “Your majesty, perhaps it’s not well known that the commons have a thirst for the older plays. Ones well established in the culture of England and the monarchy. Shakespeare. Marlowe. But especially Shakespeare, whose work has surely been performed somewhere every day for more than a hundred years, even during the dark days of the Commonwealth. A troupe offering those plays to the masses, and the lower theatre as well, would be a service to the city and therefore an advantage to the crown.”

“But my brother’s new theatre would offer the serious plays. The common people could see them there.”

“Yes, your majesty, in another part of the city, and in a much fresher setting. Which will be very good indeed. I hear the new theatre will have many innovations such as backdrops and set pieces, and an arch to frame the scenes like a painting. But the common folk don’t share a taste for innovation. They rather prefer the traditional. The familiar. They find comfort in it, and the Lord knows that there is little enough comfort in the lives of commoners. Our venue would not be like the new theatre, but would present plays as they’ve been staged for the past century, in the traditional manner.”

“And where would this theatre be?”

“Southwark, your majesty. It’s the Globe Theatre my son wishes to restore.”

Surprise put a curl to Charles’s lips. “That old place? You can’t be serious.”

“I’m afraid I am, your majesty.” Suzanne lowered her gaze and bent her knee as if about to curtsey in apology for contradicting the king. “’Tis a poor building and in bad repair, but ’tis good enough for the audience my son would serve.” She nodded toward Daniel. “Throckmorton here has pledged money to make repairs enough for the theatre to be presentable to the commons. Again, not suitable for fashionable company as yours will be, but pleasing to the low folk.”

The king addressed Daniel with a twinkle of humor in his eye. “You wish to make yourself a patron of the theatre like myself?”

Daniel bowed quickly. “Never like yourself, your majesty. I only wish to bring the renegade entertainments of street performers under the purview of the crown, as should be any public amusement.”

Charles chuckled. “And gather in some cash in the bargain.”

“Perhaps, your grace, but even were it a losing venture there would still be the benefit to the crown and to the overall culture of London. To elevate the sensibilities of the commons is to elevate us all in the greater scheme of things.”

Charles gazed at them both for a long moment, thinking. He said to one of the bewigged nobles near the door, “What think you, Richard?”

The one who liked cows considered his answer for a moment, then spoke from where he stood. “This theoretical troupe wants to perform Shakespeare and Marlowe? Are we certain they will do justice to serious plays?”

The man with the vaguely familiar face said in reply, though he hadn’t been addressed, “Well, one can hardly damage Shakespeare. So long as the words are spoken clearly, the play is excellent drama.”

The first said, “I’ve heard of people changing the words of plays. In fact I’ve seen enough damage done to Shakespeare that I could hardly recognize the play and it was so much gibberish.” To the king he said, “That is a consideration, your majesty. What will this new troupe do to these well-loved plays, many of which are about your ancestors, I would remind your grace.”

Charles said, “Indeed.”

Desperation leapt on Suzanne. She hurried to say, “I agree, your majesty. The things some actors do to the words should be deemed criminal. And they do it without sanction, every day. Somewhere in this city each day a play is performed in an alley or close, without permission from the crown. Actors do what they please, say what they like, take the audience’s money, then pack up and move to another street to do it again the next day. How good would it be to have a venue meant
especially for those who live on the south side of the river and perhaps cannot travel to stand in the pits of your excellent new theatres? What advantage would there be to have a sanctioned theatre troupe answerable to my lord Throckmorton and therefore to your majesty, serving the poorer folk and giving them what they like and what you need them to have? Traditional theatre, whether serious or comedy, as it was before the Commonwealth?”

Charles nodded, warming to the idea.

The first noble said, “But your grace…serious theatre for the commons? Can they possibly appreciate it?”

“They’ve always enjoyed standing in the pit in the presence of Shakespeare or Marlowe,” said Charles. “By my estimation they appreciate the old plays as much as anyone.”

Suzanne saw an avenue and went down it to press her case. “Yes, the old plays. They prefer the old ones, and their sensibilities cannot compass the newer, bolder plays. They won’t understand the ideas of backdrops and set pieces. They like what they’re accustomed to. Too much change and they’ll be happier to attend plays presented in alleys than to travel across the river.”

“You may be right,” said Charles, still nodding slowly. “However, I balk at the idea of letting the Globe Theatre and an untried troupe have their way with serious plays that carry weight in the mind. Too much leash could lead to…satire.”

Suzanne wondered why the king didn’t feel that way about the commedia dell’arte, which was easily made political satire by extempore performance, but let her question go and asked another. “Perhaps a patent that will specify only the plays of Shakespeare?” Suzanne watched Charles’s face, and when the king’s expression didn’t change, she added, “And perhaps
additionally specify that nothing be changed from the original scripts?”