WHEN GLORY MET JERRY
(REAL VAMPIRES BOOK 13)
Gerry Bartlett
Copyright © 2018 by Gerry Bartlett
Dragon Lady Publishing
Cover artist: Christopher Long
All rights reserved.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to Gloria McDowell Ray.
Gloria died at the age of 94 the week I finished the final draft of WHEN GLORY MET JERRY. She led a full and interesting life and was always convinced I named Gloriana after her.
Who knows? Maybe I did.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter One
London, 1604
“How do you like it here, Gloriana?” The voice was barely a whisper.
I woke up with tears on my cheeks. That dream again. Or was it a memory? Michael St. Clair had found me lying in the gutter. He’d fought the boys who’d stolen the jewel holding my strange costume together and beat them off with his cane. Then he’d wrapped me in his cloak and carried me to his rooms. He’d saved me that night. Why? I’d never know. I was just grateful he’d loved me and never cared that I had no memories except for that name, a whisper in the dark.
“Gloriana! Hurry, Becks is looking for you. He’s got a ripped sleeve and he’ll be on stage in moments.” Sire Goodall, the stage manager, nudged me with his boot and I surged to my feet. I was living here on borrowed time. If Master Shakespeare found out I was sleeping in the dressing area, he’d send me packing. Not that he was harsh, it was just that he had rules. And if one of us lived here at the Globe Theater, there’d soon be a dozen making the area behind the stage home.
I hurried to find Becks, one of the actors, and quickly began the repair. My clumsy but decent enough way with a needle was really the only reason the company had let me stay on after Michael was killed in a nasty accident. I’d take their pity. What choice did I have?
I also put up with the crude remarks and sly touches by the men when I wore a costume cut low in the bosom. Shakespeare encouraged the women who served his actors to stroll around the audience in the interval and jolly them when the night’s play wasn’t going well. He’d been trying out a new comedy this week, changing lines so often the actors were complaining.
“I’ll be twizzled. If I don’t get a laugh this night, I may just split my hose and show me bum. That always gets ’em going.” Becks complained to one of the other players. “I can’t remember from one night to the next what I’m to say. Ow!” He stayed my hand and studied me closely. “Girl, when did you last break your fast? Your hand is shaking and you look as pale as the drapery the ghost wears in the second act.”
“Oh, did you think that prick was an accident? Mind your own hands, sirrah.” I looked to where he’d managed to rest his fingers on my breast before I’d stabbed him with my needle. He was right though. I was near to starving. “I will eat when you lose your lines and stand with your hands in the air looking for help from the gods. Then they’ll be throwing rotten fruit like they always do. There’s usually a good apple or two that rolls back stage.”
“Cheeky wench.” He swatted my bottom, not afraid of my needle at all. “How long has Michael been gone now?”
“Almost a year.” I looked around. “Please. Don’t say anything to the master. I think he’s forgotten that I’m not one of the wives who belong here.”
“He’s not forgotten, Gloriana.”
I winced and turned slowly. It was the master himself. I curtsied, giving him a good look down my bodice. Master Shakespeare did like a woman with a nice pair of titties or so my Michael had always claimed. I hoped that would soften him. But I’d fasted too often and had lost too much flesh. Either that or my dingy shift put him off.
He frowned as he studied me in my loose gray gown. It was the same one I’d slept in and I’d not bothered to do much more than shove my hair under a cap.
“I’ve given you plenty of time to mourn, I believe.”
“You’ve been very generous, sir.” I took a steadying breath and almost choked. Becks thought bathing unhealthy and he reeked of sweat and the cologne he doused himself with each night. I prayed he didn’t burst the seam on his hose. I surely didn’t want to stitch those noisome things.
“Make yourself presentable then see if you can find a protector. It’s high time you moved on.” Shakespeare eyed the bunched fabric where I’d tried to repair Becks’ sleeve. “Your needlework isn’t exactly earning your keep.”
“But, master...” I wilted under his stern look.
“If I could, I would put you in this play. Certainly a comely wench would be better than what I have to work with.” Shakespeare shook his head. “You think I don’t know you helped Michael learn his lines? You have a good memory, Gloriana, and are well spoken. Someday, mayhap the laws will change and women will be allowed on the stage. Come see me then and I will write a part for you. Until then, your best notion will be to find a man who can afford to keep you in style.”
“Thank you, master. You have been very generous to let me stay this long. I know that.” So there it was. My time was up here. I would not shed bitter tears. The mending could be taken over by the wives of the actors easily enough though they’d complain about it.
Becks raised an eyebrow, took my hand, and bent over it. “Surely Gloriana can have another day or two, Will. There might be someone close at hand who could arrange a place for her.” He turned over my hand and kissed my palm.
I could barely control my shudders. His codpiece jumped and Shakespeare nodded, seemingly appeased for the moment.
“I hope you spend as much time learning your lines as you do tending to your bedmates, Timothy Beckham. Perhaps Gloriana can help you with the lines at least.” Shakespeare strode off to speak to his star, Richard Burbage.
“What say you? Come with me to my rooms tonight, Gloriana, and I’ll show you what you’ve been missing since poor Michael departed this mortal coil.” Becks patted that dreadful codpiece, overacting even in his effort to seduce me.
“And what would your lady wife have to say to the matter, I wonder?” I knew he had two children and another on the way.
“Packed her off to her mum in the country for her lying in just yestereve.” He licked his full lips. Some would call him handsome with his dark beard and wicked smile. He certainly had no trouble finding mistresses when his wife was not about to keep an eye on him. “I am known to be a lusty bedmate. Ask the other women here. You will not be disappointed, my lady.” He gave me one of his exaggerated bows.
“Oh, yes. I’ve heard you have sampled many here. Your poor wife. Or mayhap she encourages you to swive elsewhere to spare her your attentions.” I looked him over. I doubted he had much care for any but his own pleasure.
“Come now, Gloriana. I’ve had no complaints.” He strutted like he was cock of the walk as he circled me, taking my measure. I was not too thin or too dirty for him. “Why, I’ve a mind to buy you a meat pie on the way to my lodgings as well. What say you?”
“A meat pie? You do know how to tempt a woman, Becks. But I’d have to be knocked senseless before I’d ever lie with you, sir.” I flounced away, sure I’d p
robably doomed myself to working in a bawdy house. God, the man reeked! Mayhap I did, too, since there was no bathing here, just a jug of water and a rag when I got lucky. I had often confounded Michael with my need for cleanliness. He had joked that wherever I came from, it had obviously been a place with none of the superstitions that many of the theater folks had about immersing themselves in water. I yearned for a thorough cleansing but had no idea why.
My grand exit was ruined when I ran smack into one of the other women lurking about. Maggie claimed she was married to the short plump actor who filled the women’s roles in Shakespeare’s plays. Their marriage was a sham that we all pretended to believe since her man clearly preferred male lovers. We held the secret because he was a decent actor and we had no wish to see him hang for his sins. She grabbed my arm and dragged me to a dark corner.
“Gloriana, you cannot afford to be so choosy. Becks may smell like a cess pit but he’s well paid. Jenny says he has fine rooms and is quick to find his satisfaction. After, he sleeps like the dead.” Maggie shook my arm. “You could do worse.”
“I suppose. But for how long?” I heard my stomach moan for want of food. How long could I continue like this? Hoping for a stray piece of fruit or the kindness of one of the company? “Becks’ wife will be back and show me the door soon enough. Am I brought so low, Maggie, that I’d lie with him for a meat pie?” I sniffed. “I’d sooner sell myself on the corner.” I looked down and tugged at my shapeless dress. “What am I saying? Who’d pay more than ha’pence for this?”
“Michael would be angry to hear ye speak so.” Maggie dug in a pile of cloth and pulled out a piece of emerald green velvet. “I’ve been saving this. It won’t fit me now as I’m too fond of meat pies meself. There’s a full house tonight with many of the men in the King’s court from Scotland come to see the new play.” She grinned and gave me a nudge. “Lusty men in kilts? There are fine pickings.”
“I reek, Maggie, almost as much as Becks does.” I couldn’t deny it.
“I saw this coming, dearie, and fetched some water for you to freshen up. You can put on that dress and stroll out between acts. There’s bound to be a man who’s looking to set up a handsome woman while he’s in town to serve the king. Why shouldn’t it be you?” Maggie shook my arm in case I thought to be stubborn about this.
“I hate…” Starving. Because that was the hard truth I had to face. And the velvet was beautiful even if the hem was a bit dusty. I saw in Maggie’s face that it was a dress that held special memories for her and I pressed it carefully against my breasts. “It’s beautiful, Maggie, and just the color I would choose if I had coin for such a fine piece.” I blinked back tears. So I’d come to this. I’d parade my wares and hope that whatever man thought to sample them would treat me kindly.
“Come now. There’s a sliver of soap and a cloth next to the pail in the corner. I have a chemise too, that will fit you. Fine lawn. The play is set to start. By the time the first act is over, you should be ready to take a turn and see whose eyes you can catch.” Maggie led me to her corner and handed me her own comb. “Mind now, look for kindness. Hard eyes will not serve. You must find a man who will be gentle with you.”
“I may not have a choice in the matter.” I glanced around and realized no one was watching us. I threw off my filthy dress and stood in my worn shift. I had sold everything I had worth anything months ago, even my petticoats. I scrubbed myself all over, inhaling the sweet scent of roses from that bit of soap. I smiled at Maggie.
“Lovely, isn’t it? I found it in one of the dressing rooms. One of Will’s doxies left it. Use it all if ye need to.” Maggie leaned against the wall as I tugged on the pretty clean shift. It was fine, sheer and hid nothing. “Ye are too thin, Gloriana. I’m sorry I don’t have anything to feed ye.”
“So am I.” I sighed as I pulled the velvet over my head next. The dress laced up the front and was tight, showing most of my breasts. Well, that was probably for the best. Michael had always said they were my best bits.
“Ye look a treat, Gloriana,” Maggie said after we’d fussed with my hair, finally leaving it tumbling down my back for lack of hairpins. Michael had always praised my golden locks anyway. Too bad they were dull from lack of a good wash. “Here, see if these fit.” She handed me a pair of worn slippers.
I hugged her. “They’re a bit loose but we can stuff a rag in each toe. I’ll not forget this, Mag. When I’m mistress of a rich man, I’ll come and find you. Bring you meat pies aplenty.”
She laughed and patted her wide hips. “You do that. I won’t turn them down.” She cocked her head. “Ah, there’s Horace’s giggle. This is where he’s playing the lady to Beck’s foolish lover. That means they’re almost to the end of the act. Are ye ready to show yourself to the men?” She adjusted my bodice, pushing up my breasts until I could almost see the pink of my nipples. “Flaunt those bubbies, dearie. Most men are silly about such things.”
“Don’t I know it.” I took a breath and wished for a handkerchief or bit of lace to hide them. “All right, there’s the curtain. Wish me luck.”
“Luck.” She kissed me on one cheek then pinched both of them. “Rosy cheeks don’t hurt. Bite your lips too.” She shoved me toward the stage door. “Outside. The toffs like to take the air.”
I stumbled outside, holding up my skirt so it didn’t slide through the mud or hit the stream of waste running down the middle of the alley. I could feel the stones through my thin slippers and it was cold. No shawl of course. Even if I had one that wasn’t soiled and tattered, how would the more than dozen men gathered in the alley have been able to see what I had to offer if it covered my beautiful scandalous dress?
They would be able to see, thanks to the many lanterns strung across the alley, lighting the area. A blind beggar coaxed a merry tune from his whistle, earning a few pennies for his efforts, and it was a party atmosphere outside the Globe. I gathered my courage and found a smile. It wouldn’t do to look as terrified as I felt, now would it? I lifted my chin and took a step forward, nodding to the vendors as I eyed a cluster of men drinking wine. What would I say? Was it too late to turn back and beg Master Shakespeare for more time?
Of course I wasn’t the only woman to venture here. Other ladybirds, better prepared than I, strolled through the crowd, plying their fans and laughing up at the men who talked and drank in groups near the theater doors. Wine sellers were doing a brisk business and so were other vendors. The smell of one of those delicious meat pies made my stomach groan loudly.
“Lass, is that an empty stomach I’m hearing?” A man appeared next to me. He’d been so quiet that he startled me and I squeaked in surprise.
“Oh, I didn’t see you, sir.” I kept my hand over my chest. Surely my stomach hadn’t been that loud. A glance and I was reassured that no one else seemed to have noticed my blasted pains.
“And your answer?” He was tall and clearly one of the Scots. He wore a kilt of blue and green plaid and a black waistcoat embroidered with fine silver thread. There was a fall of beautiful lace at his neck and wrists. His jacket was a rich dark green velvet and his sword proclaimed him one of the nobility. A toff indeed. Only a lord could carry a sword in London.
“Hunger.” I managed a laugh, sure my cheeks were very rosy now. “I fear I forgot to break my fast this eve.”
“Then let me remedy that.” He waved at the vendor who hurried over to us. “A meat pie for the lady.” He flipped a coin at the woman and then selected a plump pie wrapped in a cloth.
“Oh, you shouldn’t--” I couldn’t say the rest. My mouth watered as the smell of meat and pastry wafted up to me. He simply thrust the pie into my hand.
“Eat. Now. You look almost ill.” His smile was gentle. “Women shouldn’t deny themselves meals to stay small. I like a woman with generous curves.” He slid a warm hand around my waist, as if to prop me up. I didn’t mind. My legs were unsteady with hunger and my thoughts were all on that pie.
“Oh. I didn’t, that is--” I lift
ed the food to my lips. To my shame I bit quickly, almost forgetting to chew before I took another bite. Before I could stop myself I had devoured the entire thing before I remembered to delicately, I hoped, dab my face with the cloth and brush away any errant crumbs. “Thank you, sir. You were right. It was foolish of me to try to avoid a meal.”
“I enjoy watching a woman with a lusty appetite.” He gestured and the woman handed him another pie. “Take this for later. I wouldn’t like to think you went to bed hungry.”
“Oh, you are too kind. That’s not necessary.” Now my pride stung. He must think me desperate. It might be true but… I lifted my chin and really looked at him. Oh, but he was handsome. His eyes were as dark as was his hair. He wore it unpowdered and long, tied back with a ribbon. Were his eyes kind? I decided they were. He’d fed me after all. I couldn’t afford pride, truth be told.
“Are you going to spout nonsense about pride?” He smiled, showing straight white teeth. He’d obviously seen my struggle. Either that or he was reading my mind. What a foolish thought!
“I won’t listen to it,” he continued. “Now tell me your name, beauty.”
Beauty. That certainly softened me. “It’s Gloriana. Gloriana St. Clair. And yours?”
“Jeremiah Campbell. I serve the king here.”
“King James.” I took a step back when his lace sleeve brushed my arm. Too close. “So you are far from home.”
“Aye, I am that. From the Highlands in Scotland. And you? You don’t speak as if you are London born.” He moved close again. This time his wool kilt touched my skirt. He was so tall and masculine. His broad shoulders spoke of a warrior, a man with real strength, not like the actors I knew who pretended to play a soldier on stage, as my Michael had done many times. Michael had used false armor and broad gestures to show his might. This man looked as if he could crush an opponent with his bare hands.
I shivered. What had he asked? “Of course I’m from London. I speak as I do because my late husband was an actor. Anyone who stays in or near the Globe soon learns to speak with care or risk Master Shakespeare’s displeasure.” I saw people going into the theater. “The play is about to start again. You won’t want to miss it.”
Real Vampires: When Glory Met Jerry Page 1
