Shakespeare's Lady

by Alexa Schnee

  A FEW DAYS AFTER I met with Shakespeare, Margaret and I went shopping for new fabric. I could no longer fit into many of my gowns, and I had decided to pick out some red satin for a dress that would cover my belly. The shop bustled with activity, ladies eyeing new shipments of silks and velvets. The milliner had raised the prices to a ridiculous amount, hoping to fool the unsuspecting ladies.

  “I would have never believed we would have such trouble finding a suitor for you,” Margaret said, running her fingers along another length of satin.

  “Neither would I,” I replied, hoping my disappointment didn’t show in my voice. “You would think someone would be poor enough to want my dowry.”

  “You know, I had thought of someone that might have been a good match for you, before I went to the queen,” Margaret said. “I thought of that playwright, Shakespeare.”

  I turned away from some Spanish lace I had been admiring.

  “You did?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I found out he’s married, though. With several children, I believe.”

  I breathed in quickly. It only made sense. Why wouldn’t he be happily married? I hid my disappointment by disliking every choice of fabric that the milliner offered me, even at reasonable prices.

  A MONTH LATER, I was called to visit the queen. For the first time, I was eager to see her. My nicest dress had been loosened considerably and my hair brushed back into a tight bun. I wore the ring that Henry had given me so long ago as a symbol of my loyalty to her family.

  The throne room at Hampton Palace was smaller than either Whitehall or Greenwich, but it was impressive nonetheless. I walked briskly but without forgetting my place. I kept my eyes down, trying not to stare at the splendor around me. Carvings adorned the room, decorating the surrounding windows. Hampton was altogether lighter in appearance than Greenwich, but then again, everything seemed brighter in my life at that moment. The queen’s seal was everywhere. The Tudor rose decorated the banners that hung on the walls and was carved deeply into the walls themselves. A hearth, unused in this hot weather, stood at the far end of the room next to the queen.

  The queen sat as regally as ever. She was wearing a dress draped in pearls, her favorite accessory. I entered, knowing that it might be the final time I met with Her Majesty. If I were to be married and sent off, I would be away from court—at least for a while. And even if I were to return, I would live in chambers with my husband, not among her ladies.

  It was the first time the queen had ever smiled at me. It would also be the final time. I curtsied before her and waited for her to speak. “Rise, Lady Bassano. I hear and see that you are with child.” She said it coldly, but not as coldly as previous times.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” I said.

  “In that case,” she continued, her voice powerful and yet feminine, “a husband is in order. My cousin, the Baron of Hunsdon, has mentioned that a particular man has caught your fancy.”

  I blushed more than I thought could be possible. How could anyone know about William Shakespeare? I had not told anyone, not even Margaret. Had Margaret been mistaken about him being married? How could the queen have known I admired him?

  “I approve of the match,” she added. “I wish you nothing but happiness.”

  I dared to look up at her. She had been tolerant toward me, something not all ladies could say. She had been my idol, and now she was acting like a friend.

  I had her permission to marry. I could not contain my pleasure, and a smile escaped from my lips as well. We stood there, two women, smiling. I forgot for a moment that she was a queen and I was a musician’s daughter. We were one and the same for that instant.

  “Alfonso Lanier is the most handsome of men. You have done well, Lady Bassano.”

  I could not breathe. I felt my heart descend to my feet.

  Alfonso? She thought I wished to marry Alfonso? Suddenly I remembered the joust, when I had taken his handkerchief. My hands immediately went to the cross around my neck. I tried to keep from swaying from surprise in front of Her Majesty. I could not speak back to the queen, however. I couldn’t even go to Henry. I had no say in this matter now that it had been decided. My eyes welled up with tears and my hands started shaking. What could I do? What could I do?

  I tried to smile as the queen nodded her head. It was finished. I was excused.

  As soon as I left the throne room, I ran and ran, tripping over my skirts, almost falling. Courtiers and ladies watched as I made my way through the halls. I must have looked very strange, a pregnant woman running throughout the halls crying. I did not care. Finally, I made my way outside and collapsed on a stone bench. What was I to do? What was I to do?

  I don’t know how long I stayed like that. It must have been at least an hour, and I’m sure many a passerby saw me with my head pressed on the bench, my skirts on the ground about me. I was to marry Alfonso. I remembered what he had said that day in the clearing. I would be his.

  Henry had decided among his favorites, and Alfonso had no doubt expressed an interest in me. What was I to do?

  I thought of all my possible choices. Running away seemed foolish, and I could not do it with a child in my belly. If I refused Alfonso, all the funds that Henry was giving me would be cut off, and I would be as penniless as a beggar on the street.

  I had thought Henry Carey was bad. He was no competition for Alfonso. Henry had manners. Alfonso had nothing, no regard for a lady at all. I could only imagine what he would do to me. I was scared. I had entered the meeting with all the hope in the world, and it had all been tossed away.

  My legs started to go numb. I’d sat there for a long time. My eyes were sore from crying, and the pain in my chest grew stronger. I just stared ahead for several minutes into the roses, thinking.

  I thought of Margaret. I thought of Frances. I thought of the countess. None of us had a choice. Margaret had married a man she loved, but she had lost his love because of her duties for the queen. Frances had been forced to marry a man she didn’t love and then, when she found love, lost everything else. The Countess of Kent had married the count purely out of family duty.

  Then I thought of the queen. She had never married. She had been denied the greatest love of her life; she had done that for her country. She had done it for the peasant and for the earl. She had done it for us.

  These were the women who defined who I was and how I felt. Why had I thought it would be any different for me? Why had I believed happiness was something I was owed? I did not want to be like Lady Bess. I could not defy the queen. If the queen wanted me to marry Alfonso Lanier, I would have to. I did not do it for myself. I did it for her.

  PART TWO

  I love to hear her speak, yet well I know

  That music hath a far more pleasing sound;

  I grant I never saw a goddess go;

  My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.

  —Sonnet CXXX

  ENGLAND, 1593

  DURING THE REIGN OF QUEEN ELIZABETH I

  LONDON

  I WAS MARRIED THAT autumn. I walked down the aisle with my head held high, but my heart was far away. Henry spared no expense.

  The chapel where we wed was not as large as the church where Frances’s wedding took place, but it had been decorated with equal care. My dress was made of inexpensive muslin, my veil composed of Spanish lace. Over my dress I wore a velvet cloak, which was heavy on my shoulders. I also held a bouquet of white roses, my favorite flower.

  The queen did not come. I did not merit her attention. I had given myself up to this man so she would be happy, but she wasn’t there to congratulate me. Several others did come. Lady Bess and Sir Walter came, and Margaret and George. Frances and Robert Devereux had also come. I tried to catch her eye before the wedding began, but she ignored me. I was not forgiven. She was there only out of duty.

  My husband-to-be stood triumphantly at the end of the aisle of the church. He was handsome, much more handsome than William Shakespeare, but it meant nothing to me.
I would have taken William Shakespeare’s eyes over Alfonso’s pretty face.

  The only good thing about my marriage was that I knew that my husband would not be home for much of the year. He would travel, just like my father had. If the child I bore was a girl, then she would stay with me. If he was a boy, then when he was old enough, he would go with Alfonso and learn the trade of the musician. The Bassano name had died with this union, but the family business was thriving, mostly because of Henry’s generous funds.

  I did not know when I would return to court. I had not wanted to come back at first, but now I considered it. Our small house in London would not be far from a few of the palaces, and I could come if the queen wanted me.

  Each step down the aisle felt as if I were walking to my death. The high church ceilings, colorful stained glass, and exultant bells, which normally made me feel joyful, now signaled the worst hour of my life. Ladies in brightly colored dresses smiled and sighed at me as I walked past. The large altar loomed closer and closer and had a golden cross standing proudly on top. I saw Henry in the front pew wearing a white doublet. He gave me a melancholy nod as our eyes met. He knew as well as I that this was our duty. I smiled at him, a thank you.

  I saw Margaret near the front of the church, her eyes filled with tears. I couldn’t tell if it was from happiness or disappointment.

  Even then I found myself searching for Shakespeare, like so many times before. I did not see him. It was probably better that I did not.

  There was a small reception after the wedding. I thanked each guest for coming and let them place a hand on my belly and smile longingly at my handsome husband. I would have gladly given Alfonso away to any of the ladies who found him so attractive, but I could not alter my fate now.

  When Frances and Robert Devereux came up to me, I was at a loss for words. What could I tell her? That I missed her? That I waited for her letters and her smiles?

  She said she was happy for me. Her face was tired and worn. Alfonso shook Robert Devereux’s hand. Then they were gone. She had gotten what she wanted and hadn’t cared who she had hurt in process. If only she had known.

  Music continued to play in the background, provided by Alfonso’s troupe, and young people danced joyfully, letting out squeals of youth. We had set out a table so they could eat and drink all night. Though I could not join them, I remembered the many dances I had shared with Henry, and I wondered how he was enjoying the merriment. I looked for him, but he seemed to have disappeared, leaving me alone with my new husband and my new life.

  Lady Bess was full of smiles. She lost her child in the Tower, but there would be others, as we all knew. She glanced at my stomach fondly. Sir Walter mimicked his wife and smiled at me pleasantly. Bess had been my friend when she needed me, but she had not contacted me since she had been safe in Sir Walter’s arms.

  The hardest part of the day was saying good-bye to Margaret. As Alfonso and I prepared to leave, she hurried over to me, her arms outstretched like a bird’s wings before it takes flight. I wrapped my arms around her supple waist, memorizing her smell and her touch.

  “You must come visit me in Cumberland,” she said. “Or let me see you. I will bring baby Anne.”

  “I would love that.” I prayed she would keep her promise. “And I will come back to court when the queen asks for me.”

  She embraced me tightly, my unborn baby between us, and kissed me on the cheek before she departed. I watched her until I could no longer make out her blue satin gown.

  I felt as though I was saying good-bye to the life I once had. I was marrying Alfonso Lanier and starting a new life. It wasn’t the life I wished for, but I was sure that being a lonely queen wasn’t the life Elizabeth had had in mind either. I had given my dreams up for her, and she had done the same for her country. The least I could do was be grateful.

  THE DARKNESS OF NIGHT swallowed us as we made our way to the house Henry had bought for us. Alfonso opened the door with his shoulder and hoisted my trunk, light with belongings, into the house. I waited a moment before I walked inside.

  I could see no furniture save a wooden table in the cramped kitchen area and an old, musty chair. The walls and floor appeared to be the same washed-out gray; aside from the hearth in the far corner, where the chair sat, there did not seem to be any other color.

  Alfonso grunted in the larger bedroom, and I heard the sound of my trunk hitting the floor. I thanked God that he could not touch me tonight. He wouldn’t dare.

  But I was wrong. As soon as I changed into my nightgown, he looked at me greedily, the way he had looked at the pile of gold Henry had given him to purchase the house.

  “Do not,” I said as he took hold of my shoulders. “It will hurt the baby.” I said it firmly, like I was scolding a small boy.

  “What is the baby to me?” he asked, gripping me tighter. He kissed me hard. I hated it. He tasted like wine. I strained away from his grasp.

  “The child is still a part of me,” I said. “If you injure it in any way, I could miscarry.”

  His lips snarled and he walked away angry, but I had held him off. I heard some grunting in the next room, where he was making himself comfortable in the one chair we owned. He would sleep there that night, and I could only imagine what his mood would be in the morning.

  I sighed with relief. Once I was sure that he would not bother me, I crawled into the bed and pulled the covers snugly around me. I blew out the candle that stood precariously on the slanted floor. Once it was completely dark, I wrapped my arms around myself. I felt worthless. I was nothing.

  I had been raised a lady. I had been treated like a lady so that when I was married I would know how to act and be a good wife. But I was married to someone no greater than a simple musician. Maybe I deserved it. Perhaps this was penance for wanting William Shakespeare so badly. He was married, and still I wanted him. The thoughts that ran through my mind were not holy. They were disgraceful and sinful.

  Before I could stop myself, tears were falling on my pillow. I tried to cry as silently as possible, for I did not want Alfonso to hear me. I would seem weak, and I had to be stronger than he. I had found his weakness. He could be scolded and pushed away. I would put him off for as long as possible. Eventually he would tire of it, but for now it was my saving grace, at least until the child came.

  The house was not what I imagined—the spouse either. This wasn’t the life I wanted, but it was the life I had.

  THE BOY WAS BORN on January 15. The pain was unbearable. The midwife who came placed a cloth in my mouth and had an assistant hold my hand. The poor girl yelped when I squeezed. After that I held the sheets on the bed.

  He was a strong, healthy baby. He had Henry’s hands, but he had my darker skin and face. He almost could have passed as Alfonso’s child, and I was sure that Alfonso would present it that way if needed.

  I named him Henry, in honor of his real father and in spite of Alfonso. It had been a difficult choice and I thought several days on the matter, going through names while he nursed. I won’t say that the name of William did not pass my mind, for it did. I considered it hard before I decided against it. There was no use in naming the child after someone I had only wished for. I would be reminded of that every time I called for the boy.

  But Henry’s name came back to me over and over as I looked upon the infant’s face. He was so beautiful. I could not believe that his body had once been in mine. His tiny fingers looked like a doll’s, and his face was straight from heaven, soft and bright. He was a quiet baby. He never cried out just to cry. There was always a reason for his complaints.

  One day not long after Henry was born, I held him in our bed, smiling at him with more joy than I could contain. The room was filthy. Alfonso’s clothes lay on the floor, and his boots lay strewn next to the door. Since the baby had come, I had not had the time to clean up after him. There were no windows in the room, so I had left the door open to bring in some light from other rooms in the house. I held little Henry close, feeling the beat
of his heart against me like a hummingbird’s wings.

  Alfonso burst in, tripped over his boots, and looked at me.

  “Are you going to pick those up?” He pointed to his clothes before tugging his boots on.

  “They will be taken care of when you get back.” I looked up from Henry to meet Alfonso’s eyes.

  He nodded. I suppose I had given him the proper response. He ruffled his hair and ignored the child resting in my arms. He glanced at Henry as if he were nothing more than an insect. The boy was not his. Why should he care?

  I brought Henry closer to my chest. Someone needed to care for him, and it obviously was not going to be my husband.

  “Will you have dinner on the table when I get back?” he asked.

  “I would if we had something to cook.”

  He glared at me, and I realized that I had to be careful with my replies. His eyes held a warning.

  “I will be back late,” he sneered. “That should give you plenty of time to think of something.”

  He strode out the door. After I was sure he was gone, I got out of bed, my baby still in my arms. I walked as briskly as I could over to the dirty window that looked out into the street. Alfonso was walking down the street with several men from his troupe. They punched him on the shoulder and laughed. I wondered if he was going to work or if they were headed to the local tavern.

  He often spent money on drink and entertainment, and I worried how long it would be before he took the funds that I received from Henry Carey each month. How could he be a father to this baby when he was a child himself?