Shakespeare's Lady

by Alexa Schnee

  I was startled that it was just Alfonso who came home. Usually he would have brought at least one person. I wondered at this strange development. Had he found out about William? Had William told him? My heart beat rapidly in my chest as I pulled out a glass for him and chose a bottle of wine. Before I could stop it from falling, another glass fell out of the cabinet and shattered on the wooden floor. I knelt down and picked up the pieces carefully so as to avoid cutting myself.

  “Do you have to be so careless?” Alfonso asked.

  I was silent. I couldn’t see his actions, as he was behind me.

  I returned to readying his drink. I was his wife. I cared for his house and did his bidding. There was no need to treat me badly. I had done nothing wrong except for—well, William.

  This thought clouded my mind for a moment. My heart pounded. Did Alfonso know? Was that why he’d been so pensive these past few weeks? My palms began to sweat, and they became sticky on the glass bottle.

  I took this moment to pour his wine. Alfonso looked up at me. His eyes narrowed in thought. He signaled that I had poured enough, and he picked his glass up and swirled the red liquid a few times. He took a drink and nodded, indicating it was satisfactory.

  “Be more aware next time I am gone,” he said. “I don’t want to pay for a new set of dishes.”

  “Are you going back to court?” I felt brave enough to ask.

  “Yes,” he replied. “The queen needs entertainment to please that blasted Essex.”

  “Essex?” Words escaped from my lips before I could stop them. Alfonso glared at me. I had said too much.

  “Yes.”

  I nodded. Now I would not be allowed to speak for the rest of the night.

  Poor Frances. Robert Devereux was still involved with the queen, then. The queen was obviously not worried about Frances—or the fact that he was married.

  “Emilia,” Alfonso suddenly said.

  I looked up in surprise.

  “The queen demands you return to court this season. I said you would accompany me.”

  My heart screamed for joy at the thought of seeing Margaret again. I had imagined our reunion many times and could not believe that my wish for the past few years was about to be granted. I wondered if the person who sat in the chair with his feet on the table was really my husband.

  “And,” he continued.

  I should have known that there would be a price to pay.

  “I am taking the boy with me on my tour next season.”

  I sucked in my breath. He was too young to be without his mother, but a woman was not allowed to travel with the men unless she was a gypsy. I could not send him away to live with the monster I called my husband. I did not want Henry to have the same upbringing I had as a child.

  “The boy is three,” I dared to whisper.

  Alfonso nodded.

  “I was that age when I joined my troupe. I followed my father around and did his will. That’s all he would need to do.”

  “He is but a child. It would not be safe to have him around the wagons and horses.”

  “I will watch him,” Alfonso growled. “He will be safe. He’s the only good thing that ever came from our marriage; I will not let him be harmed.”

  Alfonso’s words struck me with surprise. I did not know he cared so much for the child…but mayhap it would have been apparent if I’d looked hard enough. Perhaps Alfonso was right. Maybe Henry was a blessing to our marriage.

  It would be an exchange. If I let him have Henry, I would be able to see Margaret again.

  But Henry was too young to be traveling the English countryside with a band of animals. I worried that my sweet boy would start to resemble his adopted father.

  Then William entered my mind. He would be at court, performing for Her Majesty. He would be there. I knew I could not be with William if Alfonso would not allow me to journey back to court. And the only way I could return to court was if I gave him Henry. I felt my heart tearing in half. How could I choose between the two loves of my life?

  “Henry can go with you,” I finally relented.

  Alfonso nodded his head approvingly, pleased. Why wouldn’t he be? I was doing what was being asked of me.

  “Very well,” Alfonso said. “That is settled.”

  ONE MORNING, AS I was hanging Alfonso’s laundry out on the line in the yard, I heard a soft voice whispering to me. I scanned the area. A large washtub sat by my feet. Steam rose from it. A fog hung over the sky, threatening rain. I looked behind me, searching. I was the only one there. I looked through the thicket close to the fence. The thicket almost came up over the top of the fence, separating us from the old widow’s house next door.

  A slender, spotted arm reached over the fence and waved a white piece of paper like a flag.

  “From your playwright.” I recognized the widow’s voice.

  I reached over the thicket. Thorns poked me through my thin muslin dress. I took the note from her.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  I could not see her but for that long arm. I heard her scuttle back to her house and close the door. No doubt William had paid her well for her services.

  I told Alfonso I was going to the market and left him alone with Henry. I closed the door tightly behind me and shifted my basket on my arm. I was fortunate that the market was on the way to the theatre in case Alfonso was watching me. He wouldn’t have any reason to think that I was doing anything out of the ordinary.

  I jostled my way through the crowded London streets. The way to the theatre was more familiar, and I was able to make my way there faster and with less confusion than the last time. There were rehearsals going on that day, and actors milled around. They carried swords and wore sapphire-blue costumes. Some were drunk. There were two young men dressed up as women lounging near the back entrance and smiling at me. Their faces were powdered white, and they had rolled their dresses up to their knees. One of them had a wig on the side of his head, as though he had forgotten it was there.

  “Look at that one.” The smaller one poked the bigger one in the ribs. “Aren’t you a dandy?” This time he addressed me.

  I ignored him as I tried to pull open the door that led underneath the stage by grasping the door handle tightly. It was locked.

  “Oh, come on, sweet,” he droned. “Give us a smile, why don’t you?”

  I remembered what William said about being in the theatre all the time and wanting to see a woman every now and then. Those men must have suffered the same predicament.

  I continued to look the other way. I banged on the door. When I realized no one was going to open it, I turned around to make my way to the bustling front entrance. The men eyed me greedily.

  “Do you know where William Shakespeare is?”

  They laughed.

  “The Bard? What do you want with him?” the larger one asked.

  “I need to talk to him,” I said sharply. I didn’t like the way they were making a jest of him.

  “I’m surprised he took a mistress. He used to be all about honor, even when women were throwing themselves at him. Didn’t even look at them, and there were some pretty ones in the bunch too.”

  “I’m not his—” I stopped myself. Was I? Did I want to be a mistress again?

  The small one raised his eyebrows drunkenly.

  “You’re not? Want to be mine?”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “Haven’t seen him. Last I saw him was…” He counted on his fingers. “Three days ago.”

  I didn’t even bother to thank them. I made my way to the front of the theatre and tried to push through the crowd of actors, set builders, and musicians. I needed to get in. Even if what the two drunkards said was true, that he wasn’t there, I would have to see it myself to believe it.

  Did I have so little faith in my lover? He had called me here. Why would he not keep his word? The inside of the theatre was as busy as the outside. Though there were many people there, I did not recognize any of them. If William was t
here, why would he make me struggle to find him?

  I saw a familiar face and rushed to him. It was Wriothesley, the man who had directed me to William once before. I remembered his condescending expression and I wished not to speak to him, but if anyone knew where William might be, it would be him.

  “Ah.” He smiled. “The lady once more. Wondering where he is?”

  I nodded.

  “You are in luck this time.” He pointed up to the balcony.

  My eyes followed his finger until I could make out William’s shape. His own eyes were on me. He waited for me there.

  “Thank you.” I smiled. “I am afraid to find how many more times I might ask you where he is.”

  Wriothesley sighed softly, his pointed beard protruding sharply.

  “We all ask that question. How many more times will we be able to find William Shakespeare?”

  I found myself apprehensive at that chilly parting. Did he know something about William that I did not? I flew up the stairs to the balcony and found that William and I were alone. It was as if we were separated from the world; only the voices of the people below us followed us into our own place.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked, looking out onto the empty stage. The actors and musicians had made their way off the structure, their rehearsal done for the day. “It’s a new start. A clean beginning. Each time, you make something new, something much better than what you had before.”

  I glanced at the wooden stage, noting that, as usual, he was right. It was beautiful—not because there was anything to look at, but because there was nothing.

  “Is that what you want?” I said, and my voice echoed in the empty balcony. I was surprised how quiet it was up there. “Do you want to start over—pretend like what we did never happened?”

  But his face told me I needn’t worry. His reference had nothing to do with me.

  “I want to start anew,” he answered, his eyes still turned from mine. “I want to start my life over with you. I want you by my side. You are the closest anyone has ever come to…” He paused before he continued. He opened and closed his mouth several times, as if he was trying to catch the words in his mouth, trying to find the right expression to use.

  “Understanding.”

  He finally looked at me as I said this and gave me an astonished glance, as if what I had said was exactly what he wanted to hear. Then it grew resentful, as if I knew what he was going to say too well.

  “Are you mad at me?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Why?” I asked. He spoke to me so brusquely that I couldn’t help but wonder if he was lying.

  He shook his head. Placing his elbows on his knees to support himself, he looked down at the floor of the balcony.

  “Because I love you. But I do want you to consider something.”

  I strode over to him, my dress, the simple muslin one, moving with me. I sat down slowly.

  “Yes?”

  “I wish you would consider leaving Alfonso.”

  I was amazed that he would even suggest it.

  “No.”

  “I knew you would say that. Even though I have already left Anne?”

  He knew me too well, and I feared that fact. He also knew it was impossible. A scandal like this was for queens and kings. They had a divine right. God looked with favor on whatever they did. A musician’s daughter, on the other hand, could not count on that.

  “I don’t think the Church would forgive it,” I said.

  “You worry so much about God?” William wondered.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Then why did you come to me? Why are you here? Do think leaving him would be worse than what we have already done?”

  I didn’t know. I could not answer him. He was right. This was clearly a sin, but so was adultery. I had already gone against what I believed was right. It was unjust that the queen and Henry Carey could dabble in affairs without repercussions while William and I were forbidden to see each other. But that didn’t change anything for me.

  “A sin is a sin, William.”

  “So you believe what we have done is a sin?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why did you do it?”

  Again, another question I could not answer. I hated how easily he made his point while I struggled to make mine. I bit my lip as I thought of something I could say.

  “I don’t know. I pray God will forgive me.”

  “Marrying Alfonso was the sin, Emilia. Is it worse for you to love me or hate him? Perhaps the real sin is that you were never given any choices in your life.” William’s forehead wrinkled. “What does your God really want?”

  “Is not your God the same as my own?” I turned in the hard wooden chair.

  He sighed a deep, long, painful breath, which about tore my heart in two. “For understanding me so well, you sometimes do not understand me at all. Your God…do you think He wants you to be trapped in this marriage? Alfonso hits you….”

  It was no longer just about how much we loved and admired each other. There were now things we didn’t agree on, didn’t see the same.

  “My God is the same,” he said. “I call Him by the same name and worship Him in almost the same way.” He looked away for a moment, as though he was trying to think of the most delicate way to say what was on his mind. “But I do not believe that a God who created man in His own image would condemn him for doing what he believes is right.”

  I thought for a moment before I asked him a question.

  “You think what we have done was right?” I grasped the arms of the chair with my hands. I couldn’t look at him. I was afraid of his answer.

  “Did you feel it was wrong?”

  “The Bible—,” I began to argue with him once again.

  “Words, Emilia. It’s just words. Do words make things real? You would know.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “I do not know.”

  I suddenly wanted to be held by him. I turned in my seat and reached for him. He opened his arms and held me close to his chest. Whether his God was right or mine, or whether they were the same, I required William’s strong arms and his steady breathing.

  “What are we going to do?”

  He chuckled, the breath from his nose moving my hair slightly.

  “Do we have to decide?”

  I nodded, my face moving up and down his chest. How much longer could I stay there?

  “It’s the only thing I have control over anymore. What are we going to do?” I asked again.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you,” I said, my question unanswered.

  WHEN WE RETURNED TO court, Margaret was the first to greet me. Alfonso had hired a carriage to take our things from London to Whitehall. As we passed through the imposing gates of the palace, I could not help but feel as though I was returning home.

  The sky was a dark gray color, and it stretched from one end of the heavens to the other. I could hear soft droplets of rain on the roof of the carriage, but it was not raining hard enough that we would get wet. I pulled Henry’s cap farther down on his head and wrapped my arms around his middle. The wheels rattled as they came off the dirt roads and onto the cobblestone entrance of the palace.

  I saw Margaret’s form as we pulled up to the stable doors. She waved and rushed toward the carriage, quickly opening the door for me. We were at once in an embrace. She looked wonderful, her frame as slim as I had ever seen it and her smile wide. She was older, and she looked it, but it became her. She had always been so maternal that she wore it well.

  Alfonso did not even greet her. He grunted and placed one of my few bags of clothing on his shoulders before carrying it into the palace. Henry followed him on wobbly toddler legs, eager to help his supposed father with the men’s work. I excused my husband’s bad manners and immediately asked how little Anne was doing.

  “She is well. Four years old already.”

  My mouth gaped open. “The time does fly. She is alread
y a woman.”

  Margaret laughed her jolly laugh, which was as familiar as my own.

  “And the queen?” I asked.

  Margaret’s face fell, and I suddenly knew what plagued Her Majesty.

  “Essex?”

  Margaret sighed, her hands dropping to her side. Even I, who had been away from court for a number of years, had heard of the queen’s affairs with Essex. The earl was married and had several children with Frances but was still by the queen’s side. My hands went cold as I realized that my situation was not as different from the queen’s as I wished it was.

  “And Frances?” I asked.

  “Lonely. Away. She’s still not speaking to me on the rare occasions she is here; I have received no letters.”

  “Her stubbornness will be the death of her.”

  “Yes, I pray that won’t be the case.”

  We made our way into the palace of Whitehall, the queen’s favorite residence and the place where she spent the most time as she got older and frailer. Not much had changed since my departure, but I liked that. It felt comfortable. Whitehall was decorated better than Greenwich, and the grounds and gardens were better kept in the summer. I liked the cleanliness of the ladies’ chambers, and its footprint was better suited to the size of court Elizabeth kept.

  “Little Henry…” Margaret pointed to my child, who was holding a small bundle of our things to help his father. “He’s adorable.”

  “He’s a good boy,” I said.

  “He follows Alfonso around. He seems fond of him.”

  “Alfonso treats him much better than he treats me,” I said in a whisper.

  We let them get ahead a bit more so we could talk privately. Still, I wondered if my husband listened to our words as I had his and William’s.

  “Are you all right?” Margaret asked. “Does he not treat you kindly?”

  I refused to nod or even look at her then, but it only gave her all the more reason to suspect. Her eyes were sharp and she raised her eyebrow as she always had before.

  “Emilia,” she said. She glared at me in frustration.

  “I am fine,” I answered. “I can take care of myself.”

  She sighed deeply, her brown eyes beginning to water. It must have been difficult for her to hear.