Shakespeare's Lady

by Alexa Schnee

  “He is not around much.” I shrugged, trying to justify it, though I did not have a reason to.

  She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and squeezed me slightly. She cared for not just my happiness but also my safety, and that meant much to me.

  “But he is good to you besides that?”

  I laughed. “I suppose. I have never had another husband to compare him to.”

  She chuckled in turn, observing me carefully. “You are different—changed, somehow. You look wiser, and your words have substance behind them.”

  “I am wiser, though I don’t know if for the better.”

  “Becoming wiser is always for the better, no matter what lesson there is to learn.”

  I smiled. “You sound like—” I stopped. I couldn’t mention William so soon. Margaret would suspect instantly, and I was not ready to explain my position to her. Not yet, if ever.

  “Emilia,” Alfonso called at that exact moment. For once I was glad that my husband ordered me around so. We had lingered too far back.

  “At least he called me by name this time.” I smiled and gave Margaret one last hug before we parted. We promised to meet soon, for we would not be staying in the same chambers as before. I would be with my husband, and she would be with the queen, as always. I wondered if she would ever be free to live her own life.

  I caught up to Alfonso and we navigated our way through the passages. Little Henry held my hand and kept close, his childish face taking in his new surroundings. He was so young. I refused to believe that he was ready to become a musician’s apprentice. He would be four when Alfonso set off on his travels, but four years old was barely past a baby.

  When we reached our tiny apartment, which was even smaller than the house in London, Alfonso started the fire and began to warm it up. Though it was early spring, it was damp, and the fire felt nice on my skin.

  I patted the bed and dust flew up. These were most definitely the chambers of a musician and not those of a queen’s lady. The tiny room seemed cramped with furniture. Alfonso had to move a chair to make room for our trunk, but there was a desk for writing, which would be useful in filling my time when Alfonso was performing. A window looked out onto the courtyard, as well. I could watch the members of court from there. There were no unnecessary commodities. I was no longer in the position I was before, but the more I glanced around the chamber, the more I liked it. The room had all I needed, and I was content. The only thing I was missing was William at my side.

  “Get dressed,” Alfonso barked, eyeing my tattered wardrobe. He stood up from the hearth and walked two steps to the door. “And meet me in the Great Hall.”

  “But we have just settled in. I need a moment to unpack my belongings.”

  “I am not the queen’s favorite musician because of my tardiness.” He stepped forward again, grabbed my wrist, and tightened his grip enough that I could not pull it away.

  I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the dress I was wearing was the nicest one I owned. I didn’t need to have fine clothes when I was at home all the time in London. Court was different.

  Once Alfonso left, slamming the door behind him, Henry and I sat alone in the room and I evaluated my miserable dress. The edges of the sleeves were starting to fray. I no longer needed to attract a husband, but members of Queen Elizabeth’s court were supposed to be far from average. We were the leaders, the important royalty of England. Our job was to make the queen look glorious.

  I changed my dress and unpacked my sewing needles, remembering that the needles were a gift from Frances so long ago, and saw to what repairs I could make in a few minutes.

  I had noticed that Margaret’s sleeves on her elegant dress weren’t as tight as mine were, so I began to loosen them. Henry came and sat with me on the bed, watching as I tore the seams out. He was whimpering, and I knew he needed comforting.

  “How’s my boy?” I asked and kissed him on top of the head.

  He touched my wrist where Alfonso had grabbed it. “Daddy hurt you?”

  My heart dropped suddenly. I knew he would eventually ask this question, but I wasn’t quite ready to answer him. Could he understand at so young an age?

  “Your father and I disagree.”

  He bobbed his tiny head. His curls bounced.

  “William…” He struggled as all children do when trying to find words. He wrung his right hand in his left and furrowed his brow. “William doesn’t disagree with you.”

  The child saw more than I had given him credit for. What would I say about William? If the boy knew how William and I spoke to each other…

  “But he’s a friend,” I said. “Friends only disagree sometimes. And not all parents disagree.”

  “Then why do you?”

  Why did we disagree? It was a good question, but I could not answer. “It is very hard to explain, darling.”

  He stuck out his little chest. “I would understand.”

  Could he possibly? I didn’t know if I could even comprehend it myself. I had underestimated Henry’s intelligence, but I did not want to burden him with problems at a young age.

  “When you are older,” I promised.

  He asked no more questions and stared at the wall. I was not his friend if I did not give him the information he craved.

  I pulled and tugged at the dress, trying to rid it of old, yellowed lace. I would make a hundred stitches and pull out half of them. When I realized the dress was as good as it could be, I gathered my needles and put them away and then brushed the top of Henry’s head, fingering his curls and breathing in his faint baby smell.

  “Come on, dear,” I said. “You will get to see your first feast at court. Won’t that be exciting?”

  WILLIAM WOULD COME TO court in the next few weeks. I waited eagerly for his return. I worried that he had run into problems with his newest play and that those problems would delay his coming.

  I met Margaret in the garden later that week. She brought Anne, who had grown much and shyly poked her head out behind her mother’s skirts and watched Henry. He acted as though he had never seen another child in his life. He stared at her, his eyes wide, and I could only imagine how much more nervous it made the poor girl.

  Eventually we weaned them off us and encouraged them to play in the courtyard where we could see them. They ran in circles in the spring grass and laughed at each other.

  Flowers emerged from the cold ground, and the stone bench was cool through my dress. It was not quite yet the full bloom of spring, but the sun peeked at us through some clouds, and I smiled as it warmed my cheeks.

  Margaret and I watched the children for a while, laughing when needed and scolding when required. It reminded me very much of a play; we were the actors, reciting what we were supposed to, acting on cue.

  “How is George?” I asked her.

  “Fine,” Margaret answered. “The child helps some. He wants a boy, though. Has Alfonso implied anything of that sort?”

  I shook my head.

  “No, I think he is willing to accept Henry as his own. I don’t know if I would be able to bear another child. It took me so long to become pregnant last time. I am happy with one.”

  “I am content with a single child as well, but men will be men. They always expect more. Anne, watch your dress,” Margaret cried.

  Anne looked up from the muddy patch she’d stepped into and shot a worried look at the fabric.

  Margaret paused. Her face was pensive, as if she was thinking carefully about something before she asked me.

  “Have you heard about the playwright?” she finally said.

  “Which one?” I tried to keep my face composed as Henry brushed off Anne’s front gently.

  “Shakespeare.”

  I stopped smiling quickly and turned to her. The expression on her face reminded of me when William talked of writing a play for Henry Carey. Her grin indicated that she couldn’t wait to share the news biting at her tongue.

  “What gossip is there about him?”


  She spoke carefully. “There are rumors he has taken a mistress.”

  My jaw dropped. News had reached court so soon? Did anyone know who she was? Did Margaret know? Or the queen?

  “Who…,” I stuttered. “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know. No one does. The lady has been seen at the Rose Theatre several times with him. Besides that, she seems to be a mystery.”

  Margaret shook her head. “Strange, isn’t it? You look so surprised.” Her eyes bore into mine.

  “I am,” I choked out. “Could it not be his wife?”

  “Oh, Emilia,” Margaret said dearly. “You still think the best of everyone. His wife is much older than the lady he’s been seeing. It is definitely not.”

  “What does the queen think?”

  “I don’t know if she’s heard. I imagine her reaction will depend on her feelings toward the playwright. There are those who have said that since he hasn’t been in court for some time, she has tired of him. Others say she fancies him. If the latter is the case, the woman had better be careful.” She watched me closely.

  If the queen didn’t know yet, then I was safe—at least for a little while longer. “Come to think of it, I am shocked you didn’t already know,” Margaret continued. “Isn’t your husband close to Shakespeare?”

  “Yes, he is.” I answered carefully, letting the words roll slowly off my tongue. “They often go to the pub, though. I do not see him frequently.”

  It was true; they did often go to the pub…but I also saw William in my own home, at the theatre, in his bed.

  “A few years ago a playwright wouldn’t dare to take a mistress, but Shakespeare is well-known. The queen is fond of his work, though she is not as entertained by his histories. She loves his work when it is something she does not already know about.”

  I clenched my teeth.

  “A writer should be able to freely express what he wishes,” I said. “If William Shakespeare wishes to write about the histories, then he should.”

  Margaret raised an eyebrow and nodded. “He is a playwright, Emilia. Nothing more.”

  “He is not,” I said. “He is more than a playwright. He is a genius.”

  “For spending very little time with him, you are quite protective.”

  “For knowing very little of him, you are quick to judge.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence as we mused on what the other had said. I had gone too far in defending William, and Margaret saw it. I was not thinking clearly. I felt tangled inside. I did not want William to tear me away from everything I knew. He distanced me from my son, and now he was tearing me from my friend too.

  “I am she,” I finally resigned.

  “What?”

  “I am his mistress.”

  Her brow smoothed and her face showed empathy, hurt for not having told her earlier, and, the most unexpected, admiration.

  “I love him.”

  “Oh, Emilia.” She shook her head sadly. “What have you gotten yourself into?”

  “ ‘What a terrible trap I have fallen into.’ ” I quoted what she had said to Frances when she had fallen in love with the Earl of Essex so many years ago.

  “Are you sure you are in love with him?”

  I laughed, though the situation hardly called for it.

  “I may have never experienced love when I was younger, but I know now.”

  “And Alfonso?”

  “Does not know.”

  Margaret placed a hand to her head, as if to steady her mind.

  “You are the last person I would expect this of.” Margaret had had to deal with this with Frances and then Lady Bess and now me. I could see that she did not approve. Even I did not know if I approved of my actions.

  “For how long?”

  “Only a few months.”

  “And what if the queen discovers this?”

  I did not know. Truly, I did not think the queen would be as upset as she was with Frances or Lady Bess, but I had no way to know. William was one of her favorites, and she did not like it when ladies whom she arranged marriages for had affairs. She was the only one who could decide who they loved.

  “Emilia?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why William Shakespeare?”

  I thought for a second on her question. A breeze rustled the lace on my dress. Henry and Anne chased each other in circles on the grass in front of us, laughing at their game.

  When my answer came, it did not come from my head. It came from my heart.

  “I see things in him. I understand him when no one else does. He often doesn’t seem to be completely in this world, but that’s because he’s not. He is in his own world, creating beautiful characters, settings, and stories. I can’t see what he sees and I cannot hope to take his attention from them. But every once in a while, I see just me in those eyes. Not fairies, kings, ships, or witches. Just me. I am all he sees. In that moment, I am the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  Margaret sighed.

  “Is it worth the risk, though?”

  “Have you ever been in love?” I asked. “I have seen you. You and George would dance and laugh at the balls like there were no other couples in the room. You were once in love with him, Margaret. I saw it.”

  “That was long ago.”

  “But surely you haven’t forgotten,” I protested.

  She was silent for some time, fingering her wedding ring.

  “No, I haven’t forgotten,” she said. “But I have learned better. What has love given me? George has not loved me since he has known I cannot bear him any more children. I once wanted to be free from the queen, and now I dread the day when I will have to leave her side and be with him all the time. In my prison, I am free.”

  I knew she was right in some way. Love was often not what it seemed, and so many times it ended badly. In William’s case and mine the only way it could end was badly—yet I could not force myself from him.

  “I have never been in love before. When I was here, all I had was Henry Carey. I was not allowed to fall in love with anyone but him, and forgive me, but what kind of man would do those things to a young girl? A child? Forgive me if I can’t love the husband who beats me. Forgive me if I have fallen in love with the wrong person. But William loves me for who I am. No one has ever cared for me in that way.”

  “I admire you for who you are, Emilia.”

  I looked into her eyes. They held genuine concern, and her expression was soft and sad. She had seen so many do what I had done, and now she was to watch me, her best friend, fight the same battle as Lady Bess and Frances. There was so much to lose in this fight. I could lose the money I received from the baron, my position in court, my son, my best friend, my soul. William could lose everything as well. William could lose the support the queen had given him. He would have to start his company over again, this time without money or the queen’s adoration.

  Could I really ruin William’s life as well as my own?

  The children began to pick flowers from the queen’s flowerbed, and we were quick to scold them. It broke the tension of the conversation. The children were getting along well. Anne was slimming down into a child, while Henry’s baby fat clung to his little bones. She watched him with exquisite, round eyes. There was no doubt she would be a beauty.

  “Do you think less of me?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. “I understand why you chose this. I just can’t understand why reason hasn’t gotten hold of you yet. I understand why you would be his mistress, but I can’t understand how you could be in love.”

  “That’s the reason I am his mistress.”

  “I suppose.” She shook her head. “Oh, what will the queen think?”

  I refused to look at her face, choosing instead to look at the bed of flowers next to me.

  “Would the playwright understand if you ignored him when he is here?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. They seemed heavier than usual. “I suppose he would.”

  “He will have to underst
and. He must realize the danger in his being here. It would not be safe to have him publicly courting you.”

  I wondered if I could stand being so close to him and not acknowledging him. What if I had never agreed to marrying Alfonso and William had courted me? Of course, he would still be married, but his wife was so far away…. Would it really be different?

  Loving him had changed everything around us. “Maybe it should end. Maybe it is not worth it,” I said very slowly.

  Margaret looked at me, surprised. “I thought you loved him.”

  “I do.”

  Margaret’s eyes drifted to the children, who were now lying on the ground in exhaustion from their game. I could see her thinking, her fingers laced together.

  “The queen,” she began, “once loved someone with the passion you have for Shakespeare. But she gave him up for the same reasons you face. It was dangerous to love Robert Dudley. He was married; she was young and claimed to be a virgin. They were a beautiful couple. It was a shame how it ended.”

  I nodded. Everyone knew about the death of Robert Dudley’s wife. She was found at the bottom of a staircase, dead. Was it an accident? Or had the queen, in one of her infamous jealous rages, ordered the girl to be killed?

  “You need to think about the consequences of what you are doing. Use your head instead of your heart. I have seen so many follow their hearts and fall to ruin. Frances, Lady Bess…”

  “It is not the same thing,” I argued.

  “Is it not?” she said. “Do you really think that love is different for every person?”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but I could not verbalize any words. I had no argument. I had seen as well as Margaret what happened to my friends.

  A pang of guilt went through my chest. Was I making a mistake, loving William? And could I say good-bye to William when he was all I had to live for?

  ENGLAND, 1596

  DURING THE REIGN OF QUEEN ELIZABETH I

  GREENWICH COURT

  ALFONSO DECIDED HE WOULD leave court right after the New Year’s celebrations. The Christmas celebrations at the queen’s court would be over, and there were many dukes and earls who wished to hear music through the long winter months. I hated that Henry would be away from me. He was young, and I feared for his life among the other musicians in the troupe, but Alfonso had shown himself to be a good father despite what he had done to me as a husband. I had given him my word, and I vowed to keep it.