Shakespeare's Lady

by Alexa Schnee

  One evening, just before Alfonso was to leave, our family walked to the Great Hall. Alfonso held little Henry’s hand. Henry had to run to keep up with his adopted father’s long strides. The halls were empty except for the few servants hanging holly on the walls; everyone had already made their way to the Christmas feast. I had to convince Henry to wear his scratchy new clothing. I followed behind the two, surprised at Alfonso’s care. He would stop every so often to let the boy catch his breath and then urge him on with a steady, kind voice.

  We were almost at the large double doors when Henry Carey appeared from the opposite direction. He hurried along, his cane tapping the wood floor in a rhythmic beat. He seemed to be deep in thought, his head lowered. He stared at the patch of ground just in front of him, carefully watching where he was to step next. When he came to us, Alfonso moved to the side and granted him room to pass. I could feel my palms begin to sweat, and I lowered my eyes too.

  “Good evening, Baron Hunsdon,” Alfonso and I spoke at the same time. Alfonso greeted him clearly. My words were more muffled.

  The baron looked up.

  “Master Lanier.” He seemed surprised. “It’s been awhile since I have seen you at court. How do you fare?”

  “Well, thank you,” Alfonso grunted. “You remember my wife, Emilia?”

  Henry Carey’s eyes drifted to me. He had looked frail before, but now he looked deathly. His eyes had sunken deeply into his face, and the top of his head was completely bald, dotted with spots of age. I noticed he had not lost his love for dressing finely; he wore a heavy mink coat over a handsome blue doublet. He leaned over his cane, his shoulders hunched.

  “How could I forget?” He chuckled, but it sounded more like a cough. “As lovely as ever.”

  I offered him my hand, which he kissed. I found the old feelings of disgust surfacing as he drooled on my hand.

  Then he noticed little Henry, clinging to Alfonso’s leg.

  “And who is this strapping lad?” he asked, and for a moment, it seemed as though he really did not know. His narrow eyebrows lowered as he glared at the boy. I felt terrible for the child. I could not imagine anything more frightening.

  “This is…,” Alfonso began. His mouth hung open. I realized how difficult it must be for him to say his name.

  “Henry,” I finished. “His name is Henry.”

  At this, the old man’s mouth fell open. He looked over to me and then to Henry, waiting for me to confirm the truth. I nodded at him.

  “Well, a handsome boy he is.” He bent as low as he could with his ancient back and tried to look little Henry in the eye. “You must take good care of your mother and father, you hear?”

  Henry eagerly bobbed his head. His curls bounced around his eyes and ears.

  “Good,” the Baron said. “I think I shall excuse myself for the evening. It was a pleasure to see you once again, Master Lanier, Lady Lanier.”

  He smiled at me one last time before turning away and starting down the hall. I watched him walk farther and farther away. His cane continued to make that steady beat. I wondered what thoughts were swimming in his head as he walked away from us. From me, his former mistress. From his son.

  Henry took Alfonso’s hand once again, and we resumed our walk to the Great Hall. It was quiet for a moment before Henry looked up at his adopted father.

  “Who was that man?” he asked.

  I looked to Alfonso. What would he say? I saw him squeeze the little boy’s hand, but he did not glance at him.

  “No one that concerns you, Henry.”

  I STOOD BY THE entrance to Greenwich to say good-bye to my husband and son. The cold winter air bit me with a savageness that made this good-bye even more melancholy. Bare tree limbs stretched over us like unfulfilled lovers reaching to be held. I had been at court for almost a year.

  Alfonso packed the top of the caravan, which would hold him and my baby boy for several months. It was painted a bright red, the color of blood when it first spills forth. The color contrasted with the dirty snow on the ground. The other musicians leaned against the carriage, arms crossed and eyes clear. That would only last until they made it to the first inn, where they would rest for the night.

  I hugged Henry for the last time and handed him to Alfonso. I felt part of me go with him. He was my reason for living.

  He looked so proud to be in his father’s arms. He beamed at me and tightened his grip on his father’s shirt. When he smiled, there was no doubt whose son he was. The boy’s face was an exact copy of his real father’s.

  Alfonso didn’t notice my saddened look as I said good-bye. He was distracted by Henry’s surprisingly strong grip and gently tried to loosen the child’s fingers. He spoke to him in a calming voice, his dark fingers wrapped around Henry’s tiny ones. It was so different from the attitude he had taken from the very beginning of our marriage. I was not complaining. In fact, I felt quite the opposite. I was glad that he had taken such a kind interest toward him. Perhaps there was hope for our little family yet.

  “Take care, darling.” I kissed my baby on his soft cheek. He puckered his tiny lips and kissed me too.

  “I will, Mother.”

  “You will see your mother soon,” Alfonso promised. He shifted the child so he could address me.

  “If he needs anything, I will write.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  He wore a blank expression for a moment and then leaned closer to me. For a second I thought he might kiss me on the cheek as Henry had. He was so close I could smell his breath.

  But then he backed away and stared at the ground. I thought I detected a blush creeping up his neck, but it might only have been my imagination.

  “Emilia,” he said, “take care.”

  “I will,” I agreed.

  He then turned away, his back to me as he made his way over to the cart. I watched as the caravan set off, Alfonso on foot with Henry on his broad shoulders, and I couldn’t help but mutter a silent prayer and grasp the small cross I wore around my neck. Henry shifted his weight so he could see me, his smile as wide as ever. He waved his small hand at me.

  “Good-bye,” I whispered to myself.

  My son was gone. I prayed that no misfortune would come to him or even his father while he was in Alfonso’s care.

  The English snow was as white as lace, and I could hardly keep from bending down and taking it into my hands. I wanted to feel the cold wetness sink into my gloves, burn my skin with ice.

  I made my way inside, intent on going to our now-empty rooms. Several lords and ladies whispered to each other as I passed by. When I got back to my chambers, I found a letter under the door. On it was Margaret’s handwriting, and I opened it hastily.

  Emilia,

  Come meet me tomorrow. The queen does not seem to know of your situation, but I have heard that William Shakespeare is back at court. Remain as much out of view from the queen as possible, and please don’t do something you will regret later.

  Margaret

  I placed the letter on the small desk. I knew I should burn it to keep suspicion away, but I was distracted by breathing sighs of relief.

  William was back. How long had he been at court? How had I not known? I wondered why he had not written to me to tell me of his arrival. Was William having doubts as well?

  But then I thought about the way his skin felt on mine. The way his eyes knew me more than I knew my own self and how I could not survive without the touch of his lips on mine. Could I spend an eternity without him? I started the hearth, and the warmth satisfied me. I hadn’t realized how cold I was until the warmth from the flames nipped my nose and cheeks. I threw the letter into the fire and watched it crumble and burn.

  I SAW WILLIAM FOR only a moment one night while feasting in the Great Hall during supper. The Great Hall was lit with many candles, and they cast a bright light on the members of court. Plates and knives rattled while voices crowded the room, floating throughout the air. The room was loud with conversation. People sat b
oth left and right of me, clinking glasses and toasting for no particular reason. I waved as inconspicuously as possible across the room, hoping to catch his eye, but he appeared to be busy and did not notice me. He strode across the room with papers in his hand, avoiding people walking about the room as he came closer and closer to Her Majesty sitting on her throne.

  She took a sip from her wine before leaning over. William bowed and then whispered in her ear. I watched as she placed a jeweled hand on his shoulder and laughed. Over the noise of the room, I could not hear what they were saying. William handed her the papers in his hand. She looked at them with a critical eye before nodding and handing them back. I could not tell what she was saying, but there was a smile on her lips.

  I could feel my grip on my knife tighten.

  The man on my right elbowed me and laughed. He had a large nose and wore only a simple frock made of muslin. It was stained on the ends of the sleeves and smelled as though it hadn’t been washed in a while.

  “Spending a lot of time looking at that Shakespeare, are you not, Lady Lanier?”

  The people next to him chuckled. I laughed in turn and tried to look as though I was enjoying the joke, but my stomach dropped. Was it that obvious? Did people know about the affair?

  I had to look back to the queen, only for an instant. Did she know too?

  As I glanced at her, I finally caught William’s eye. A small smile crept up the side of his face. When the queen looked away, I gave another wave, which he returned. I was about to motion for him to join me outside the hall, when the queen’s eyes darted back to William. Before I knew it, she was looking at me. Her eyes were sharp, and I recognized all too well the narrow line of her lips.

  I lowered my eyes as fast as I could, but my heart thumped in my chest. Her Majesty had caught me looking directly at William. I didn’t dare glance up to see if she was now focused on something else.

  I took my skirts in my hand and excused myself from the table without looking up. I hurried out, ashamed and frightened.

  As I walked out of the vibrant hall, I realized that from now on, I would always be avoiding the queen’s gaze.

  DAYS CAME AND WENT. I couldn’t lose myself in events that now seemed to be nothing more than distractions. When I had been at court before, the festivities had added interest to my life. Now they only seemed to be covering up things that could not be spoken of.

  I missed Henry. I missed his soft body clinging to my own and his little hands playing in my hair. I longed for the days when we went out into the garden to play among the flowers. I missed simple days and dreamless nights. I wrote to Alfonso, knowing I would not receive a reply back. I understood it was difficult to track him down, but I hoped that if he did receive my letters, he might write to tell me how my child was.

  And then, a letter appeared under my door. I recognized the perfect, flowing handwriting and tore it open.

  Emilia,

  I must see you. Staring at you across the Great Hall the other night was torture. The queen watched my every move, and it would have been dangerous to approach you.

  However, I shall defy any person to keep me away from you now. Come and meet me at the gate to Whitehall tomorrow after the noon meal is served. I shall be returning from a short trip to the theatre in London.

  Forgive me, my love. I was thinking of your protection and my own.

  William

  I felt my lips curl into a smile as I read the last words. He still loved me; he still cared. I had believed he had forgotten me. But it was not so. He still cared.

  I held the letter close to my heart, hoping it might somehow bring him closer to me.

  I WAITED FOR WILLIAM, shivering slightly, both from the winter air that lived further into the spring than I liked and also from the nervousness of seeing him again. Should I be frightened? I did not know. Before, I had always felt as though I was enough for him. Now, I was not so sure.

  The large oak tree bent from the weight of snow. William came alone. There was no need for him to bring an entourage, as Henry Carey and Alfonso seemed to require. William’s horse loped more clumsily than the nobles’ horses would, and I could see his small smile more clearly…perhaps in expectation, perhaps because I wanted to. I missed him.

  He dismounted swiftly when he reached me. His horse stopped abruptly, and I was caught up in his arms. He held me tightly; I could not escape. I did not want to. His strong arms grasped me both firmly and softly. I fit so perfectly within his embrace. My body burned like fire. How could that be? I knew all that was at stake: Henry, Margaret, my own life…

  He kissed me gently. Worries melted away as we stood there. Was it just us? Or were others watching us as well? I prayed no one could see us.

  “Emilia,” he whispered.

  “William.” I broke away from his embrace. “Perhaps we should talk in one of the chambers.”

  He took my hand, made sure his horse was with one of the hands at the stable, and led me to the palace door. Our footsteps echoed as we walked. His were more hurried than mine; I could almost hear both my reluctance and my wanting in those steps.

  “I have so much to tell you,” he began, speaking as fast as I had ever heard him. I only caught a few of the words that left his mouth. He gripped my hand tightly. I didn’t know whether I should keep holding onto his or if I should take my own away. Nothing felt certain anymore.

  “William,” I tried again.

  “This is incredible. I have spent hours with Wriothesley. He is willing to finance it, and we will begin it soon…. Oh, I can’t wait to tell you.”

  I was afraid that faces would start appearing in the doorframes, so I yanked my hand away. He let go and continued down the stone halls to where the musicians’, poets’, and playwrights’ chambers were. It would have been easy for me to turn back, to save face and argue with him some other time. But I couldn’t.

  He stopped at one of the heavy wooden doors. He opened it without hesitation, holding it open for me. His face was eager. If it was for the bed, I didn’t think I could resist him.

  He closed the door briskly behind him and motioned me to sit down in the chair in front of the rickety desk. Our chambers looked essentially the same. Mine was a little bigger to accommodate the baby, but they still held the same necessities. A cozy hearth, the oak desk, and the bed covered with blankets in the center of the room. There was a window looking outside into the Whitehall courtyard. The glass was dirtied, but one could still make out the looming winter’s gray.

  He sat down on the bed so that he faced me, looking straight into my eyes. His hands fidgeted, tracing along the chair’s intricate scrolls with his long, slender fingers, just as he had the day he told me he was going to write a play for Henry Carey.

  “Emilia.” He smiled. “I have something I need to tell you.”

  “So do I,” I said. The voice that came from me was weak.

  “I am building a theatre.”

  What I was going to say was forgotten. A theatre? Had I heard him correctly?

  “What?”

  He took my hand, still smiling.

  Had he brought this up now to put off what I was going to say? Or did he really care so much about his theatre that it had to come first?

  “Yes, a theatre. I am going to call it the Globe.”

  “What of the Rose?” I asked, my eyes wide.

  “It’s too crowded.” He frowned and waved the question away with his hand. “People keep coming to see the plays. They love them. I can’t fit everyone who wants to see them into the Rose or any of the other theatres.”

  “But…”

  “Wriothesley is paying for most of it, and the Baron Hunsdon as well. All we need is the queen’s approval and support.”

  He paused then and cocked his head to one side. His face had changed little, but there was the scruff of a beard growing on his chin, and he had taken his earring out. He looked like an average gentleman now. Not necessarily a wealthy gentleman, but a gentleman just the same. I foun
d my face growing warm as I looked at him.

  “That is what I wanted to talk to you about. About the queen,” I finally admitted.

  “I know all about it, darling. The queen does not like my histories. It is a slight complication, but I have been tiring of them myself. I want to write something impossible, something that will take the queen to her childhood.”

  “William.” I raised my voice. I could not tell whether he was deliberately disregarding my attempts to speak to him.

  “Your story would capture her imagination. What if you worked on it with me? It could be the first play performed at William Shakespeare’s Globe.”

  Again he managed to shock me out of what I was going to say. My childish tale, a play? I could almost hear my name spoken as William’s, as a playwright. But now wasn’t the time.

  “William,” I tried again.

  “Yes?” This time his eyes were on me and not on the fantasy he always seemed to be imagining.

  I took a deep breath and forced a halfhearted smile. “How can we continue with this with the queen so close?”

  He frowned. “Emilia…”

  I recognized his expression. It was complete and utter abandonment. He stood up instantly, ripping his hand from mine. He turned his back to me, so I could not see he was angry at me.

  “I did not know…,” he started…but he stopped abruptly. It was not often he was at a loss for words.

  “The queen will find out someday; that fact cannot be denied,” I continued, even though I was positive he knew what I was going to say. “I love you. I will always love you. Yet I feel as though you don’t love me. We have to be more careful. You were there when the queen looked at me in the Great Hall. You know what she is capable of.”