Shakespeare's Lady

by Alexa Schnee

  “You as well.”

  And then he left. I wasn’t sure I would ever see him again.

  TIME WAS BOTH FRIEND and foe during this period. The longer he stayed away, the longer his son lived. The longer he was home, the more worried I became. I worried first for his child’s health; a child should not die. And I worried for my own reasons. Had news of him having a mistress reached Stratford? Margaret had an ear for gossip, but I worried his wife might suspect more than anyone. My nights were lonely. I had no one to talk to. I imagined the couple breathing in the room next to me. I had often smiled at them when we returned to our chambers after a feast. Did they love each other? Did they have children they could raise without worrying about whether they would live to adulthood? I wished with all my heart that I could have given Henry what a child needed. I felt as though I hadn’t done what a mother was supposed to, that I had skipped something important.

  I often thought back on the first time I had come to court ten years before. I’d been so young. Things that worried me then now seemed entirely trivial. Would time make my current worries unimportant? I hoped it could.

  I barely recognized myself anymore when I looked into the mirror. My eyes were the same, a deep brown. They were the only part of myself I found attractive, but even they had changed. They were noticeably wiser and harder. My jaw was more pronounced, and it gave my face a sharper, distinct look. I was thinner; I did not have much appetite.

  I was only twenty-seven, and yet it felt like a lifetime had passed in front of my eyes. Time was what I wished for. I wanted time to enjoy being with William, time to see my child grow, time to be happy. I would relish it. I wouldn’t take it for granted. I just needed a bit more time.

  I DID NOT LIKE the rift that was forming between Margaret and me, so I asked her to meet me in my tiny chamber. She accepted. I think she was as much in need of my friendship as I was of hers. I loved William, and it was obvious now that I had made my decision about him, but I didn’t want to exclude others who were so important to me.

  Margaret seemed hesitant when I let her into the room that day. Her eyes were wide, and I could tell she was as just as unsure about where our friendship stood. How could I make it clear that I cared for her as I had before? We used to tell each other everything.

  “Come,” I said. “Tell me what has happened with you recently.”

  We sat at the miniature table I had crowded into the room. It had been a gift for my wedding, and I was reluctant to use it. Every time I looked at it I felt guilty.

  “The queen is not happy.” She lowered herself to the chair slowly.

  “Essex?” I guessed.

  Margaret nodded, her tight bun still as her head bobbed up and down. “She admits that she is still in love with him, but he is arrogant. I am not surprised he was sent away. He is an intelligent man; he will do well with the Irish rebellion. He is not a man, on the other hand, who lets himself be forgotten.”

  I nodded in turn. It seemed to me that Essex believed he was what the world needed, or at least what the world’s women needed.

  “I believe the queen is trying her best to dismiss him from her mind, and she is doing a fairly good job of it. She rarely writes to him anymore,” she continued. “But she is lonely.”

  I knew about loneliness. At the moment, I was very lonely. I missed William and his words and his eyes. I missed our talks and our kisses, but I also knew that he could not help being away. He loved his son. The child was dying. Of course he needed to be there.

  I glanced over at Margaret. I hoped she did not know that the reason I had invited her here was because I was feeling this way—as if this void would never be filled again.

  “She is old.” I laughed, but not in a jesting way.

  Margaret smiled at me, as if she was expecting me to say that. “Perhaps,” she acknowledged. “But that does not stop the effects of being lonely.”

  I thought on her words.

  “There is some other news, though,” she said. Her eyes were suddenly very bright. “I think I can go home in the near future.”

  “To Cumberland?” I asked. “For how long?”

  “For as long as I wish. The queen’s ladies, the ones who have been here for years, are tired of not being able to visit their families or raise their children at home. I have been here for a long time. The queen fears our disloyalty and that of our husbands. She has finally seen fit to let me go and has given me only a few more months of waiting on her.”

  “That’s excellent,” I said, knowing how much she desired to return to her home and have her own household.

  She smiled broadly. I had never seen Margaret look so content, and I was happy to see that she had found some peace in her life. She had been a loyal maid of honor for the queen, but she more than deserved to live how she wanted. She had made a simple request, and the queen had finally listened.

  “I feel terribly for Frances,” I commented. “She must be lonely with her husband in Ireland.”

  “He is hardly ever home, even when he is in England.”

  “Do you think he really loves the queen?” I asked.

  Margaret shrugged. “Who’s to say whether he does or he doesn’t? I doubt that he wishes for her money; he has plenty of that nowadays. Perhaps he likes the excitement of chasing after something he cannot have.”

  “Why would he even try to acquire something he knows he can’t have?” I asked.

  Margaret laughed. “Because he is a man. Men are always hunting. They always want something they shouldn’t.”

  “Poor Frances,” I said.

  “She brought it upon herself. She knew Essex might change his mind. She knew he was never really in love with her.”

  “I do not blame her for hoping. Everyone wants their affections to be returned.”

  Margaret would know that better than anyone.

  “What do you think will happen?” I asked.

  Margaret bit her lip again. “I always fear the worst.”

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t.”

  “Someone needs to in this court,” she replied simply.

  ENGLAND, 1597

  DURING THE REIGN OF QUEEN ELIZABETH I

  WHITEHALL COURT

  WHEN I DID NOT hear from William, I could only assume one thing. The child had passed away. I imagined William’s grief.

  I wished he would write to me. I knew it was impossible with his wife so close, but I longed for his words anyway. I wished I could write to him with my condolences. Even though I’d never met the child, I knew how painful it was to lose someone I loved. I could not imagine losing Henry. I regretted sending him with Alfonso. I wanted to hold him close in my arms and know he was all right.

  I did receive news about my old master, the Baron Hunsdon. One afternoon a letter arrived for me. His name was on it. What need of me would he have?

  My fingers itched as I opened it. I lifted his wax seal.

  Dear Madam Lanier,

  It is with deep and utter regret that I must inform you of this change in your pension. Looking through my father’s books, I see he has been paying you the amount of forty pounds for several years now. I must inform you that this will no longer occur. I am sorry to relieve you of this sum, but I am afraid I have no other choice.

  I have sent a letter to your husband as well, hearing he was away from court.

  Of most sincerity,

  George Carey

  Second Baron of Hunsdon

  My hands, which once shook so eagerly, now trembled with distress, and I had to sit down on the creaking bed. I knew what this letter meant. Henry Carey had passed away. I placed the letter at my side, and my hands came together. I said a silent prayer for my old master. I couldn’t help but think that I was not the person I once was. I was saying good-bye to the girl I once knew.

  I RECEIVED A LETTER from Alfonso. He was returning to court.

  The day Alfonso came home, I wore my best dress. I greeted him as he appeared at the gate to the palace. His troupe follo
wed him, looking as unkempt as ever. They were dirty, mud staining their boots. Alfonso barely looked at me when he came close. He gave me a simple nod to acknowledge that I was there.

  Henry ran up to me, his arms outstretched. I caught him in my arms, pressing him to me as tightly as possible. Oh, how I loved this little boy. I loved him with such a love I could not have thought possible. I loved William for different reasons, and I felt no need to compare these two loves, but I loved Henry because he was mine.

  I could feel his little heart beating with excitement. When we finally pulled away, I was astonished to see that he was entirely different than he was a year ago. His hair was curlier than before, framing his tanned face. His eyes were bright. He touched my cheek with his hand, and I could see he was a genuinely caring boy.

  He smiled. “Mother, I have so much to tell you.”

  He spoke with an adult’s diction.

  “I am sure you do,” I said with amazement. He was four now. He was a child, not a baby.

  I stood up and took his hand. His hair bobbed as he walked, but even this seemed more a child’s trait. We followed Alfonso into the palace.

  He was unscathed as far as I could tell; it didn’t appear as though any damage had been done. It was so wonderful to hear him talk about life as a musician, a life he had mastered at a young age. He mentioned his supposed father often, and it was clear that he was fond of him.

  When we reached the chamber, I started a fire and turned down the bedsheets. I had cleaned the tiny room all day. It looked exactly as it had before they had left. I had even taken out Henry’s baby bed for him, although it was obvious now that he would be sleeping with us in ours. His legs and arms were far too long to fit in the cradle.

  Alfonso watched me, his eyes following me like a wolf’s followed a doe. It was as if he was waiting for something.

  “Emilia,” he said.

  I looked up at him.

  “How was court while I was gone?”

  I hesitated before I answered.

  “It was fine.”

  Henry ran up to Alfonso and tugged on his shirt. He ruffled the boy’s hair. This seemed to remind my husband of something.

  “Did you hear about William’s son?”

  I caught my breath, fearing the worst. What would he do to me if he found out?

  “William Shakespeare?” I asked, as if I knew nothing.

  “Yes.”

  I shook my head. “Only that he was very ill.”

  Alfonso grunted. I wondered how much he suspected. His eyes never left me.

  “He died. William is in the greatest grief. I doubt he will return to court in the near future.”

  He sat down in one of the two chairs close to the hearth. Henry crawled up on the bed, his mood now melancholy. He was a wise child. He knew what kind of an occasion this was.

  “I stopped in Stratford before coming here,” Alfonso continued. “The poor fellow hasn’t even had the heart to write. They think it could be the sweating sickness.”

  I gave a small gasp. The sweating sickness was a terrible way to die. There hadn’t been an outbreak in many years, but every so often it came around again, killing thousands and breaking hearts. If the boy had contracted the disease, it was very likely that it would spread.

  I felt for William even more now. His only son was dead, and he wouldn’t touch a pen. I wanted to comfort him, but what could I do? I felt weak and hopeless.

  “I am very sorry to hear of it.” It was all I could say.

  Alfonso nodded. He seemed to be thinking of other things now. He turned his chair around to face the fire, while I picked Henry up. He was no longer light, and his taller frame surprised me. He wrapped his arms around my neck, and I could hear him breathing in my scent. It wasn’t long before I heard his tiny snores. It had been an exciting day for him. I tucked him in bed and pulled the covers up to his chin.

  I went and sat next to Alfonso. The chair creaked when I sat down, but he did not look up. He continued to stare at the fire. The flames reminded me of the night when I had attacked him because he was burning Margaret’s letters, but I felt no hostility for him tonight.

  It was quiet. There was only the crackling of the fire and Henry’s soft snores. Alfonso was thinking again; I could see it. It was as if he were evaluating something. I dared not ask him. Our reunion was going better than I had expected.

  “When does a man know what is best for his family?” he wondered aloud.

  His words surprised me. I never would have thought something so contemplative would come from his mind. Perhaps this was what William had meant when he said there was more to Alfonso than I realized. I wondered if he was thinking of Henry…or even hoping that we could eventually make a real family.

  “I don’t think we can know. We are only human,” I said.

  He nodded, his face grave.

  TWELFTH NIGHT CAME AND went. The festivities were grand as always. The queen ordered feasts and dancing, though she hardly partook in those pleasures. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind—the queen missed Essex.

  Alfonso loved working at the palace. When he was called to the queen’s side, he picked up his harp and rushed to her throne. He took William’s place as her favorite entertainer. Lines of budding sonnets were replaced with lines of music.

  I watched him with curiosity one night after Twelfth Night. His fingers nimbly picked at the strings of the harp. He touched them much more softly than he had ever touched me. The melody drifted through the air, and I closed my eyes to hear it better. Alfonso was not the queen’s favorite musician simply because of his handsome visage. After the song was over, he laughed, clear and free. I realized that was the only time I had ever heard him laugh because he was happy.

  There was a dark side to his felicity, however. As a musician, he was able to eat and drink as much as he wanted, and he used that to his advantage. Wine, beer, ale—he had it all. He would come back to our chambers long after I went to bed. I was always glad Henry was asleep so he could not see his father staggering around like an old man. I wondered if Alfonso had been this relaxed with drinking when Henry and he were away. I certainly hoped not.

  One night, he came into our chamber late. Henry was sound asleep in our bed. I had waited up for my husband to make sure he had come home safely. I worked on my story in the dim candlelight. When the sky had been dark for several hours, I heard a knock on the door. I shoved my little book into the wardrobe, hiding it among my dresses.

  I crept across the noisy floor as silently as possible, trying not to wake my son. I turned the handle slowly and Alfonso fell into the room, smelling of ale. His vest was loosened.

  I pressed a finger to my lips and pointed at Henry with my other hand before shutting the door quietly behind him.

  “Where have you been?” I asked. “You should not be out so late.”

  “Who are you to tell me what to do?”

  He appeared as if he were about to fall. He doubled over, putting his hands on his knees, and for a moment I thought he was going to vomit his drinks, but then he straightened up.

  “Come here,” he ordered, waggling a finger at me.

  “Not when you smell of alcohol.”

  He tripped over to me, a confident half smile on his face. Before I could stop him, he raised his hand and pushed me across the room. I fell on the floor, my knees and the heels of my hands smacking the ground. Blood trickled from my palms where they had scraped across the rough wood.

  Alfonso grunted before he crawled into bed like a lumbering animal. He pulled the scratchy blanket over his head. Soon his snores accompanied Henry’s.

  I sat down in the chair by the hearth. Had I really been so quick to believe in Alfonso? I held my sore hands close to my chest and took hurried breaths. I could not believe I had thought there might be some good in him after all. How foolish I had been to think that things might change.

  After the sun slowly began to touch the sky, my eyes began to drift closed. I fell asleep thinking
of how I missed William and how I missed being loved.

  I knew it wouldn’t be long before Alfonso and Henry would have to leave once again. Of course, if the queen wished him to stay longer, he would…but she had plenty of musicians to play for her. Henry was excited to go with him again, and I knew there was no hope of trying to convince him to stay with me for the rest of the year. As long as he was safe, I didn’t have a legitimate reason to argue for him to stay. I knew I would face opposition from both my son and husband.

  Alfonso didn’t once demand I sleep with him after that drunken night. He never said anything to indicate he wanted to. I wondered if he himself were having an affair. I could almost imagine him preying upon the young ladies, as he used to with me. Sometimes I would see him sitting next to one of the queen’s ladies. He would play his harp while they clapped and swooned. He would touch one of them on the shoulder or neck or let his hand linger on an arm.

  I wondered if he regretted our marriage as much as I did. These thoughts held my mind hostage. I barely noticed that Alfonso had stayed at court much longer than usual. Spring was making itself welcome, and Alfonso departed typically only a few weeks after Twelfth Night. I didn’t think the queen had asked him to stay longer.

  Eventually, I summoned the nerve to ask him when he intended to leave. I waited until he had just finished playing for the queen. I sat in our tiny room. Henry had been invited to play with some of the other children at court, and I had readily agreed. He spent far too much time with his parents, and I worried he might not have the interaction with children his age that he needed. I picked up my sewing needle and pretended to do something useful. I could hear Alfonso’s heavy boots coming down the hall, almost like I could in our house in London.

  He opened the door and looked at me without a scowl. He seemed surprised that I wasn’t with Margaret and actually doing something he approved of.

  “It’s so sunny outside,” I said as he sat next to me. Alfonso nodded; he was clearly not interested in my observations.