Shakespeare's Lady

by Alexa Schnee

  “What play will you perform here first?” I asked. The histories would interest his patrons and the commoners, but I found I liked his comedies better. The more fanciful plays reflected what I saw in his eyes, what he really dreamed about. They helped me to escape from what I knew.

  He let go of me slowly and shrugged his strong shoulders. He watched me.

  “There is a play by a lovely lady I know…,” he said.

  “Don’t start that again.” I laughed.

  “I’m serious, Emilia. You would be one of the first published women poets in England’s history. How could you resist?”

  I smiled. “Oh, I can.”

  He twirled around the wooden beam and caught me in his arms. His breath blew softly on my face. “I am pretty sure that young lady would negotiate.”

  “And why do you say that?” I whispered.

  “Because I know her lover. I hear he knows what is best for her,” he whispered in the same tone.

  “All men think they know what is best for their ladies.”

  “What if this one does?”

  “What if he doesn’t?”

  As much as I wanted to see my name in print or my play performed, I could not forget the way Henry Carey had insisted that writing was wrong. I could not disregard the look on his face that day when he told me it was unacceptable. I could only imagine what Alfonso would do if he found out.

  William shook his head and kissed me. His lips were so familiar and comforting, yet they still brought an element of excitement with each touch.

  “All right, my lady, you win this time.”

  “I win every time,” I jested, when he knew as well as I did that it was untrue.

  He laughed and kissed me again.

  We toured the rest of the theatre. I was awed. It was rounded, like a big sphere. I could see where they were to lay the entrance. Pilings were stacked next to it. It smelled of paint and freshly cut wood. I could hardly believe that, in a few months, these large beams would support the greatest theatre in London. William’s plays would be performed here. My play could be performed here.

  I HAD TO GO to the tailor’s to order some dresses. Money was always an issue, especially since Henry Carey’s passing, but I had worn the same few gowns for years and repaired them the best I could, and now they were beyond help. Fabric can only be kept for so long.

  I walked into the small shop just off the river. It was clean, painted bright colors, and smelled of ocean salt from fabrics imported from France and Italy. The different colors and patterns lined the walls like colorful soldiers. I ran a hand along them, feeling whisper-thin silks and heavy brocades. Bolts of rich velvets and thick, warm wools were piled high on tables.

  Ladies milled around, touching the fabrics and comparing weights and feels. To win the approval of Her Majesty, you chose only the finest. None of the women in the store looked my way when I entered, but I recognized one of them.

  I had not seen Frances in years and had assumed she was still in Essex with her brood of children. But today she was here by herself.

  She wore a deep forest-green dress with gold stitching. Her hair was pulled back and tucked under a cap. She looked older and more sophisticated than before, but her once-perfect rosebud lips were now tightened into a thin line.

  I watched her out of the corners of my eyes, hoping that she might look my way. Her large blue eyes studied a soft silk, and she walked with a steady stride.

  The shop was crowded, and I had to pull my skirts away from trampling feet a few times. I was pushed closer and closer to Frances. There was no way I could ignore her.

  “Lady Devereux.”

  She glared at me coldly as I handed the piece of paper with my measurements on it to the attendant.

  “Lady Lanier,” she spoke in an even, flat tone. “I haven’t seen you since your wedding.”

  “Yes, it has been a long time,” I countered. “How is your husband?”

  “Missing court,” she admitted, but without either a smile or a frown. “He has not taken to Ireland.”

  “And how are your children?”

  “The children fare just fine.”

  “I am glad to hear of it,” I replied. “It is good to know that you are doing so well.”

  I thought I caught a smile, but it quickly faded and she touched the velvet purse that hung from her belt. She pointed to a length of satin and handed the tailor a few coins. We were silent as he cut the amount she wanted. I played with the cross at my neck while he handed her fabric to her.

  “Perhaps you will find this odd…,” she began. “But I have heard a rumor about you and the playwright, Shakespeare.”

  I was taken aback. Frances hadn’t even been at court. News had reached the outside so quickly? How could the queen and Alfonso not know?

  “I just thought you should know.” I could see she was choosing her words carefully by the look on her face.

  A long moment of silence stretched out. “How kind of you to care,” I finally said. Voices echoed through the room. A man was helping a lady with a spool of French lace. I heard him stride over and, out of the corners of my eyes, saw him reach up and pull down the one she desired.

  “Do not disregard Her Majesty so easily,” she said. I could hear a touch of worry in her voice.

  I paused, thinking about what she said. I wondered what else Frances knew, what else everyone knew. The tailor, sensing a break in our conversation, handed me some fabric samples. I watched her curiously, studying her face to see how she was coping.

  Before I could stop myself, I spoke again. “I have missed you.”

  She did not look at me but nodded her head, as if she had already known. The beginnings of wrinkles surrounded her eyes. She reached a hand toward me, and for a moment I thought she might pat me on the shoulder. But she let her hand fall to her side and turned away, her fabric under her arm. I thought she was going to leave, but a soft, frightened voice carried to my ear.

  “Be careful, Emilia.”

  I heard her hurried footsteps fade behind me, and I listened as the bell over the door rang her exit. I did not turn, but I imagined her walking down the busy street with her bundle before she stepped into the carriage that would take her back to Essex.

  Her warning frightened me. I wondered if William and I had made a mistake—one that could cost me my life.

  IN MARCH, I STARTED to feel strange. I walked around the palace feeling hungry most of the time, even if I had eaten a filling meal only an hour earlier. I was also tired most the time, no matter how well I had slept. I thought nothing of it. There were other things on my mind.

  William was busy with the Globe. He spent most of his time with architects and builders, completing the final designs. I wished he would spend less time on the theatre and more time planning his escape with me, but I didn’t let it show. His face was tired but he was excited, and I couldn’t help but be excited for him.

  The plague struck again. Though the wealthy could escape to their estates outside the city, William and I did not have that luxury. Nights when we were together, we heard cries of agony in the room next to us. Doors opened and closed as soothsayers bled victims who had caught the wretched disease.

  The number of bodies on the cart just outside the palace gates grew. The wealthier bodies were wrapped in pallid linen, while the poor remained in the clothes they departed this world in.

  One day, as I was passing through the halls, I was blocked by a soothsayer coming from the direction I was headed. He held out a hand to block me from going any farther. His eyes drooped with fatigue, and the white shirt he wore was stained with blood and sweat. Herbs dangled from pouches on his belt.

  “I would not go that way, my lady,” he said. “They are carrying a young woman out of her room, and her husband is coming down with the same symptoms. I would stay far away from here.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Bless you.”

  He hurried on, and I went back to my chambers. Every time I heard another moan
through the thin walls, I was glad that Henry and Alfonso were traveling the countryside. They would be safer away from the city.

  Most of London was locked away, hiding from the unseen enemy, while the rest were buried on the street. I encouraged William not to go out. He laughed, shook his head, and kissed my cheek.

  “The Globe is right in the middle of London, dear,” he said. “How do you suggest I finish it if I don’t go out?”

  I couldn’t stop him. He was determined to finish his project. I could only watch and pray that he did not contract the disease. I just wanted him to be safe; I didn’t want to lose him in that way. I didn’t know what I would do if we couldn’t be together.

  JUST AS THE SPRING flowers were beginning to bloom, Margaret came to my door.

  Her eyes were wide with fear, and I ushered her into my chambers as quickly as possible and closed the door tightly behind her. Her breathing was shallow, as if she had run. I pulled up a chair for her to sit upon.

  She lowered herself into the chair and moaned. She wrung her hands together before her right hand flew to her face and she brushed aside a stray hair. Margaret, in all the years I’d known her, had never looked so disheveled and distressed.

  “Emilia, I must tell you something,” she began, and her voice cracked. She looked as though she really did not want to say the words.

  “Of course,” I said. “Say what you need.”

  She swallowed. I feared for her, and I felt dread creeping into my body. Her eyes were red and swollen, as though she had been crying for hours. Not even when her marriage was collapsing or she was with child had I seen Margaret in such a state,

  “Perhaps William should join us before I tell you,” she said delicately.

  It was the first time she had ever called him by his first name. I didn’t question her anymore. We waited for William in silence, the burning fire warding off the early spring chill.

  She twisted her hands in her lap. I could only think of one thing that would make her so worried for me. I could only think of one reason she would wait for William before speaking. Then the door opened and William burst through. His smile disappeared when he saw Margaret. He closed the door behind him softly.

  “I am sorry. I did not realize we had a guest,” he apologized.

  Margaret nodded curtly, her mind still on what she was going to say.

  He sat down on the bed, close to my chair, even though there was a seat for him next to the fire. The mattress creaked stiffly. He looked to me, his small smile just barely visible through the confusion and worry.

  “William,” I choked out his name, “Margaret has something to tell us.”

  It was a moment before she collected herself. She turned in her chair so she could clearly see both of us. Her hands shook and she breathed deeply. I gave one last look at William before she spoke.

  “The queen knows.”

  William gasped. It was almost too soft for me to hear, but I could. He reached for my hand, taking it, as if he were trying to hold on to me for as long as possible. He was frightened.

  It was some time before he answered.

  “What should we do?” His words were clear and slow.

  Margaret glanced at me. “She wants to see both of you.”

  William gripped my hand tighter. “When?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  He sighed. “You could have told us a bit sooner,” he grunted.

  “Stop,” I scolded him. “She did the best she could without the queen suspecting.”

  He sighed, more deeply and sadly this time. “I am sorry,” he said. “It’s just…”

  Margaret nodded. “I know.”

  My stomach churned and my hands grew sweaty. What would I say to Her Majesty? I had never been so frightened in my life. My whole body trembled and my heart beat in my chest. It was as if a bird were locked in me, desperately beating its wings to get out.

  My right hand, the one that wasn’t holding William’s, gripped the side of the bed. I was doomed to a fate without William… forever. I couldn’t explain the grief and the hopelessness I was feeling.

  “Emilia?” Margaret said. “I am so sorry. I tried my hardest to make sure she didn’t know.”

  “I know you did. It is nothing you have done. She was bound to find out.” My voice was as an old woman’s, drained of life.

  Margaret took my other hand, and I was held by two of the most important people in my life. I realized how lucky I was, even in my darkest hour, to have people who loved me and cared about me. If there was one thing I wanted to remember, it was the feeling of wholeness before the feeling of dread came. I grasped this moment like I grasped the hands of my friend and my lover.

  “What are we going to say?” I asked William as my mind cleared.

  “We are going to tell her the truth. I love you. If she cannot accept this, then we will just have to deal with the consequences.”

  “And what consequences will those be?” I turned to Margaret. An image of Henry flashed through my mind.

  “I do not know,” she answered.

  I COULDN’T SLEEP. I didn’t even try. I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, just as I had so long ago at my little house in London. Images would come to me—of Henry, of Margaret, and of William. I could not control these visions. They greeted me like ghosts. I counted how many times I turned over in my bed, flipping from one side to another.

  I remembered coming to court for the first time. I thought of Margaret and Frances and how close they had been and how they were now so far away. I remembered my old master, Henry Carey, and how he was the first to introduce me to William, how he had given me my child. One.

  I smiled at little Henry’s curls and his smile. I admired his devotion to his adopted father and his excitement about becoming a musician. I wondered if I would ever be able to say good-bye. Two. The sheets rustled in protest.

  I thought mostly of William. He was my one kindred soul. I thought of how much I loved him and how it must come to an end. I would never love anyone the way I loved him. He was part of me. He was who I was, who I cared most about. I would always love him. Three.

  There was one more soul that haunted me that night. I didn’t want to see her. I had spent most of my life hating being compared to her. That night, however, I let her taunt me. I always swore I would never follow Anne Boleyn’s example. But I had let her take hold of me and I had let love change me. I wasn’t sure if it was for the better or the worse. After that, I forgot to count anymore.

  When the first light of morning peeked through my window, I bathed and dressed. My worst nightmare had come true. I would tell the queen the truth, but I didn’t know what I would do from there. When she asked me never to see William again, what would I say? What if she threatened a punishment much worse?

  I dressed in my newest gown just arrived from the tailor’s. I admired the handiwork and the blood-red color. I had never even worn it. I took it as a sign. I would meet the queen in my finest. I pulled my hair away from my face and pinned it. My high cheekbones were pale. I was so afraid.

  I took out my cross and clasped it around my neck. If I had ever needed God, it was now.

  There was a knock on my door and I knew the time had come. I opened it slowly. A stocky messenger was waiting outside.

  “Lady Lanier?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “Her Majesty wishes to see you.”

  “I suppose she does.”

  I stepped out of my chambers with my head held high. I would not be known as anything but a lady, even as I was led to my humiliation.

  “This way,” he said.

  The passageways seemed darker and more threatening. I tried to remember everything about them—the carefully woven tapestries, the shine of the suits of armor standing guard, the little bit of sunlight pooling through the windows. It could be the last time I ever saw it like this.

  We stopped in front of the two gigantic doors that led to the throne room. They stood like a giant mouth.
The intricate carvings mocked me, like large eyes. We waited outside.

  “Is someone in there?” I asked.

  “The Master Shakespeare,” he said. I wondered how many people like me he had shown through those doors.

  I was very quiet. I tried to hear William’s voice. I could hear muted tones but no words. I could pick out his voice. I wondered if he was thinking of me.

  We waited for several more minutes until the large doors finally opened. William stepped out, his face grave. He strode over to me and let me fall into his arms.

  He kissed me softly; I could tell he was savoring it. I wrapped my arms tightly around him, never wanting him to let go. He held me for several minutes. We breathed together, and I wondered if it were for the last time. It might be the last time I would feel the strength in his arms and the caring in his touch. It might be the last time I would see myself in his eyes.

  “I will be in your chamber,” he whispered in my ear.

  I nodded so he knew I had heard him.

  He squeezed my hand one last time, and then he was gone.

  And I had to face the queen.

  I entered as slowly as I could, concentrating on the number of steps I took so I wouldn’t fall over in fear. I kept my eyes down, like the other times I had met with Her Majesty. I breathed in as deeply as possible and made three curtsies.

  The night before, I had thought about how I would address her. I had gone through the list of titles I could use to regain her approval and finally decided on one.

  “Your Grace,” I said. I dared to look upon her.

  Her face was unreadable. Her hawkish eyes seemed to be looking through me, as though I was as transparent as a shard of glass. She looked as if at any moment she would swoop down and devour me. I was and always had been her prey.

  Her Majesty wore a gown of satin. Her collar stood high above her shoulders like ruffled feathers. The dress was a creamy white, and it made her red hair seem dark. Curtains were drawn across the window to hide the sun. The room seemed much colder and more frightening than the other times I had been there. I knew what she was thinking. A newcomer at court would have been able to tell what she was thinking. I recognized that hard line where her mouth should have been. It was the line she had worn at Frances’s wedding.