“What do you think? Will I pass as an Elizabethan teenager?”
“I have no qualms about that. You look lovely.” His smile seemed warm and genuine.
He’d changed too, back into the velvet doublet, silk hose, and fancy boots from last night. He also wore a small ruff at his neck. That would take some getting used to.
“Allow me to escort you to the meal,” he said, holding out his arm.
“Why do these shoes feel so weird?” I asked, hobbling along beside him.
“Because there’s no left or right. The shoes will gradually mold themselves to your feet.”
Oh, this just gets better and better. Until that happened, I’d have to walk as though my feet couldn’t coordinate with my brain.
Along the staircase—different stairs than we’d used before—portraits of various family members lined the walls, their expressions either haughty or grim. In the lower hallway, Stephen said, “The chapel is hidden away down here somewhere, I believe.”
“Hidden?”
“The Hoghtons are Catholic and cannot practice their faith openly.”
“What’s wrong with being Catholic?” I asked, lengthening my stride to match his.
“The queen and Privy Council—and an act of Parliament—have decreed that we must all be Church of England. Protestant.”
“Are you saying it’s against the law to be Catholic?”
“The queen, for the most part, is tolerant of Catholics.”
“That didn’t really answer my question.”
He acted like he hadn’t heard me. “For now, our concern is to identify the priest, the Jesuit attempting to recruit Shakespeare. He’s disguised as … something else. We shall find out soon enough.”
A soft grunt of irritation slipped out. “You still haven’t explained how this is all supposed to work.”
“We must find our bearings before taking any action. Shakespeare will be at the meal. It will be your first chance to meet him.”
“William Shakespeare will be at lunch?” My voice rose an octave, and Stephen grinned.
“It would behoove you to study him. Notice whom he converses with and what he says. Discreetly, of course.”
He couldn’t resist bossing me around. “Too bad I don’t have my laptop, or at least a spiral. I could take notes.”
He raised an arrogant brow. “And whatever else you do, remember who—and where—you are.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “No problem.” How could I forget?
My heart pounded like a jackhammer as we entered the hall where the others were awaiting us. I inhaled deeply and followed Stephen. Showtime.
THE CAVERNOUS ROOM DISTRACTED ME, which was what I needed. I marveled at its size and the rich textures of the wood covering its walls. The wood’s darkness was offset by the light streaming through the tall, mullioned windows set in alcoves on either side of the room. Stephen led me to a long oak table on a dais, where several people were already seated. As we approached, the men rose.
After greeting us, Master Hoghton said, “Stephen and Olivia, may I have the honor of introducing you to some of the members of our household? Our cousin Jennet Hall has lately come from Clitheroe. And this young man is Master William Shakespeare, our new schoolmaster.”
My breath caught. I’d forgotten Shakespeare would be my age. I’d been picturing someone older, with a receding hairline. This Shakespeare was a boy with a high forehead, chestnut hair, and a playful gleam in his eye. He stood, doffed his cap, and bowed. Jennet rose and curtsied, and I followed her example. My cheeks flamed. I knew my curtsy must look awkward and probably comical. No doubt I’d have lots of opportunities to perfect it in the coming days.
My uncle introduced three other men. The oldest was Peter Gillam, Master of the Revels. The youngest was his son, Fulke, who looked about Shakespeare’s age. The remaining man, called Thomas Cook, was a scholar on his way to Oxford. “And now, Olivia, please be seated next to me,” Master Hoghton said.
“It would be my honor, Uncle.” A servant standing against the wall pulled out my chair for me. Stephen claimed the seat on my other side, next to his aunt. I was having a hard time thinking of the Hoghtons as my aunt and uncle. I only had one of each, and they lived in California. I rarely saw them. Since “Master Hoghton” was so formal, I decided to call him by his first name, Alexander. Only in my mind, of course. And I’d begin to think of his wife as Elizabeth.
A young boy walked around with a pitcher of water, a basin, and a towel, and everyone washed their hands. Then Alexander offered a prayer of thanks, which dragged on for so long I nearly dozed off. After the amen, he toasted Stephen and me.
“On this happy occasion, we honor our niece Olivia and nephew Stephen. May their company gladden us for many days.”
I frowned at Stephen. Not too many days. Everyone raised their cups and drank, including me. It was beer or ale; I wasn’t sure which. It was served at room temperature, but it was smooth and thirst-quenching.
Servants made the rounds, heaping food onto wooden dishes at each place. The first course was fish. I looked on as everyone else used a knife to lift the layer of meat from the bone. Once that was done, they used their fingers to eat. There was no knife by my plate, only a spoon, so I sat there waiting for someone to rescue me.
“Sister, have you forgotten your knife?” Stephen asked. “I shall help you.” Deftly he deboned the fish and then laid the knife on the table between us.
“Thank you, Stephen. I can always depend on you.” My tone was deadpan, but he raised a brow at me, looking amused. I realized I was ravenous. I never ate more than a snack before a performance, so I hadn’t had a meal since lunch yesterday. I shoved morsels of fish into my mouth like a starving person, and when I finished, I broke off a piece of bread from a loaf at our end of the table and gobbled it down.
“This bread is totally good,” I whispered to Stephen.
“It’s called manchet.”
“Right.” I broke off another piece and stole a glance toward the other end of the table to see what Master Shakespeare was up to. Absorbed in conversation with the man introduced as an Oxford scholar, he didn’t seem the least bit interested in the new arrivals.
After the fish, servants brought us little cakes of almond and sugar. Marchpane, Stephen quietly informed me. No sooner had I popped one into my mouth than the next course was served. More fish.
“Eel,” Stephen mouthed.
Oh, yuck!
When Stephen and I went for the knife simultaneously, he politely deferred to me.
“What news from home, Stephen?” Alexander asked between bites. “You spoke of your father. How is my sister?”
“She is afflicted with toothache. Father nags her to have them pulled, but alas, she is too proud and would rather bear the pain.”
“I am sorry to hear it. And what of yourself?”
“I am much busy with account keeping and helping Father manage the tenants.”
“You are taking on more of your father’s responsibilities. Good lad.”
I leaned back in my chair so Stephen and Alexander could talk more easily. Meanwhile, the servers made room on the table for more sweets and a salad of lettuce, onion, and fragrant herbs. By this time I definitely had that stuffed feeling and wished there was some way to loosen my bodice. I turned to Stephen during a lull in the conversation and in a low voice asked, “Do all the meals take this long?” An arm darted between us, whisking my tankard away and refilling it. I drank deeply.
“Go easy on the ale, Miranda,” Stephen said softly. “You’re not used to it.”
I rolled my eyes. “I drink sometimes.”
He looked skeptical. “To answer your question, only the noon meal. Unless there is some festivity in the evening, as there will be tonight.”
“I—” Apparently he wasn’t interested in what I was about to say, because he resumed his conversation with his uncle.
My eyes roamed around the vast room while the remaining courses were ser
ved—cheese, apples, and fruit tarts. I washed down the food with lots of ale. In the center of the huge hall, a long table rested before a massive stone fireplace. At the far end, food was being passed to the servants through slats barely wide enough for the purpose. I heard my uncle speaking to me, and I shifted my attention to our table.
“And you, lass? What occupies your time?”
“Ahem. Uh, needlework, Uncle. And assisting my mother when she requires my help.” That could cover just about anything, couldn’t it?
He gave me a sly look. “Any proposals of marriage yet?”
Was he joking? “I am but seventeen, sir.”
“I daresay many young ladies of your years are wed.”
“I shall wed when the queen takes a husband,” I said. Where did that come from?
The whole table roared with laughter. “Cheeky, is she not?” Stephen asked. My face burned, and I knew I would never have said such a thing if I hadn’t been gulping ale.
“Have a care, Olivia,” Alexander said. “The queen nearly married the Duke of Anjou a few years past.” More laughter. Ha ha. Very funny. Embarrassed, I glanced down at my plate and shoved a piece of marchpane into my mouth.
Then a new voice entered the conversation, and I jerked to attention. It was Will Shakespeare.
“Our queen has never lacked suitors, if we’re to believe all the gossip.”
“ ‘He speaks! O, speak again, bright—’ ” Did I say that out loud? Since Stephen’s sharp elbow had jabbed me in the ribs, I assumed I had. I leaned forward so I could peer around him to get the optimal view of Shakespeare.
“But it seems she has always been more enamored of riches and power than of any man,” he went on.
“Perhaps she’s waiting for Venus to reward her with the fairest man in the kingdom,” Stephen said. All eyes now turned toward him, so I pressed into the back of my chair, hoping I hadn’t been caught staring.
“Yet if she delays too long, her charms may wither on the bough,” Will said.
“If they haven’t already,” Stephen responded. He and Will guffawed, along with a few others. I wondered if in this year, 1581, the queen was old enough to be wearing that hideous white makeup. In the movies about her, it seemed like the older she got, the thicker she smeared it on.
Their comments had earned them a stern look from Elizabeth. Apparently she didn’t approve of jokes at the queen’s expense. Stephen and Will apologized, but I noticed a few people hiding smiles behind their napkins. The talk turned to politics. I finished off another tankard, which was quickly refilled, while the conversation droned on. Spain was at war with Portugal, whose king had died recently. Shakespeare asked what the queen might do. “Stay out of it, I hope,” Stephen said.
Alexander plunked down his tankard. “It seems Her Majesty would make war with all of Catholic Europe.”
“At the peril of her soul,” Thomas Cook answered. That was a conversation stopper. Thomas’s eyes glinted an unusually intense blue, and his gaze was deep and penetrating. I’d felt it myself a couple of times during the meal. Even though my brain was a little fuzzy because of the ale, it occurred to me that he might be the Jesuit.
I sneaked a glance around the table. Keeping her eyes cast down, Jennet seemed to be the only one uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. Her dress was plain, a simple white bodice and black skirts. Maybe she was a Puritan, I thought.
We washed our hands, and without waiting to see what everyone else did, I stood. Stephen pulled me back down. I was feeling more than a little woozy, and I giggled when I saw what was happening. All around the table, people were picking their teeth. The ladies discreetly, with their free hands covering their mouths. Most of the men, however, picked away with abandon, including Stephen.
Ick.
“We’ll have to see that you get your own knife and picks,” he said when he could spare a moment.
“How exciting.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Picking your teeth in public is so … attractive.”
When Alexander had finished, everyone put their picks away and rose. I swayed, the alcohol rushing to my head. The room spun, and Stephen grabbed my arm. “Whoa. Take care, Mir … Olivia.”
“Olivia is tired from her long ride,” Elizabeth said. “It is best she spends the afternoon resting.”
“My thought exactly, Aunt,” Stephen said.
Blah, blah, blah, whatever. Just get me out of here.
“Come, Olivia. I shall see you to your chamber.”
“Mir-livia. Call me Mir-livia,” I said drunkenly. “Thash my new name.”
“Hush,” Stephen said, a smile pasted on. “Someone will hear you.” I clung to his arm to keep from keeling over.
Back upstairs, Copernicus greeted me with his sloppy kisses, and I knelt down to pet him. “Nice doggy,” I said, stroking his long back. When he shifted position, I rolled right over onto the floor. Stephen hauled me to my feet and lifted me onto the opulent bed, where I hoped to sleep for the rest of the day.
Alas, it was not to be. He let me sleep for two hours, and then awakened me for dancing lessons. I opened my eyes and immediately squeezed them shut again.
“My head,” I moaned. “Go away. Leave me alone.”
“Nay, you must get up. You do not want to look foolish tonight, do you?”
“I don’t think I can walk, let alone dance.” I told him I’d learned country dances at school and seen them performed a zillion times in plays and at Renaissance fairs, but he still insisted.
“You try my patience, Miranda. Fresh air is what you need.”
I staggered over to the washstand and splashed my face with water, cringing when I remembered the “Mir-livia” incident. As we headed outside I said, “I think you should call me Olivia all the time. It’s too confusing for both of us if I have two names.”
Stephen nodded. “Olivia it is, then.” We circled the house, finally ending up in a rose garden full of bushes bearing tender buds.
He guided me through all the moves, called “double,” “single,” and “slip step” or “French slide.” The dances always began and ended with an “honor,” when the ladies and gentlemen bowed to each other. At first, I could barely coordinate my brain with my feet. “How do you people drink so much alcohol and still function?” I asked Stephen.
He shrugged. “Because we are accustomed to it, I suppose.”
After a while, the fresh air revived me. All the dancing made my face grow warm and sweat trickle down my back. “I hope no one sees us. Wouldn’t they think it was weird for a brother and sister to dance together?”
“They will think only that we are high-spirited youths free of parental restraints,” he said. “Here, let’s try a volta!”
Before I could react, Stephen had lifted me high and was twirling me around. “It is rumored that the queen loves this dance!”
I shrieked, afraid the spinning would make me nauseous. My stomach seemed okay, though, so I just laughed and grasped his shoulders. An elated feeling gripped me for a moment. I threw my head back and let it fill me up.
When Stephen put me down, I noticed a drape on one of the second-story windows open. In a flash, it fell quickly back into place. Someone had been watching us.
DURING THE EVENING MEAL, Alexander announced that tomorrow, Maundy Thursday, we would ride to Preston to distribute food and alms to the poor. “ ’Tis customary,” Stephen whispered to me. I could live with that, except for the “ride” part. I hoped Preston wasn’t too far.
When the meal and all its rituals ended, Alexander stood and said, “Let us have some dancing!”
While we waited for the servants to rearrange the furniture, I stood off to the side, my mind clear and alert. I’d limited my ale consumption at dinner to half a tankard. I was dressed in the crimson gown I’d found in the trunk. After the dance rehearsal, Bess had helped me wash and change, and she’d done my hair too. I could get used to being waited on, I thought.
The hall looked beautiful. Hundreds of
chandeliered candles illuminated the room, casting a warm amber glow over everyone, and the minstrels’ gallery had been hung with greenery. Even though I felt pretty confident about the dance steps, I didn’t really know the order, which explained the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Stephen strolled over to stand beside me. “That gown suits you, Olivia,” he said, his eyes laughing. Right. It was difficult to read Stephen—I was never sure if he was teasing me or not.
“Sucking up to me won’t help,” I said. “I still don’t want any part of your stupid little scheme.” His eyes hardened, but he didn’t comment. Too late, I wished I’d kept my mouth shut. The laughing-eyes Stephen was much better looking than the scowling one.
In a moment, music began to drift down from the gallery, and when I looked up, there stood Will Shakespeare plucking the strings of a lute. Fulke was playing a recorder, and a boy I hadn’t seen before, fingering a strange-looking keyboard instrument, rounded out the ensemble.
The music had a familiar ring from plays and movies I’d seen, and yet at the same time it sounded completely foreign. It was, after all, some four hundred–plus years removed from modern music. “Who are all these people, by the way?” I asked, glancing around at women and girls wearing brightly colored gowns and men and boys in fancy doublets.
“Friends from the neighboring villages and manors and their sons and daughters. My uncle wanted this to be a festive occasion. Until Easter Sunday, there will be no more entertainment.”
“So, how long do you think this seduction stuff will take?”
“Longer than you’ll like if you don’t find an opportunity to pass some time with Master Will.”
“Difficult when he’s up there and I’m down here,” I pointed out.
“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” Stephen glanced toward the musicians, and I thought he was about to suggest a way for me and Shakespeare to get together. Instead he said, “Will you dance with me, Olivia?”
I sent him a cynical glance. “If I must.”
Stephen laughed. “You provoke me, mistress.” Looking around the room, he said, “I see Jennet Hall is not dancing. She is, I believe, from a strict Protestant family. Her father is a minister.”
Kissing Shakespeare Page 4
