In the Shadow of Shakespeare (36 page)

Neville
continued walking up the stairs, with Alice following again.

"Well,
that's the thing, it's rumors you’re speaking of." she said.

"Shakespeare
is a big deal to the Cecils.  All roads seem to stop here when the trail
runs out."

"The
trail Mr. Cruise?"

"The
authorship controversy."

Neville
rapped soundly on the large maple door in front of them.  When a
"Yes?" issued from inside he opened the door for her. 
"Alice Petrovka to see you sir."

"Oh,
yes.  Do come in Miss Petrovka. Thank you Neville."

Neville
turned to Alice.  "Good luck." he whispered.

Cedric
Cecil sat at a large mahogany desk facing the door.  He did not look up as
she sat down. 

"Alice
Petrovka.  Please, sit."

Alice
sat in a chair facing him.  He still did not look up and continued
writing.  Minutes ticked by and she looked at the gardens out the
window.  She wondered why he didn't place his desk in view of the
gardens. 

He
tapped his pen on the desk and looked at her.  "Who is it that sent
you?"

"Celeste
Chambers."

"Hmm. 
Yes.  And how is that you came to know my sister?"

Alice
shifted in her seat, uncomfortable.  "I met her at Pinehurst."

Cedric
Chambers placed the pen near his lips and gently bit it.  Alice wondered
if he chewed his pencils as a child.  He stared at her, clearly waiting
for her to say more.

"She
told me I should approach you about the court records concerning Christopher
Marlowe and your ancestors, William and Robert Cecil."

"Did
she?"

"Yes,
she did.  She said you would have knowledge of documents relating to what
happened to Christopher Marlowe."

"What
happened to Christopher Marlowe."  Cecil placed his hands together
with his fingertips touching, forming a church steeple.  "I think we
all know what happened to Christopher Marlowe, Miss Petrovka.  He died in
Deptford, with a stab wound to the eye."

"I
do not believe he died in Deptford."

"So
you fancy yourself a Marlovian, do you?"

"If
you care to call me that." 

"Quite
right.  Miss Petrovka, I assure you, the Cecil estate has no such records
proving Christopher Marlowe did not die in Deptford."

"There
are other ways to procure these records than just to simply ask for them, Mr.
Cecil."

"You
are not the first one to try and procure…these phantom records.  There
have been others before you.  Many others.  And I have told them all
the same thing, the trail stops here.  There is nothing to find."

"I
do believe you are hiding something, Mr. Cecil.  It is currently relevant
information, and a matter of public trust to the people of England, and indeed,
the world."

Cecil
smiled politely.  "You are assuming Marlowe is Shakespeare, Ms
Petrovka, and that is quite a jump from merely proving him alive."

"I'm
not assuming anything.  I
know
Marlowe is Shakespeare."

Cecil
impatiently tapped his pencil on the table.  "You are beginning to
sound like a fanatic, Ms Petrovka, and I've already told you there is nothing
to give you regarding information about my ancestors and Marlowe.  There
is simply nothing."

"You
can stonewall all you want.  But I'll get what I need from you. 
There are ways."

His
eyes turned cold.  "This isn't America.  Things are done
differently here and it is a matter of privacy."

"We'll
see about that."

"Good
day, Miss Petrovka.  Enjoy England."  He turned to his document
again.

 ***

Alice
shut the large French doors behind her.  Portraits of Cecils from the last
four hundred years lined the hall.  She turned towards the stairs and
began her descent.  Neville was coming up the stairs as she was coming
down. 

"Hello! 
Angry are you?  I can tell by your face."

"Don't
tell me you were just coming around the corner, Mr. Cruise."

"Checking
on you, so to speak."

"No
need to check on me.  You already told me I wouldn't get what I needed. 
And I didn't."

She
reached the bottom of the stairs and turned towards the mahogany doors. 
Various tour groups were clustered together listening in rapt attention to
their guides. 

"Alice,
wait."  He touched her arm, turning her toward him.

"Shouldn't
you be giving a tour or something."  She nodded towards a group of
people.

"No.
Listen to me…this Shakespeare thing.  I don't think you understand."

"What
is there to understand, Neville?"  She impatiently shook his hand off
again.  "You know for an Englishman you are very touchy feely."

"You
think we’re all a bunch of cold fish, do you?"

"No,
not everyone.  At least someone who lived four hundred years ago
wasn't."

He
looked at her strangely.  "I don't know what you're going on about,
but Shakespeare is serious stuff here in Britain.  It could be
dangerous."

She
laughed.  "Serious and dangerous.  This is how you describe your
fellow countrymen and women."

"There
is a vested interest in keeping things the way they are.  Always has
been."  Neville said.  "Seekers have come trying to prove
Marlowe is Shakespeare, mainly those after the Hoffman prize.  But they've
always been quietly rebuffed."

"I'm
not after Calvin Hoffman's prize and I'm not so easily rebuffed."

"Not
after the Hoffman prize?  It's a million American dollars."

"I'm
after something else."

"What
is that, may I ask?"

"Of
debunking the Shakespeare Industry and exposing them for what they are – a
bunch of cons and liars."

"The
English are stubborn, Alice."

"My
husband is English.  I can find myself around this country, alright."

"One
of the harem?"

"We're
recently separated."

"I
see."

"I
really think you don't, Mr. Cruise."

"You're
in love with Marlowe.  Just like the grand Marlovian dame, Dolly Walker
Wraight, was."

"So,
what if I am?" 

"I'm
sure it's easy to love someone in the past who wrote great seductive poetry and
some of the best plays in the world.  But he's dead, Alice."

"That's
what you think."

He
frowned.  "Maybe there is more to this than meets the eye."

Alice
yawned.  "I'm exhausted.  I need a bath and to go to bed."

"I
know the best thing for jet lag."

"I'm
not sleeping with you, Mr. Cruise."

He
laughed.  "Not yet to be added to the harem?"

"Well?
Tempt me."

"Tea
by the Thames."

"Doesn't
sound terribly exciting, but it does sound terribly English."

"You'll
see.  You need to be by the water right now.  And liquidated,
yes."  He glanced at his watch.  "I'm off at five. 
Ten minutes.  Meet me around back?"

Alice
hesitated, then pushed the heavy doors open.  "Alright, Mr. Cruise. 
I'll be waiting by my car."

"Good." 
He smiled.  "You won't be disappointed."

 ***

As
soon as she left he locked the door and quickly phoned his contact in the
United States.  Waiting for the pickup, he stood by the window.

"Jim? 
Hello, yes, Cedric here.  Afraid of a problem.  Hmm.  Another
one. Yes, this one you know.  Going to give the chaps a ring and will let
you know. Yes, alright…good-bye."

He
hung up the phone.  Alice and Neville stood at their cars talking.  Taking
his pipe from the desk he lit it and inhaled deeply.  As the smoke filled
the room, he watched as the two cars pulled from the parking lot.

Chapter 46

Alice
sat on a bench overlooking the Thames.  The sun had grown warm and low in
the sky.  She waited for Neville to return with their tea.  The spot
that Neville had chosen was not to far from the Rose, Kit's theatre.  The
new Globe stood in back of them.  Closed now, patrons stood reading the
venues posted on the door of upcoming programs and plays. 

Breathing
deeply she leaned back and tried to feel Kit's presence.  Nothing. 
She felt nothing.  Opening her eyes she watched the water.  Large
barges chugged by, and the smaller boats maneuvered among them.  Tourist
boats drifted by at a leisurely pace.  The sound of a guide’s voice
talking quickly and urgently about the landmarks and scenery floated across the
water.

Neville
handed her a cup of tea and lay some scones on a plate between them. 

"Sorry,
I should have asked if you like milk with your tea."

She
took a sip.  "I like it.  And the sugar and lemon. 
Thanks."

He
sat next to her.  "Busy place."

"Yes. 
It's nothing like it used to be."

"There
was quite a bit of development in the seventies, yes." he said.

"I
mean…earlier."

He
gave her a questioning look, and she found herself starting from the
beginning.  She told him about the visitor wearing the slashed
doublet.  How she had seen him holding a rose when she was at the
library.  How she found the rose and had it identified.  Then the
ending and beginning of her journey where she had crashed through time.

"It
wasn't far from here actually…by the South Bank, on Blackfriar's Road."

"By
the Old Vic Theatre?" he said.

"Yes,
down that way." said Alice.

"I
used to act there."

Alice
laughed.  "It just figures.  I should have known – an
actor."

"What
makes you say that?"

"You
say your lines perfectly." she said.  "What was your
specialty?"

"I
was keen on Shakespeare."

"Do
you think I'm crazy then?"

Voices
echoed across the water on a tourist boat.  The guide was describing the
Anchor Inn, its age and earlier Renaissance guests who frequented the tavern.
The voices floated across the water and then disappeared, followed by a wake of
laughter.

"I
do believe you had an experience, and I cannot claim to know what it is. 
Scientifically, or anything else like that.  The government would love to
get its hands on you, I'm sure."

She
finished the last of her scone and placed the paper plate in the trash
receptacle.  "I had to do this, you see.   Just had
to."

"Well…it
is your play, so to speak."

"Celeste
said I probably would encounter trouble with Cedric.  But on the chance
that he might have softened on the intelligence regarding the Cecil's and Kit,
she sent me to him."

"If
anything Cedric Cecil has hardened against the intelligence regarding Kit
Marlowe."

"I
suppose you've learned a lot working at the manor?" Alice said.

"The
eyes and ears of Hatfield House."

"Just
like Elizabeth I’s gown.  Acting not paying you enough?"

"No. 
But rich nobles do.  And it's been said the young American tourists of the
feminine persuasion fancy me."

She
laughed.  "Everyone's on the lookout for their proper English
gentleman?  I, on the other hand, have had enough of that."

"Too
many Englishmen in your harem, I suppose.  I trust I've been of
service?"

"You
have.  And I thank you for your kindness." Alice said.

"What
is next for you on your grand quest, if I may ask?" He said.

"To
Venice.  I am to speak with Luisa Vernetti.  She is in charge of the
State Archives and apparently knows a thing or two."

"I
hope you find what you’re searching for.  It seems like you've run into a
dead end here."

"Yes,
apparently." 

"Good
luck to you Alice. I suppose it is appropriate to bid you adieu at this
point."

He
stood, took her hand lightly in his and brushed his lips upon it,
"Good-bye,"he said, then began walking towards the London Bridge.

Surprisingly,
Alice felt more than a little regret as she watched him walk away.

Chapter 47

After
she had returned her rental car she took the tube back to Paddington
station.  It was rush hour and throngs of people waited in line to buy
tickets or hurry past to grab the next tube.  She made her way past the
maze of people and stood waiting for the familiar red bullet to hurry its way
towards the platform. 

Because
it was so busy she stood and held onto a metal support and braced herself as
the tube pulled from the station and hurtled through the long narrow passage
underground.  People were packed around her tight, like so many sausages
in a can.