Kathryn Kramer (15 page)

A grin split
Murray's face from ear to ear.  It was obvious that Nicholas had touched upon a welcome subject. 

"I literally bumped into him."

"Bumped into him?" Nicholas was puzzled.

"I was carrying a piece of scenery I had just created.  A masterpiece if I do say so myself.  Wasn't paying attention to where I was going.  I came around a corner and whopped him with it." 
Murray laughed as he remembered.   "Sent the poor lad flying, I did!

"A bit like my first meeting with Alandra,"  Nicholas said, pointing to that spot on his head that she had targeted that night in the play
wagon.

"Aye.  But from such an embarrassing moment was born a great friendship and a turning point in b
oth our lives.  I introduced Will to Christopher Marlow and others in the writing community, and he in turn gave me the chance to follow my heart's fondest dream."  Murray sighed, his eyes taking on a wide-eyed glaze as he was thrust back into the past.  For a moment it was as if Nicholas was not even there.  "He was such a  shy, quiet man.  Awkward.  A bit of a bumpkin.  A glove-maker's son from the country, you know with none of a Londoner's knowledge."

"And yet he carries himself with as much grace as any nobleman."  Certainly he was proof that a man could put his humble beginnings aside, Nicholas thought.  Despite his origins, Shakespeare was as sophisticated as an
y man at court.

"Aye he does.  Self-taught.  He's learned from life itself and has used what he has observed in his writing."  He couldn't have sounded any prouder had he been the man's father.  "He was just a penniless scholar but he was resolved to become a success.  And he has.  Now
, he can hold his own with any man from Oxford or Cambridge if he has a need to."

"I'm certain that he could."  Nicholas didn't doubt but that William Shakespeare co
uld well hold his own with any of Elizabeth's courtier's, as far as wit and intelligence.  "But what led him to writing?"

Once again
Murray showed his pride.  "Me."  He explained.  "He was unhappy with the actor's lines he was given., critical of the so-called guild dramas, morality plays  and pageants  that were  being presented at the Inns of court.  I told him that if he didn't like them he should write his own and he did."   Murray sighed.  "But it was a long road to success.  Will began by finishing plays started by others, brightening up old plots with a fresh view.  He went through a long winter, as he calls it.  But talent won out."

"It
seems so."

"As time goes by
, his writing has become even more important than acting.  I would venture to say that Shakespeare's genius speaks for itself."

"Loudly and v
ery clearly," Nicholas agreed.

"And perhaps the same will happen for you." 
Murray cocked his head, taking note of Nicholas again as he drifted back out of the past.  "Perhaps you might become a playwright too."

"Me?"  Nicholas threw back his head and laughed.  That was one deception he would not even attempt.  "No, no, I'll leave the drama to Shakespeare.  I'll but recite what he puts down for me
to say.  It's safer that way."

"Safer?"
Murray eyed Nicholas quizzically.   "Sometimes yes and sometimes no.  'T is the actor's who bear the brunt of the audience's displeasure."  He patted Nicholas's arm.  "But do not worry.  We will be a success from the moment we reach Faversham until the end of our tour.  You will see."             

"I thought I heard Heminges say that we would reach Faversham in two days time
,” Nicholas stated.

"Aye, that we will." 
Murray made great show of smacking his lips.  "Faversham is famous for its oysters.  I'll treat you to supper when we arrive.  Seems to me it is the very least I can do to repay you."  Taking off his hat he wiped his brow.  "I imagine you are as anxious to reach that town as am I.  Being on the road too long jiggles my bones.  I'm not as young as I used to be, no matter how Alandra flatters me.  How glad I am that you and the others are such expert actors.  Makes my job easier."  He whispered behind his hand, "there have been times when I've loathed playing at Faversham.  It takes a lot to please that crowd.  Seafarers and the like.  They will not be content with less than a perfect performance.  But we have no need to worry."

Nicholas forced a
smile.  "No need at all!"

"We'll bedazzle them.  Those groundlings won't make us the target of
apple cores and orange peels."

"Groundlings?"  Nicholas tried to hide the fact that he was c
ompletely baffled by the word.

"Groundlings!  Groundlings, Christopher
.”  He laughed. “Merry-go-up, one would imagine you had never seen the inside of a courtyard theatre before.”

“Of course, the
groundlings
.”  Nicholas hoped that he had covered up for his ignorance.  He shook his head as if he understood.  “The damnable groundlings…”

“
Ah, how I loath those rascally knaves who don't have money for a seat and thus stand in front of the stage and gawk." 

"Even in the theatre it seems people are divided into
classes," Nicholas replied. 

"
Indeed.  The lordlings, midlings and groundlings.” Murray thrust his nose up in the air. “The wealthy patrons with their private boxes.”

“Aye, and the
midlings
….”

“W
hose purses entitle them to the galleries and the comfort of benches.” Murray wrinkled his nose as if to say he liked them not at all.

“And the groundlings.” Nicholas shook his head.  “Surely they can be the plague of a man.”

“Ah, yes…the groundlings…..the common man whose wages afford but a penny to spare.  Enough to get them through the door to view the play from ground level and the pit around the stage.  They can be, I fear, a most boisterous crowd.”

Now Nicholas understood. “
If you forget your lines or disappoint them in any way they can be heartlessly annoying." He laughed at the thought of being bombarded by apple cores, orange peelings and nut shells . “Perhaps I should be prepared to duck, do you suppose.” He was grateful that he would not have to endure such humiliation as a prompter.             

"
Anything can happen,” Murray chortled. “But without them we'd soon be out of business, would we not?  Despite the fact that they only pay a penny, they are the greatest part of our crowd after all.  Every one of those pennies adds up."

Nicholas nodded.
"Aye, every penny adds to our coffers.”

Murray
shrugged his shoulders and started to ride off but a sudden thought caused him to pause.  "By the way, has Will told you that we will have a very important personage among the crowd at Faversham?"

"Important personage?
” Immediately Nicholas’s was wary. “Who…?”

“
Lord Burghley.  If he approves of our performance there is every likelihood that we will be asked to do the Christmas festivities at court."

"Lord
Burghley!" Nicholas’s alarm showed clearly on his face.  Lord Burghley was Elizabeth's most trusted minister, one who knew his face all too well. Though his eyesight had been failing for several years Nicholas was still wary. More than just his acceptance among the actors was now at stake.  His very life might very well depend on keeping as far away from the feeble old lord as he could.

Chapter Twenty

The flickering light of the oil lamp cast shadows against the wooden sides of the play wagon as Alandra waited. Christopher was late, and for a moment she feared he was not coming, that he had decided that being a member of the acting company was too difficult and had decided to run away. What if he had stolen another horse and fled? How would she explain that to the others?

He would come. He would! Hadn’t he surprised her with his steadfastness and determination to meld in with the others? Hadn’t he tried his best? And so far he had done nothing amiss. Nothing that she could criticize. He had in fact been almost perfect. Perhaps too perfect. What if it had been nothing but a ruse?

Fretfully, she fought against her apprehension, cautioning herself to be patient. What would be would be! If he left, good riddance. His presence was a danger to them, after all. She tried to convince herself that she didn’t care a whit if he left or not, yet she knew it was a lie. She did care. Much more than she should. Despite her best intentions, she was drawn to him, fool that she was.

Alandra paced up and down, waiting, busying herself by sorting the costumes into four large piles according to size. All of them too narrow across the shoulder for Christopher’s frame.
Ah, but he was a most masculine man, just the kind a woman dreamed about. Hard and strong and fierce!

And maybe dangerous! Alandra sensed
that he had a temper, one that he held carefully in check. But if he let it go? Of what was he capable?

Certa
inly, his anger had been tested. Living among the actors, on the move, was undoubtedly much more difficult than he had at first supposed. Hardly at all like life at court. And the others had expected him to do his share. But Christopher was not a man to give up, no matter what the challenge. And yet there was not the intrigue here that there was at court, no temptation to use a sword to further ambition. Was it then a fair test of his mettle as a man?

She must not forget that his staying among them was not for love of their companionship. What better hideaway could there be? There was no other place where he had access to wigs and costuming and could disguise himself and not be questioned for it. Among the actors being masked and wearing make-up was a perfectly normal thing to do, thus it would not be thought unseemly for Christopher to alter his
appearance and therein assure his anonymity. Forsooth, Christopher was as snug here as a bug in a rug and he knew it!

“Alandra…”

Turning she saw him standing at the wagon’s opening and immediately felt relieved. Still, she chided him, trying to sound stern. “You’re late, Christopher!”

“It couldn’t be helped,” he countered. “Will was in a particularly talkative mood. He and Kempe cornered me while I was watering the horses. Man talk,” Talk of politics, women and business. “I apologize.” His smile was meant to charm her and it did, though she wouldn’t let him know it.

“I know how Will can chatter at times. It proves that he likes you.” She patted a spot beside her on the wagon’s wooden floor.” Shall we begin? If you are going to be the prompter for the performances, you had best learn to do it well! Will is giving you the benefit of the doubt because you are new to us, but he’ll make you prove your mettle. If you have fooled him this long, you won’t for much longer. Come.”

Nichols shook his head. “Nay.” He had bee
n doing a lot of thinking lately. Murray’s having told him about Lord Burghley had unnerved him, opened hi eyes. Staying with the players was an unfair thing to do. He was endangering them, opening them up to trouble.

She looked at him suspiciously. “What do you mean, nay?”

“Your father told me that William Cecil, Lord Burghley, once Elizabeth’s formidable councilor but now an ailing old man, is to be in the audience at Faversham. He knows me on sight! I cannot chance going with the company there, thus I have come to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye? Just like that.” She snapped her fingers.

“You should be glad. Once I am gone, you will all be out of danger.” He watched her face, hoping  for a sign that she would be sorry to see him go.

Alandra felt the blood leave her face. How easily he just tossed them all aside. “You  ungrateful oaf!” Angrily, she threw a bundle of costumes on the floor.

“What?” He had been prepared for anything but this.

She fixed him an angry stare. “Lord
Burghley be damned! That isn’t why you go. From what I have heard, he can’t even see his hand in front of his face. ‘T is not because of him that you want to run away.” Folding her arms across her chest, she rasped, “Why then?” Had he just been biding his time, waiting for a moment to meet with
her?
With that yellow-haired woman? Were they planning to run away together? If so, then he could at least be honest.

Nicholas’s own i
re was sparked. Here he was trying to do something noble, free the company of his unwelcome burden, and she was acting as if he were doing something wrong.

“
Cecil is but a symbol of what is to come. First he and then another from court, then another will be in the audience. My luck might  hold out for a week, perhaps a month, but one day I might be pushed upon that stage and the game will be lost.”

“You’re afraid!” It was a startling discovery.

“I’m not!” He’d faced death and never flinched. “At least not for me.” His eyes softened. “I fear for you, Alandra, and the others. If Elizabeth thought for a moment that you had willingly and knowingly sheltered me, she would bring down the very sky upon your head. Think, Alandra, think!”

What he said was undoubtedly true, but Alandra was not in a cowardly mood. If he left and he were caught, it might well mean his life. “We’re actors, all of us! If that moment comes, we’ll fend for ourselves. We have before.” Her mouth softened into a smile. “In the meantime you had best learn what you are about or Shakespeare will have your head!”

Nicholas sat down, his leg brushing against her thigh as he settled himself comfortably. He tried hard to push the amorous thoughts from his mind, determined to forget that Alandra was a very desirable woman. But, by God, it was difficult if not impossible at times. He was getting more firmly hooked on the little lady with each moment that passed.

“I hasten to obey, my lady.”

“Now, about this matter of prompting,” she began.

Acting companies had only one full copy of each play. In this “Prompt book,” notes were made relati
ng to performance—cues for sound, music, special effects, entrances, exits and notations about properties. Luckily that copy belonged to Alandra’s father which gave her valuable access to it. It was a compliment that Christopher had been entrusted with it, for the other actors were given “sides” which included only their own lines and cues. During the performances a plot or skeletal outline of the action indicating entrances, exits, properties, music, and the names of the players would be hung up back stage for quick reference.

Nicholas tried hard to listen as she familiarized him with the guidelines f
or a good performance, but his thoughts were elsewhere. They were alone together with only the lamp lighting the darkness. Nicholas was not immune to the provocativeness of the moment. His eyes smoldered in the dim light. Somehow he could not keep his gaze from the cleft between her breasts, that showed just slightly when she bent over.

Alandra flushed as she saw where Christopher’s eyes had wandered. The memory of his kiss was a bittersweet ache in her he
art. A moment of  madness  between them brought on by their shared danger. Or had it been something more?

“I think I may have reason to be afraid
of you, lass.” Slowly he bent his head forward.

“Afraid of me?”

She thought he meant because of what she knew of him, but his eyes told a far different reason. She had seen that look before. Passion. Desire. For her! She looked back at him and found her eyes drawn to the strong column of his throat.  He had left his doublet off and the cut of his shirt exposed the flesh  of his neck and upper chest.

“Sweet Alandra….” The feelings inside him had to
have an outlet, and she was so very, very sweet.

H
e’s going to kiss me again
, she thought. At that moment it was what she wanted most in the entire world. Slowly, she raised her face to his in expectation.

“Alandra…” He reached out, his hand moving up to her unbound hair. His fin
gers bared her neck, lingering on the soft flesh of her throat. “You are beautiful.”

Alandra slowly drew nearer to him. It was late, they were alone, and she was succumbing to the spell of the night. She felt his breath ruffle her hair, felt the sensation course down the entire leng
th of her spine. She wanted to push reality away,  but all too quickly she remembered that he was a nobleman. The queen’s man. A courtier. A man whose taste in beauty ran to golden-haired angels. She didn’t know him, not really. Would she ever?

There was a gulf between them that could never be breeched. A difference in stations that he would recall, even if she allowed herself to forget. In the end she would only be hurt if she allowed herself to dream.

“We must concentrate on other than dallying,“ she said quickly, pulling away.

Nicholas, hiding his disappointm
ent, was good-natured about her rejection of him. “Ah, but you are a hard taskmaster, wench! But once this is all over, once the danger has passed and I have cleared my name, then we shall see.”