Kathryn Kramer (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Alandra glimpsed the look that passed between Christopher and the blonde beauty and  for a moment her heart stopped.  It was
her! The widow Woodcliff.  It could be no twist of fate, no coincidence that the woman was here. For all his talk of wanting to protect Alandra, Christopher had blatantly lied. He had obviously sent a message and told the woman he was with the company and where to meet him. But, Alandra wondered, when could he have sent the message and who had delivered it? Her first suspicions about why he had lied to her father were right after all. He and this shrew were partners in the crime, and now had come the perfect time for them to seek each other out.

A sudden memory of what the fair-haired lady had mumbled that eve of the masque came again to Alandra’s mind. It reverberated in her ears as clearly as if the woman was just now revealing it. “I will yet be the victor, and Sir Nicholas Leighton is
just the man I need to do my bidding.”

Do her bidding! Had he? Was Christopher, nay Nicholas Leighton, a man so possessed by love and lust that he had murdered a man because of it?! It was all so clear to Alandra now.  This woman had planned it all and Christopher had executed it.

Curiosity got the best of Alandra. She had to know what was being planned. Without any heed to her father’s cries, Alandra jumped down off the play wagon and ran to the second floor balcony where the white-haired nobleman and the beautiful lady were cozily sheltered.  Ignoring propriety, she wrapped her skirt around her legs and climbed up the pole of the gallery. She sat within hearing of the woman and her old companion, just out of sight of their vision.

"That man fascinates me, Cecil.  Look there.
”

As if she didn’t know who Christopher, nay Nicholas was, Alandra thought with a
sneer.

“Where?” The man’s deep cough punctuating his question hinted that he was ill.

“The one who glanced up here briefly then quickly looked away as if I had shown him my disfavor.  The one clothed in blue.  Do you know who he is?"

"My eyes are not what they used to be.  God's blood, woman, how am I supposed to see from here?"
The voice was gruff with annoyance.

Alandra heard the wood of the balcony creak and supposed him to be leaning over the railing to get a better view. 
I hope he recognizes Christopher
, Alandra thought
. Recognizes him and drags him away. That would serve him right. It would serve them both right, conspirators that they are.

"I know most of the actors.  Lord Hunsdon
,as you know, the first one that is, was a very good friend of mine.  Extremely choleric by nature, you know.  Obsessed by swearing.  Could be extremely tactless.  No courtier, but the queen loved him.  He was her cousin you know," the old man was mumbling. "Faithful to his friends and servants.  'T was the burden of the Lord Chamberlain which caused his untimely death though....."

"I don't care about all that Cecil
!"  The shrill feminine voice reverberated with impatience.  "Do you know that actor?  That is all I care about."

Again she pretends not to know who Christopher is
, Alandra thought, sniffing disdainfully at the woman’s foolishness.

"Ho!  I recognize Burbage.  'Tis his beard that gives him away.  He is quite the painter you k
now, in addition to being a fine actor.  Painted a portrait of my granddaughter.  See there, the one dressed in black hosen and black and gold doublet made up to look like an angel with those wings."  He laughed.  "And Kempe, a goodly fellow.  Might have been a jester if he had lived in times past.  Dances a splendid jig.  He's acknowledging us by taking off his hat.  And There's Condel and Heminges and Sly....."

"Cecil!  Stop chattering so.   I don't care about them.  I want to
know about the actor in blue!"

"The one standing next to Shak
espeare?"

"Yes!  Yes, that one."

There was a pause and Alandra thought she would burst from anticipation. Now she knew what the game was. The blond witch was testing the old man to see if he recognized Christopher. It was part of her lethal game.

"I've never seen that actor before.  Don't remember any auburn haired gentlemen among the players.  Must be new."  There was another
long silence before he asked, "Why? What is your interest in the man?  You are, as you have so recently told me, in mourning, Morgana."

"I like the way he moves.  His strength, his grace.  'T
is all!  I would but like to meet him.  And the other actors as well," she hastily added.

"Then it can be arranged.  I know the young Lord Hunsdon.  I will offer up the invitation as soon as the performance has ended
to sup in the inn tonight” Another long pause.  But I urge you to use caution with the actor. If Elizabeth hears of any indiscretion, she will be most unforgiving.  There are those who will be ever watchful of you and will look upon any unseemly manner with a most discerning eye."
              Alandra had heard enough to be forewarned.  Sliding back down the pillar to the ground she cursed the wanton lady beneath her breath.  The man-hungry bitch.  But Alandra was determined to undermine what the woman had planned. As soon as the performance was over late this afternoon, Alandra would seek Christopher out and invite him to her own chamber. Somehow, someway she would keep him occupied, to make certain he was not given the chance to fly to the glittering noblewoman’s arms.   No matter what she needed to do, Alandra knew she must keep him entertained in her room until that time when Will could signal her that all was safe.  She would have to tell Will now all that she knew about Christopher. Oh, he’d not be running off. Not this time. Never with
her
!

The shrill blast of a trumpet put
a stop to her pondering as she realized the horns and drums were announcing the start of the play.  From his place amidst the groundlings, Murray was frantically waving her to his side.

"Alandra!  Alandra!  What be you about, girl?  Hurry.  Hurry.  The doings are about to begin.  I need your help." 

Everyone was running about in fact. Something had happened, something that had the entire company up in arms.

“
Abbington has eloped with a tavern wench!” William Kempe cried out. “Ran away he did this very morning. That’s why he wasn’t in the parade.” His ribald laughter drew a stern look from Heminges which quickly silenced him.             

\”Ran away?”
Murray’s eyebrows shot up, and it was obvious that far from being disconcerted he was delighted. “Not to worry, lads. Christopher here is prompter, he practically knows the whole play. He can do it!”

“Christopher will have his chance,” Heminges agreed, and his pronouncement was resoundingly echoed by the other actors.

Nicholas was thunderstruck, at a loss to think of any words he might say to change their minds as his worst nightmare came true. Take Abbintgon’s place. Never! Before he could even open his mouth, however, he was being pushed toward the stage. No, it couldn’t be. He thought of hiding, waiting out the performance.

But
Murray was having none of that. “Christopher has studied with the greatest actor of our day. It’s time he had a chance to prove himself. Come. Come.”

Nicholas looked frantically around for Shakespeare but he was nowhere in sight. But Alandra! She would do something to save the day. She didn’t want him on that stage any more than he wanted to be up there.

“Alandra!” Nicholas cried. He waited for her protest, but it didn’t come.

Alandra was angry enough to see him burn in hell, but perhaps, she thought, this was nearly as good.

Nicholas felt as if his neck were already in the noose. The prompter was always harried, preoccupied with assuring that the actors came on in proper order, that their properties were at hand, and that the scenery, pulleys, and trap doors worked.

“Don’t worry. I’ll do that. Just give a great performance, Christopher,” Alandra said with a forced smile. “And, oh, Christopher,” she said as he was being led away. “Good luck!” To wish an actor that was the ultimate wish that he would have just the opposite, as well she knew.

Anxiously she took her place behind the curtain at the rear of the stage where she could shout out the lines  as needed. Oh, how she relished the chance to watch him make a fool of himself. He would cause a minor if not major uproar among the groundlings. Conceited, philandering, roguish liar that he was, his bubble would soon burst.

The play opened in the
palace of Theseus, Duke of Athens and Alandra watched as John Lowin entered upon the scene from the left side of the tiring room curtain to say his lines.

Espousing his longing to enjoy his wedding night with the queen of the Amazons, to be held on the first night of the new moon, Theseus proclaimed how difficult the waiting was to be.  Not half as difficult as it was going to be for her to concentrate on the play, Alandra thought with a sigh, even now lapsing into thoughts of what
Christopher had done.  He had cruelly murdered a poor old man so that he could have that man’s wife.  Involuntarily, her eyes  strayed to the object of her thoughts, and Christopher returned her stare with a bewildered look of his own.  Yet, much to her disquiet, he seemed to trust her. Well, that was a mistake. She had trusted him, too, and where had it gotten her?

It seemed Demetrius's e
ntrance came all too quickly. Nicholas felt his legs go weak as he stepped upon the stage with two young actors and Shakespeare who had suddenly appeared.  Somehow, Nicholas’s limbs, though quaking, supported him and he found himself shouting out  the lines he remembered reading.

"Relent, sweet Hermia; and Lysander, yield.
” He felt hands on his shoulders, turning him toward the audience to declare with outstretched hands, “Thy crazed title to my certain right."

Alandra stifled a laugh. Christopher was having the devil’s own time, just as she knew he would. And yet as the play progressed, her jealousy and anger softened. She couldn’t let Christopher ruin Will’s play because she was peeved. Moreover, if he was exposed as a fraud, ther
e could be a nasty scene. She had already put the players in peril by keeping secret about the fugitive in their midst, to cast caution totally to the winds was insanity. Despite everything that had happened, she owed it to the others to give Christopher professional aid. Acting as his lifeline, she carefully and diligently led him through the rest of his performance.

Nicholas was astounded that he didn’t just sink through the stage. The play, however,
did in fact run surprisingly smoothly, despite his inexperience. Having carefully watched the actors had helped him and luckily, Demetrius had very few lines.

Nicholas
also thanked God for the wig atop his head and the makeup Murray had hastily spread over his face. Having been certain he would be set upon the moment he stepped upon the stage, he began to relax, though he could not help but be annoyed at the constantly chattering crowd.  He looked out to see five sailors sprawled indolently across the benches playing at cards.  Two young apprentices seemed more intent on ogling the wenches than in watching the play.  All in all it was a most discourteous throng who seemed to think it their privilege to shout out comments to the actors as if they imagined themselves to be part of the dramatics.  A nut cracking, card playing, ale swilling noisy group of men and women.

Ducking behind the curtains
after leaving the stage, Nicholas dared his first look at Morgana since he had seen her. She was chattering avidly to Lord Burghley at her side, fluttering her fan furiously in an attempt to cool herself from the heat of the mid-afternoon sun.  Had she recognized him? Had Cecil?  Remembering that Cecil was half-blind, he felt relieved.

As to Morgana, Nicholas  knew
  he would soon find out, for if she had, she would seek him out at his room in the inn. Did he want her to? He wasn’t certain. Truly, she was a beautiful sight and even now stirred his desire, yet he could not forget that she had so easily deserted him when he had needed her most. Morgana had thought only of herself and the danger of being caught at the inn with him.   If he saw her, could he convince her to testify in his behalf, or would she be afraid to let the queen know she had been an eye witness at the inn?

His
uncertainty troubled him.  He could not take a chance on being betrayed, no matter how innocently.  "Morgana....."  How different she was from Alandra. He could never for a moment imagine Morgana doing as Alandra had done and seeking to so cleverly help him escape. Morgana was beautiful, it was true, yet he found himself suddenly thinking that her prettiness did not go beyond her face to touch her soul.

Morgana aroused his lust but not his love.  It was his manhood that responded to her and not his heart.  What then did he feel for Alandra?  It was a question that plagued him
, though he realized he must push it from his mind and concentrate upon his lines. If in some way he could stumble his way through this, he would be forever thankful to God.

The scene of the play changed to a nighttime scene in the woods near
Athens, subtly suggested by Murray's wooden and paste trees and a large yellow moon which hung from the gallery of the inn midway between the rafters and the top of the tiring house.  It was a play within a play, for the Athenian workmen--Bottom, Snout, Snug and the others--practiced their own play in the forest in hope of winning the duke's favor by their performance.  Remembering Shakespeare's declaration of how he had patterned these characters after the groundlings, Nicholas could not suppress a chuckle, for  William Sly, as Bottom, mimicked their gestures and mannerisms to perfection.