Kathryn Kramer (5 page)

Chapter Six

The sputtering flames of an oil lamp illuminated the pale face of the man lying sprawled on the floorboards.  "Merry-go-up!  I think you have killed him, Alandra!" 

Her father's words filled her with fearful consternation. Alandra hurried forward to examine the man she had just hit from behind with a shovel.  Hovering over him
, she breathed a sigh of relief as the rise and fall of his chest gave proof that he was still breathing.  She had not killed him, but had rendered him senseless, at least for the moment.

"He was rummaging through the costumes.  I feared he was going to steal from us so I...I  hit him," she hurried to explain.  "It was but a reflex reaction.  I did not mean him serious harm."

Quickly her eyes roamed over the stranger as her father held the oil lamp aloft.  There was something disturbingly familiar about him, though she did not want to believe what her stare perceived.  It couldn't be!  Her eyes were playing tricks on her.  Or were they?  Anxiously she looked into the man’s face, taking in his tousled black hair, the curve of his brows, the high chiseled cheekbones.  His lips were parted as he drew in a shallow breath, but she seemed to remember that mouth frowning.

"Dear God.  It is him," she breathed.

"Ah now, now, now.  I would have done the same, child.  You acted to protect me and our belongings."  Murray smiled fondly as he prattled on.  "You are always my guardian angel, Alandra."  He set down the lamp and hurried to smooth back his daughter's hair, a gesture he had used to soothe her since she was a little girl.  "Who is he do you suppose?  And what is he doing in our wagon?"  His gray eyebrows shot up in question.

Alandra didn't answer.  She was too perplexed by her own questions.  Though this man was dressed in travel-stained and torn garments of drab, coarse cloth, she felt of a certainty that this was the same man she had seen in the banqueting hall at the palace, the man who had bumped into her.  The nobleman!  But what could he possibly be doing here?  As if to find the answer written on his face, she leaned closer to scrutinize him
carefully.  The profile, the mustache, the short clipped beard all showed beyond a mistake that it was the same man. 

"What are we
to do with him?"  Murray's voice echoed with concern, but  he did not seem to realize that he had glimpsed the man before.  But then, Alandra reasoned, he had not seen him up close as she had. 

"I don't know,"  Alandra answered peevishly.  Certainly an unconscious nobleman was a serious complication.  "Let me think the matter out."

Murray paced up and down woefully.  "We can not throw an unconscious man out on the street, can we, daughter?"  He shook his head.   "Nor do I want to take him back to the inn when we had the devil's own  time getting away."  Picking up a large stick of wood just in case a weapon was needed, Murray hovered over their unexpected "guest".  "We know not a whit about him.  He could be a thief on the run.  He might be dangerous."

"There has to be an explanation!"  There had to be a logical reason for his being here, though she could not think just what that might be. 

"Yes, indeed there does but....but....."  Murray's eyes widened as a thought came into his head.  "Why...why its  possible that he's the one who killed Lord Woodcliff!  It would answer for a fact just why he took the liberty of climbing aboard our wagon."

"A fugitive?"  The scandal at court came quickly to mind.  It was an interesting theory
, but one she shrugged off.  Alandra was too coolheaded to jump to conclusions. "We must give him a chance to explain why he was here and what he was doing, Father.  He will tell us when he opens his eyes."

"Tell you what?" 

Nicholas could heard their conversation through the haze of his awakening mind.  His head throbbed, but he forced himself to open his eyes.  For a moment confusion dazed him, but as he reached up to touch the knot at the back of his head, he remembered that someone had hit him and his gaze sought out the culprit.  Gray eyes met enormous brown ones, and he sensed immediately that the girl had struck him.  Her guilt shone clearly in the lustrous copper-hued depths.

"You!  You nearly cracked my skull."

His heated stare scorched her.  "You're lucky I didn't do worse than that," she answered fighting to maintain her composure. Oh, he was an arrogant one. "What are you doing in our play wagon?"

"I obviously didn't enter so that I could be so callously struck!"  Nicholas lashed
out, wincing as he rubbed the bump on his head.              

"Here now."  Murray folded his arms across his wide chest.  "Don't you be blaming my poor daughter for the knock to your noggin.  There are robbers and ruffians roaming about.  A body cannot be too careful." His narrowed eyes appraised their unwelcome guest as he tapped the stick of wood against his shoulder in warning.  "Which brings us to just why you
are
in our play wagon.  Tell me that if you can."

The scowling old man's anger cooled Nicholas' own.  He was after all an intruder in their midst
, and if the truth were told he knew their wariness was justified.  Still, he couldn't trust them with the truth.  There would no doubt be a reward for his capture, and even the most honest of men would often turn betrayer for the jingle of coins.   Tensing his jaw, he mumbled a lie.  "I had not the money to pay the innkeeper for my lodgings."

"Had not the money?"  Alandra was taken aback in surprise.

"I thought that by hiding in your wagon I could escape the old pirate's wrath.  I have no liking for Ludgate Prison."

Alandra was baffled at the untruth, but her father clucked his tongue sympathetically, having himself been in a similar predicament.  "Old
Quincy does charge too much for his rooms.  It would serve him right to get his comeuppance!  I fear the Black Unicorn has seen better days."  For a moment he lapsed into the past.  "Why, in my youth there was not a grander inn in all of London.  But it seems that buildings, like people, soon show signs of age."  Offering his hand, he helped Nicholas to his feet.  "But just what is your trade, my good man?  Are you without coins because you are out of work?"

Nicholas nodded his head, thinking quickly.  "I'm an actor by trade."  It seemed a reasonable fabrication.  If he held to this story perhaps the old man would let him travel along with him, at least until he was far enough out of
London to be safe.

"But I saw....."  Alandra was startled by such a blatant falsehood.  She stood gaping at him, waiting for him to show some sign that he remembered seeing her a
t the palace.  No such recognition came.   

"An actor?  An actor.  Merry-go-up, it is a small world." 
Murray was delighted. 

"An actor trying to escape without paying his bill, you say.  But where are your cloth
es?"  Alandra asked heatedly.  "Did you bring your bags?"

"I hardly had time to pack,"  Nicholas countered.  This young woman was going to be trouble.  Women who thought overmuch always were.

"Ha!"  Alandra wanted to let him know right from the first that she wasn't being taken in.  Not for a moment.  "Father, he's a liar.  He..."

"Fate has dealt you a lucky blow." 
Murray laughed merrily, not hearing his daughter's accusation.  Nodding his head in her direction he added, " I think I can be of help to you.  I dabble in acting myself you see, though making scenery is my profession."

"Father....I....."  Alandra thought to warn
Murray of this man's deception, but Murray merely winked at her conspiratorially, obviously having taken a liking to the dark-haired man.

"With whom did you serve your apprenticeship?  Pray tell me, for I might have known the man.  I have worked with some of the greatest actors of our time."

"Apprenticeship?"  For just a moment Nicholas was at a loss for words, but recovering his wit he blurted out a name, one he had heard several times at court, bandied about by those who were patrons of the arts.  "Alleyn.  Edward Alleyn."

"Edward Alleyn!" 
Murray was very impressed, for the actor was known to be one of England's best.  He was a member of the rival Admiral's Men and had created Marlowe's Faustus and Tamburlaine upon the stage.

"I studied most diligently with him," Nicholas lied blatantly.

Alandra was outraged by this handsome rogue's duplicity. "Why then are you not with the Admiral's Men now?" she asked, hoping to trip him up.  Seeing that now he was tongue-tied, she smiled, seemingly daring him to answer.

Nicholas thought quickly.  "I had an argument with another actor and since he was more established in his profession than I, I bid the players adieu.  I seek to find another company."

How easily lies tripped from his tongue, Alandra thought with ire.  To this moment he had not uttered one word of truth. He was no actor, that was certain but he did  seem to share their talent for pretense and chatter.

"You had an argument?" she asked warily, wondering what game he was playing.  What had he done to necessitate such false statements.  Or perhaps this was the first word of truth he had spoken
?  Certainly, she had seen his display of temper at court when he had quarreled with Lord Stafford.

"Yes, an argument.  Over a woman," Nicholas said sourly, remembering the cause of his plight.  "Most regrettable episode."

"A woman?"  Of course it would be over a woman.  He was a philanderer, a man who undoubtedly played loose and fancy free.  Just as he had with that poor old lord's wife. No doubt this man had charmed many women.  Perhaps the golden haired woman she had seen him with was not the first nor the last to offer up her heart. 

"But we stand here spewing forth our words with n'er a thought to
our manners,"  Murray said quickly, doffing his hat.  "My name is Murray Thatcher and this fair flower is my daughter, Alandra."  He looked at Nicholas in expectation.

"Nicholas."  Nicholas damned his stupidity as soon as the name was out and quickly amended, "
Christopher
Nicholas."

"Ah, Christopher." 
Murray liked that name.  "Like my good friend Christopher Marlowe, God rest his soul."  He shook his head sadly.  "But then of course you would have known him too.  He was a star in the heavens until his untimely demise.  I'll always think there was much more to the story than was told."  He lowered his voice.  "His death was no accident.  I think it was murder."

"Father, that has not been proven."  Alandra feared for her father to bandy such accusations about
, lest the wrong ears hear him.  It was well known that Christopher Marlowe had been a spy against the Spanish, as well as a poet and playwright.  She did not know of this nobleman's thoughts on the matter. Nor that he wasn't some kind of spy himself.

"It's all right, Alandra," Nicholas spoke her name like an endearment and smiled as he saw her flush.  She was a lovely wench and he was determined to win her favor.  "I've often thought the same thing myself.  But you are right.  We had best not speak of it."

"As you say, Mister Nicholas."  She feared to look at him lest her eyes give her away.   She wondered if Christopher Nicholas was his real name and found herself doubting it.  Why should she believe him when everything else he said was obviously such a lie.  Actor indeed!  He most likely did not even know the upper stage from the mid-level and would soon prove himself to be a novice.

"Call me Kit."  Nicholas found himself liking his new name.  It sounded very dashing he thought.  Kit Nicholas.  Yes, it  sounded very fine indeed.  Mischievously he offered her a bow, amused by her pretense of not liking him.  He would soon have her singing a different rhyme.  If there was one thing he knew well
, it was how to attract women, and he needed her good will.

"I prefer to...to call you Christopher."  Alandra's tone of voice bristled with indignation. Worse yet was the frustration she felt when her father asked the man to join them.   "Father, you can't!  He's not who he claims to be.  He's not!  And even if he were
, we can't just let a stranger travel with us."

Frantically she tried to get
her father's attention, hinting at Murray's own previous suspicions that this man might well be Lord Woodcliff's killer. Alas, Murray ignored her.  It was all too apparent that he was totally taken in by the scoundrel's duplicity.

All right, Alandra thought, she would hold her tongue for awhile, but she would keep an eye on this nobleman.  Besides, it might prove intriguing to watch him continue with his masquerade.  Being an actor was not such an easy profession
--as this Christopher Nicholas would soon find out.

Chapter Seven

The Thames glittered like silver in the moonlight as the play-wagon rattled across London bridge on the way to the Mermaid Tavern.  Murray had not spoken a total falsehood to the guardsmen at the Black Unicorn Inn.  He was to meet William Shakespeare at the first light of the dawn, though no play was to be staged.  The tavern was to be the players point of assignation, and from there they would form a caravan that would take them on the road.

"I'll introduce you to Will Shakespeare and put in a good word for you, though I have no doubt that he will let you come with us.  A fine looking gentleman like yourself will be most welcome in our midst.  It will attract the ladies." 
Murray grinned as he looked at Christopher Nicholas.  Wedged between Alandra and the handsome gentleman, he held the reins tightly.  "Perhaps we can find suitable transportation for you.  It's a bit uncomfortable for all of us to ride together."

"I don't mind," Nicholas said quickly, casting the man's lovely daughter a sideways glance.  "I like the view from here." 

Besides, it was most fortunate that he was not sitting in a room at the Tower or at Ludgate at this moment.  He  would have been behind locked doors if Owen Stafford had his way, or worse yet he'd be dead.  Now having changed his soiled garments, donning a blue tunic, gray hosen, black cape and  blue velvet hat that Murray had informed him had been worn in the performances of Richard III, he felt more at ease and less recognizable.  Hopefully, he would not suffer that ill-fated king's doom.

"I don't suppose Alandra minds either, do you daughter?" 
Murray nudged his daughter good-naturedly.  "She's so used to putting up with all of us older men that a fine looking younger gent in the group will be most stimulating.  Isn't that so, Alandra?"

Alandra didn't answer, she was too perturbed for words.
This Christopher Nicholas, or whatever his name was, was far too sure of himself already without her comments adding to his self-confidence.  No doubt he expected her to hurl herself into his arms at the very first opportunity.  Certainly, the bold way he was looking at her told her so.  Had any woman ever told this bold swain no?  She doubted it.  Was it any wonder then that he was so cocksure?

Furthermore, although she had strongly advised against it, though she had told her father  of her suspicions regarding this interloper, 
Murray had insisted on keeping  his word and letting  the  "actor" ride along with them.   Usually Murray listened to her intuition, but he had shrugged off her apprehensions about this newcomer.  God hope he would not come to regret it.

Looking at him beneath her thick lashes
, she assessed the nobleman.  Why was he lying?  What had he done to make himself a fugitive?  He had been so anxious to change his garments that that in itself had heightened her suspicions.  But just how dangerous was he?

"I don't think your daughter is certain that she likes me
, but I'll win her over,"  she heard him say.

Alandra quickly looked away when she realized he had caught her staring.  Oh
, he was comely all right as well he knew and no doubt thought that the reason for her intent gaze.  Worse yet, he had a definite charm about him that made it difficult for a woman to keep her wits about her. Rogue that he was, he seemed the answer to a maiden's prayers, the perfect choice for a lover.  But while she might have been interested in him before, she firmly convinced herself that she had no designs on him now and warned herself to be on guard against his using his charm on her. 

The narrow cobbled streets were lit by lanterns set on posts
, and Alandra busied herself with counting them as the play wagon passed.  It helped to take her mind from the handsome stranger sitting so perilously close to her.  From time to time she could sense his eyes on her but in haughty stubbornness she refused to glance his direction.

London
was a city of loud noises, even in the dark hours of the morning.  The sound of horses' hooves, coach and wagon wheels clattering against the cobblestones, the loud voices of rosy-cheeked milkmaids and sellers of newly gathered cresses, shattered the illusion the soft glow of the lanterns cast upon the roadway.  Surrounded by a medieval wall, London was a jumbled, cluttered city as the early morning light would soon reveal. Gabled houses were crammed together, furtive alleyways teamed with crime, yet it was the place that Alandra and her father called home. The site where Alandra had grown from a child to a woman.

With the exception of the yearly players' tours, Alandra had rarely been outside the stone walls.  The world of the theatre had nourished her
, and she had been well content, yet as Alandra had put her childhood years behind her she longed to see more of the world.  Observing the brightly bedecked nobles and ladies at Whitehall had  caused her to be all the more anxious to be out of her cocoon.  The world was hers, waiting to be conquered.  Was it therefore surprising that she was filled with expectation now?  There was a sense of freedom when the players were on the road that Alandra did not feel in the city.  Freedom, romance and adventure seemed to beckon her like a bright new toy.

"We're about to undertake the most extended tour we've ever made,"
Murray blurted, feeling nervous about the silence between his daughter and the black-haired man.  It wasn't like Alandra to be so quiet.  "The work will not be as stimulating as in London, but somehow we'll make do.  We always have.  'T is not our first summer tour nor will it be our last.  Course now, no new plays can be given.  We'll have to rely on works we've done before, and those will have to be cut for country playing."

"Yes, of course.  The plays will have to be cut."  Nicholas answered, trying his best to sound well informed. 

Nervously  Nicholas pulled his cap farther down on his head, hoping it would shadow his face. It made him ill at ease to be traveling through the city streets when Stafford's men might be searching for him. Though he had suggested to Murray that he ride inside the wagon, the man would hear none of that, insisting that Nicholas ride up front where it was more comfortable and where he could breath in the early morning fresh air.  Nicholas could not take the chance of arousing the old man's suspicions by insisting that he hide. 

So far
, all had been well, for it was still dark at the predawn hour.  Most of the Londoners were still abed and those upon the streets seemed to be paying little attention to the wagon.  If anyone did show undue attention, Nicholas reasoned he could easily dart behind the curtains and out of sight under some pretense or other.

"Are you familiar with any of Master Shakespeare's plays?" 
Murray was asking now.

Nicholas had seen an enactment of Shakespeare's
Romeo and Juliet
at court recently, a play he had thought far too morose for his tastes.  He disliked tragedies.  "I am familiar with some of his works."

"Good.  Good.  It will make it all the easier for you to learn your lines.  But having studied with Edward Alleyn
, you will have no trouble learning your roles."

"I will have no trouble at all," Nicholas said with boastful pride.  Indeed he doubted that being an actor was a troublesome task at all, though  he was not concerned  with whether it was or was not.  He would be long gone before the matter was put to a test.

The wheels of the wagon clattered along Watling Street and soon the tavern hovered in sight.  "Ho!  There we are, the Mermaid."  It was a needless observation, for the wooden sign with the painted mythological beauty proclaimed that they had reached their destination.

Nicholas was the first one from the wagon.  Before Alandra had even the slightest idea of his intention, his hands were closing about her waist as he helped her down. 

"I can manage quite well by myself!" she said  sharply, pulling away from his grasp.

Murray
was shocked again by her blatant rudeness. "Alandra!"                

Alandra bit
her lip then managed to say, "Thank you, Mister Nicholas."

"Mister Nicholas.  Mister Nicholas, indeed.  I'll soon hav
e you calling me Christopher."

Nicholas was undaunted by her aloofness.  She had spirit and he liked that. 
The more she scorned him, the more intrigued he became.  Too bad he would not have time to get to know the pretty chit better.  It might have proved amusing.  A wench like that  would lead him on a merry chase, but he would capture her.  Watching her well proportioned form with appreciative eyes, he followed her towards the door of the tavern.

The loud sound of voices halted Nicholas in mid-stride.  Seeing three guardsmen mounting their horses near the stables
, he pulled his hat down to conceal his face and gathered the cloak tightly around his body.  He had forgotten for a moment that he was a hunted man, but would not have such a dangerous lapse of memory again.  Until he was safely on the way to Sussex, he must be on his guard and block from his mind any other thoughts that might distract him, including Murray Thatcher's daughter.  Stroking his beard, Nicholas realized that this thatch of hair must be removed at the first opportunity, for it all too clearly gave away his identity.

"Oh, don't wait for me
, Christopher."  Murray waved Nicholas on, thinking his pause to be courtesy.  "I'll care for the horses and be in directly."

Nicholas glanced warily at the three soldiers, fearful that the old man's voice might have caught their attention
, but they were too immersed in chatter to notice him.  They in fact did not even look in his direction.  Nicholas rather suspected that they were in their cups and breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled open the tavern's portal.

The interior of the Mermaid was dimly lit.  The fire in the hearth had burned to embers, only a few candles illuminated the room.  Even so, Nicholas noticed the man standing in the corner of the tavern immediately.  There
was something him that commanded attention.

"Alandra!"  The man's eyes sparkled with gladness at seeing her
, and for a moment Nicholas stiffened. What was this man to her?  That she hurried to the man's side with a joyful smile added to his unease, though he chided himself that it was none of his concern.

"We missed you while you were back home in
Stratford, Will.  It's always been so dull when you are gone." 

"But each time I come back you have grown more beautiful.  Perhaps I will write a sonnet to proclaim how lovely you are.  Would you like that
, my lovely dark lady?"

Nicholas let his eyes roam over the man, studying this gentleman who brought forth Alandra's unguarded affection.  He was older than Nicholas, in his mid thirt
ies perhaps.  Of average height and build, he was dressed in garments that were fashionable but somber, as if unlike many men who shared his profession, he did not want to attract undue attention.  The man's brown hair was worn nearly to his shoulders.  The hairline which was beginning to recede made him appear much older than his years.  Like Nicholas, he wore a mustache and clipped beard.

"Write a sonnet for me?  Oh, would you, Will?  I would be so honored.  No one has ever written any poetry for me."

"But they should, Alandra.  They should.  You are the kind of woman who will soon steal many hearts.  You have always had mine." The piercing brown eyes beneath thin, highly arched brows focused on Nicholas, eyeing him up and down appraisingly.  "And who might this be?"

Nicholas introduced himself. "My name is Christopher Nicholas.  I assume that you are William Shakespeare."

"I am."  

The intense scrutiny unnerved Nicholas
, but at last Will Shakespeare smiled.  "If you are a friend of Alandra's then you are likewise a friend of mind."

“He’s not a friend!
We've only just met," she murmured, purposefully keeping a cautious distance between the handsome young man and herself.  "Tonight in fact.  He wants to join the players."

"Ah, I see.  So you are an actor."

"He
proclaims
himself to be," Alandra replied curtly, hoping Will would throw the scoundrel out into the street, even though her father was taken in by him.              

"Hmmmmm."  Will looked from Alandra to Nicholas and back again, then raised his brow.  "We have actors aplenty in our company...."

"Just as I thought!"  Alandra cast the would-be actor a triumphant glare.  "I guess you'll have to find another acting troupe to make use of your
great
talent!"

Nicholas' pride was stung. 
Besides, he needed the protection  the players would afford him.  “Please reconsider.  I am quite good and would add much to your little troupe."

"Ha!"  Alandra retorted with a toss of her head.   She looked toward Sh
akespeare, hoping he would cut the braggart down to size. 

"Perhaps we might be able t
o use you," he said, looking at the newcomer once again.

Alandra couldn't believe her ears.  "But Will........"  She would have to have a talk with him at the first opportunity.

  Shakespeare's decision was firm.  "We will give him a chance to show how useful he can be. And before you receive any major roles you must read for me.”