Love's Will (22 page)

Part
Six

1595

1
.

William and Harry Southampton were playing chess. Expecting the coup de grace any moment, for he was not a good player, William sat back and watched Harry pondering his move. “You won’t be going to the wedding, I daresay?”

Harry
took his time with both move and reply. “Checkmate. Ah, but I will be going.” The amusement in his eyes was at odds with his pious expression as he said, “How could you doubt that both bride and groom have my very best wishes for their happiness together?” They both laughed. It was a good joke, if an ironic one. Lord Burghley had at last accepted that Harry’s ‘No’ meant ‘No’ and had brokered a marriage between his granddaughter, Lady Elizabeth de Vere, and the Earl of Derby. The latter was the brother of Ferdinando, who had been patron of William’s old playing company. Ferdinando had died the previous year, to William’s grief. He didn’t much care for the new Earl, but a commission was a commission and he thought Ferdinando’s shade would be pleased at his players performing for his brother’s wedding.

“I
never bore Lady Liz any ill-will,” Harry went on, “even if it did cost me five thousand pounds not to marry her.”

“That
was unfair,” William said hotly. “No one ever thought Burghley would insist on that fine. And as for demanding it all in a lump, not giving you time to pay, that was vindictive.”

“He
can be vindictive. A good man in so many ways, but mean, and unforgiving. Don’t repeat this, Will, but I went to the Queen about it, asked her to intercede and get Burghley at least to let me pay the fine in yearly instalments. No luck. I am well out of favour there.” Suddenly he swept William’s queen from the board and held the piece in his clenched fist. “The most powerful piece on the board. So much for the queen.” He dropped the piece to the side of the table.

“Oh
Harry, my dear,” said William, “have a care what you do, and say.”

“The
Queen can’t live forever.”

“Harry,
Harry, Harry. With all your gifts, you can be such a fool. Stay out of plots. Be careful.”

“I
shall.” Harry touched one finger to the back of William’s hand. “I love your care for me, but don’t worry about me.”

“Can’t
help it. Love is like that.”

“Yes.”
For a moment it seemed he would say something more of that, but then he leaned back in his chair and said with apparently intense interest, “Tell me of this play your company is to do for the Derby wedding. A comedy?”

“Yes,
one I’ve had in my mind for some time and suitable for a wedding.”

“About?”

“A royal wedding. Theseus of Athens and Hippolyta, as in Chaucer’s
Knight’s Tale
. Other lovers. A girl who loves a man who doesn’t love her. People who refuse to marry where their guardians insist they do.” Harry raised an eyebrow, his mouth stretching into a sweet, wry smile. “A happy ending, of course, after complications. It’s Midsummer’s Night. I call it
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
, and the fairies are about. The King and Queen of the fairies, Oberon and Titania, are at odds. Robin Goodfellow, the puck, has a love-juice which, squeezed on the eyes of a sleeper, will make him or her fall in love with the first person he or she sees upon waking.”

“And
things go wrong?”

“And
things go wrong. I’ve written some comic rustics, artisans, who put on a play for the royal wedding. They get caught up in the fairies’ and lovers’ action.”

“It
sounds enchanting.” They both grinned at the pun.

“It’s
good. And my brother Edmund is to play one of the fairies.”

“Your
brother? Oh, yes, you told me of him. Is he making a success?”

“Dick
Burbage isn’t having any sleepless nights. No, the boy’s competent enough. And keen.”

“A
poet, like his brother?”

“No.
Odd, isn’t it. Five of us, and I’m the only one to write. What’s the time? So late? Harry, I must go. We’re rehearsing early tomorrow, for the wedding play.” He pushed his chair back and stood up. “Sorry not to have given you a better game.”

“Don’t
be. I like winning.”

“And
with a more worthy opponent you should play more carefully.” William slid his hand round Harry’s head, kissed him. “We’ll meet again soon?”

“As
ever. And we will meet at the wedding festivities.”

“See
each other. You’re an honoured guest and I’m merely an entertainer. Adieu.”

The wedding was celebrated with all due pomp of masques, dancing, feasting. And, of course, William’s play. It was a wild success. Perfect for the occasion, everyone said, charming, funny, touching. The echoes of applause ringing in his ears, William accepted his author’s due of praise and Lord Derby’s gift of an extra twenty pounds above the agreed fee. And, out of kindness for the players who had once worn his brother’s livery, Lord Derby begged them stay and take drinks, mingle for a few moments with the guests. “Keep your costumes on,” he said, twinkling, “so that as at that other wedding, we may have the Fairy King and Queen and their court among us – not to mention Bottom; a splendid part, Will. Come, join us at our feast.”

Free
food and drink of wedding guest quality wasn’t to be sneezed at. Amused and hungry, the players obediently mingled.

And,
mingling, William came face to face with her.

Mara-Marian.
His dark and damnéd beauty.

Clad
in shell pink and gold lace, colours that became her, with her hair tidily curled, rings on her fingers and gold at her ears and throat, her bosom no more displayed than was proper. Dignified as any great lady there. Only the heady, heavy scent was the same.

“You,”
he said. “You, here?”

She
gave him a heavy-lidded, bland look then her eyes slid sideways to a man standing nearby, watching her. “It’s Master Shakspere, is it not? I think we met some time since. Two years, was it, or three? Are you acquainted with my husband, Master Leigh?”

The
stage lost a great player in her. “I think not,” said William, bowing, as she introduced him to the watching man.

“Master
Shakspere? Ah yes, you wrote that excellent play we have just seen. A fine work.”

“Thank
you, sir.”

“And
how do you come to be acquainted with my wife?” Yes, there was jealousy there, and suspicion. Perhaps he knew what sort of woman he had married. He was at least twenty years her senior.

“We
met at one of Lord Southampton’s musicales.”

“Ah.”

Lord Derby came to speak to William then, and for a time he lost sight of the woman and her hornéd husband.

Later,
however, she found him alone in a quiet corner of the garden. “William.” She leaned in to him, her breasts pressing against his arm.

“My
lady.”

“Oh,
none of that nonsense, not between us.”

“There
is nothing between us, Madam. As in my play, the enchantment has worn off.”

The
moonlight showed the flicker in her black eyes as she hit back swiftly. “What did Titania say? 'Such dreams as I have had? I dreamt I was enamour’d of an ass'?”

“Ass
I may be, but you were never enamour’d.”

“Say
you so? I told you I should miss you, and I did.”

Some
hopeless, half-wit, gullible fool said wistfully, “Did you truly?” William actually looked around to see who had spoken before he realised it was himself.

“Yes
I did. Well, the playhouses opened before Christmas, so you’ve been back in London some time, I suppose.”

“Yes,
since after the summer tour.”

“And
you managed not to come to me.”

“Yes.
So that’s your husband. Poor man. Though I daresay he’s a rich man.”

“Why,
William, what a pretty compliment. A rich man for having me?” Mockingly girlish, she flirted her fan. Against his will, he laughed. She wasn’t what you would call a witty woman, but there was a core of self-mocking honesty under all her guises. “Well, we women must make our way as best we can. I thought I’d never see you again.” She moved in front of him and slid her arms around his waist. He started to say, “No,” but she put her lips on his.

And
it was all there again, and his body remembered what his mind was determined to forget. All his good resolutions fled. There was a low wall beside them, and he lifted her onto it and flung her skirts up. She laced her legs around him, panting as he touched her. He was desperately, ragingly eager for her, but he was in costume as Philostrate, and the unfamiliar clothes cost him a moment’s fumbling. Then he thrust into her, and her tongue was halfway down his throat, and she used his mouth to stifle her cry at the end.

She
leaned her head on his shoulder, almost as a child does. “Ah, William, my Will. I’ve missed you.”

“And
I had vowed never to do that again.”

“Would
you order love?”

“It
is not love.”

“Well,
you know best.” She disengaged herself, hopped off the wall and shook out her skirts. With trembling hands he fastened up his clothes. “If you want to come to me again, I no longer have that house, I live now with my husband. Is there somewhere?”

“I
keep my old lodgings, I go there to write. Two rooms.”

“One
would be enough for this kind of love. Tell me the direction.”

In
bitter self-hatred he did so.

“Then
perhaps we will meet again.”

She
began to stroll back up the garden towards the house. William fell into step beside her. And, strolling thus, two mere acquaintances, they ran into Harry Southampton. He was slightly drunk.

“Well-met
by moonlight, my Will. Will, Will, Will, my sweet William, my pet poet, my tame songbird, what a play you gave us tonight.” He had a wine jug in his hand, and he waved it in punctuation of his words. “What – a – play! What wit, what charm, what gaiety. What a triumph of love. I liked the lion. Thyramus and Pisbe. Pyramus. Good old Ovid. And who are you, Madam? You look familiar.”

“Mistress
Leigh,” said William.

“Your
humble servant. But do I not know you?”

“We
have met, my lord. I sang for you once.”

“Oh
yes, the lady with the eyebrows. I remember. Sang Will’s song. You’re here to make music for the wedding feasting?”

“No,
my lord.”

“A
pity. You could have sung about the potted snakes; from the play, you know. Sssssspotted.”

“Yes,
my lord. Charming. May I beg your lordship to excuse me? My husband will be seeking me.”

“Of
course.” Harry bowed, nearly falling over. William righted him. “That’s a damned lovely woman, Will.”

“Oh,
do you think so?”

“’Course
I do. Not being blind. Damned lovely. Taking.” He peered owlishly at his friend. “Aha. You are taken with her!” Then he made one of those leaps of intuition William had thought the preserve of women. “And you’ve taken her. Last year... she was the one. When you had no time for me. Always busy, always dreaming.”

“I
always have time for you, Harry.”

“Not
last year. Different. And you are in love with her.”

“No,
Harry. Do guard your tongue!”

“Sick
of guarding my tongue. People here, half the Court, old Burghley, Derby caught up with the Papists, Essex out of favour with the Queen, the queen’s little maid of honour, Bess Vernon, making eyes at me, not that I mind that, she’s very fetching, Raleigh always underfoot, Anthony Bacon and his little arse-licking brother, Francis, and I must guard my tongue. Always guard my tongue. And my back, from the daggers of my enemies. No friends. No real friends. Except you, Will.”

William
smothered a sigh. “I am your friend, forever. Come, Harry, I have to give my costume back to the ’tire-master, then let us have a drink together.”

Harry
had a poor head for drink. Another glass or two and he’d be asleep. As for William, he longed for nothing more than to be in bed, alone. The other players were staying on, to grace the wedding festivities with another play tomorrow. But out of friendship and love, he would have to keep Harry apart from anyone who could hear his ramblings and pass them on. He set a brisk pace back to the players’ quarters, Harry trotting docilely after him, and handed in his costume, noting as he did so that it reeked of his mistress’s perfume. The ’tire-master, in charge of the players’ wardrobe, looked at him oddly, and winked. Then he sat out in the garden with Harry, drinking, until Harry’s eyes drooped and William could hand him over to his valet. When at last he tumbled into bed beside his brother, he thought he would toss and turn through a sleepless night of guilt, but despite Edmund’s snoring he fell asleep at once.