In the Shadow of Shakespeare (25 page)

I
won’t fail her…

 
***

The
Rose was full.  The play was ready, and Kit stood standing in the
groundling area. On his head was perched a velvet hat that matched his black
doublet and hose.  He held his hand out and directed the players on the
stage.  His face was lit with anticipation and joy.  Alice stood at
the entrance of the theatre and watched him. 

Kit
finally turned and saw her standing.  “Alice!”  He walked over to
her, still smiling.  Alice wanted to forever remember this image: the
beginnings of a beard; tousled hair under his hat; and smooth velvet of a
self-made man.  He took his hand gently in hers and bent to kiss it. 

 “My
mistress.”  He then took her in his arms and swung her around to the
stage.  “You shall be back soon to play Bellamira?”  He whispered in
her ear.  “Look at the player in her gown.  Is it not an
apparition?” 

She
laughed.  “Bearded he is.  And not of my stature.”

 “No. 
There is no one of your stature, dear heart.”  He rocked her in his arms.

 “I
need money, Kit.”

He
nodded and pulled shillings from his pocket.  He placed them in her
hand. 

 “Take
care, sweeting.  I shall wait for you.”  He pulled her close and
brushed his lips with hers, then kissed her deeply.  She felt herself melt
against him and the line between the two of them dissolve.  The distant
sound of clapping and shouting arose.  Alice pulled away, and saw the
players watching them, applauding.

 “Where
is the stage, my love?  There, or here?”  He smiled.  “Go. 
Come quickly back to me.”

She
wanted to tell him of her fear, how it might not possible for her to do
this.  Yet, on the other hand, all she wanted to do was make sure he was
safe.  And save Thomas.  They had no idea of how close to death they
were.  The fear was like a palpable taste in her mouth.  It was
visceral and tasted of metal.  She wiped her brow and turned to go. 

 “Alice.”

 “Yes?” 
She half hoped that he would tell her to forget it, it didn’t matter.  To
stay, that was all that mattered…

 “Fare
ye well.”

 ***

The
seamstress assured her that this was the fashion of all vicar’s wives. 
The gown was a mixture of dour matron with a slight hint of cleavage. 
Alice smoothed her hair, then wrapped it behind her head, secured it with a
pin, then brought a few soft curls forward to frame her face.

Kit
had said that Baines could most probably be found in the village of
Staffordshire.  The latest news from Walsingham’s intelligencers was that
he had claimed to have seen him there.  Now it was up to her to validate
the sighting.

Alice
mounted the horse she had paid for in a town she could not remember, except for
the fact that it was outside of London, and the men were rude.  Even to a
vicar’s wife.  She didn’t want to remember, only to get through it. 

Kit
had only five days before he became a footnote in history.  Whitgift even
now was planning his revenge against the Puritans, and since Kit worked for
Walsingham, Whitgift’s rival for the Queen’s attention, he would be made the
scapegoat for this long standing rivalry between the two men.  It was a
complex scenario.  According to Whitgift, who was a defender of the
Anglican faith, the flowering of the English Enlightenment was a cause for mass
hysteria, and all unruliness and anarchy must be brought down.  There was
no room for independent thinking, and Kit Marlowe was the exemplar of all of
this. 

She
rode hard and fast. As the cold wind whipped her face she turned once at the
sound of bells.  The church bells were forever tolling. 
Grave
diggers will soon be afoot…

The
town of Staffordshire drew near, and she dismounted at the nearest inn. 
The thick door held up against her fist, and she rubbed her hand when she was
done. A woman who answered the door had a tired and worn face. She was wearing
a red cloth wrapped around her head and was thick around the waist.  Alice
asked for a bed, and it was granted.  When she lay down she thought of
Mare, and Anne.  She wished they were with her.

Chapter 33

A
long morning of riding led her to landmarks that Kit had told her to watch
for.  She took an old side road heading through a field when she came to
an ancient oak by a bridge by a river. The church where Baines was deacon would
not be far.  The horse trotted amongst stones she did not see, quickly
over stepping them, and she was glad he was surefooted. 

When
the church was in sight she dismounted. She led the horse to a tree, and roped
the animal.  He brushed his nose across her hand, and the warm breath from
his nostrils warmed her hand.  She patted his nose. 

 “Wish
me luck.”

The
horse snorted and stamped his foot.

Alice
walked to the door and rapped smartly, trying hard to muster the courage she
didn’t have.   A woman answered the door.

 ***

Christopher
leaned out the window while Thomas lit a candle in the corner.  A wine jug
sat on the table.  The bed was still unmade.  Soon, the laundress
would come and collect the dirty clothes and linens.  

 “This,
Thomas is what the
Spanish Tragedy
needs…”  Kit dipped his pen in
the inkpot, looked at the parchment in front of him, then set it
down.   “All in all, a woman like Bellamira.”  He rose and went
to the window.

 “Ah,
Kit.  Thou art spell bound by Alice.” 

 “Ha! 
Thou are thinking of
Doctor Faustus
.  He dost conjure the fair
Helen to do his bidding…with a kiss.”  Kit leaned far out the
window.  “Hey ya!  Man!  Dost thou believe in love?”  He
yelled down to a young couple.  They looked up, smiling.

 “My
friend!”  Thomas grabbed his doublet, pulling him from the window. 
“Thou art love struck.  Come, come.” 

 “Listen,
Tom.”  Kit went back to the table and took up his quill.  “There have
been women, but Alice is a jewel.”

 “What
of Emilia?”

Kit
ran his hand through his hair.  “’Tis true they say I deal in
doubles.  But in love, Tom?  Nay.  Emilia is betrothed to her
cousin by orders of the queen.”

 “Betrothed? 
What say you?”

 “She
is with child.”

 “Ah,
Kit.”  Thomas shook his head. 

Kit
shrugged.  “She has said naught to me but has said so to Lord
Hunsdon.”  He scoffed.  “’Tis no matter.  She hopes to gain from
our Lord.  He is…was, her paramour.”

 “And
of court?”  said Thomas.

 “She
is wont to be at court, but may no longer be.  I will learn of it
soon.  The queen will soon be merrymaking.”

 “You
are there?”

 “Aye. 
Tom, thinkon’t!  I am a most beloved poet of her majesty.  Our
queen.”

Tom
began whittling a quill, a sly smile on his face.  “’Tis true, Kit. 
I wish you well in juggling your many women.  Take care not to drop one.”

Kit
laughed.  “Tom, ye jest.  You play me well my friend, but I am true
and straight as an arrow.”

***

Alice
was led into the house of a man who had made well for himself.  Italian
tapestries lined the wall, as well as portraits by Van Mander.  She undid her
cloak and laid it aside.

 “Dost
thou care for refreshment lady?”

 “No.
Gramercy.  Is Master Baines here?  I’ve come from far.”  She
adjusted her skirt, proud of her accent and the way she carried herself.

The
house woman studied her with an eye of the jaded and long apprenticed unto the
ways of people trying to take advantage. 

 “He
may be back soon, Lady.  Perchance not.  Do you care to come later?”

Alice
studied the house.  This was a house of a man who took chances.  The
beams were crooked, and the glass was askew.  She thought of getting up
and looking at herself but sat still.  Her eyes traveled to the woman.

 “No. 
I shall sit.”  She smiled.

The
woman shifted from foot to foot.  With a sigh she left.

Alice
laughed inwardly as the door moved.
  I knew it. 

She
stood as he entered the room.

 ***

Kit
stood and stretched.  The last of the wine was gone.  Thomas had left
after the laundress collected the dirty linen. 

The
day was coming alive, and he must make haste.  But Alice had not left him and
would not.  Thoughts of her drifted before his eyes. 

He
went to the window, watching the people below.  A man walked by with an
eye that could not see.  He dragged his foot behind him. 

 “Aye!”

The
man stopped and took his hat from his head, holding it towards the
window.  Kit threw a coin, aiming for the hat.  The coin fell near
the beggar’s worn out shoe.  

 “Dost
thou feel it man?

The
man nodded and carefully felt by his foot, picking up the shilling. 

Kit
retreated from the window, pulling his frame inside the room. 
An
angel, dost thou think I’m an angel…

O,
if she only knew.

***

Baines
smiled when he saw her.  “Lady?”

She
stood and courtsied. “I need advice.  Sir.”  Alice looked at him wide
eyed, playing the awestruck housewife. Would he suspect her?  She felt the
blood rise to her neck and creep up her face.

He
sat next to her.  The clock that was all the rage amongst the rich kept
ticking.  The velvet of his doublet rubbed against her arm.  He took
her hand in his.

 “Ye
are new to the place?” 

She
turned as red as his doublet and turned in her seat.  She didn’t know if
she should laugh, or faint.  To be so near to someone that determined life
or death overwhelmed her.  She waved her hand in front of her face.

 “’Tis
most difficult, sir.”

 “Your
accent, ‘tis hard to place.  Are ye from the low countries?”

Alice
watched the clock.  The clock meant that time could be measured and
discovered.  But she knew that time was something that could be quite
malleable.  She remembered Bernie and it seemed far, yet close, and
suddenly her head felt very light.  The silks and warmth were getting to
her.  She must remember her place.

 “Aye. 
I need advice on one that hath cost me much…”  She left it there and
continued to fan her face.

He
began to rub her back.  She wondered if it would play out as Kit had said,
that he would try to look for any weakness and stop at nothing to get at
it.  Alice coughed lightly in her hanky, and Baines leaned forward
expectantly.  “Mistress?”

 “The
wonder of it ‘tis…the Queen…she is worried about papists, and ye…ye are worried
about…what sir?” 

His
face grew hard, lines appeared around his eyes and his mouth turned into a
straight line. 

“What
do ye want wench.”        

 “Sir,
I am very worried and scared of what is happening in town.”  Alice
adjusted the skirts of her gown.  “I know this is not something ye would
care to think of…but will the playmakers have a gain?  I say this only
because my husband is worried of it.  He said that Sir Whitgift said that
the crowd is like a downed woman – may I speak such vulgarity?  Do ye
think sir?” 

 “Oh,
aye.  The crowd knows not a thing.  Not a thing.  Say your name
Mistress, I did not catch it?” 

 “Benchly,
sir.  Ann Benchly.  My husband – ”

 “I
know not of any Benchly.”  He looked at her warily.  “What is it he
does?”

“A
musician sir.”

 “Aye? 
A musician?  I know of quite a few musicians.  Who does he play for?”

 “He
plays for the court sir, but recently he has been sent to play for a playmaker
named of Marlowe.  The one who wrote that play…
Tamburlaine
.”

 “I
know of him.”  Baines snapped, all thoughts of her husband put
aside.  “Blasphemy it ‘tis.  You know this man?”

 “Sir?”

 “This
Marlowe, wench!”

 “No,
sir,” she stammered, happy that he entered the trap.  Would he suspect her
as a silly woman, worried about playmakers and their blasphemous plays? 
Or would he begin to suspect her.  Her breath quickened, and she felt a
strong flush creep up her neck.

 “Mistress
Benchly, are ye ill?  Or ‘tis something… else?”  He lay a hand in her
lap and began rubbing her thigh. 

Alice
watched his hand in horror.  “Sir, I assure you!  I am a most pious
woman!  I am worried for my husband’s safety.  He will be branded as
a heretic, making merriments with this Marlowe, and his other assorted
bawdies.”

 “Oh,
aye.  That I can assure ye mistress.  But we…but I can protect
you.”  He leaned forward and kissed her neck.  Alice pretended to
swoon, but she must not appear to eager.  She thought of the words of
Mare, and how it was a woman’s way to be a whore.