In the Shadow of Shakespeare (35 page)

"Sounds
a bit over the top."

"It
isn't."

"What
for?" said Joannie. "All you going to get is a lot of flak from
people entrenched in keeping the status quo the way it is, and – "

"Who
cares?  I was there, Bryant.  I
was there
.  It's
something I have to do."

Joannie
looked at her doubtfully.  "You really want me to believe this, don't
you?"

"I
do."

"If
you think you have it hard here, wait until people get a load of your
ideas."

Alice
took a deep breath.  "I know. I'll just have to dig my heels in, I
guess."

 ***

The
corridor was gray and quiet as she made her way down the hall.  Most
people were tucked away in their beds, watchi

She
slipped into the room.  There was an aide working with a few other
patients at a table with some watercolors.  One lone patient sat in front
of an easel with a canvas, clearly flaunting convention by painting with
oils. 

Alice
made her way over to the small bookshelf in the corner of the room.  
She pulled out a small volume of the sonnets and sat in the chair next to the
bookshelf.  Sinking into the plush comfort of a chair she turned to Sonnet
36. 

Let
me confess we two must be twain

Although
our undivided loves one;

So
shall these blots that do with me remain,

Absorbed
she read on.  Clearly the sonnet was about loss of a friend and the
friends roll in getting the plays to the theatre.  The ink blots remained
with Kit because the manuscripts were copied by a scrivener, and he had blots
on his character from the Privy Council Inquisition.

The
woman with the gray hair rolled up to her.  Alice looked up.

"The
rumor is is that you have had some kind of experience."  The woman
said.

Alice
put the book down.  "That sounds pretty vague.  Everyone here
has had some kind of experience."

"Yes,
but your's was, is…quite extraordinary."

"I
don't know if I want to talk to you about this.  I don't even know
you."

"I
understand your apprehension.  I approached you because I think we have a
lot in common."

Intrigued,
Alice cocked her head.  "Really? How so."

"My
husband also had me put away."

"In
the old days I heard it was quite common for men to commit their wives, if they
were to feisty, independent, or what not.  Or if they wanted
something."

"And
there you have it.  If they wanted something.  Like money.  And,
let me add, the old days weren't so long ago.  Treated like cattle we
were.  And still are!"  Clearly miffed, the woman frowned and
took the clip from her pocket, securing her long gray hair. 

Alice
leaned forward.  "He committed you for your money?"

"Bingo."

"I'm
sorry.” 

"I’m
Celeste, by the way.  Celeste Cecil Chambers.  The three
C's."  The woman held her head high as if she was royalty. 
"I am a direct descendant of Robert Cecil."

"Of
England?  Of the court of Queen Elizabeth?"  said Alice.

"Yes. 
That one."

"What
a coincidence."  Alice sat back in her chair.

"I'm
sure."  The woman gave her a long searching look, then turned on her
wheels and headed towards the door.  "We really should have tea
sometime.  Alice, is it?"

"Yes…I
mean to the tea, too.  I would like that.  Very much."

"Good. 
Ta."  The woman wheeled herself out of the room as Alice watched her
go. 

Alice
placed the small volume of sonnets in the bookshelf. 

 ***

Albert
did come again.  But this time he brought no flowers.  He sat on the edge
of the bed while she stared out the window at the garden.  This garden
wasn't as nice as the one by the library.  This garden was much too
formal; too tidy.  Not a leaf, not a twig out of place.  Everything
was trimmed and shaped according to plan.  There was no room for wild
abandonment.  She thought of this as he went on in an even, careful
tone.  She thought of how his voice matched the boxwood hedges.

Albert
and Selina finally pronounced her as sane, and they each signed the paper for
her release. 

Alice
never did once give into Albert that she was delusional.  She held fast to
what had happened to her.  Albert conceded that it was a magical
experience, and he would not be so quick to dismiss.  Bernie had obviously
encountered such things in the rainforest talking to shamans, hadn't he? 
Alice was irritated that Bernie's experiences somehow had more authority than
hers.  She told Albert that she herself could be compared to a shaman, and
he had nodded and said the whole experience was probably brought on by losing
the baby. 

She
was to leave the next morning.  But now she was scheduled for tea. 

She
had managed to procure a small pot with two tea cups.  She showed the
kitchen staff her papers stating she was sane enough to exit Pinehurst and they
reluctantly gave her an electric kettle to use in her room. 

There
was a light rap on the door.

"Come
on in."

The
woman with the long gray hair who Alice had to remember to call Celeste from
the present time wheeled herself into the room.

Alice
lay the scones on a plate and played them on the table by the window
overlooking the yard outside.  The large willow in the yard was blowing in
the breeze.

Celeste
picked up a scone and took a bite.  "Almond."  She wiped
her mouth with the back of her hand.  "Tired of manners." 
She munched heavily and squinted at Alice.  "You like this English
tea thing."

"My
husband's British."

"Right. 
And who are you really married to?"

Alice's
hand shook and the cup crashed to the floor, breaking into three large
pieces.  Celeste calmly eyed the catastrophe on the floor and took another
bite of her scone.  "No need to panic.  That's why we’re
here." 

"I
really don't understand your riddles."  Alice said.

"Look,
I came here for an intelligent conversation and I'll leave if you want to play
games.  So…unless you'd like to participate in one..."  Celeste
wiped the crumbs from her lap. "I can get banality anywhere."

Alice
bent over and picked up the three large pieces of porcelain.  "Can't
believe that this didn't shatter into more pieces.  Just three."

"Yes. 
Like the fates."

"The
fates."  Alice looked up with the pieces in her hand. 
"Celeste, do you believe we were supposed to meet?" 

She
shook her finger at Alice.  "I've been keeping an eye on you.  I
saw what was going on."

"Did
you?"  Alice decided to play along and humor the old woman. 
No
harm in that. 

"Don't
condescend to me!  If you don't believe in yourself and what you're doing
who will?  Why do you want to play games?"

Alice
walked to the wastebasket in the corner and tossed the three pieces
inside.  They clattered against each other.  "I almost wish we
had a cauldron here.  I could throw these pieces in and poof!  The
answer would appear."

Celeste
bit into another piece of scone.  "Look what happened to Lady
Macbeth.  And Duncan."

"Are
you trying to tell me with your witchery that somehow I am going to
self-destruct with guilt?"

"Is
that what you think Shakespeare was implying?  The man who was
Shakespeare?"

Celeste's
eyes grew bigger and for an instant Alice thought that she might become like
Alvis and dissolve the past present and future all together into the
singularity that it was and the norns knew about and had woven on their
loom. 

"As
you came in there was a rip in the fabric of all that went together and I saw
it spelled out all over you.  I saw that you had gone back in time, to
Elizabethan England, and had spoken with the murderous spymaster.  And the
man who was Shakespeare."

"I
was with him.  The man who was Shakespeare."  Alice said.

"The
masters of intelligence were very well versed in cloaking intelligence in the
symbolism of the time.  Of all time, in fact, but of course it has been
lost to us.  But the artists, the writers… they all knew.  And had to
keep quiet about the old ways." Celeste said.

Alice
could only nod.  She felt drained, tired, as if everything that had been
woven into the fabric of her being had been ripped from her.

"Because
you know this, you can never go back to the old ways.  Although they will
try to make you reassemble as your old self."

"But
how do you know?  How can you perceive these things?"  Alice
said.

"I
studied the classics.  Mythology.  I started seeing the patterns in
literature and in all of the stories people had been telling each other from
the beginning of time."

"There
is a reason for all of this Celeste.  I feel it.  I am not insane,
anymore than you are."

"No,
of course not.  We've just managed to find ourselves in this…unwholesome
predicament.  My husband had me locked up when he found he could. 
Then got his hands on my money."

"Is
there a way out for you?"  asked Alice.

"Yes,
I'm working on it – many years in the making, but I'll get there. 
Players…what is that line from
As You Like It
?"

"All
the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players."

Standing,
Alice went to the window.  Clusters of clients sat in wheelchairs or on
blankets in the fresh air.  "I've got to prove Kit was
Shakespeare.  I've got to put all the pieces of the puzzle together."

"You
need hard evidence love.  And it's been hidden."

"I
know."

Chapter 45

Alice
stood there in her smart pink suit feeling very English with her dark hair
cascading over her shoulders.  The rainbow portrait of Elizabeth hung on a
wall in front of her.  She seemed to be watching her with a faint smile on
her face.  Her dress was filled with eyes and ears. 
Symbols that
they loved.  Symbols that alluded to something else. 

"Holding
onto her secrets."

"Excuse
me?" Alice said.

"Sorry. 
I must have been speaking to myself." 

The
man who addressed her was also dressed in a suit.  He had tousled black
hair and reminded Alice of someone in a rock band from long ago.  She
wondered where she got this idea from and stole a glance at him.

"Do
you always come up to strange women staring at portraits and start a
conversation?"

He
laughed.  "Yes, as a matter of fact.  I work here.  A
curator of sorts."

Alice
looked at his name tag.  "Neville Cruise.  And what sort would
that be?"

"I'm
a connoisseur of beauty."  He smiled brightly at her.

"Are
you hitting on me Neville?"

"Only
if you want."

"Well,
I'm married.  In more ways than one."

"What? 
Like twice?  A harem is it?  Count me in."  He laughed.

She
smiled despite the fact that she had horrendous jet lag and wanted nothing more
than a hot bath and then bed. 

Neville
blushed and then turned towards the portrait.  Clearing his throat he
said, "She learned she was queen in this house."

"Yes?"

"Actually
it was in the yard.  Under a tree.  An oak tree."

"Neville,
I'd love to stay and chat with you but actually I'm here to meet
someone."  Alice glanced at her watch.

"Of
course. Can I take you to your someone?"

"Cedric
Cecil."

He
raised his eyebrows.  "You rise to the top…Sorry, your name?"

"Alice
Petrovka."

"And
the top we shall go.  Mr. Cecil has an office on the third floor. 
May I ask –"

"You
may."

He
moved towards the steps to the right of them and Alice followed behind. 
Their heels clapped on the marble. 

"To
further the plot Alice, what are you here for?"

"To
discuss some letters with Mr. Cecil.  A Shakespearean matter."

"Uh
oh."  He stopped on the second floor landing and placed his hand on
her arm. "Alice, others have come here to discuss Shakespearean matters
with Mr. Cecil and they haven't gotten very far."

She
shook off his hand.  "I will get as far as I need Mr. Cruise. 
Thank you very much."

"I
only tell you this so you won't be disappointed."

"What
would you know about this anyway?"

"Hatfield
House is rife with rumor, despite its size, everyone seems to know everyone
else's business."