Kissing Shakespeare (4 page)

“I’m hardly dressed for the role of an Elizabethan teenager,” I said, glancing down at my outfit. Jeans, T-shirt, green hoodie, Uggs.

“I borrowed some of my sister’s apparel,” Stephen said. “You are roughly of the same proportions.” He walked over to a pile of leaves and, brushing them aside, pulled out a wooden trunk.

“Where was I when you were stealing your sister’s clothes?”

“You were … sleeping. My dog Copernicus stood watch over you, so you were perfectly safe.”

“Ha! I bet. And I don’t see any dog.”

“He’s with the horses. Now, you must change before your arrival on horseback, accompanied by yours truly,” he said, sweeping into a bow.

“Won’t they know I’m a fake? They must be able to recognize their own niece.”

“Our aunt and uncle—and you should begin to think of them as that—have not seen you for a few years, because of a quarrel between our families. You are the same age as my sister, and there is enough of a resemblance to satisfy them.”

I nodded. That seemed plausible. “But if there’s a quarrel going on, why would you be visiting?”

“My uncle has long been a student of husbandry—farming. I need his advice on certain practices such as drainage of land, surveying, enclosure. The visit serves as a gesture of reconciliation as well.” He paused a moment, studying me. “Her name is Olivia.”

“Whose name? Your aunt’s?”

“Nay, my sister’s.”

Light dawned. “Now you’re telling me I have to change my name?”

He shrugged. “ ’Tis the least of our worries. You will grow accustomed to it soon enough.”

“ ’Tisn’t the least of mine,” I said. “You’re not the one with a new name!”

He ignored me and reached for my pack, which I was still clutching against my chest. “Just out of curiosity,” I asked, “what are the other reasons you chose me? Out of all the young women throughout time, why me?”

“Aside from what we’ve already discussed? Your parents once performed here, so you have a connection to the place. You’re thoroughly grounded in Shakespeare’s works, which gives you a glimpse into his mind. And you are a good enough actor to pull this off, Miranda, although you would never admit to it.”

He thinks I’m a good actor
. A warm feeling spread through me, and for the first time I thought maybe Stephen and I could be friends. But even so, I stood still a moment, making him wait, until he looked as if he might explode.

“Now, if we can put an end to these questions, you must change while I fetch the horses.” He unzipped my backpack and began to sort through my things.

“What are you doing? You have no right to—”

“I must confiscate your keys, wallet, watch, and this, uh, instrument.”

“It’s an iPod,” I said with a smirk. “It plays music. You listen to it through these things.” I waved the earbuds in his face. “Didn’t you wonder what everybody had stuck in their ears all the time?”

He looked vulnerable again, and I actually regretted my sarcastic comment. “I didn’t want to ask,” he said. “Give me the talking box … that instrument you talk into.”

I shot him a horrified look.

“God’s breath, Miranda! ’Tis of no use here. I’ll keep everything in your pack. Do you have anything else that would arouse suspicion if someone happened to search your chamber?”

“No. You thought of everything,” I said, glaring at him. “And I want all of that stuff back before I go home.”

“You shall have it.” Stephen opened the clasps of the trunk and fished out a rust-colored dress and cloak. “Wear this,” he said, thrusting them at me. “It is a traveling costume.” I grabbed them and waited for him to leave.

“One more thing. I need your clothes.”

“What? You must be joking!”

“You cannot have modern apparel in your room because the servants are sure to find it. I’ll turn my back while you disrobe. I need your shirt, jeans, shoes, socks, undergarments. Everything.” He turned and waited.

“But …” I started to argue but knew I’d never win. I tugged off my Uggs and threw them aside. Then I stripped, tossing everything so it all landed right beside him. He stuffed it into my backpack.

“Did you bring me any shoes?” I asked, trembling in the cool air.

“Nay. Wear your boots for now. There is a cupboard you can hide them in later today. Is that everything, then?”

“Sorry,” I said, shivering. “You can’t have my underwear … garments. That’s where I draw the line.”

“Then make sure you’re wearing them at all times—or keep them well hidden.” I thought I heard a snicker before he strode away.

“I’ll return in ten minutes. Be ready,” Stephen said, turning briefly to call over his shoulder.

I
WAITED BESIDE
S
TEPHEN
in the inner courtyard of the great stone house, the sleek hound Copernicus resting on his haunches next to me. My hand kept darting down to pat his silky, dark head. So far, he was the best thing about this century. A big, drooling baby, he’d taken to me immediately, smearing wet kisses all over my face when Stephen introduced us.

While we’d ridden on horseback up the long approach road, Stephen had tutored me on the names of people, buildings, household items, and other things I’d need to know. “You must call the Hoghtons Aunt and Uncle. They will expect it.”

“What are their first names?”

“Alexander and Elizabeth, but no need to use them.”

“What if they figure out I’m not Olivia? Then what?”

“If you play your part well, that will not happen.”

Throughout his lecture, I was trying really hard not to fall off the horse. I’d never ridden in my life, and here I was, perched on a sidesaddle. Stephen had held the reins while I clutched the pommel with a death grip most of the way. I felt as if I were miles above good old terra firma. Dismounting near the stables, he passed the reins off to a young man and helped me down. We picked our way around dung, chickens, and even a pig or two before passing through an outer courtyard, at last reaching the place where we now stood.

A bearded older man hurried toward us, his dark hair ruffled by the breeze. Alexander Hoghton, no doubt. “Uncle,” I managed to choke out, shocked and a little repulsed by his stained teeth and sickly-looking face.

“Olivia! We are so happy you have come.”

I looked around for Olivia, suddenly overwhelmed and confused. In that brief moment, I felt Stephen’s hand at the small of my back, steadying me. By the time the older man leaned in to kiss me, I’d snapped out of my haze and offered my cheek.

“Stephen, well met!” He plopped a kiss on Stephen’s cheek too, then grasped my hand and pulled it through the crook of his arm. I assumed the lady standing nearer the house was his wife, Elizabeth. Stephen strode ahead of us, removed his hat, and embraced her. “Aunt, ’tis good to see you again.”

“Welcome, Stephen.” She clung to his arms, her eyes finding the wound on his head. “My dear boy, you’ve suffered an injury!”

“ ’Tis nothing,” Stephen said in a rush. “An errant stone a boy threw at a pack of dogs hit me.”

“We shall have the doctor look at it.”

“Nay, Aunt, it is not worth the bother.”

She pursed her lips. “As you say.”

When she turned to me, Master Hoghton released my arm. I smiled and stepped forward to greet her.

“My dearest Olivia.” She took my hands in hers, and her warm and friendly eyes studied me. “It is too long since we have last been together. You look …” I held my breath while she searched for the right word. “Different,” she eventually said.

“And you look beautiful, Aunt.” The words had slipped out, but it was true. Though she was no longer young, her style was anything but matronly. She wore a heavy outer gown, slashed in front so her skirt showed. The bodice was cut low, displaying an undergarment—maybe a chemise?—made from a delicate, gauzy material.

“You have not lost your sweet nature, I see.” I couldn’t help glancing at Stephen, but he’d ducked his head, probably trying not to laugh. “How fare your mother and father?” she asked.

“Well, um, they—”

Stephen jumped in. “ ’Tis a most busy season for our father. He rides out every day to visit his tenants.”

Master Hoghton stepped forward. “I am so pleased he and your mother allowed this visit. We have much to discuss, and ’tis time for this trouble between us to end.”

A look of understanding passed between him and Stephen. We made our way into the house, entering through a drafty hallway and then climbing a flight of stairs.

“Bess will show you to your chambers,” Stephen’s aunt said. “When you are refreshed, come to the banqueting hall for the midday meal. No need for haste.”

Bess, followed by a man carrying our things, led us through a passageway of sorts formed by the opened doors that led directly from one room to the next. Although similar to the doors in adjoining hotel rooms, these were much thicker and made of oak. The passageway glowed with sunlight streaming through tall windows. I grabbed Stephen’s arm and darted a horrified look at him. How could I have any privacy with people trooping through my room? He quirked a brow and shrugged.

Our little procession stopped at the first room, and Bess told Stephen this was his chamber. We continued down the passageway through one more set of double doors, to my room. It was nearly identical to Stephen’s, except the furnishings and colors were more feminine. Rose and pale gold instead of burgundy and black. I followed Bess inside, if you could call it “inside.”

“Where would you like your trunk, mistress?”

“Over hence yonder … thence.” I felt my face color.
Shut up, Miranda
. “There, if you please.” I pointed toward one side of the room, and the male servant dropped it to the floor.

Bess gave me a tight smile and they both left.

I hurried back to Stephen. “What’s up with these rooms? How am I supposed to dress, wash, and …?”

“Use the chamber pot?” he finished for me.

“Exactly.” I felt my cheeks grow warm and could see that Stephen once again was trying not to laugh.

“Let me explain how this works. The doors are closed at night, after ten o’clock, I believe. The servants open them around eight in the morning, and they are kept open during the daylight hours.”

“Wonderful. In other words, during the day, I have absolutely no privacy.”

“That’s not quite true. If you need to be alone, close the door on your side. If someone’s coming through the passage, they’ll allow you a few moments. Much of the day you will not be in your chamber. And if you are, you will probably be sewing or reading, pursuits which do not require privacy.”

I could think of dozens of reasons I needed to be by myself, but it was useless to argue since I had no control over my life right now. “Do you think they suspect anything?” I asked.

“You gave them no cause,” he said. “Now you must change into a bodice and petticoats. Wear a smock underneath.” He steered me gently back toward my room.

“I’m closing the doors,” I said as I backed away. “And there’s no way I’ll be doing any sewing!”

“Mistress.” Stephen bowed and a broad grin broke over his face. He closed the door on his side and I closed mine, at both ends of the chamber.

Before changing, I checked out my room. A high four-poster bed with a fringed, rose-colored canopy stood at one end. Other pieces of furniture were scattered around: a writing desk facing the windows and a wooden love seat—a settle, Stephen had said—in front of a fireplace. Against the back wall, there was a wardrobe, and next to it, a door. I tugged it open and found that it led onto a stone stairway. No time to explore now, though.

A washstand with a pitcher and bowl reminded me that I hadn’t bathed since yesterday. I poured water and washed my hands and face with the perfumed soap provided, drying off with a linen towel. That felt so refreshing, I stripped naked—after making sure I didn’t hear footsteps or voices—and washed all over as well as I could. Covered with goose bumps, I shivered in the chill air and hurriedly wiggled back into my underwear. At last it was time to open the trunk.

On the very top was a crimson gown. Trimmed with lace, it was probably meant for special occasions. I pictured myself wearing it, escorted by a handsome Renaissance gentleman. There were smocks, some made of silk, others of a delicate linen. I pulled one on. If someone decided to come through the passage, I didn’t want to be caught sitting there in my underwear. Besides that, I was freezing. Thank God the smocks had long sleeves.

Digging deeper, I found a layer of plain-looking dresses I thought were called kirtles. Petticoats—skirts to a modern girl—were folded neatly beneath them. Next came a pile of bodices, blouselike garments worn on the upper body, a bit like a man’s doublet. At least I knew what most of the clothing was called because of all my years of watching and studying Shakespeare’s plays. Before, they had all just been costumes. Now they were my actual clothes.

When I reached the bottom layer—a wool cloak, several pairs of hose, and slippers—I heard a light tapping on the door at the back of the room, and Bess slipped through. “I thought you might need some help, mistress.”

I smiled and stepped aside, more than willing for her to choose my outfit. She handed me a kirtle and petticoats and helped me pull them on and fasten them. Then she asked me to choose a bodice. When I’d been riffling through the trunk, I noticed a silk one in a brilliant red, embroidered with fine gold threads. Bess nodded approvingly, so I figured it would suit the occasion. After she’d laced it up the back, I realized I was standing there in my bare feet. She dug around in the trunk, as I had done, and found stockings, strips of cloth I assumed must be garters, and slippers. I drew the stockings on and tied the garters tightly, afterward slipping my feet into the shoes.