Shakespeare's Globe (3 page)

‘Tell no one we are here,’ said Gilbert. ‘We will be gone tomorrow.’

I promised. Before I left, Rosa squeezed my hand. ‘You’re unhappy,’ she said.

‘It’s this place.’ I waved my arm in the direction of Gate Cottage and the town. ‘You’ve seen what people can be like. That boy who attacked you did this,’ I
said, pointing to my cut lip. ‘I don’t belong here.’

‘Why don’t you move on?’ she asked.

‘Move on?’

‘Yes, go where you wants to go. That’s what we do.’

‘Really?’ I said.

‘Yes, Pa says, why stay where you’se unhappy, when you can go where you’se happy?’

She squeezed my hand again. ‘I likes you,’ she said. ‘I will see you again.’

I laughed. ‘I don’t expect so!’

Gilbert grinned. ‘If Rosa says she will, then she will. She has the sight,’ he said, tapping the middle of his forehead.

They disappeared into the trees. It was as if they had never been there.

I took the rabbit home and said I had found it. ‘It’s fresh,’ I insisted, when Aunt Meg turned her nose up.

‘Take it to Goody Wyse this afternoon,’ she said. ‘She will welcome meat for her pot.’

Mother came downstairs, carrying soiled bed linen. ‘Susan is still being sick,’ she said. ‘She has a fever, too.’

‘Billy,’ said Aunt Meg, ‘take the rabbit to Goody Wyse now. Ask her to kindly come and see Susan. She will likely have a potion to help her.’

This seemed silly. ‘Goody Wyse’s cottage is on the way to town,’ I said. ‘I’ll take it when Mother and I go to the play.’

Silence.

Mother dropped the bedding on the table. ‘How can you think of a stupid play when your sister is abed, sick?’ she demanded. ‘We’re not
going
to the
play!’

She picked up the linen and went outside, muttering. I caught the words, ‘selfish’, ‘thoughtless’ and ‘wretched play’.

I did feel sorry for Susan, truly. But I felt sorrier for myself. I looked out of the door and called, ‘May I go on my own, Mother?’

She didn’t have to speak. Her face clearly told me the answer. So I took the rotten rabbit to Goody Wyse, though how she would eat it with only one tooth, I do not know.

She had a sore foot and could not walk, so I stood in her stuffy cottage, nearly fainting from the fire’s heat, while she asked about Susan. She seemed to take hours mixing a potion, and I
was never so glad to get home. Except it wasn’t my home.

I was so miserable that Aunt Meg felt sorry for me, and asked Mother to let me go that afternoon.

I listened from downstairs.

‘Meg, there’ll be bad characters in the crowd,’ said Mother.

‘This isn’t London,’ said my aunt. ‘Everyone knows everyone else around here. None of us would steal from each other, or hurt each other.’

‘Oh? Then what do you call Big Tom’s behaviour to Billy? Kindness?’ Mother said sharply.

Aunt Meg gave up and came downstairs. ‘I tried, Billy,’ she said, throwing carrots in the pottage pot. ‘I’m sorry. I can imagine how you feel. I would like to see a play,
too.’

‘Were you going to come?’ I asked.

‘No, I was going to look after Susan,’ my aunt replied, ‘but your mother will look after her now she’s so poorly.’

If Aunt Meg wanted to go, and Mother was looking after Susan, then perhaps…

‘You could take me!’ I cried.

Aunt Meg hadn’t thought of that. Her face lit up!

She passed me the remains of yesterday’s ham. ‘Strip the meat off and throw the bone in the pot,’ she said, hurrying upstairs. I heard Mother shushing her. Susan must have
fallen asleep. There was much whispering, and eventually Aunt Meg ran down.

‘Get your cap,’ she said. ‘We’re going to the play!’

*

The middle of the day found Aunt Meg, wearing her finest yellow-flowered shawl, walking alongside me into town.

We were early enough to get a good place in the inn yard. It was nothing like the Globe on performance days. There weren’t many food sellers, just a pie man and a girl trying to sell
wrinkled apples.

The yard was a fraction of the size of the Globe’s, as was the stage, which was tiny in comparison. It was raised to the height of a man’s shoulder, so everyone could see the
players. There was a curtain at the back, which was on a frame, forming a closed-in area behind the stage. In there the players would be changing into their costumes, and sorting out the
properties. Props are things that go on stage, like chairs, thrones, crowns, even small things like letters. At the Globe there’s a whole building behind the stage, called the tiring
house.

A trumpet player blew a flourish, announcing the start of the play.

When he lowered his instrument, I had such a surprise! It was old John Merry! He worked for the Chamberlain’s Men, and one of his tasks was trumpeting. What was he doing with the
King’s Men? I couldn’t believe he’d been thrown out of the Chamberlain’s men. He was clever and well loved.

I was even more confused when the curtains parted and on to the stage strode Master Richard Burbage!

How could this be? Why was one of the owners of the Chamberlain’s Men here? Were they all here? Pretending to be King’s Men?

Master Burbage bowed and held his arms wide. ‘Welcome, one and all,’ he said in his rich voice. ‘We are right glad to see so many good people come to our play. My father, James
Burbage, built the theatre – the second-oldest playhouse in England. Our company is from the
newest
playhouse in England – the Globe, in London – and we used to be the
Chamberlain’s Men.’

I held my breath as he continued.

‘Following the sad death of our Sovereign Lady Queen Elizabeth, King James has honoured our company by becoming our patron. You good people are about to watch the most important company of
players in the land – the King’s Men!’

When the cheers died down, Master Burbage said, ‘Our company played for King James in his palace at Christmas time.’ He framed his face with his hands and continued, ‘These
faces you gaze at have been looked upon by royalty.’

The crowd were impressed. I was impressed, but also cross that I had been away when they played for the king. If I had been in London, I might have gone with them. Again I cursed the plague for
ruining my life.

The play was
The Taming of the Shrew
, which I have seen before, but I hardly watched. I knew the story anyway. Bianca is sweet and gentle, and her sister Katherine is bad tempered and
rude. Katherine must marry first, but no one wants her, until Petruchio, who wants a rich wife, decides she will suit, and sets about taming her.

While Aunt Meg was laughing at the play, I pondered how to persuade her to let me greet the players. I decided to ask her straight out.

I needn’t have worried. The thought of meeting players made Aunt Meg quite excited. As the crowd moved away, we went towards the stage. She patted her hair, and straightened her bodice.
Then she pinched her cheeks. Mother does that to make them look pink, but Aunt Meg did it too hard. She looked as if someone had slapped her.

As I reached the back of the curtained booth, Master Burbage appeared. He stared.

‘Well, if it isn’t young Billy-Odd-Job! Hey, men!’ he called. ‘See what I have found!’

Aunt Meg pushed close to me, so I introduced her. Master Burbage bowed over her hand. ‘Greetings, fair lady,’ he said.

She fluttered her eyelashes so much I thought they might fly away.

The men patted me on the back, and said they had a hard time without me helping them. I felt myself go red. I was so pleased.

When they’d all gone to clear away the costumes and properties, Master Burbage said, ‘I must say farewell now, Billy. There is much to do.’ He bowed to Aunt Meg, who was as
pink as a beetroot stain.‘Madam.’

She bobbed a curtsy. ‘Good day, sir.’

It was now or never. ‘Master?’ I said.

‘Hmm?’

‘You and Master Shakespeare promised that one day I could be on stage. Not saying any words,’ I gabbled, ‘just walking on and being in the crowd. Can I? Can I do that
here?’

He didn’t answer.

‘It would be good to practise in a small town, would it not?’ I pleaded.

Master Burbage looked stern. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face. ‘Why not?’ he said.

My heart leapt.

‘Billy, you shall play a bystander in the market,’ he said. ‘All you must do is examine things on stalls and pretend to talk to stallholders. If a fight breaks out, and it
will, you must look surprised, then fearful, and back away. Can you do that?’

‘I can, sir,’ I cried, as Aunt Meg clapped her hands in delight. ‘Is the play
Romeo and Juliet
?’

Master Burbage raised his eyebrows. ‘You are sharp, Billy-Odd-Job. It is, indeed. Now go. Be back in two days, an hour before we open, to don your costume.’

My heart swelled big enough to burst. I didn’t think it was possible ever to be so happy.

‘Billy!’ he called after us. ‘Your mother must permit this. Your father, when he arranged for you to come to the Globe, said she does not love the playhouse.’

After a brief pause, I said, ‘Yes, sir.’

As Aunt Meg and I walked away, she said, ‘That could be a problem.’

I felt as if the sun had gone behind a dark grey cloud.

‘No! No! No!’

‘But Mother—’

‘No buts, Billy! What would people think of you, on the stage like a common player?’ she said, hacking onions into fat slices.

Aunt Meg murmured, ‘I would be proud if my nephew was in a play.’

Mother stared at her. ‘Are you mad? You know how players are thought of. Vagabonds, rascals—’

‘Not these players,’ said Aunt Meg. ‘William Shakespeare is the greatest poet in the land, people say. And Master Burbage is a true gentleman, as well as a great
player.’

Mother banged her knife down, making the onions bounce. ‘Enough, Meg! I am sick of hearing about William Shakespeare. As for Master Burbage, tell me, pray, how would
you
know
he’s a gentleman? Have you met him? No!’

‘Yes,’ said Aunt Meg.

She told Mother about our conversation with Master Burbage. Maybe
I
should have done that instead of bursting into the house, crying, ‘They want me to act on the stage. Please say
yes!’

Aunt Meg tried hard to change Mother’s mind. ‘Think how impressed people will be that my sister’s boy is thought highly of by William Shakespeare and…
and…’

‘Richard Burbage,’ I said.

‘…Richard Burbage,’ she finished, adding, ‘They are important people in London. The King likes them, after all.’

Mother sat down, looking bemused. ‘Will Shakespeare and the King…’ she muttered to herself. ‘Who would have thought it?’

‘Please?’ I begged.

‘Billy, don’t keep on,’ she said. ‘You know I don’t—’

Just then, Susan gave a long, wailing cry. That was the end of the conversation. I grabbed Mother’s oniony hand. ‘
Please
?’

She pulled away, wiped her hands and hurried upstairs. Just before she disappeared from view, she glanced back.

‘You may do it. But this once only. Never ask me again.’

I hugged Aunt Meg. ‘Thank you!’ I cried. ‘What heaven! Me! A player!’

Mother called for a damp cloth. ‘Susan’s fever is high,’ she said.

I fetched the cloth. As I gave it to her, I said, ‘May I go and tell Master Burbage I have your permission?’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘but be back before dark and take care. I don’t suppose oh-so-wonderful Master Burbage wants a player with a fat lip and bloody nose.’

I set off with Hoppy, thinking how this would wipe the smile off the faces of those ruffians who think I’m so useless.

As I walked, I had the feeling Hoppy and I weren’t alone. Someone was behind me. Big Tom? I refused to turn round, because he’d say something like, ‘Scared of your shadow, city
boy?’

But then I felt a tug at my breeches. It was Rosa, the little gypsy girl. No, not ‘gypsy’. If anyone heard that, she’d be in trouble.

‘Good day to yer, Billy,’ she said.

‘Good day, Rosa!’ I said.

‘I didn’t know if I should speak to yer,’ she said.

‘Of course you should,’ I said. ‘We’re friends, are we not?’

She grinned. ‘I likes you, Billy.’

Hoppy put his nose in her hand, and she tickled his ears.

‘Rosa, why are you still here?’ I asked. ‘Your father said you would be gone.’

Her smile vanished. ‘Me muvver is sick,’ she said. ‘She ’as to be well afore we can travel.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I hope she is well soon.’

Rosa stopped. ‘I’m going now. I just want to thank you for ’elping me. I will repay you.’

She slipped into the trees and was gone.

Once in town, I went straight to the inn yard, but there was no one around. I found the ostler in the stables.

‘Pardon me,’ I said. ‘Where are the players?’

He picked up a brush. ‘They be restin’. Keep that dog away from the ’orses.’

I signalled ‘outside’ and off Hoppy went.

‘Would you give Master Burbage a message?’ I asked.

He swept the brush along a horse’s back. ‘My job,’ he said, ‘is seein’ to the ’orses, not carryin’ messages.’