The Fool's Girl (25 page)

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26

‘Present mirth hath present laughter’

There she is . . .’

Robin pointed towards the place where Violetta lay sleeping. She had found a shaded bank, fragrant with thyme and violets. She had meant to settle there to read while the lady tended her hives nearby, but the warmth of the sun, the scent of the flowers, the buzzing of the bees had sent her into reverie and then into sleep. Night was coming on, shadows were lengthening across the lawn, but the evening was warm and Violetta did not wake.

‘Come!’ Robin beckoned the young man forward. He had no idea why his lady had ordered this, the human heart was a mystery, but she would have the girl happy.

Stephano crossed the close-cropped emerald sward, releasing the scent of chamomile as he walked. He sat down on the bank, breathing in the tang of herbs and the sweet perfume of flowers. Violets for Violetta. He plucked a handful of purple petals and scattered them over her sleeping form. He leaned over her, studying her face, brushing back a lock of hair that had fallen across her cheek. Then he lay down beside her.

Violetta woke to find him next to her and blinked, sure that she was still dreaming. His face was open, unguarded in sleep, allowing her a chance to study him: the arching curve of his brow, the sweep of his dark lashes, the straightness of his nose, the softness of his lips. His mouth curled up at the corners, as if he smiled in his sleep. He had shaved off his beard and she stroked a finger down the smooth skin of his cheek and traced the slight cleft in his chin. She could bear it no longer. She kissed the delicate lids and his eyes fluttered open. He lay bewildered for a moment, wondering where he was, what was happening, then her lips were on his.

‘What spell is it?’ Robin breathed. ‘What mystery? It always amazes me. What fools they are, if fools they be.’

He would have stayed on, to see what would happen next, but Feste pulled him away. It was not for them to see.

Stephano came to see her every night. He marvelled at how close they were to Sir Andrew’s house. It was hardly any distance at all, once you knew the way, although without a guide Lord Eldon’s estate might as well be in Illyria.

Robin had appeared in the stables at Bardsley the day after they arrived. The stable boys were wary of him, but the horses had all set to whinnying, wanting his attention. Robin was stroking the muzzle of a fine stallion that Sir Andrew found too mettlesome to ride. Stephano had offered to exercise the horse for him. He was swift but temperamental, shying at the slightest thing. The stable boys found it hard to even get a saddle on him; now here he was as docile as a nun’s palfrey, nuzzling at the strange boy’s shoulder, taking titbits from his palm.

Robin finished sharing a carrot with the horse, threw the reins to Stephano and said:

‘There’s a lady wants to see you,’ he said. ‘Come with me.’

Violetta bathed and dressed as the sun went down and prepared to go out. She slipped across the garden while bats flitted overhead and white moths fluttered, attracted by the heady scent of flowers. She followed the path into the woods and found him, always in the same place, the open glade where the trees had once held Master Shakespeare’s verses.

Stephano left the roan stallion there, tethered, and they wandered off, hand in hand, through the black and silver of the moonlit woods, until they found a place under the spreading boughs of some great tree, or in a hollow filled with dried leaves, or on some mossy bank next to a stream, or in a meadow bleached of colour, the grasses still warm and fragrant from the day’s heat. They would sit and listen to the nightingales and the endless hushed whisper of the wind in the leaves. Sometimes they sat in silence, hands clasped, finding themselves in each other’s eyes, speaking soul to soul, or they would talk in murmurs, as if the woods were full of eavesdroppers, whispering of their love for each other, the life they would have together when they returned to Illyria.

‘It won’t be long now,’ Stephano whispered. It was almost midsummer. The stars barely showed through the canopy of leaves above them; the sky was still washed with the paleness of day. ‘I ride to Stratford tomorrow to tell Master Shakespeare that we are in need of entertainment and if his company would care to visit Bardsley Hall, they will be welcomed. All is ready . . .’

Violetta nodded. She knew. Feste and Robin had been rehearsing with Will’s players. They both had parts in the play. There was one for her too. ‘Only small,’ Feste had said. ‘No talking.’ But he had been taking her through it, as strict as Will.

Stephano’s grey eyes sparked excitement as he described what would occur on Midsummer Night, but Violetta felt a creeping sense of dread. That was the day after tomorrow. Who knew what it would bring? She did not want to think about that now. For all that time had seemed to move slowly here, now its passage was swift. Too swift. Whatever happened in the future, Violetta knew that the time that she’d spent with him here in the woods’ midsummer quiet would always be there, just beneath the surface of her mind, to be conjured like a summoning, and they would be young again, their love new and growing. No matter how old, she would be able to close her eyes and see again the oak leaves turned to silver, smell the delicate scent of wood sorrel, feel the warmth of his lips in the coolness of the night air. Violetta put her hand up to stop the prattle about numbers of guards and men-at-arms, the layout of the house. Men always talked as if success was already theirs, but this enterprise was filled with danger. This might be the last night together. Ever. A chill ran through her. She wanted his arms around her. Enough time had been wasted.

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27

‘This is very midsummer madness’

This was the day. Will was up early. There was much to prepare. He went out into the yard. Swifts and martins shrilled above his head, swooping through the milky air, diving in and out of nests tucked into the eaves of the buildings. The mist from the river would soon burn away. It promised to be a hot day. Anne was already out with a watering pot, tending to the latest batch of tubs and little trees. They were coming faster than she could plant them, each consignment accompanied by a message from Cecil.

‘I have not questioned you about these gifts,’ she said as she tended the plants, ‘where they come from, who is sending them, but I am no fool. There’s talk.’

Wasn’t there always? Will frowned. ‘What do they say?’

‘That you are the favourite of a great lord. That he does you favours.’ Anne’s face grew flushed. She was flustered. ‘And . . . and much else besides.’

‘Let them think that.’ Will began to laugh with relief at the town’s foolishness. He took her in his arms and swung her round. ‘Let them think what they will. What would such a one want with me? A poor player. There’s no truth in it, but the further from the truth they stray, the better.’

‘Even so.’ Anne would not be mollified, despite his comforting. She had too much common sense for that. ‘Only a great man would have the kind of garden that grows such as these, and great men generally want something in return . . .’

He nodded solemnly. That they do.

‘So?’ She looked up at him. ‘What is expected of you?’

‘A favour. A performance. Tonight. At Bardsley Hall.’

‘Sir Andrew Agnew’s place?’

‘A party has gathered there. They are in want of entertainment. We are to offer our services.’

Anne shrugged. It seemed a little thing compared with all this.

‘You are to be paid in plants instead of money?’

Will smiled. ‘Something like that.’

‘What will you do?’

‘
The Dream
, of course.’ He laughed. ‘On this day, what else would we do?’

Violetta took one last look back at the hidden valley, the place where she had been so happy, and turned her pony’s head to what the future held.

They left by way of a wide ride through the forest that led down to a deep greenway, the path cushioned with bright, soft moss, the high banks thick with ferns. Lord and Lady Eldon would accompany them as far as the road; the lady was mounted on a white horse, the lord on a bay. Feste and Robin would be coming with her.

Eventually the path branched, the broader way going on in a straight line, disappearing into blue haze, the other becoming a country lane, with trees on either side. The surface was well trodden, full of dips and hollows from passing cattle, crusted and splattered with cowpats. The setting sun cast long shadows. A faint moon showed sketched white in the deepening blue of the sky. Up ahead, a boy whistled as he wielded a long hazel stick to drive his herd towards home.

‘This is where we leave you.’ The lord slipped from his horse and took her into his embrace. He smelt of horses and leather, like her father when he returned from hunting. Violetta felt her eyes prick with tears. ‘Fare you well.’

The lady held her for longer, and when she finally released her there were tears in her grey eyes too. She took the charm that Violetta wore and held it for a moment.

‘May she help and guide you,’ she said. ‘May you be blessed.

‘Robin will make sure no harm comes to you,’ she called as she rode off. ‘He has promised us both.’

They found Will and the company waiting for them at the crossroads.

‘Are you a player now, Master Price?’ Violetta asked as George Price gave her a hand up into the cart.

‘Not I.’ He laughed. ‘I’m here to help with the scenery and such. This place has proved a devil of a job to get in to. No new men taken on, only trusted servants of known families. Just as well we have Master Shakespeare’s help.’

Maria was ready with a headscarf for her and a shapeless gown. Violetta was a tiring woman again.

‘I’m so glad to see you!’ Maria exclaimed as she tied the scarf tightly, making sure no hair escaped. ‘I’ve been that worried! Master Shakespeare wouldn’t say where you were, just that you were safe, but that could mean anything. Here, put a bit of this on,’

Maria daubed some brown greasepaint on to her face. ‘You are so pale. Where have they been keeping you? In a cellar? The days have been so sunny, yet you look like you’ve only been out at night! Are you ready?’ She held Violetta’s hands tightly. ‘I have another costume for you in the hamper. No need to worry. Master Shakespeare knows you are used to performing. He will have a word with you as soon as we get to the place.’

Maria talked on as the cart rumbled towards Bardsley Hall, her chatter hiding her anxiety. Tod had left the company, gone back to London. He had been replaced by Edmond, Master Shakespeare’s brother, who had come back home because the theatres were shut. Violetta was only half listening. Her growing nervousness had nothing to do with acting a part in a play. Stephano said everything was planned, but nothing was sure. Her fear was building, but she knew that she had to control it. She had to use it, just like an actor before a performance, or she would be a liability, leading others into danger if they had to look after her. That she could never bear . . .

‘Who’s that strange little fellow?’ Maria suddenly asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

‘His name is Robin.’

‘He looks as bad as Feste.’ Maria sniffed. ‘They’re as thick as thieves, by the look of it. Don’t tell me he’s in the play.’

‘They both are.’ Violetta leaned back in the cart. ‘And keep an eye out for their tricks. They make terrible mischief when they are together. Robin is even worse than Feste.’

They drew up in front of a grey building surrounded by a wide dark moat. It had battlements running round it and turrets at the corners and looked more like a small castle than a private house. The massive oak doors were shut against them.

‘What’s going on, master?’ Ned looked doubtful. ‘Are we expected? We don’t usually just turn up on the off chance they want to see us, like some group of travelling players.’

‘What else would you call us?’ Will gestured to the loaded cart, with its painted boards, piled up with properties and cloths, the crew of actors perched on the back or tagging along behind. ‘I will announce us myself.’

The house stood perfectly mirrored in the still, black water as Will walked across the bridge that led to the gatehouse. The stone was streaked with green moss and powdery mildew. He passed into the shadow of the house and felt a chill as he caught the tang of damp and decay. The massive studded wooden doors were shut fast. He looked round for a bell pull, any means to announce their presence. He lifted the great knocker, shaped like a curled serpent, and let it fall a couple of times, then stepped back as the sound boomed from him, muffled by the thickness of the door. He looked up at the windows, sunk deep into their stone mullions, wondering if there was anyone even here. The leaded lozenges of green glass, dotted with faded coats of arms, winked back at him like tiny mirrors, giving nothing away.

After what seemed like a very long time, a servant looked out, his narrow face hostile and suspicious.

‘Yes?’ he enquired. ‘What do you want?’

‘Compliments to your master,’ Will said with a slight nod of the head. ‘Tell him the Lord Chamberlain’s Men are here and beg leave to appear for him and his guests.’

The man shut the door without any reply, leaving Will standing there, caught between the expectant scrutiny from the cart and the blank door. Had the boy Stephano played his part? The door opened again.

‘The master is not here at present,’ the servant announced.

‘Masters! Welcome!’ Stephano thrust the man aside. ‘We are desperate for diversion.’ He was accompanied by a pretty young woman, her hair dressed in a foreign fashion, who nodded and clapped her hands at the prospect of entertainment. ‘You are expected. Come in!’ He beckoned for the cart to cross the bridge. ‘Come in!’

The servant’s protests were drowned by the excited chatter from the Ambassador’s daughter and the other ladies.

‘Is our welcome secure?’ Will asked, as he shook Stephano’s hand.

‘Oh, yes. Sir Andrew is out hunting with some of the other gentlemen, but my Lady Christiana has gone off to tell her father, the Ambassador, who has been looking forward to your visit. Come in, masters,’ Stephano’s voice rose in welcome. ‘We are in want of entertainment. Guests have been arriving from near and far.’

The cart rumbled into the courtyard. The Ambassador came forward with his daughter to meet the players. Christiana is beautiful, Violetta thought, but from the way she is hanging on to Guido’s arm it is clear where her love lies.

Her father was tall and spare, handsome and vigorous, although his hair was silver white. He was exquisitely dressed in the Venetian style, with an elegant rapier dangling at his side. He was very proud of his position and his station, Stephano had told her. His family was one of the oldest in Venice, their name in the Golden Book, but he was not all surface conceit and vanity. In his youth he had been a renowned swordsman, impetuous and quick to action. Now he preferred to play the statesman, but he was no coward. He’d been into battle on Venice’s behalf and would not shrink from a fight. He’d become something of a hero to Stephano. A man he could admire and who would teach him the ways of statecraft and diplomacy in place of the father who had disowned him.

‘I’m surprised he’s still here,’ Will said to her quietly. ‘I can’t see Secretary Cecil putting himself in the middle of something like this.’

‘He’s Italian,’ Violetta replied. ‘Stephano says it is a matter of honour.’

Will looked round, as nervous and restless as she was.

‘There is no need to go through the part with me,’ she said. ‘I’ve been rehearsing with Feste. He played the Fairy Queen.’

Normally Will would have laughed at that, but neither of them smiled.

‘I’d better go and check on things,’ he said. ‘And you should get ready.’

Only a few of the actors, his most trusted men, knew anything about the real reason for their visit. Price had advised that the fewer who knew the better. It was safer that way. Will had told Nat Hartley and one or two others. Nat was a useful man in a fight, if it came to that. He’d been a sword thrower, and the dirk he would be wearing wouldn’t be just for show.