A Maid of Many Moods

by Virna Sheard

  CHAPTER II

  II

  During the days following Christmas, One Tree Inn was given over tofestivity. It had always been a favoured spot with the young peoplefrom Stratford and Shottery. In spring they came trooping to MasterThornbury's meadow, bringing their flower-crowned queen andribbon-decked May-pole. It was there they had their games ofbarley-break, blindman's buff and the merry cushion dance during thelong summer evenings; and when dusk fell they would stroll homewardthrough the lanes sweet with flowering hedges, each one of them allcarrying a posy from Deb Thornbury's garden--for where else grew suchwondrous clove-pinks, ragged lady, lad's love, sweet-william and QueenAnne's lace, as there? So now these old playmates of Darby's came oneby one to welcome him home and gaze at him in unembarrassed admiration.

  Judith Shakespeare, who was a friend and gossip of Debora's, spent manyevenings with them, and those who knew the little maid best alone couldsay what that meant, for never was there a gayer lass, or one who had aprettier wit. To hear Judith enlarging upon her daily experiences withpeople and things, was to listen to thrilling tales, garnished andgilded in fanciful manner, till the commonplace became delightful, andlife in Stratford town a thing to be desired above the simple passingof days in other places.

  No trivial occurrence went by this little daughter of the great poetwithout making some vivid impression upon her mind, for she viewed theevery-day world lying beside the peaceful Avon through the wonderfulrose-coloured glasses of youth, and an imagination bequeathed to herdirect from her father.

  It was on an evening when Judith Shakespeare was with them and Deb wasroasting chestnuts by the hearth, that they fell to talking of London,and the marvellous way people had of living there.

  A sudden storm had blown up, flakes of frozen snow came whirlingagainst the windows, beating a fairy rataplan on the frosted glass,while the heavy boughs of the old oak creaked and groaned in the wind.Darby and the two girls listened to the sounds without and drew theirchairs nearer the fire with a sense of the warm comfort of the longcheery room. They chatted about the city and the pleasures andpastimes that held sway there, doings that seemed so extravagant tocountry-bred folk, and that often turned night into day--a day moreovernot akin to any spent elsewhere on top of the earth.

  "Dost sometimes act in the same play with my father, Darby, at theGlobe Theatre?" asked Judith, after a pause in the conversation, and ata moment when the innkeeper had just left the room.

  The girl was sitting in a chair whose oaken frame was black with age.Now she grasped the arms of it tightly, and Darby noted the beautifulform of her hands and the tapering delicate fingers; he saw also anervous tremor go through them as she spoke.

  "Oh! I would know somewhat of my father's life in London," continuedJudith, "and of the people he meets there. He hath acquaintance withmany gentlemen of the Queen's Court and Parliament, for he hath twicebeen bidden to play in Her Majesty's theatre in the palace atGreenwich. Yet of all those doings of his and of the nobles who makemuch of him he doth say so little, Darby."

  Debora, who was standing by the high mantel, turned towards her brotherexpectantly. She said nothing, but her eyes--shadowy eyes of a bluethat was not all blue, but had a glint of green about it--her eyesburned as though they held imprisoned a bit of living light, like thefire in an opal.

  The young player smiled; he was looking intently into the glowing coalsand for the instant his thoughts seemed far away from the tranquil homescene.

  There was no pose of Darby's figure which was not graceful; he wasalways a picture even to those who knew him best, and it was to thisunconscious grace probably more than actual talent that his measure ofsuccess upon the stage was due. Now as he leant forward, his elbow onhis knee, his chin on his white, almost girlish hand, the burnishedauburn love-locks shading his oval face, and matching in colour theoutward sweeping lashes of his eyes, Judith could not look away fromhim the while she waited his tardy answer.

  After a moment he came out of his brown study with a little start, andglanced over at her.

  "Ah, Judith, an' the master will give you but scant information onthose points, why should I give more? As for the playhouses where heis constantly, now peradventure he is fore-wearied of them when once athome, or," with a slight uplifting of his brows, "or else he think'ththem no topics for a young maid," he ended somewhat priggishly.

  "'Tis ever so!" Judith answered with impatience. "Thou wilt give abody no satisfaction either. Soul o' me! but men be all alike. Ifever I have a husband--which heaven forbid!--I shall fare to London_four_ times o' the year an' see for myself what it be like."

  "I am going to London with Darby when he doth go back again," saidDebora, speaking with quiet deliberation. Thornbury entered the roomat the moment and heard what his daughter said. The man caught at theedge of the heavy table by which he stood, as though needing to hold byit. He waited there, unheeded by the three around the hearth.

  "Thou art joking, Deb," answered her brother after an astonished pause."Egad! how could'st thou fare to London?"

  "I' faith, how could I fare to London?" she said with spirit, mimickinghis tone. "An' are there no maids in London then? An' there be not,my faith, t'were time they saw what one is like! Prithee, I havereason to believe I could pass a marvellous pleasant month there if allI hear be true. What say'th thou, Judith, to coming with me?"

  "Why, sweetheart," answered the girl, rising, "for all I haveprotested, I would not go save my father took me. His word is my willalways, know'st thou not so? An' if it be his pleasure that I go notto London--well then, I have no mind to go. That is just my thought ofit. But," sighing a little, "thou art wiser than I, for thou can'stread books, an' did'st keep pace with Darby page for page, when he wentto Stratford grammar school. Furthermore, thou art given thy own waymore than I, and art so different--so vastly different--Deb."

  "Truly, yes," Debora answered. Then, flinging out her arms, andtossing her head up with a quick, petulant gesture, "Oh, I wish, I wishten thousand-fold that I were a man and could be with thee, Darby.'Tis so tame and tantalizing to be but a maid with this one to say'Gra'mercy! Thou can'st not go _there_,' an' that one to add 'Alack!an' alack! however cam'st thou to fancy thou could'st do so? Art voido' wit? Beshrew me but ladies never deport themselves in suchunmannerly fashion--no, nor even think on't. There is thy littlebeaten track all bordered with box--'tis precise, yet pleasant--walkthou in it thankfully. Marry, an' thou must not gaze over the hedgesneither!'"

  A deep, sweet laugh followed her words as an echo, and a man tall andfinely built came striding over from the door where he had beenstanding in shadow, an amused listener. He put his two hands on thegirl's shoulders and looked down into the beautiful, rebellious face.

  "Heigho, and heigho!" he said. "Just listen to this mutinous one, goodMaster Thornbury! Here is a whirlwind in petticoats equal to my prettyshrew who was so well tamed at the last. Marry, an' I could show themsuch a brilliant bit of acting at the new Globe--such tone! suchintensity! 'twould surely inspire the Company and so lighten my work bya hundred-fold. But, alas! while we have but lads to play the partsthat maidens should take, acting is oft a very weariness and giveth onean ache o' the heart!"

  "Thou would'st not have me upon the stage, father?" said Judith,looking at him.

  The man smiled down at her, then his face grew suddenly grave and hishazel eyes narrowed.

  "By all the gods--No!--not _thee_ sweetheart. But," his voicechanging, "but there are those I would. We must away, neighbourThornbury. I am due in London shortly, and need the night's rest."

  They pressed him to stay longer, but he would not tarry. So Judithtied on her hooded cloak, and many a warm good-bye was spoken.

  The innkeeper, with Darby and Debora, stood on the threshold andwatched the two take the road to Stratford; and the sky was pranked outwith many a golden star, for the storm had blown over, and the nightwinds were at peace.

  After they entered the house a silence settled over th
e little group.The child Dorian slept on the cushioned settle, for he was sorelyspoilt by Debora, who would not have him go above stairs till shecarried him up herself. The girl sat down beside him now and watchedDarby, who was carving a strange head upon a stout bit of wood cut fromthe tree before the door.

  "What art so busy over, lad?" asked Thornbury. His voice trembled, andthere was an unusual pallor on his face.

  "'Tis but a bit of home I will take away with me, Dad. In an act of'Romeo and Juliet,' the new play we are but rehearsing, I carry alittle cane. I am a dashing fellow, one Mercutio. I would thoucould'st see me. Well-a-day! I have just an odd fancy for this bit o'the old tree."

  Debora rose and went over to her father. She laid one hand on his armand patted it gently.

  "I would go to London, Dad," she said coaxingly. "Nay, I must go toLondon, Dad. I pray thee put no stumbling blocks in the way o' it--butbe kind as thou art always. See! an' thou dost let me away I will staybut a month, a short month--but four weeks--it doth seem shorter to sayit so--an' then I'll fare home again swiftly an' bide in content. Oh!think of it, Dad! to go to London! It is to go where one can hear theheart of the whole world beat!"

  The old man shook his head in feeble remonstrance.

  "Thou wilt fare there an' thou hast the mind, Deb, but thou wilt nevercome back an' bide in peace at One Tree Inn."

  The girl suddenly wound her arms about his neck and laid her cool sweetface against his. When she raised it, it glistened with tears.

  "I will, Dad! I will, I will," she cried softly, then bent and caughtlittle Dorian up and went swiftly out of the room.