My Lady,
Something most pressing requires your attention. I regret to ask a personage such as yourself to travel through the city unaccompanied, but I require you to come alone and meet me at the gardens just beyond Billingsgate. I cannot explain by letter. Please come as soon as you are able. I shall be waiting for you.
Yours,
Will
“What is it, milady?” asked Mistress Flint, leaning in to see.
Cassandra doubted the woman could read. “Nothing. Just a note from a lady I met at court the other night.”
“I trust you had a pleasant time in company with Lord Oxford, last evening. You arrived rather late. I hope you had no trouble with the curfew.”
“I was escorted back most properly, I can assure you.”
“Well, ‘tis not for me to say.” And with that the housekeeper flounced back into the house, tucking stray strands of grey hair beneath her cap.
Cassandra read the note again. It made no sense. Shakespeare had never referred to himself as ‘Will,’ at least to her, and it sounded more formal than their encounter last night seemed to warrant. Not only that, but the handwriting in the letter didn’t match the handwriting of either the sonnet or the love note. It didn’t even sound like how he talked, but then, neither did his plays nor any of his sonnets. And what could be so urgent? It couldn’t be about James; she had just heard from him.
Another thought struck her, could it be from Oxford, hiding behind the name of Will Shakespeare? Maybe he’d seen her leave with the actor last night and was jealously trying to get her alone. However, why the subterfuge?
Curiosity was getting the better of her. It couldn’t hurt to go check out the situation. She felt in her skirt pocket where several coins jingled. It would be plenty to hire a wherry there and back.
The day held a hint of warmth, spring finally in the air. She’d need nothing more than what she was already wearing. She dashed around the outside of the house and to the back, across the lawn and to the quay. There was no point in telling Mistress Flint. Besides, it was still early in the day, the trip wasn’t far, and Shakespeare could escort her back home again.
The river was a deep grey-green. There was the slightest hint of verdure starting to shimmer on the trees along the south bank. A three-masted ship could be seen in the distance, sailing eastward from the docks just upriver. Cassandra flagged a wherry, and a waterman with a shock of bright red hair eagerly rowed toward her.
“To Billingsgate, my good man,” she said to him.
What he said in reply was completely incomprehensible. He had to be from somewhere way north. The only word she could make out sounded something like ‘shoot,’ and he seemed to be expressing some unwillingness. She dug in her pocket and found a shilling. She held it out to him. Normally they didn’t get more than a couple of pence for their efforts on a short trip.
He nodded with a resigned shrug and helped her into the boat, snatching the coin as he did. The tide was swift as they moved toward the bridge. In just moments, a loud whooshing drowned out all other sounds. She glanced back at the waterman who yelled to her, but the words were lost in the noise.
Several of the other boats on the river had pulled up to the banks where their passengers disembarked. Hers was the only craft proceeding toward the bridge, and now it was clear why. The water churned, foaming white, and was pulling them fast. In between the arches of the bridge, the calm river had turned to rapids, the result of too much water with too little space for it to flow through, especially during a high tide. This was why the man hadn’t wanted to take her through the bridge. She turned to him and waved her hands to motion him to the bank. He shouted something back, his mouth perhaps forming the words, ‘Too late!?’
They sped toward the bridge. Cassandra clutched the sides of the boat. The cold, white water flew up around them. The boat slid sideways and the waterman wrenched it straight with his oars. He yelled. She held on with all her might. The boat flew through the nearest arch and, as it shot out the other side, became airborne. It crashed down into the water and flipped over, dumping Cassandra into the frigid brine. She pulled herself to the surface, where suddenly, the water was calm again. Her clothes grew heavy, the cold seeping in fast. The boat floated nearby. She swam to it in a few labored strokes and grabbed on to the hull. She frantically looked around for the waterman. Just beyond the vessel, he floated, face down, his bright red hair a beacon. People on both banks were waving their hands, and some of the boats waiting there launched toward them. Help was coming, but it wouldn’t arrive soon enough to save him. Fearing if she let go, her clothes would drag her to the bottom, she clung to the wood as she made her way around to the prow. Holding on as best she could to the slick bottom, she reached her other arm out and grabbed the tail of his shirt. She dragged him to the boat and held on tight. But now what? It was impossible to get his face up out of the water. He only had seconds to live, unless he was already gone.
A two-manned craft slid up next to them. “Madam!” the nearest oarsman cried, reaching for her.
“No, take him,” she yelled back, pushing the ginger-haired man in his direction.
The two managed to grab his arms and drag him into the craft.
Cassandra shoved off, confident she could cross the few inches between her boat and the other. But her clothes were too heavy, and she slid under the water. The icy temperatures were taking a toll on her muscles. Her arms weighed a thousand pounds. Her lungs burned. The blue sky beckoned just beyond the surface of the river. If only she could get to it! But she was sinking, sinking into the murky grey.
And then she was rising. Someone had hold of her and was pulling her up. Her head broke the surface and she gulped the fresh air. One of the oarsman had come in after her and the other was helping get her into the boat. There, on the floor was the redheaded waterman, coughing up liquid.
“I don’t know what possessed this fellow to shoot the arches with a fine lady for a passenger. Twas a foolish thing to do. But we’re glad you’re still with us, madam.”
“You saved our lives,” she croaked.
“You did some pretty quick thinking there, yourself, madam,” the man who’d gone in after her said, flinging himself onto a bench. “This young man has you to thank for grabbing on to him, like you did, or he’d a’ been fish food. I can’t think why he was foolhardy enough to take a chance with your lives.”
“It wasn’t his fault,” she said.
“Do not try to speak up for him. He should have known better.”
She didn’t have the breath to say more. She was frozen to the bone.
“Let us get you to shore,” the other man said, and the two oarsman pulled fast to the bank. The wet one helped the rescued man out and led him to a nearby shack that must have been a sort of clubhouse for the watermen. The other led Cassandra up to the street.
“Come, I shall go with you to your house. You look as though you are as like to freeze to death as not. A quick walk may get you warmed up a bit.”
“It is not far. Thank you, good man. Thank you so much.”
At that moment, a carriage with a coat of arms emblazoned on the side rode up next to them. “Duchess Von Schell,” a voice cried out.
She turned to see a dark haired man peering out the open window at her. “Sir Robert!”
“Duchess?” the boatman inquired, looking at Cassandra as if he were seeing her in a whole new light.
A footman in fine livery opened the door and Robert Cecil stepped out. “What happened to you, my lady? Why, you are soaking wet!” He immediately whipped off his cloak and wrapped it around her.
“Her wherryman shot the arches rather than letting her out before the bridge,” the waterman said. “Greedy fellow; he probably didn’t want to give up the fare. Probably charged her extra as a matter of fact.”
“No, really, that is not how it happened―”
“Come into the carriage,” Cecil said. “I must get you home.”
“Thank you ag
ain, dear fellow,” she said to the waterman.
He bowed deeply. “An honor, your ladyship.”
“For your trouble,” Cecil said, and handed him a coin.
The man bowed again. The footman helped Cassandra into the carriage and Cecil got in after.
“What were you doing out on the river by yourself, Duchess?” he wanted to know.
“I was going to see Master Shakespeare. He summoned me to Billingsgate Gardens. He said it was an urgent matter.”
“William? At Billingsgate now? That is impossible.”
“Why?”
“He is at The Curtain. I just came from seeing him.”
“Perhaps he intended to meet me at Billingsgate.”
“No, he is entrenched in rehearsals. He did speak of you though. He said he saw you home last night after a row between his company and The Admiral’s Men at the Pig’s Snout Tavern.”
“And he did not say anything about needing to see me today?”
“No, to be honest, he said he was trying to think of a reason to see you again, but could not think of a plausible excuse,” Cecil chuckled.
“I do not understand.”
“Why he wants to see you? I think it is quite apparent, your ladyship.”
“No, I do not mean…” It was all too confusing. If Shakespeare didn’t write that note, who did? A shiver ran through her body from head to toe.
Cecil gently tugged the cloak more tightly around her shoulders. “If you do not mind my saying so, you should be more careful of the situations you find yourself in: a dangerous tussle last night, shooting the arches today―”
“Last night I was with Lord Oxford as well as Master Shakespeare and the entirety of The Lord Chamberlain’s Men. I thought I would be safe enough.”
“My brother-in-law! I should have known.”
“Your brother in law?”
“Yes, Edward, Lord Oxford, that is, is married to my sister, Anne.”
“Oh.” The woman who, somehow, seemed to be the inspiration for The Taming of the Shrew. James had to know Oxford was married into the Cecil family. He knew everything about him. She probably should have known too.
“I must say, trouble does seem to follow Edward around. I do not know that being in his company is something I would consider to be exactly safe.”
“I see.” She leaned back against the smooth leather of the carriage seat.
“However, as to someone beckoning you to meet them at Billingsgate Gardens in William’s name, that truly is perplexing. And troubling, if you do not mind my saying so. In light of this occurrence, I think you should take extra precautions for your safety.”
“I certainly shall, sir. I thank you for your concern.” She tentatively broached a new subject. “There is something else I am curious about though.”
“I shall do my best to satisfy you,” he replied with a smile.
She tried to keep her teeth from chattering as she spoke. “How is it you know William beyond a mere acquaintance? You seem to be quite good friends. I confess I am a bit surprised to hear that you were visiting him at The Curtain just now. That does not seem a likely place for a gentleman such as yourself.”
Was that a hint of crimson creeping over his face?
He glanced out the window of smoky glass before answering. “William saved my life once.”
“What?”
“I was on my way by foot to an appointment―a mistake in itself. I should have known never to travel anywhere outside of a carriage. I am weak, and as a result, vulnerable.” He looked at his hands, his shame obvious.
Cassandra laid her pallid fingers lightly on his forearm.
“Anyway, a woman and her child, passing by with a vendor’s cart, accused me of giving her the evil eye. Some men overheard her and attacked me. Called me the devil.”
“Oh, dear sir, I am so sorry.”
He looked into her eyes. His were beautiful in their pain. “William was just a bystander, but he did not hesitate to defend me. He grabbed a large stick from nearby and beat the men into submission, then helped me to get away. He saw me all the way to my errand and then back to my father’s house. Along the way we talked and I learned he was an actor, aspiring to write plays. This was some ten odd years ago. We have been fast friends ever since.”
“I am happy to hear Master Shakespeare behaved in so noble a fashion toward you. It confirms my belief in what a good man he is.”
“Truly,” Cecil said with feeling.
The cold was making her lips numb, yet the opportunity to get to know this major player in English history was too good to let pass. “Your father, Lord Burghley…I was under the impression he did not approve of the theatre, plays, and acting.” This fact lurked somewhere in the recesses of her mind.
“No, he does not. He is rather a puritan at heart, as am I. But Shakespeare was determined to change my mind, and convinced me to see the plays of Marlowe and Jonson, Greene, and Kyd―”
“Robert Greene? The pamphleteer?”
“Indeed, though he was once a reputable playwright.”
“Yes, he accuses Shakespeare of stealing from himself and others.”
“Everyone steals ideas. It is common among playwrights. I understand why Greene wouldn’t want his work stolen, however. He was quite good.”
“I did not know.” She paused before speaking again. “Good sir, I am curious as to why you were visiting Master Shakespeare at The Curtain just now, though in truth it should be none of my concern.”
“I merely wanted to see the rehearsal, my dear, though I try to avoid the large theatres. As long as William is there, however, I am safe.”
“Yes, they are preparing to revive The Taming of the Shrew. I was privileged to see a practice.”
“William mentioned you’d been there. I went to see if it would please the Queen. She was ill the last time they were performing it, and never had a chance to see it. Once it is ready, The Lord Chamberlain’s Men will bring it to court.”
“What is your opinion of the production?”
“I daresay she will delight in it.”
“Her Majesty relies on you heavily, does she not?”
“Indeed. My father’s health fails. I must be prepared to take his place in all things.”
And so he would. “Here we are,” Cassandra said. “My nephew’s house is just there. Sir Robert, I am afraid what James will do when he finds out what happened to me today. I am sure he will want to come home, and I fear that may displease the Queen.”
“Even if you didn’t tell him about the wherry accident, you must tell him about the summons from the mysterious source. And of course, the one led to the other. However, I will not say anything to him if you ask me not to.”
She sighed. “No, you are right. I have to tell him. Are you going back to the palace?”
“I am.”
“Will you tell him for me? Gently though, without alarming him overmuch. Please tell him he does not have to come back.”
“I will tell him, but I doubt he will listen. Hurry now, my lady. You tremble with cold.”
He obviously didn’t know James very well. He wasn’t apt to be too concerned about his mother. He knew quite well she could take care of herself, though she supposed if she caught pneumonia from this escapade it would be a setback to their mission.
She smiled. “Thank you.” The carriage stopped and the footman came around to help her out. “Adieu, Sir Robert. Truly, thank you for everything.” She handed him back the sodden cloak.
“I am humbled by your thanks, your ladyship,” he said, setting the garment aside. “You warm the heart of a poor servant such as myself with your grace and beauty.” He gazed into her eyes. “Your smile is the only reward I could ask for.”
She could offer no response to such lovely words. She nodded to him, and hurried to the door of the house as fast as her trembling legs would take her, bracing herself for the reaction of Mistress Flint.
It was difficult for James to keep up the appearanc
es expected of him when he didn’t even have a clean change of linens. Hopefully, his mother would be able to get his stuff together today, get it sent back to the palace in Susannah’s carriage and he’d have it by that night, when there would be another gathering in the Presence Chamber.
The day before, he had not seen Elizabeth at all, but had wiled away the hours with the other courtiers and ladies, playing games, listening to music, eating, and talking. Susannah had been there little, but when he’d wondered aloud about how he was going to get his clothes, she’d offered the carriage that was now on its way to retrieve them. Apparently the dark-haired beauty was one of the Queen’s favorites and was needed by her much of the time.
So now, here he was, immersed in court life, but learning little about the key players in the question of the true authorship of the plays. The people he was spending time with were all too young to know Oxford well, and didn’t travel in the circles of Shakespeare and his ilk. Was today to be another day of lounging about with no real purpose? He ventured into a corridor to make his way back to the salon where he had spent the day before, with little confidence he could find it again among the hundreds of rooms in the labyrinthine palace. Where had Thompkins gone? Shouldn’t he be available to help with this kind of thing? James wandered through the hallway, trying to retrace his steps from yesterday, listening for the sounds of laughter that were sure to be emanating from the salon.
“Who goes there?” A guard stepped into James’s path almost before the time traveler had even seen him.
“I am James Gwynne, guest of Her Majesty. I seek the...” He had no idea what the room where everyone seemed to hang out was called.
“Who vouches for you?”
“Um, the Queen herself, I suppose. She invited me to stay here at the palace. Sir Robert Cecil will vouch for me as well, and the Queen’s lady-in-waiting, Lady Susannah…” What was her last name?
Susannah herself suddenly stepped through a nearby doorway and spotted him. “Oh, there you are. I must take you to the Queen. She has summoned you.”
The guard inclined his head. “Milady.”
She gave him a curt nod and held her arm out to James. As he took it, he inhaled her scent of fresh herbs. Her hair, swept up off her slender neck, shone in the light of the candles flickering behind the glass sconces they passed.
The Time Duchess (The Time Mistress Book 4) Page 10