“What about Sir Robert, your brother-in-law?”
“What about him?”
“Maybe he would help us. He too is fond of Mistress Reilly. He told me so.”
“That simp,” he declared. “He would never defy Her Royal Majesty.”
“He is the reason I was banished in the first place, Master Shakespeare,” said Cassandra. “He led the investigation that somehow revealed Duke Von Schell was never married.”
“Only because he was ordered to do so,” said Shakespeare. “I know he cares for you.”
“He will not help if he knows I am involved,” Oxford said, with what sounded like a hint of jealousy in his voice. “He and I have never been on good terms.”
“But he and I are friends,” Shakespeare said. “I think he would do this for me.”
“I do not know if we can trust him,” Cassandra cautioned.
“I have confidence in him,” Shakespeare urged. “Forsooth, he was only doing the Queen’s bidding. He had no other choice.”
“If you are wrong,” Oxford stressed, “it will be terrible for all of us.”
“He is right,” Cassandra said. “I am putting you both in peril.” She rose and they both did so with her. “Master Shakespeare, perhaps this was not a good idea. I will find someplace else to stay. I have a little money. I cannot expose you to such danger.”
“No,” Oxford said suddenly, taking a step toward her. “You will stay here. I have never risked anything for anyone in my life. I will do it for you, Cassandra. I will send for Robin. Let us see what he says. My wife is in the country and she will not be back in London for a month, so we have time to act. But you must retain your boyish persona even in front of the servants. If anyone suspects you of being in disguise, it will seem very suspicious and be reported to the authorities. ‘Twill be difficult.”
“Let me stay here too, then,” said Shakespeare, “and we shall say she is my valet. She will sleep on a trundle bed in my room.”
“Sleep in your room?” Oxford raised his eyebrows. “You are right, we must not have the servants attending to her dressing and such, and thus she must not have her own boudoir. But she will sleep in my room.”
“I rely on both of you to behave with honor. Therefore, it matters not to me where I sleep,” Cassandra added.
“Let us toss a coin,” Shakespeare said. He removed a penny from his coin purse. “Cross or pile?”
They were going to gamble for her?
“Pile,” declared Oxford.
Shakespeare tossed it. “’Tis cross.”
“Very well,” said Oxford grudgingly. “But I better not hear you have laid a hand on her, Will.”
“You have my word,” Shakespeare replied with a slight bow.
“May I remind you,” inquired Cassandra, “that I’m standing right here, gentlemen?”
The two men only glanced in her direction with puzzled expressions before Oxford continued, “Then I shall send for Robin.”
Cassandra stayed out of sight while Oxford and Shakespeare conferred with Cecil. Finally they called her into the Great Hall. He stood with his arms crossed, his face stern.
“Forgive me, Sir Robert,” she said as she went to him, bowing low.
“Reilly, eh?”
She did not lift her gaze to meet his. “I am afraid so.”
“By my troth, if Her Majesty had discovered your true identities, she would have been convinced beyond a doubt you were Irish spies. As it is, I am swayed from that belief by what you have told William and Edward. I only hope we are not being played for fools.”
“Sir Robert, there will be no more lies. My son and I are loyal subjects, led astray by our ambitions. Unfortunately, it is too late to convince Her Royal Highness of this. When her messenger returns from Cornwall―”
“Yes. She will have no mercy on your son.”
“Which is why I beg you to forgive me my deception. I regret deeply that I was not honest with you, Master Shakespeare, or Lord Oxford.” She raised her head and looked him in the eyes.
His were somber “No. ‘Tis I who must be forgiven. Though in my defense, I had not even concluded my investigation when the information was confirmed from another source that you were not who you said you were.”
“Who was it Robin?” Oxford demanded.
He took a breath before answering. “It was Essex.”
“Lord Essex?” Cassandra stammered. “I do not even know the man. We have never met. What possible reason could he have for suspecting me or James of spying?”
“Jealousy is a monster, is it not?” Cecil replied. “I got the sense he was fearful of being supplanted in the Queen’s affections.”
“He hasn’t been in the Queen’s affections for some time,” observed Oxford brushing a bit of fluff from his sleeve.
“True, but we all know he’s been striving to win them again, if for nothing else so that he could secure the post of Lord Lieutenant in Ireland. To tell truth, I have been but one of many of Her Majesty’s advisers persuading her against doing such a thing. The man is vain and inept and would be no asset there. But this is beside the point. He has some evidence that you cannot be Duchess Von Schell, but thus far he has only shared it with Her Majesty. Nevertheless, I feel I’ve been underhanded investigating you behind your back though ‘twas at the Queen’s behest.”
“The fault lies only with me. You have no choice but to do her bidding.”
“It was a foolish thing you and James did, I acknowledge. But your heart was behind it.” He took a labored step toward her, then stopped. He looked toward the fire, then back at Cassandra. He was struggling with something, it was clear. Did he really care for her? Enough to risk not only his position, but perhaps his life? The answer was in the words he next spoke. “I will do whatever is in my power to help you free him, and assist you both to flee the city together. However, we must waste no time in determining how to do it. Essex will be pushing for punishment for James, though once the messenger returns from Cornwall, there will be no need for him to do so.”
“It just keeps getting worse,” Cassandra said, mostly to herself.
“And if we do free him and get you both out of the city, where will you go? It shall not be safe to return to your home yet, I daresay. At least until the Queen becomes distracted with other affairs and forgets about all this.”
“We will go to my father’s home in the north. We may continue there, indefinitely. I have fine people running my farm. They will not need me back for a long time.”
“You must maintain your disguise until you are far from London.”
“That I will.”
Cecil’s face took on an odd expression. “…Which has given me an idea,” he said, staring at her.
“Well, what is it, Robin?” Oxford finally demanded.
“No, never mind. It would never work.”
“Are you going to stand there sniveling,” the earl demanded, “or are you going to tell us?”
Cecil tapped his chin with a slender finger. “I was just thinking, since you are involved in this situation, William, how much the Queen loves a good play and a good wager.”
“How can you be thinking of plays at a time like this,” cried Oxford. “Lives are at stake.”
“Yes, but there’s something I have learned about Her Majesty. Sometimes, the best way to diffuse her anger is to distract her with something pleasing.”
“She is not a child, Robin.”
“No, but she is flighty. She does not know that, truly, the situation is almost comical. She is wrapped up in the belief that you and your son are spies, Mistress Reilly. But in sooth, all that has happened is that a young man and his mother have disguised themselves to win her favor. It is something right out of one of your plays, William.”
“I do not understand what you are proposing, Sir Robert,” Cassandra said.
“You must write a play,” Cecil said, turning to Shakespeare.
“But how will a play free James?”
“We will tell her that
you propose to write a play in exchange for the young man’s freedom. It will be a challenge― a thing she delights in. You will say that if you can write it in…three days time, let us say, so that it is finished before her man returns from Cornwall, she will agree to release James. However it must be a great play. Something that pays tribute to her.” He leaned against the back of a chair, thinking.
“Write a play in three days?” Shakespeare said, turning to Oxford. “Surely it cannot be done.”
“I do not see why not.”
“Indeed, William,” Cecil joined in “I have seen you dash off a play in less than a week. Three days cannot be so difficult.”
“I cannot think such a thing would be possible,” Cassandra said. “And it all seems so risky.”
“Though it is not a terrible idea,” Oxford conceded thoughtfully. “And it may be our only option. We cannot hide you here for long, good madam. If it can be accomplished, your son can be freed and you both on your way, out of the Queen’s grasp.” He eased himself back into his chair and took up his pipe again.
“Do you think it is possible, Lord Oxford?” Shakespeare pressed.
“Anything is possible, Will, and we shall help,” Oxford replied.
“At any rate, we must first present the Queen with the premise of the play, to whet her appetite. We must think of one now. And…Mistress Reilly’s attire has given me an idea,” said Cecil. He rose from his chair and limped energetically to Cassandra’s side, scrutinizing her closely.
“My attire?” Cassandra looked down at herself.
After a moment, the small man spoke again, tapping the foot of his good leg almost imperceptibly against the floor. “I know nothing about playwriting, but this is what comes to mind: the play might be about a young woman, of noble blood, banished by…perhaps a duke who usurped her father’s throne. She must dress as a boy and flee to the forest with a few trusted friends.”
This was a familiar theme. Cassandra picked up the idea. “And there, perhaps she meets the man she loves, even though he thinks she is a boy.”
“Yes, very good, madam.”
“And what if she,” Oxford continued, excited, and sitting forward, “tells him she is an expert in matters of love. The young man asks her to teach him how to woo the woman he loves (who is really the young woman in disguise though he knows it not). I have always wanted to include such a scene in one of mine own plays.”
“Yes, and after that,” Shakespeare chimed with a wave of his arms, “many pleasant and hilarious things shall ensue!”
“I shall leave you to fill in the details, William,” said Cecil. “What think you―a start, perhaps?”
“Yes, yes. I like it very much. What is the young woman’s name?”
“I know not,” Cecil replied.
“What about Rosalind?” Cassandra suggested. Was this how one of Shakespeare’s greatest comedies, As You Like It, was born? Could it mean that if Cassandra had never been in this time and place, and she and James in this situation, As You Like It would never have been written? If so, that created a paradox. If she and James had never traveled to Elizabethan England and caused the play to be written, then no-one, including herself, would ever know of it in the future. If that were the case, and the play were being created in this moment, how would she already know of it and be able to suggest the name Rosalind? This conundrum, which had confounded time travel theorists since the idea was first conceived by a nineteenth century writer named Edward Page Mitchell, had been solved by none other than Professor Carver, who determined that if a time traveler changed something in the past, an alternate time-line would be created. It wasn’t actually possible to alter history as such, Carver maintained, but only to create a new time-line along which circumstances started moving forward in a different way from the original time line at the moment the time traveler changed that thing in the past. However, Carver stressed it was important to minimize any impact the scientist might have on his or her surroundings, since the fewer the time-lines, the better.
“A perfect name for our heroine,” said Shakespeare with a snap of his fingers, bringing Cassandra back to the moment. “This gives me just the right place to begin.” He smiled at Oxford.
“I think the Queen will like it,” Cecil offered, walking back across the room again with his labored gait, “because it is about a strong woman of noble character and blood, just like she herself. Just like our Rosalind, Elizabeth was banished from court as a young woman, and just like Rosalind, she fell in love.”
“Our Elizabeth does like the subject of romance,” Oxford agreed. He once more reclined in his seat.
“Yes, I believe this will appeal to her. Especially if we tell her the character of Rosalind is to be based on her. Of course, you must make Rosalind witty and clever, William, more clever than the men in the story. Her Majesty will love it, I am sure.”
“There is still one flaw in your plan, Robin.” Oxford said. He waved his pipe at him. “Why would Her Majesty think Will would care about freeing James?”
“It is common knowledge that Master Gwynne, as she still knows him, has been a patron of The Lord Chamberlain’s Men. William can say James’s money is crucial to finishing The Globe, and thus, his freedom is required. I tell you, it is just the kind of sport she revels in, and in many ways would solve her problem of what to do with James, whom I’m certain she’d rather not harm. In spite of her reputation, she does rather loathe violence.”
“Will you do it, Master Shakespeare?” Cassandra pleaded. She stood, and Shakespeare and Oxford did so too.
“For you, Duchess, I would do anything. I only hope the play can be completed as we promise it will be.”
“I will arrange your audience with the Queen, William,” Sir Robert said to him. He waggled a finger at him. “Be prepared: shine your boots, trim your beard, and launder your linens. Expect to be summoned in the morning. Her Majesty, no matter how busy, will be intrigued when she hears you have a proposition for her. And now, I must back to the palace. I told her I was going out on a brief errand and she will be expecting me forthwith. To work, good sir,” he said to the playwright. “There is not a moment to spare.”
“Wait!” Shakespeare cried. “Will you not scribble down the story idea there at Lord Oxford’s desk before you go? I want to be sure it is firmly impressed upon my mind before I present it to the Queen.”
“Of course.” He went as quickly as his legs would allow to his brother-in-law’s writing desk and quickly jotted down the summary. When he was finished, he patted Shakespeare on the back, kissed Cassandra’s hand, and hurried away.
Shakespeare moved to the desk and read the paper over carefully. “It is an excellent plot.”
“Very well, get to it, my boy!” Oxford declared enthusiastically. “Have a seat. There is paper and ink aplenty. Choose a new quill and cut it to your liking.”
Shakespeare sat at the desk, adjusted the papers, pulled his sleeves back and then pushed them down again. He studied what Cecil had written and picked up a quill. He dipped the pen into the inkwell and placed the nib to the top of the first sheet, making a small mark. He shook his head and placed the quill in its holder and stood to stretch his arms, then sat once again. Looking up at his audience of two he said, “Would you mind leaving me alone? You see, I like solitude when I work.”
“Of course, of course.” Oxford rose from his chair, his pipe clutched in his hand. “Come, Cassandra. Will shall be busy for many hours. Let us have your room readied so you may retire there when you wish.”
“We must think of a boy’s name for you to call me so the servants do not hear you referring to me as a woman.”
“Any name you prefer?” Oxford asked.
“What about…Ganymede?” It was the name Rosalind used for her male alter ego in As You Like It.
“A fanciful name but I like it. What think you, Will?”
“Delightful.” The bard toyed with the quill some more as if it didn’t fit quite right in his hand.
> The look of hesitation on his face didn’t inspire much confidence. Was there any way this plan was going to work?
Chapter Fourteen
Cassandra and Oxford hunkered down in his library, where he was writing letters and she was absentmindedly looking through books. Normally, she would have been thrilled to have access to such a collection, but was too distracted awaiting word from Shakespeare about how his audience with the Queen had gone to give the magnificent tomes the attention they deserved.
Oxford had lent her some of his clothes, which fit tolerably well, his being a thin man, and he’d decided to tell the household help she was Shakespeare’s cousin instead of his valet, that way affording her the privileges of a guest, rather than her having to take on the duties of a servant which she had no idea how to perform. It was natural that the cousin would stay with Shakespeare in his room though, and not require anyone in particular to wait on him.
Shakespeare had graciously slept on a mat next to the bed, allowing her the more the comfortable sleeping arrangement, and she was grateful for it. He had indeed remained a perfect gentleman all night. She nearly dropped the book she was holding when he burst through the door of the library.
“She has agreed! She has agreed! She loved the theme of the play and said if I can finish it within the three allotted days, she will free James.”
“Oh, thank goodness!” Cassandra cried.
“Now, to actually write it,” Shakespeare said, looking at Oxford.
“Ganymede and I will do everything in our power to assist,” offered the earl.
“That I shall need,” Shakespeare laughed.
“I am at your service,” Oxford said with a slight bow.
Shakespeare turned to Cassandra. “Will you excuse us?”
“Certainly.” She stepped out of the library into the hallway, and closed the door. She hovered there, listening. The voices were muffled, but she could just make them out.
Shakespeare began, “I have started a draft, Lord Oxford, as you know, and though I do feel it has potential, it could never be anything compared with―”
“Do not speak another word, Will. I understand perfectly. Do not worry. I shall begin working on my own version immediately. It will not do to take any chances in this case. The play must be good, very good.”
The Time Duchess (The Time Mistress Book 4) Page 19