The Betrayal

by Mary Hooper

  At first he was horrified at this, and when I told him that I’d been asked to act upon the stage, grew somewhat confused.

  ‘Let’s get this right, Missus,’ he said. ‘You’re going to be a girl acting a lad acting a girl.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘But ’tis against nature. ’Sides, you don’t look like a boy.’

  ‘I don’t look like one to you,’ I said, ‘because you know I’m a girl.’ As I spoke I was buttoning up my boyish jacket and pulling on long socks. ‘But to anyone seeing me for the first time … well, if you see someone dressed as a lad, you naturally think he’s a lad.’ I turned and tried to catch my reflection in the kitchen window. Not wanting to have my hair scraped back in such an ugly fashion under a coif all the time, the previous night I’d asked Mistress Midge to cut it with her kitchen scissors. It now came down to my ears, which was short for a girl but rather long for a boy.

  ‘What do you think to my hair? Do I look like one of the palace pageboys?’ I asked Sonny, but he just sniggered by way of reply.

  Dressed and capped to my satisfaction, the thought of the small adventure I was about to embark on put me in such high spirits that I couldn’t resist acting the lad all the way to the Curtain. Much to Sonny’s dismay I knocked off his cap, chased after a dog and even spent some time looking in the window of a barber-surgeon’s shop, pondering aloud whether or not I should go in and be shaved.

  He, growing more and more embarrassed, at last turned to me indignantly. ‘By your leave, Missus …’

  ‘I’m not a missus at present,’ I whispered.

  ‘Well then, by your leave, Sire, from now on I shall walk several steps in front of you, for at the moment I feels like I’m taking part in a play-acting meself.’

  The Curtain was a surprising building, for it had been built especially as a theatre (the first proper one in London, I heard someone say), and was shaped inside as an ‘O’ with wooden seats all around and the stage jutting out into the audience. It could hold many more people than could stand on the balcony of an inn and would, I was sure, be more agreeable to work in from the actors’ point of view.

  I found Mr James backstage in the tiring room. This was full to heaving with actors, their wealthy patrons and other hangers-on, some masked, some not, and all dressed exceeding well. Seeing so many notable people about caused me to rather lose my boyish bluster and slip back to being a girl again, but Mr James (who was wearing black velvet edged with gold, and had the largest ruff and the fluffiest beard in the place) was preoccupied and didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘I’ve brought my little brother,’ I said, my hand on Sonny’s shoulder. ‘I thought he might be able to help by standing outside and offering playbills to people.’

  ‘Indeed, indeed!’ Mr James said expansively. ‘Do go to the front of the building, dear boy, and give assistance where you can.’

  Sonny shot an alarmed look at me.

  ‘Off you go,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you at the front after the performance.’ I gave a short bow to Mr James and tried to recapture my devil-may-care attitude. ‘I am at your disposal, Sire, for whatever part you wish me to play.’

  Mr James took a step backwards and looked me up and down. ‘I’ve been thinking about your role today, and believe you may be more suited to act a lady.’

  I smiled, pleased at this.

  ‘I have you in mind to play Mistress Mistletoe, for so few of our actors are refined enough for such a part. You’ll not actually have any words to say, but we need someone who can move across the stage looking beautiful and engage the audience’s emotions. Do you think you could do that? Do you think you could play the female, bewitching and flirtatious, yet rather shy?’

  ‘I’ll certainly try, Sir,’ I answered.

  ‘Excellent! Our wardrobe mistress will supply you with gown and visage, and then you must ask for a copy of the play from the stage manager and ask him to mark your entrances and exits.’

  I nodded and he clapped his hands. ‘Run along, then, dear boy.’

  The wardrobe mistress, Mistress Hunt, was the only other female in the place and worked from a large curtained-off area in the tiring room surrounded by rails of clothing and baskets of materials.

  She looked me up and down and nodded her approval. ‘You’ll do very well as Mistress Mistletoe. The boy who played her last time was too stout to fit properly into a gown. The one before that was so tall that I had to add a flounce to the bottom of his kirtle or you would have seen his hairy ankles.’

  I smiled at this and she added, ‘You’re much better proportioned, young sir, and will make a mighty fine lady.’

  Before I could stop myself, I curtseyed to acknowledge this compliment and Mistress Hunt went off into peals of admiring laughter, saying she saw that I was in character already.

  It was fortunate that she handed me my petticoats and boned farthingale first, so that I could step into these and remove my breeches under cover, so to speak. I knew it might be slightly more difficult to hide the shape of my upper body, but that morning I’d had the wit to put on a tight, laced bodice which flattened me considerably. I told Mistress Hunt that I intended to leave this in place, saying I had a weak chest and suffered badly with coughs and colds.

  Mistress Mistletoe, the wardrobe mistress informed me, was a rich and unhappy young heiress who’d been married for her money and crossed in love. I was to wear a fine gown and accessories, all of which had been donated by a wealthy lady whose husband was a patron of the theatre.

  ‘It’s a fine and beautiful outfit and not a year out of fashion!’ said Mistress Hunt.

  ‘But why …’ I began in high-pitched surprise, then lowered my voice to sound more manly. ‘But why would she give such a gown to the theatre?’

  ‘Bless you for being a lad!’ said the wardrobe mistress. ‘Don’t you know the aristocracy will not wear anything that’s even slightly out of date? As soon as news of the latest fashion arrives from Paris, they have to have their wardrobes updated.’

  ‘But why don’t they sell their clothes?’ I asked in amazement, for I knew that the market in garments was such that they might be sold on for years and years, their fabrics becoming weaker and more delicate until even the poorest beggar couldn’t wear them and they were sold for cleaning rags.

  ‘The greatest of our ladies have no need of money,’ Mistress Hunt scoffed.

  ‘Then surely the kind thing to do would be to pass their unwanted gowns on to their ladies-in-waiting?’

  She shook her head. ‘Servants – even a great lady’s servants – are not allowed to wear luxurious fabrics or deep colours. Did you not know that only a countess may wear cloth of gold or purple silk, and only a baron’s wife can wear silver lace, and a knight’s wife embroidered taffeta? Oh, there is no end to the rules and regulations about these things.’

  I shook my head in surprise. ‘But whose orders are these?’

  ‘The queen’s. So the great ladies who patronise the theatre pass on the gowns they deem unfashionable to their favourite group of players. And that is our great fortune!’

  When she unwrapped the bodice, kirtle and sleeves I was to wear I was quite overwhelmed and speechless, for they were the most beautiful garments I’d ever seen (apart, perhaps, from those heavily jewelled and embroidered gowns worn by Her Grace). The material was billowing silver tissue and the centre of the kirtle was ruched back to show a frontispiece of heavily embroidered lace which matched that on the bodice and hem.

  ‘What do you think?’ said Mistress Hunt.

  I gasped out a few words, and then tried to curb my fervour a little, knowing that a lad would not be so overcome by a mere gown.

  ‘And there are jewels and pearls that will further enhance you.’

  ‘And are those … ?’

  She laughed. ‘No, alas. The great ladies do not patronise us to that extent, to give us their gemstones.’ She looked at my hair and shook her head slightly. ‘But your hair will not do, so we must find
you a wig and some hair ornaments and a pretty fan.’ She smiled at me. ‘It’s mighty pleasurable to be able to dress a boy who has so many girlish attributes. Let’s hope that you don’t grow too stocky and man-like as you get older.’

  ‘Yes, let’s hope that,’ I said, with more meaning behind my words than she could ever know.

  By the time Mistress Hunt had finished, my dear old ma would not have known me. Indeed, when I looked in the polished steel mirror that hung on the wall of the tiring room, I hardly knew myself, for apart from the beauty of the gown, my wig, fair as summer corn, was now finished with ribbands and combs, my feet were daintily shod in silver slippers and my neck was adorned with ropes of pearls. I looked every inch the rich young heiress I was supposed to be.

  I only had to come on to the stage twice, and both times but briefly, so it hardly seemed worth the tremendous effort it took to prepare me. However, it seemed my new persona was popular amongst the audience, for as soon as I stepped nervously on stage (where I had to pretend to discover my betrothed deep in conversation with another lady), they began clapping and stamping on the ground, and someone even threw flowers. I was not vain enough to take this admiration personally, however, for I knew that they were merely applauding the seemingly remarkable transformation of the boy that they thought I was, into a girl. How I’d have loved my ma to have seen me dressed thus, though, and my sisters, and most of all, perhaps, Isabelle, whom I knew would relish hearing every last detail of my gown.

  After the performance I was asked to go into the tiring room to mingle with the vast multitude of admirers who’d come to pay their respects to the players, and at this time I was immediately approached by two other actors who’d played women. They seized me and were determined to make a great fuss of me, linking arms and pledging that they were going to be my close and special best friends.

  I found this amusing at first – and indeed they were very funny and droll with their rouged cheeks and drawn-on eyelashes – but they seemed to see themselves as rivals for my attention and began to squabble about which one I liked the best, so I became rather embarrassed. When someone tapped me on the shoulder, therefore, I was more than ready to leave the dispute that had broken out and was only a little surprised (for my meetings with him always seemed to be unexpected) when, on turning around, I saw Tomas and Juliette standing before me.

  They were both masked, but I knew Tomas masked or not now, and recognised Juliette because of her beautiful hair, gleaming with chestnut lights under the candles and easily outshining all the wigs and false-hair switches in the room.

  Facing them, I immediately sank into a curtsey, but to my great astonishment she sank into an even deeper one. I rose, but she remained in position for a moment longer than I did, which caused me so much wonder that I believe my jaw dropped open in surprise, for the strange and wonderful dream I’d had was come true.

  As she rose, I couldn’t help but notice that Tomas was hiding a smile as he introduced us. ‘Mistress Juliette Mackenzie, Mistress Lucy Walden,’ he said.

  Juliette inclined her head to me gracefully. ‘May I compliment you on your gown, Madam. It’s by far the most beautiful in the room.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, rather surprised, ‘but …’

  ‘And Mistress Juliette especially admired your jewels,’ interrupted Tomas, still with the half-smile on his lips. ‘We saw them glittering across the tiring room and she insisted on being brought to see them at close quarters.’

  ‘Yes …’ I began again.

  ‘The emerald in your hair decoration is a most excellent size,’ Juliette said breathlessly, ‘’tis almost as large as the Taja emerald owned by the queen.’

  ‘But the queen’s emeralds are real!’ I had to say. ‘This is not. Neither are the diamonds at my wrists nor the pearl necklaces.’

  She looked at me, astounded. ‘None of your jewellery is real?’

  I touched the coin around my neck, which had been completely concealed by the mass of pearls Mistress Hunt had fitted me out with. ‘Apart from this groat.’

  She looked at it in astonishment and not a little disgust.

  ‘I am decked out in all these to play the part of Mistress Mistletoe,’ I explained. ‘Didn’t you see me on the stage?’

  Tomas shook his head. ‘Unfortunately we were delayed at Whitehall. We took a carriage and set off as quickly as we could – for I was anxious to see your stage debut – but I fear we missed you. We only caught the last half-hour of the performance.’

  ‘I see,’ I said. I hadn’t noticed anyone arriving late but this was not remarkable because – as had happened before – the audience had moved around throughout the play; changing seats, standing up and coming and going with much laughter and banter between them and the players. ‘I was on stage twice,’ I said, rather regretting that Tomas hadn’t seen me.

  ‘Then unfortunately we missed you twice.’

  Juliette had been staring in astonishment from one to the other of us during this conversation. ‘So you are an actor?’ she asked at last. ‘And all the jewels and accessories you wear are false?’

  ‘I’m afraid they are,’ I admitted.

  She looked disappointed, then rallied. ‘Then by your leave, Sir, you make a mighty fine lady. Almost as fine as my patron and aunt, Lady Margaret Ashe.’

  ‘Your aunt is Lady Ashe?’ I asked in surprise and some excitement. ‘Then you are indeed fortunate, for she’s a fine and noble lady.’ I didn’t add that she lived close to my home village and that once I almost worked for her as a maid.

  Tomas began to laugh and I could not help but do likewise, for usually I was the one who was being teased and it felt a good deal better to be in on the joke. He coughed behind his hand. ‘Mistress Juliette, there’s something else about the mighty fine Mistress Mistletoe that you should know …’

  I looked about us, but the two ‘women’ who’d been pursuing me had left to go and annoy someone else and there was so much talk and bluster in the room that no one would overhear us. I was sorry, however, that she had to know, for I very much liked the idea of Tomas and I sharing a secret.

  ‘And what is that?’ Juliette asked.

  ‘She is not a he.’

  Juliette stared, first at him, then at me. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Or should I say he is not a she?’

  Juliette tutted with annoyance.

  ‘I beg your leave to explain,’ I said in a low voice. ‘What Tomas means is that although this company of players think I am a boy, I am actually a girl.’

  ‘A female actor?’ she gasped. ‘Never!’ She fluttered the fan she carried. ‘I am truly appalled!’

  ‘But ’tis not so shocking, surely,’ I said, ‘for on feast days the ladies of the Court – and even Her Grace – take part in masques and plays.’

  ‘But what the aristocracy do is a thing apart. And besides, you are not a lady of the Court!’

  ‘By your leave, I am not,’ I admitted.

  She fluttered the fan some more. ‘But how did this come about?’

  ‘I went to a play disguised as a boy,’ I explained, ‘and Mr James picked me out in the crowd as someone he thought could act a girl’s part.’

  ‘But had you knowledge of the stage? What are you in real life?’

  ‘I’m a nursemaid,’ I said simply.

  She looked over her fan at me, rather as if she had a bad smell under her nose.

  ‘Lucy is nursemaid to Dr Dee’s children,’ Tomas explained. ‘We met in Mortlake – you may remember I stopped to speak to her on the roadway as we rode out.’

  ‘I really don’t recall.’

  ‘She has assisted me once or twice in different ways, and will no doubt do so again. She can be trusted in all things, for she has a particular love of Her Grace.’

  ‘As do we all …’ murmured Juliette. She stared at me coldly, unblinkingly, no doubt wondering how I looked when I was myself, without the jewels and the hairpiece and the glorious gown (and probably coming to
the only truth: that I could not hold a candle to her).

  ‘But we must go,’ Tomas said to me, ‘and not keep you from your friends and players.’

  I looked round to see the two ‘women’ bearing down on us, waving what looked like a bottle of Rhenish. One had his wig of golden curls tipped slightly to one side, showing a bald patch beneath.

  ‘But won’t you stay?’ I asked.

  Tomas shook his head. ‘Sadly, we cannot. The queen is entertaining a deputation of gentlemen from Ireland.’

  ‘So we have a party of our own to attend,’ Juliette said. ‘I must go and put on my finest gown. And my real jewels!’ she added with a sweet smile.

  ‘We will see you again soon, Lucy,’ Tomas said. ‘Her Grace is minded to have a picnic in St James’s Park to celebrate spring, and would have the Queen’s Players perform for her. I’ve already spoken to Mr James, so if you’re still with the players when this takes place …’

  ‘I certainly hope to be,’ I said.

  We said our goodbyes and I dropped a deep curtsey to them both. Tomas bowed in return, but of course Juliette did not return this compliment now that she knew my humble status, but merely nodded at me and turned on her heels. I’d had my moment, though, just as my dream had foretold, and had very much enjoyed it.

  Chapter Ten

  I could not play the actor for the next few days, so I felt very dull. The agent that Dr Dee had appointed visited the house and gave instructions to various workmen to replaster, paint and repair as he saw fit. I was kept busy moving those of the master’s books we’d brought with us from place to place so that they didn’t get marked or dusty, and also watching the workmen so that they didn’t slacken in their duties or steal away with anything. I sent Sonny to Mr James with apologies for my absence, fearing I might lose my place with them, but he returned with a verbal message (which he delivered in Mr James’s grand style) to say that Richard James, actor-manager, sent his compliments and would be happy to see me whenever it suited.