Kissing Shakespeare

by Pamela Mingle

  I blinked and slowly got to my feet, still not sure what to say. Walking toward her, I reached out and took the raspberry-colored lingerie from her outstretched hands. “I’ll show you, Bess. Turn around, pray.”

  I slipped into the panties; then, after removing my smock, I put on the bra. In truth, I hadn’t been wearing either of them much. I’d hidden them under a stack of bodices, but Bess’s sharp eyes had spotted them.

  “You may look now,” I said. I suppressed a smile, thinking that Macy would howl with laughter if she could see this.

  Bess whirled around and stared. “Jesu! I’ve never seen such apparel before.” She circled around me, getting a view from all angles. Tentatively, she reached out and touched the fabric at the back. I didn’t move a muscle, just allowed her to examine and marvel. Meanwhile, I was starting to shiver.

  “These, ah, garments were brought back from the Indies by a … a female relative.” How to explain synthetics? “The cloth is a special kind made only there, and the stretchy parts are rubber, which comes from trees.” Bess didn’t say anything. “This garment”—I gestured at the bra—“supports and lifts your, um, breasts.” God, I felt like I was in a commercial or something.

  “Aye, so it does,” she said.

  “I’m freezing, Bess. I wish to dress now.” Just as I reached for my smock, the doors between Stephen’s and my chamber banged open. He walked into the room, head down, mumbling something to himself.

  “Stephen!”

  His head jerked up. Eyes widening, he gawked unabashedly until I covered up with my smock. “I’m dressing. Get out!”

  “Pray forgive me.” I noticed a spark in his eyes, and his lips definitely twitched right before he spun on his heel and exited. Damn him! I heard Bess snickering behind me.

  She didn’t question my explanation for the “strange garments.” After helping me dress, she grabbed my breakfast tray and departed through the servants’ door.

  Alone at last, I perched on the edge of my bed and pondered my situation. Maybe my awful night’s sleep was to blame, but foremost in my mind was one simple fact: I wanted to go home. I missed my friends, my grandfather, my parents. Okay, just my dad. And to get home, I knew what I had to do.

  So what had I accomplished so far? I was making some progress with Will, but I needed something to help move things along more quickly. A plan of my own, one I could put into action by myself, without Stephen’s involvement. For starters, I should push Will toward writing and acting. As I’d tried to tell Stephen, I was convinced seduction alone wouldn’t work. If I persuaded Will to read me some of his writing, from there it would be easy to talk to him about the stage and his dream of becoming an actor. And I should make another date with him for more instruction in the classics.

  Will seemed intent on gaining more than just my friendship, what with giving me the gloves and kissing me during our session in the library, and I’d do whatever I could to encourage him. And even though part of me felt like a pawn in some game Stephen was playing, I was committed to going through with the seduction program. I suspected Will would prove to be a gentle and patient lover.

  I knew I should definitely keep close tabs on his relationship with Thomas Cook. Find out how far Will was leaning toward the religious life. Perhaps I’d have to search both their rooms, and when the opportunity arose, follow them and listen in on more of their conversations.

  Although I couldn’t pinpoint it, there was something suspicious about Jennet. I remembered her anger with me the first night, and her cool demeanor during the burning. She had an irrational possessiveness regarding Will. And I still hadn’t ruled her out as the writer of the note. Even if she couldn’t read or write, she could easily have asked someone else to write it, since she’d been away most of the weekend. My suspicions of her had nothing to do with Will becoming a Jesuit, but nevertheless, she bore watching.

  I mulled everything over until hunger pangs alerted me it must be time for the midday meal.

  Stephen had presented me with my own knife and a set of ivory toothpicks in an enameled case, so it was no longer necessary for us to sit next to each other at every meal. But at lunch he plopped right down next to me, gave me a wicked grin, and watched me blush. I wondered how much mileage he’d try to get out of seeing me in my underwear.

  “How did you explain your … attire … to Bess?” he asked.

  “Don’t even go there. I’m not telling you anything about it.”

  He laughed out loud.

  “Oh, just shut up,” I hissed. Since Will, on my other side, was talking to someone else, I faked a sudden and profound interest in my surroundings. Eventually my gaze settled on the long table in the center of the hall. Three people were eating there today, two women and a man. A rather extraordinary-looking man, stout, with a ruddy face and ginger hair and beard. Momentarily forgetting my determination not to talk to Stephen, I turned and said, “Who’s the funny little man over there?”

  “At the long table? ’Tis Joseph, the cunning man.”

  “So what exactly does that mean?”

  “People believe him to possess certain powers, and he does what he can to encourage that belief.”

  “Such as?”

  “They come to him with their troubles, like losing a lover, or needing to know if the cereal crop will thrive this year, and he performs such rituals as persuade people he has some control over these situations. For coin.”

  “In other words, he’s a con man.”

  “By that you mean he gulls people out of their money?”

  I nodded. A servant passing a platter of carved roast interrupted us. I helped myself to a portion, and Stephen did the same. After the servant moved on, I resumed my questioning. “Does he live here on the manor?”

  “Nay, in one of the villages. But he visits here often, I believe. My uncle does not like it, but the tenants and workers would complain if he forbade it.”

  I glanced around quickly before speaking. “Does everybody believe in this kind of thing?”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “In magic? You can certainly count me among those who do.”

  I smirked at him, until I realized he wasn’t joking. “You do?”

  “Given my situation, all you know about me, would you expect me not to?”

  I had to smile at that. “Yet you admit Joseph is gulling people.”

  He cocked his head at me. “Aye. His brand of magic is not for me, but if it gives comfort to others, so be it.”

  My face must have registered confusion. He leaned in close and spoke softly. “Remember where you are. There are forces at work in the world that learned men cannot explain. How are we to account for diseases, monstrous births, and other such oddities?”

  “Germs. Poor nutrition. Poverty,” I shot back.

  “But we do not have your advanced scientific knowledge. It will be centuries before we do.” He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “The church once performed such rituals as casting out demons, and purifying and blessing. But the Protestant clergy does not allow such practices. What is left for the common folk but to turn to magic?”

  Grudgingly, I agreed. “Point taken.” Stephen began stabbing pieces of roast with his knife and shoving them in his mouth, so I took the opportunity to speak to Will. His conversation at an end, he’d been concentrating on his meal while Stephen and I were … discussing. I hoped he hadn’t overheard us. Even if he’d tried, he couldn’t have caught more than snatches of our talk.

  “Master Will, may I visit your schoolroom this afternoon?”

  He looked surprised, but answered without any hesitation. “I would be honored.”

  After enough time had elapsed for lessons to resume after lunch, I followed the directions Will had given me to the east wing. In a few minutes, I heard the buzz of young voices, sounding a lot like children in a modern classroom. I paused in the doorway to check things out. The room was long and narrow, with tall windows on one side. In the far corner, a door opened onto an outdoor stai
rcase. The children didn’t have to navigate the maze of passages inside the house to find their schoolroom.

  The older students, all boys, perched on stools at four tables. A group of the youngest children sat cross-legged on the floor, each one holding a slate with a long handle. They were reciting their letters to each other. I was surprised to see a few girls in the bunch. Will Shakespeare and Jennet were seated at a separate table and seemed to be engrossed in what I assumed was a reading lesson. I’d been hoping to put my plan into action, but that couldn’t happen with Jennet here.

  One of the children spotted me and hollered, “Look! Mistress has come to visit!”

  Will and Jennet looked up, Will with his usual sweet smile. He got to his feet and came over to greet me. Jennet’s jaw tightened as she reined in the glare about to burst out on her face.

  “Mistress Olivia, welcome,” Will said.

  “Good day, Will. I hope I am not disturbing you.”

  “Nay. I was helping Jennet with her reading. Come, meet my students.”

  Jennet rose, and we curtsied to each other.

  Then Will introduced me to the older boys, who stood and bowed. “What are you studying?” I asked.

  “Latin grammar,” one said. “Conjugating verbs.”

  “Amo, amas, amat,” I recited, scrunching up my nose, and they all laughed. I knelt down before the little kids. Apple cheeked and well scrubbed, they surrounded me, some stroking my embroidered bodice or my hair, others bending in for a kiss. They were adorable. “Are you being good children today?”

  “Aye, mistress,” they assured me.

  “Robby hit me with his hornbook,” one boy said. Obviously the class tattletale.

  Will stopped to have a word with the shame-faced culprit, and I wandered over to Jennet.

  “Mistress, how do you get on with your reading?”

  “Well enough.”

  “Master Will is a good teacher?”

  “Aye.”

  Okay, then. She didn’t want to talk to me. I had turned for the door when I heard her voice, so low I almost missed it.

  “Do not mistake me, mistress. I will have Master Shakespeare for my own.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She laughed, her green eyes glittering. “You heard me.”

  I returned her stare for a moment and then wandered over to the door to wait for Will. It wasn’t my place to tell her that particular plan wouldn’t work out. Myself aside, there was Anne Hathaway in Will’s very near future if all went well.

  Before Will walked over to join me, I heard him ask Jennet to mind the children while he spoke to me. Boldly, I grasped his arm and pulled him into the passage. “Master Will, I know you are occupied with your duties, but I wondered when we might … you might … spare the time to continue my classical education. If you still wish to enlighten me, that is.”

  Eyes gleaming playfully, he said, “Oh, I do. I will always make time for you, Mistress Olivia.” He thought for a moment. “Hock Monday and Tuesday are next week, so there will be no school. If it suits you, come either morning. I shall be here.”

  I pictured boys racing around with hockey sticks out on the tilting green. “Oh, I forgot about Hock Day, er, that is, Days. I’ll come on Monday.”

  “I shall look forward to it, mistress.”

  Before he could get away, I said, “I would very much like to talk to you about your writing and act—playing, too.”

  “You would?” He seemed genuinely surprised.

  “Aye. Perhaps I should come both days.”

  He grinned at me. “It would be my pleasure, Mistress Olivia.”

  THAT NIGHT, I TOLD STEPHEN about Jennet’s “I will have Master Shakespeare for my own” comment. After the evening meal, the two of us had sneaked off to the library for some privacy.

  “I wonder if she wishes to wed him,” he said. “Maybe to escape her controlling father.”

  “Wed him? He’s Catholic! Her father would never allow it … would he?”

  Stephen gave a curt laugh. “Nay, you are right about that. But mayhap she is more willing to lose her virtue to him than I originally thought.”

  “But you said a Puritan girl would never do that! That’s why you needed me.”

  “Do not look so vexed. She may have hidden motives we do not know about.”

  I sighed in frustration. “For whatever reason, she was warning me off.”

  He looked thoughtful. “ ’Tis almost as if she were throwing down the gauntlet.”

  “You mean challenging me? She doesn’t scare me. I’m the one Shakespeare was reading Ovid’s love poetry to a few days ago.” I knew I sounded smug, but I was pretty confident of Will’s interest in me.

  “Instructing you in the art of love, was he? You did not mention it. And how did he get on?” Stephen’s voice dripped sarcasm, confusing me. Wasn’t this what he wanted me to be doing with Will?

  “None of your business. Remember? You’re not supposed to ask. And why are you acting all mad about it?”

  Impatiently, he waved off my question. “What were you doing in a schoolroom, with Jennet and a passel of brats present?” he asked, and began pacing around the room with his hands on his hips. “Nothing can be accomplished under those circumstances.”

  “I had business with Will,” I said, glaring at him. “And if you must know, I went to the schoolroom to arrange a time to meet privately with Will. I also told him I’m very interested in his writing, which is the truth. He seemed thrilled.”

  When Stephen shot me a skeptical glance, I said, near tears, “Why are you acting like this? What did I do wrong?”

  He was at my side in an instant. “You did nothing wrong, Olivia. Pray forgive me,” he said. “I’m a brute.”

  This made me laugh and brought me back to my senses. I wandered over to the grate, its flames dying. “Maybe if I had a better understanding of why I’m here, it would help,” I said, huddling in front of the settle to soak up whatever warmth remained. “The plays are so much a part of my life. Shakespeare’s revered in my century. He’s practically a god! I know he dedicated his life to writing and acting, so why do you even need me?”

  “I daresay you will carp at me until I explain further.”

  “Count on it.”

  “Where should I start?” he whispered.

  I thought he was talking to himself, but I answered anyway. “Tell me how you knew about Shakespeare.”

  Stephen cursed under his breath and looked as if he might protest. Then he shrugged. “We may as well be warm while we talk.” After heaving another log onto the fire, he sank down next to me.

  “I can see the future,” he said, finally breaking the silence. “Brief flashes of it.”

  A cynical grunt burst out of me. “Right.” I lifted a brow at him.

  “Mayhap I should not have used those words. I have visions. They come upon me; I do not summon them, and would rather not be burdened with them, to confess the truth.”

  “Then why don’t you just ignore them?”

  “They haunt me until I take action.”

  “So you’re a wizard or something?”

  “I prefer the term you used before. ‘Time warden.’ ” He glanced at me quickly, and then his eyes darted away.

  “Go on.”

  “ ’Tis a power I inherited, one that has been in my family for centuries. One person in each generation has the visions. When he reaches maturity, the astrolabe is bestowed upon him.”

  “How long since the job was passed to you?”

  “I was seventeen. My uncle preceded me.”

  “Alexander? No way!”

  Grinning, he said, “Nay, an uncle on my father’s side taught me. When he knew his days were numbered.”

  “Does your family know?”

  “Only my father.” He leaned forward and rested his arms on his thighs. “This is difficult.… I never speak of it to anyone.”

  “The astrolabe—that’s the instrument you had when we were on the schoo
l roof, isn’t it?” After he nodded, I went on. “What’s the point? Does it always involve time travel, and somehow preserving the future?”

  “My family’s duty is to protect Britain’s destiny. Not to change it, but to preserve it.”

  I was about to laugh until I caught his deadly serious expression. He wasn’t joking. “That’s, well, amazing. Too much for one man.” Tentatively, I ran my hand across his back in a comforting gesture.

  “Aye,” he said, looking at me with an ironic grin. “The visions set things in motion, and usually I must travel to the future to discover the actual truth. When I return, I take action.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to understand. “So you had a vision about Shakespeare. Had you met him yet?”

  “Nay, the visions came first. But then my father told me Alexander had employed a young lad named Shakespeare as schoolmaster here, and it all began to make sense.”

  “What was in your visions, if you don’t mind my asking?” He probably did, but was in too deep now to refuse to tell me.

  “Fragments of the plays passed through my head.… Will Shakespeare appeared again and again. Writing and acting. Then, imaginings of plays I knew were being performed in the distant future. Plays he composed, clear indications of his genius.”

  “And that was why you came to my century, to figure out if the visions about Shakespeare were true. If he was really as great as he seemed.”

  He nodded. “It was not until I journeyed to your time that I understood the scope of Shakespeare’s genius. Only then did I learn exactly what you and others had made of his work.”

  When he paused for a breath, I said, “So how are you able to time travel?”

  “The astrolabe holds the magic that makes passage through time possible. And saying the right words.”

  “You mean the ‘From this age’ thing you said right before we—”

  “Precisely.”

  I struggled to get my head around everything he’d told me and realized some parts still didn’t make sense.

  “But if you hadn’t even met Will yet, how did you know he was in danger?”

  “I learned that from the visions, although I did not discover the particulars until we came to Hoghton Tower. Some of the visions provide only a feeling, in this case one of dread. As in a dream, when you know something awful is about to occur, but you are powerless to stop it.”