My mind was fuzzy, but I remembered that much. “He did not awake enough to drink anything,” I said, shielding my eyes from the morning light.
“The ice did its work, I see. The swelling has eased. I am surprised, mistress, that you knew of such a treatment.” He eyed me suspiciously. Probably thought I was a witch.
Bess gently grasped my arm. “Come now and rest, Mistress Olivia.” She half lifted me off the settle and pointed me toward my room. “I’ll help you wash and change.”
I nodded and glanced toward the bed where the doctor and his assistants were already undressing Stephen. One of the helpers was laying out rags and instruments, and—oh my God—knives. That could only mean one thing.
“Please do not bleed Stephen! He is weak already.”
“Do not worry yourself, my dear,” the doctor said. “ ‘A bleeding in spring is Physik for a King.’ You must allow me to decide how to balance this young man’s humors.”
Near the bed, an assistant stood holding the bowl for catching the blood. The physician thumbed the knife’s edge, which probably hadn’t been washed after the last bleeding, let alone sterilized. I stood silently as he lifted Stephen’s arm and looked for a vein. And then I screamed. “No!”
“Remove that young lady!” the doctor shouted.
Damn them! They’ll probably kill him. Two of the assistants grabbed my arms and unceremoniously escorted me next door, Bess on their heels.
“Mistress,” one of them said as he led me to my bed. As soon as they left, the floodgates opened.
“Oh, poor thing!” Bess said. She held me while I sobbed for Stephen, for Alexander, who must be locked up in some dank cell, and, okay, for my pathetic and weak self.
“There, now, mistress. You had a hard time of it last night, you and your poor brother. That wicked sheriff! Lord knows what’s happened to the master. But the doctor will look after Master Stephen.”
Right. He’ll probably bleed to death, or catch some terrible infection from the filthy knife. And there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.
Bess helped me wash and change into fresh clothing. “You can rest now, Mistress Olivia. Or I can bring you something to eat and drink.”
“Nay, I do not wish to rest, and I’m not hungry. I want to see my brother.”
I pushed past her into Stephen’s room as the doctor and his entourage streamed out toward the stairs.
“Sir!” I cried. The doctor turned and gave me a snooty look.
“May I sit with my brother?”
“He is not to be disturbed, mistress.”
I couldn’t help it. My eyes filled with tears.
His expression softened. “Do not fret yourself, child. I believe he will make a full recovery.”
“Thank you!” I said, even though I believed it would be in spite of, not because of, the doctor’s care.
Bess led me away. Back in my room, a young servant girl was setting a tray by the settle, in front of the fireplace.
“I thought you might change your mind about eating, mistress,” Bess said.
I was hungry, I realized. So I ate the pottage and drank some of the ale. Afterward, my stomach comfortably full, I stretched out on the bed intending to sleep. But something—someone, actually—was on my mind. Stephen. He’d been incredibly brave, taking all those blows without once begging for mercy or revealing anything. And it wasn’t even to protect Shakespeare; it was all for Thomas Cook.
I rolled onto my side, closed my eyes, and pictured Stephen’s face, pre-beating. Hazel eyes shadowed by dark brows. Brown hair curling at his neck. His overlapping tooth, which somehow made him even more attractive. In my mind I traced the contour of his face with my finger, beginning at his jaw. Up over his cheekbone … no, wait, how about over his lips and … Oh, God, get a grip, Olivia!
This was not supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to fall for Stephen, but the truth was, I’d felt it coming on for days. I’d known him for three months at home; had acted with him, seen him every day. I had felt nothing for him during that whole time, except a vague curiosity and the certain affinity actors develop for each other during a play. So what had happened?
I’d become a part of his world, his time. I’d been thrown together with him, and he’d turned out to be charming, handsome, and mysterious. It wasn’t those qualities alone, though, that had tipped me over the edge. His personality combined an often maddening mix of cockiness, vulnerability, and kindness. He could be endearing; he could be infuriating. He was sweetly protective of me. Sometimes he seemed like a tortured soul I wanted to wrap my arms around and heal.
Not that I wasn’t captivated by Will’s personality—his lovable nature, his flirtatiousness. And the totally heart-stopping idea that I, Miranda Graham, had been privileged enough to make the acquaintance of the most renowned playwright the world would ever know. I had a connection to Will because of what he would become. He wasn’t there yet, of course, and I wouldn’t have been able to explain it to him if I tried.
Kissing Shakespeare had been sweet, no denying that. But the thought of kissing Stephen left me breathless. As exciting as that prospect was, in a few weeks’ time, I’d no longer be a part of his world. Once I was back in Boston, I’d never see him again. So what was the point of getting all worked up over him?
Was it possible that he felt the same way about me? Of course he didn’t. He’d brought me here to do a job for him; that was all. I had to get my feelings for him under control. At home, I rarely allowed boys to get close. There was no time for it. Always, I’d devoted myself to acting and school, so I could get into Yale. And frenetic runs around Boston, just to ease the tension. I’d had crushes on guys, of course, and a few nonserious boyfriends, but a real relationship had never been on my radar. Now, for the first time, I was experiencing a dizzy, floating giddiness. All because of Stephen. I could keep my feelings for him at bay, just as I’d done with most of the guys who’d ever shown an interest in me. And I reminded myself that I had to. I didn’t have a choice, really, because I’d be leaving.
After a while, sleep claimed me. I dreamed someone was chasing me, calling my name. I was running so fast, my body seemed weightless. My hair fluttered out behind me. I wasn’t scared; I knew it was a game of some kind. When I turned to see who my pursuer was, I fell right into Stephen’s arms.
I woke up reluctantly. Not wanting the dream to end, I burrowed into my bed until reality sank in. Stephen had been beaten up, and instead of mooning over him, I should be finding out how he was doing. I called out for Bess. My hair needed some serious work.
After Bess repaired my hair, I tiptoed over to Stephen’s chamber. I didn’t see any change in him at all. Eyes still closed, face heavily bruised, already beginning to scab over in some places. What did I expect? The sheriff’s men had used him as a punching bag.
I lowered myself onto the settle and thought I should probably try talking to him. Hearing my voice might rouse him. “Well, Stephen,” I began. It felt so awkward, speaking to someone who was unconscious, but I pressed on. “I’m sorry the sheriff beat you up because I didn’t give him the answers he wanted. Please forgive me—I was crazy with fear by the end. I know you probably can’t hear me—”
“Olivia.” His voice was weak, but perfectly clear.
I flew to the edge of the bed. “You’re awake! I was so worried.”
“The doctor pronounced me curable, so you need not worry. And how are you, sweeting?”
I looked more closely at his face. Maybe his eyes weren’t focusing properly. Did he think I was someone else? The mysterious Mary, perhaps?
“Stephen, it’s me, Olivia. Are you okay?”
He smiled, and then grimaced. “I know who you are. I heard what you said to the sheriff, so I thought perhaps you would allow me an endearment.”
What was he talking about? Did he have a head injury? “I don’t understand.”
He snorted and then groaned. “Do not make me laugh, pray. ’Tis painful. You told the sher
iff you loved me. Do you not remember?”
My face turned hot, especially given my newly awakened feelings, and I tried to recall exactly what I’d said to the sheriff. “I did not! I said I cared for you. And that was as your sister!” I hoped I didn’t look as rattled as I felt.
“ ‘Cared deeply.’ That is what you said. ‘Cared deeply,’ ” he whispered softly.
I didn’t want to argue with him. Maybe he was delirious or something. “Whatever.”
“I think they might have beat me to death—”
“Really? Maybe I should have let them.”
“—were it not for your insistence that I am a stubborn man. I think after that they gave up.”
“Because you give new meaning to ‘stubborn.’ And nothing I said made much of an impression anyway. If they’d wanted to kill you, they would have. We’ve seen what they’re capable of.”
Stephen closed his eyes briefly before he said more. When he opened them again, he looked up at me. “You were very brave, Olivia.”
“You’re wrong. I cried and whimpered and begged them to stop hurting you.”
“But you told them nothing. I am proud of you.”
“Why’d you do it, Stephen? Why didn’t you tell them what they wanted to know?”
“And betray Thomas? My uncle will be locked up for a few days, pay his fines, and be sent home. Thomas, I fear, would have a much different end. Would you want him to suffer like that poor priest they burned in Preston?”
“Of course not! Maybe they would have deported him, or thrown him in jail, and he could have come home with your uncle. It’s just … well, we want to get rid of him, don’t we?”
“Deported him? He may have spent time elsewhere, but he’s an Englishman! Do not be so naïve, Olivia. We will find another way. We have another way, if only we could set it in motion.” Despite his bruises, he managed to send me an evil look.
I sighed. “I’m working on it. I’ll let you know when I have something to report.” He probably thought I was making it up to appease him. “I’ve been worrying about the sheriff asking us about Will. Do you think he has some reason for going after him?”
“His family are known Catholics, but so are many others.”
“That last conversation I overheard between Will and Thomas—I forgot to tell you one part of it. Now it seems maybe it’s important.”
“Pray do not keep me in suspense,” Stephen said with a slight groan.
“Sorry.” I related what Thomas had said about Will’s father making his “spiritual testament.” “Do you know what that is? Will said he came north with the priest who witnessed it.”
“I’ve heard a rumor that some of the Jesuits have been traveling around, holding covert meetings and urging people to sign a document promising loyalty to the Catholic Church. ’Tis possible Shakespeare’s father signed such a thing.”
“And could something like that make the situation more dangerous for Will and his family than for other Catholics?”
“I know not, but ’tis all the more reason to move things along.”
“I was thinking maybe the sheriff knows about Mr.—Master—Shakespeare signing the spiritual testament. That could explain his interest in Will.”
“It is of no great import. A Jesuit about is a far greater threat.”
“Shh. Someone’s coming,” I said.
Thomas Cook entered the room, with Will close behind. “Mistress Olivia,” Thomas said. “Is he—”
“I shall be fine,” Stephen broke in. “I do not feel so bad as I must appear.” Thomas strode over to the bed.
“Please, be seated,” I said, rising and gesturing toward the settle.
Thomas shook his head, so I reclaimed my seat. “Master Langford, how can I ever thank you for what you did? You saved me, so that I might continue God’s work. I am most grateful, sir.”
“You would have done the same were our positions reversed.” Stephen glanced at me. “Olivia did her part as well. She bore the sheriff’s bullying bravely and never gave in, though he questioned her harshly.”
Master Cook turned to me. “If that is the case, I owe both of you my gratitude.”
Stephen spoke to Will. “How did you fare in your session with the sheriff’s men? Were you hurt?”
Will stepped closer to us and shook his head. “In truth, the man who questioned Jennet and me seemed quite disinterested in the whole matter. Especially after Jennet told him she was a Protestant, and her father a minister. Soon afterward, our interrogator was called away and we were told to stay put.”
He was “called away” to help beat Stephen to a bloody pulp.
“Neither Fulke nor his father was harmed. ’Twas the two of you who suffered the brunt of the sheriff’s wrath,” Thomas said. “And Master Hoghton, of course.”
“Master Cook, may I ask a favor of you?” Stephen said, trying to sit up. He made it about halfway.
“Anything,” Thomas answered.
“My aunt. We must summon her home. Would you speak to the steward?”
Will caught my eye and motioned to me while they were talking. Taking my hand, he led me toward the passage. He leaned so close to me I could feel his breath on my cheek. “I am sorry for your brother, but I am most happy that the sheriff and his men did not harm you, sweet Olivia.” He pressed my hand before releasing it.
Hmm. I wished Stephen could have overheard that little exchange. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so hard on me.
When I overheard Thomas talking about death, my head snapped around and I walked back to the bed.
His face sober, he removed his cap and sighed from deep within. “I am prepared to die, expect to die in this great cause. But I do not believe the time is right. There is more work to be done.”
I was horrified. “How will you know when it is the right time? In truth, ’tis never the right time to submit yourself to … to arrest and torture, in my opinion, that is.” Shut up, Olivia. You’re babbling like an idiot.
They all stared at me like I was some clueless girl. Which I was.
“I know it is coming,” Thomas said. “Yet I do not care to leave this life until I am confident the true church is restored in England.”
“Thomas, you have traveled about and given people the courage to practice their true faith again. Do you wish to continue in this way?” Stephen asked.
The passion so often reflected in Thomas’s expressions leaped out at us, and I heard it in his voice too. “I want to save the queen herself,” he said. “And her privy councilors. Her court. I want them to see the error of their ways and return to the old faith!”
Will and I looked at each other and I lifted my brows. He compressed his lips, a worried expression crossing his face.
“Sir, how can you possibly bring about such a thing?” Stephen asked.
“I have asked him that very question,” Will said.
Thomas smiled ruefully. “I cannot say now. But you will know, you will all know, in good time.”
“Maybe ’tis time for you to leave Hoghton Tower, go on to another home that is not under suspicion. You would be safer,” Stephen said.
Thomas raked a hand through his hair. “God bless you, but I cannot leave. Although I know I would be welcome in many places, I have need of the library here.” He put his hat on and bowed. “Now we must leave you to your rest. Thank you both again for what you did. I shall pray for you.”
When their footsteps had faded away, I looked at Stephen and said, “Nice try.”
He smiled, but his face looked haggard. “If only Thomas would leave here. That would be the simplest way of preventing his influence over Shakespeare.”
“Did you notice how Will looks at him? You can tell he’s worried about Thomas’s agenda. It’s almost as if he feels it’s his duty to protect him.”
“Which means the threat to Shakespeare is double edged. Even if he decides against taking his vows, he may feel some moral obligation to safeguard Cook’s life.”
I sank onto t
he settle. “As if we didn’t have enough to worry about.” An idea struck me. “Stephen, have you ever thought maybe Thomas is writing something? Why else would he need the library?”
He looked at me, considering what I’d said. “You may be right. Something to persuade the queen.”
“He’s determined to stay until he’s completed his work, whatever it is.”
Stephen’s eyelids were drooping. We’d been talking for far too long, and he must be exhausted.
I rose. “Before I go, please drink some of Jennet’s concoction. She asked me to insist.”
“Aye, ’twould probably do me good.”
I helped him sit up. He clung to me while I put the cup to his mouth, and drank all of it in one gulp. “God’s breath, that was vile!”
I laughed. “I’m sure it will have you feeling better in no time.” I set the cup down and turned to leave, but felt Stephen’s touch on my arm.
“Stay with me until I fall asleep. It should take only a minute or two.”
I sank back onto the settle. “May I ask you one question?”
“Go ahead. I know I could not stop you.”
I was pretty sure that wasn’t a compliment. I sneaked a look around to make sure we were alone and lowered my voice to a whisper. “The visions … Couldn’t you have foreseen what was going to happen with the sheriff and prevented it?”
“It does not work that way. I cannot summon them at will.”
“Have you ever tried?”
“Olivia, since I have no wish to see the future, I have not tried.” He shifted and moaned, and I could see I was upsetting him with my questions. “Go.” He gestured weakly toward the door. “If you persist in tormenting me, I shall do without your company.”
“I’m sorry.” I reached down and touched his cheek where the worst of the bruising was. “Does this hurt?”
“Not there. Here.” He slid my hand slowly under the coverlet, placing it over his ribs. So close to his heart, I could feel its life-affirming, steady beat. “That’s where Simon kicked you,” I said, not moving my hand.
“Mmm.” He was drifting off. Reluctantly, I slipped my hand away and dropped back onto the settle, where I remained until Stephen’s breathing became measured and even. And until my heartbeat slowed to its normal rate.
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