Her Last Assassin (21 page)

‘Your Majesty,’ one of the older players began, his beard grizzled, his head bent as he knelt briefly before the Queen and court, ‘I present the Earl of Pembroke’s Men, who will play for you a piece by Master William Shakespeare, one of our company. Our matter tonight is the first contention between the two famous houses of York and Lancaster, a popular piece which is otherwise known as the play of
Henry VI, Part the Second
. We pray the court lend us their ears a while, and may our humble entertainments bring delight to Your Majesty.’

His prologue having been discharged, the man rose, bowed very low, then disappeared behind the high curtained screens which served to create a tiring-room for players at the palace.

The Queen clapped for silence, and all eyes turned to the stage. Lucy had seen Will among the players, but not dared to meet his eye. To her right, leaning against the wall among the other noble courtiers, was Henry Wriothesley, the Earl of Southampton.

And he was watching her. Her and Shakespeare.

There would be no escape from his intent gaze for the next few hours while the play unfolded. The Queen had insisted on Lucy’s presence in the hall tonight, for she was due to sing during the mid-play interval, and to feign illness now would be to draw unwelcome attention to herself. So she looked woodenly ahead, and dug her nails into her gown, clutching compulsively at the heavy black velvet.

She had not meant to listen to the play, concentrating instead on not giving away her interest in Will. She had not seen him for so many months, it felt like half a lifetime since they had last spoken. Nor had she written to tell him what had passed between her and the Earl of Southampton, fearing the letter might be intercepted. Will must think her love for him had waned, and perhaps that was for the best. Yet even as Lucy schooled her expression to show no partiality for Shakespeare or his work, the action lured her in, the music of his language causing her to forget her troubles and lose herself instead in the terrible past strife between the great houses of York and Lancaster.

When Will acted his part, never once glancing her way but speaking all his lines to his fellow players, she ceased to know him as her lover but saw him as a nobleman fighting in the conflict. When the players bowed and left the stage, a little music from flute and drum signifying that the interval had begun, she had to shake herself awake, as though she had been lost in a dream.

While the music played, a line of servants marched into the hall bearing cups and flagons of sweetly scented mulled wine, and platters of dainty spiced morsels to tempt the Queen’s appetite.

‘Mistress Morgan, are you ready to sing for the Queen?’

Shocked, Lucy looked up into the sombre face of Lord Burghley. ‘Forgive me, my lord. I must have been daydreaming.’

He held out his hand and she took it, rising to her feet, still dazed by the play’s curious power.

‘I am to sing one of Master Morley’s songs of spring tonight,’ she announced. ‘Her Majesty the Queen has requested a song to shake away this winter’s cold.’

The Great Hall fell silent as she stood before the court, breathing deep and intending to sing unaccompanied by any musician or drummer. Lucy clasped her hands together and looked up at the Queen’s faery-like figure, magnificently regal in her bell-shaped gown of gold and silver, a vast angelic ruff stretching several feet up behind her head, the candlelight glittering on its silvered tips.

She felt oddly sick, she realized. Her heart was beating too fast, her belly knotted as though she faced some terrible trial.

She had sung hundreds of times at court. Tonight though, knowing that Will was among the players listening from behind the curtained screen, she was more nervous than ever.

Now is the month of maying,

When merry lads are playing, fa la,

Each with his bonny lass

Upon the greeny grass. Fa la.

The Spring, clad all in gladness
,

Doth laugh at Winter’s sadness, fa la,

And to the bagpipe’s sound

The nymphs tread out their ground. Fa la.

Fie then! why sit we musing,

Youth’s sweet delight refusing? Fa la.

Say, dainty nymphs, and speak.

Shall we play at barley-break? Fa la.

As her last note faded into the silence, Lucy allowed her gaze to slide sideways to the Earl of Southampton. She encountered such a hostile look from his narrowed eyes that she had difficulty not recoiling. Then the young nobleman turned abruptly and walked out of the hall.

Why did Southampton hate her so much? What had she ever done to the earl that he had forbidden her to see Will again?

His dislike was a mystery she could not unravel.

Henry Wriothesley was a dangerous man to have offended, for he was too young to have become politic yet and might at any moment tell the Queen her secret, or force some unhappy argument on her which might lead to her dismissal. She only prayed he would soon forget his enmity towards her. For if he continued in this hatred, her life at court would be difficult indeed.

Lucy knew what her friend Cathy would say. ‘Leave court and seek a new life with me in the country. If you feign a serious illness, the Queen will have to let you go, and I would go with you.’

Some days, she was almost tempted by that offer. Yet there was an emptiness inside her that was still unsatisfied, and she feared that life as a country widow was not the answer to such a void.

The steward came out at that moment and struck the floor three times with his staff of office, a signal for them to resume their seats. Lucy sank on to the floor beside the Queen again. She took advantage of the Earl of Southampton’s absence to look for Will among the players as the troupe filed out once more to bow before the Queen.

‘Approach us, Master Shakespeare,’ Queen Elizabeth declared loudly, summoning him to the dais.

Will removed his cap and came forward, his face intent, and dropped to his knees before her.

‘Sir, I find your play much to my taste. Only let there be more music in your next piece, and more comedy, for we have troubles enough in England without dwelling on those of others.’

‘It will be as you wish, Your Majesty,’ Will replied, bending his head respectfully.

Elizabeth dismissed him with a wave of her hand and Will rose, backing away, cap in hand. As he did so, Lucy saw his glance find her. She met his gaze, and for a few seconds it was as though a light had blinded her, her whole being dazzled by the intensity in his face. His dark eyes spoke to her across the hall, trapping the breath in her chest.

She stared, and could barely hear what the steward was saying as he called the last stragglers to their places.

Will was angry with her. He did not understand why she had not visited him, nor answered his many love letters.

Yet what other course had been open to her? She had acted to save both of them from disgrace.

She longed to slip away from the hall, to escape the brooding accusation in his face, but forced herself not to be foolish. She must sit still and watch the play, or risk dangerous comments. After all, the young earl was not the only one at court to suspect her relationship with Shakespeare; she had been seen with him in the past by some of the other ladies-in-waiting and their servants, though not for some time. But often enough for them to be curious if she were to leave the hall during this performance of his work.

Southampton sauntered back into the hall just as the first scene began, deliberately taking up a place nearer the Queen, a move which made her feel even more under threat.

Did the earl suspect she was still seeing Shakespeare outside the court? If so, he would be most unjust in his exposure of her past misdeeds, for she had followed his injunction to the letter.

As soon as the play had finished and the Queen had left the hall, a white and golden effigy accompanied stiffly to her bedchamber by servants with torches and her most favoured ladies in procession, Lucy attempted to escape out of the lower door. She heard his cry behind her and knew that Will had seen her leaving.

She must not speak with him, she thought suddenly. Nor risk any kind of physical contact which might be observed by the earl or his spies.

Desperate not to provoke Southampton into exposing their affair, she lifted her skirts and broke into a most undignified run. The low-vaulted cloister outside the hall was cold and unlit, the air chill where the passage was open to the weather.

Unsure which way to take, Lucy hesitated, then turned to the left. There was a small privy garden that way, she remembered, and in this dark she would soon lose him.

But she had bargained without William Shakespeare’s tenacity.

Will came upon her in the privy garden, turning her to face him in the frosty darkness. ‘Why have you not come to visit me in so long a time, Lucy Morgan?’ he demanded, staring at her. ‘Nor responded to the letters and poems I sent?’

His throat convulsed when she did not answer. His eyes filled with pain. ‘Have you taken another lover? Is that it?’ He seized her by the shoulders. ‘Speak, do not hide your shame but tell the truth. Are you warming another man’s bed these days?’

‘No, no!’

‘Thank God for that, at least!’

His mouth found hers, kissing her with such hunger she could barely breathe or stand, stumbling backwards until Will was pressing her against the rough stone wall.

‘I had meant to ignore you, to say nothing, to let you go. I have hurt my wife enough, it is a sin to keep pursuing you.’ His voice was hoarse, his mouth warm on her throat as he held her close. ‘In truth, I was happy when I returned to London after the summer, and still you did not come to see me. But when I saw you in the hall tonight …’

Will sounded almost wild, his hands clasping her by the waist, their bodies pressed together.

‘God help me, Lucy, I have struggled to remain true to Anne, but I cannot let you go. Not without speaking to you at least. Not without kissing you one last time.’

She did not need him to explain. She understood only too well the deep and irresistible connection between them, the tugging of two souls together while the world rebelled against such a forbidden union. And yet even love was not enough. Not to save them.

‘We cannot do this,’ she told him in a whisper, and put a finger to his lips. It was dark in the small palace garden, but they could still be overheard. ‘I should not even be here, it is so dangerous. I did not answer your letters because …’

‘What is it?’

She was worried by the look on his face. ‘Swear you will not take any dangerous action when I tell you.’

‘Lucy, for pity’s sake, tell me what has happened. I must return to my company soon before I am missed. Is this about Master Goodluck?’ His gaze searched hers intently. ‘I know that I have wounded you in the past, and do not deserve your trust as your guardian does, but I still love you deeply and would not for the world have you thinking ill of me. What have I done to incur your displeasure?’

She hesitated, looking over her shoulder. The place was dark and still. It seemed the revellers had all dispersed after the Queen had left, for the palace lay quiet, only the servants moving softly through the corridors, extinguishing the lamps.

‘It is not you, nor Master Goodluck, but the Earl of Southampton who keeps us apart.’

Lucy was uncertain whether she should be telling him about the young nobleman’s threats. But she could not bear the way Will had looked at her tonight, his cold anger so evident, believing she did not love him any more.

‘Lord Southampton came to me and laid our affair before me, saying he knew all and would take the matter to the Queen unless I agreed never to see you nor lie with you again.’

‘
What?
’

Lucy saw at once that Will was stunned. His hand had loosened about her waist, and she wriggled free of his grasp, moving away from the stone wall and carefully putting some distance between them. ‘That is why I have not answered your letters, Will, nor come to visit you at the theatre, for fear Lord Southampton would learn of it and tell the Queen. You know the penalties for adultery, and worse, for unchaste behaviour by one of her ladies.’

‘But how could Lord Southampton know of our love?’

‘Perhaps we were not as careful as we should have been.’

‘You must be mistaken.’

He was shaking his head. He did not believe her. He did not trust her enough. What could she do but repeat her story? Lucy could think of no other way to make him understand.

‘My love, I am not mistaken,’ she insisted gently. ‘His lordship the Earl of Southampton forbade me to see you again, on pain of discovery to the Queen, and I have only kept away from you out of compliance with his terms.’

She could see confusion in his face now, and a growing disbelief that made her despair. He tried to approach her but she shook her head, holding him at a distance.

He stood rooted then, fists clenched by his sides. ‘I tell you, Lucy, this is not possible. I do not doubt that his lordship spoke to you. But you have mistaken his meaning, that is the only explanation.’

When she took another step away from him, Will did not pursue her this time, but watched with cold eyes.

‘I spoke with the Earl of Southampton only a few days ago,’ he continued. ‘He is my patron. He was pleasant and friendly, as he always is. He even asked to hear my new poem. Why would he say one thing to you, and another to me? If our love offends him – and I cannot believe such a thing – then why would his lordship not have approached me about it himself?’