Love Disguised (18 page)

Nothing.

He flung the shoes down in disgust. What a disappointing ending to the scene of his revenge!

“Can I have my boots back?” said Davy. “They cost me ten shillings.”

Will picked up Davy's boots and Peter's shoes and tucked them under his arm. He would let the foul thieves walk home on bare feet.

“Aren't you going to shoot us now?” said Davy with a sneer.

Will considered his pistol. He did not trust the thing. He put in in his belt, making sure the barrel was pointed away from his body.

“I gladly would, but I purpose to get my twenty crowns from you yet,” he said, turning to leave and finding his way blocked.

“My cart is broken.” The carter had resumed his grip on the deadly shovel.

“'Tis not my fault, sirrah,” said Will. “Let me pass.”

The carter stood his ground like a brick wall. The sight of the money had made him bold.

“'Twas that knave's doing and he owes me.” The carter nodded his head toward Davy without taking his eyes from Will. “But you took his money. So now
you
owe me.”

Will could not argue with his logic. But he was not about to relinquish his hard-won five crowns. “Then sue me, varlet,” he said, slipping to the side in order to escape.

The carter was quicker than Will expected. He grabbed Will by the jerkin and hoisted him off the ground. His hot breath, fouler than the stench of his dung, assaulted Will's nose. He imagined himself lying in the street with dogs gnawing his limbs. His fingers found the coins in his pocket and he dropped them to the ground. They fell into the powder-blackened hole.

The moment his feet touched the ground, Will ran. Penniless again, he clutched two shoes and a pair of boots with broken heels.

Meg's pockets were heavy with riches. But she was sore at Will, for he had not stayed to witness her triumph over Roger Ruffneck and his lawyer. She wanted to find him but her task here was not yet finished.

She left Roger and the lawyer berating each other in the cloisters and called, “Jane Ruffneck, where are you?” until she saw the short woman hurrying away. Meg quickly caught up with her.

“Don't be afraid of me,” Meg said. “I am Mack de Galle and I want to help you.”

She gave Meg a wary look. Her face was lined with suffering. “You are that fellow Roger hates. He calls you a monster and a womanish man.” She tipped her head toward Meg. “What he calls me is much worse. I thank you for knocking him to the ground. The dirt is where he deserves to lie. Now, good day.”

“Wait,” said Meg. “Where will you go?”

“Why, to fetch my child and then to the poorhouse.” She stepped around Meg.

“Why do you avoid me?”

“Because if my husband-no-more sees us talking, he will believe that I put you up to beating him, and I shall suffer further at his hand.”

“Alack, do my good intentions already go awry?” said Meg. She showed Jane her bulging pockets. “I took from him the riches that are rightfully yours. But if I give them to you here, you will become a victim again, for this churchyard is thick with thieves.”

“Why have you done this for me? This is not your quarrel,” said Jane. She seemed moved.

Meg permitted no one to see the dark place within her where suffering dwelt and from which her hatred of injustice issued. “Trust me, it is,” she said quietly.

“I shall trust you,” said Jane, her eyes filling with tears. “For Roger's enemy must be my friend.”

“For your safety, you and the child must come with me to the Boar's Head Inn.”

Jane nodded and led Meg to her house, where they collected little Ned, who was about seven years old, and a bundle of their belongings, making haste to avoid Roger's return.

As they neared the Boar's Head Meg began to sweat. Her disguise was again the difficulty. She paused, took out Roger's purse, and handed it to Jane.

“Other business summons me now, Mistress Ruffneck, but you shall be welcomed at the inn by my sister, Long Meg.” She lowered her voice and said in a serious tone, “Do not speak of me to the host or his wife or any of the guests, lest one of them betray me to your husband's minions.”

“You would leave me already?” said Jane sadly.

“I shall be watching this place. You will be safe here,” Meg assured her. “Now, farewell.”

Meg retraced her steps and approached the inn via the alley. Gwin blocked the way, squabbling with a boy over the purchase of some eggs. So Meg ran toward a leaky and unused part of the stable where she had hidden spare clothing beneath the straw. She tore off Mack's clothes, jumped into her skirt, and fumbled with the laces on her bodice. With her sleeve and some spittle she wiped the sooty beard from her face and dashed toward the kitchen door, nearly colliding with Gwin in the entryway.

“Meg, where have you been all day?” She frowned and batted at Meg's skirt. “There's hay stuck to you.”

“In the barn. I confess I was shirking but now I shall work doubly hard,” she said, not waiting for further rebuke.

In the public room Violetta was serving Jane and the boy, whose face was buried in a bowl of milk. Meg entered carrying a broom and pretended not to notice them.

Jane jumped to her feet. “Are you Long Meg? You look remarkably like your brother!” Her eyebrows shot up and she clapped a hand over her mouth.

Behind Jane, Violetta was tapping her head with her fingertips like a ninny.

“Did he send you here for lodging?” Meg asked, shifting from Mack's manner to her own.

“Of course. You know that.” Jane stared at Meg with a strange expression.

“Mother,” said the milk-lipped Ned, “why is she wearing that hat?”

Meg drew in her breath. Her hands flew to her head. She
felt Mack's cap still fitted there, hiding her golden hair—and baring her careful disguise.

“Drat!” she said, tearing off the cap. Her hair tumbled about her shoulders. “Will's not here, is he?” she whispered.

Violetta shook her head.

“Why, you are not a man at all!” Jane said in wonder.

“That's true.” Meg sighed. “I am sorry for deceiving you.”

“Don't be sorry. By my troth, I am glad that it was a
woman
who vanquished my husband,” said Jane. “If only I had your courage!” She seized Meg's hands. “Why, I was half in love with Mack for coming to my rescue. And now my admiration deepens, for my champion is one of my own sex!”

Pleased by the praise but afraid Will would walk in at any moment, Meg said, “Hush and keep my secret, please, for if it is known that I am Mack—” She broke off, no longer certain of the consequences. Instead of being appalled, Jane was delighted. How might Will react if he learned Mack's true identity?

“Then your deeds would be all the more celebrated,” said Jane, finishing Meg's sentence.

“What deeds?” Violetta asked Meg.

“Never mind, Violetta. Take Mistress Ruffneck and her son to a room.”

Violetta stamped her foot. “What did Mack do today? I think it was
not
wooing Will Shakespeare on my behalf.”

“Peace, I pray you!” said Meg. She saw that Violetta was like a squib about to explode in a shower of sparks. Meg picked up the bundles herself and led Jane and her son upstairs.

Violetta's petulant voice followed her. “Does Will worship you like she does? Does he find Mack so remarkable?”

“Save me from ever having such jealous thoughts,” Meg said under her breath.

When she went downstairs again, Will had returned and was regaling Overby, Violetta, and some customers with a riotous tale involving a brute with a shovel and his cartload of dung. On the table, instead of his usual notebook and papers, rested a pair of shoes and two ragged, broken-heeled boots. Davy Dapper's boots.

Meg drew closer to listen and deduced that Will had caught up with Davy and Peter but recovered none of his money. He was hiding his disappointment well.

“That's a merry tale, Will. Save it for a play,” said Overby. He pretended good cheer but Meg could see he was vexed. “I must have another one soon or it
boots me not
to let you stay here longer.” He picked up the dirty footwear and dropped it to the floor.

“A good pun, Overby. I shall make use of it in
Cleopatra
,” said Will. “It is a heroical romance with scenes of battle to please the men and tragic lovers to make the women weep. I am almost finished with it.”

“A comical tale will profit me more, for laughter disposes men to celebrate with drink.”

“There shall be a clown in it,” said Will, eager to please Overby. “I will have him chased by a crocodile.”

“Do not forget that I must be the king again,” said Overby.

“Certainly you shall play the noble Caesar and wear a gilded robe,” said Will.

Thus satisfied, Overby returned to his tap, dispensing
brew with his chin in the air. Will's listeners drifted away and Meg sat down. She could see his merry mood had departed.

“What shall you do now?” she asked. She knew that he had put aside his new play in order to prepare for his day in court.

“To satisfy Overby I must have a rehearsal,” said Will. “Come, Cleopatra, 'tis time to learn your part!”

Violetta clapped her hands. “Another play! A new audience every night.”

“That's not what I meant,” said Meg to Will. “The fifteenth is less than a week away.”

Will ignored her. Apparently he did not want to be reminded of the doomsday.

“Violetta, you are stagestruck,” he said. “I'll go and fetch your part.”

“Rather I'd say you are Will-struck,” said Meg when Will had gone. She was irritated with both of them. “Why do you want an audience to behold your display of love? What if Thomas Valentine happens to see you on the stage?”

“You think you know my heart?” said Violetta, sticking out her lower lip. “No one here knows me or what I wish for.”

“I know you think that being a servant debases you, yet you are clamoring to be an actor, someone who is even more reviled.”

Meg had provided just the spark to kindle Violetta's dry tinder.

“You call
me
debased and reviled? You mannish creature not content with being a woman!” She lunged toward Meg.

“Hold off, you mincing dwarf!” said Meg, taking Violetta's hands and forcing her to sit. “You know I disguise myself to help Will Shakespeare avenge those who robbed him.”

“I thought it was to win his love for me!”

Meg was taken aback. “I
did
praise you to him. Now in spite of my efforts, you will caper about as Cleopatra and woo him yourself.”

“Why, I think you are jealous,” said Violetta with slow amazement. “You want to be seen on the stage and not be hidden in a wall. Or under a doublet! Are
you
in love with Will?”

“In love with Will?” Meg echoed. It was a question she could not answer. She knew that what she felt for Will Shakespeare hardly resembled Violetta's fiery passion. “Will and I are friends. That is, Will and
Mack
are friends. How should I know love anyway?” She tried to laugh but the sound came out as a croak. “Is madness the certain sign of it? Being hot then cold, hopeful then despairing?”

“Yes! For that is precisely what I feel,” said Violetta.

“I think you love yourself more than you do Will,” said Meg, exasperated. “In a few days' time he will face a judge over a debt he cannot pay. Help me turn his attention to that more serious matter.”

Violetta drew back. “A man's money and his debts are no concern of mine. Will has asked me to be in his play. That is all of
my
business. And you are trying to keep me from it!”

Meg sighed. It was no use appealing to Violetta's nobler feelings. “I was trying to protect you. If you are recognized on the stage, you could be arrested and greatly shamed.”

“
You
should worry about being arrested,” retorted Violetta. “How many men have you attacked lately? What do you do when you go out as Mack? And what shall I do if a constable comes to arrest you?”

“Tell him Long Meg will bastinado his brains if he does not leave at once.”

Violetta's eyes filled with tears. “That's no matter for mirth.”

Oh no
, thought Meg,
there she goes again, weeping like a fountain
. “Save it for the stage; Cleopatra sheds many tears before she dies. Now I am going to bed.”

It had never occurred to Meg that Violetta was worried on her behalf as Meg was worried on Will's behalf. Was that concern the same as love? If so, how could Violetta claim to love Will and not care about the consequences should his performance in court prove a failure?

Will's head ached. His brain felt like a tennis ball bandied back and forth. Duty called him to finish the lawyer's part for Mack. Desire called him to finish his Cleopatra play. Mark Antony himself was never so divided. Now Overby was demanding a play and Will hoped a rehearsal would placate him. For if he were evicted from the Boar's Head, he would be a vagrant with no means of earning a living. Whereas if his Cleopatra play and the ones after it were successful, he could easily repay Burbage. But he was more likely to end up in the clink first, unless he finished those legal writs and Mack recited them ably before the judge.