Love Disguised (21 page)

“I'll have the entire ten pounds now,” William Burbage barked.

“I am all but penniless,” Will said in a low voice.

“Then I'll see you at Westminster and to prison after.”

Will summoned all his courage and said with a bravado he scarcely felt, “My lawyer has grounds on which to challenge the debt. He shall present a witness and ask the judge to void the prior judgment. You shall get nothing.” Will was pleased with this hasty invention but it only enraged William Burbage.

“I'll smoke your skin, Will Shakespeare. Roast your ribs for every farthing your miserable father owes me,” he said, advancing toward Will.

James Burbage stepped in front of his brother and said, “Go home; you're soused.”

“Let's away, Mistress Meg,” said Will. “All is lost. 'Tis time for me to fall on my sword like a good Roman.”

“Wait! Will you savor humiliation or turn it to victory?” said Meg, seizing his sleeve. She turned to James Burbage and intoned,
“O the crown of the earth does melt, and there is nothing left remarkable beneath the visiting moon.”

Will stared at her in stark surprise. Meg drew a deep breath and went on.

“Good sirs, take heart
,

We'll bury Antonio, and then what's brave
,

what's noble
,

Let's do it after the high Roman fashion
,

And make death proud to take us. Come away
,

This case of his huge spirit now is cold.”

One of the players began to applaud. Will swelled with pride.

“What is that speech?” said James Burbage, looking at Meg in amazement.

Meg nodded toward Will.

“Queen Cleopatra beholding the deceased Mark Antony,” said Will. It was no surprise to him that Meg had committed Cleopatra's entire speech to memory. But what moved her to speak it now?

Meg nodded toward the player. “You should hear Will Shakespeare as the Roman general. His dying would move a stone to weep.”

“Is that Kyd's work?” asked James Burbage. “The tragedian Thomas Kyd,” he explained, seeing Will's blank expression.

Will drew himself up to his full height. “No, it is mine. You would honor me by attending its performance at the Boar's Head in Whitechapel.”

“Now hear Cleopatra as Antony is borne away,” said Meg, and her clear voice rang out again. “
Come, we have no friend but resolution and the briefest end.”

Meg beckoned to Will and with long strides swept across the backstage. She was a galleon sailing through the waves! Will bowed, exulting in Burbage's astonished expression. He turned to follow Meg, a proud Mark Antony trailing after his brave and beautiful queen of Egypt.

Meg soaked up Will's praise like a flower garden soaks up rain.

“Oh, that was brave! Well spoken in the spirit of Cleopatra herself. What made you do it?”

They were walking back toward London, warmed by the bright October sun and a sense of triumph.

“When you spoke of dying on your sword, Cleopatra's speech naturally came to mind. I've heard Violetta practice it a hundred times.” She rolled her eyes, because Violetta still did not have it memorized. “I thought if Burbage knew of your genius he might help in the matter of the debt.”

But Will did not want to talk about the debt.

“He was impressed. He compared me to Thomas Kyd, who must be a great playwright.”

“Do you think he will come to the Boar's Head?” asked Meg.

“We must be prepared for it. The performance must shine.” Will paused and scratched his head. “What am I going to do about Violetta? She was a passionate Thisbe, but her fire is all turned to ice as Cleopatra.”

Meg shrugged. “I think she is cold because you spurn all her advances. She believes you do not love her.”

“She is right,” Will said. “Though she is pretty, her wit is too slight for my liking.”

“It is good news for me that there are men who prefer cleverness to beauty,” Meg said lightly. She fingered the ribbon in her hair. It was making her downright flirtatious. She must be more serious. Will's situation was dire.

“Can you at least pretend to like her? Pick up the honeyed looks she sends you and return them.” She was not in favor of more deceit, but she wanted Will's play to succeed.

Will marched his fingers up her arm and said playfully, “This fruit is nearer. I would rather pluck it.”

His touch pleasantly tickled her. But she swiped his hand away. “Off, you bug. What do you mean, going after my fruit?”

Will put up his hands. “Don't be angry, sweet. I mean
you
must be my Cleopatra.”

“Me?” Meg trilled. She was too stunned to say more.
He calls me sweet!

“Did you see how moved James Burbage was by your speech?”

“I think he was merely astonished to see a woman declaiming in verse.” Why not play Cleopatra? She knew all the lines. She loved the words. If Violetta could play Thisbe, why couldn't Meg play a queen?

“How can I feign love for Mark Antony?” she said, thinking aloud.

“I wish you did not need to feign it.” Will sounded hurt.

Meg glanced at him. Was he serious? His eyes twinkled as he smiled. It was time to end this uncertain conversation.

“You're flattering yourself, which is only worse than flattering me,” she said. “Now forget Cleopatra and James Burbage. It is William Burbage who must concern you. How many days until you meet him in court?” Meg knew the answer but she wanted Will to acknowledge how short the time was.

Will sighed and pressed his forehead. “Three days.”

“Three days,” Meg repeated. “If you are not worried, I'm sure my brother is. Does he know about this new witness? Have you prepared him, or must he extemporize before the judge like a player without any lines?”

“If his wits are as quick as yours, he will learn his part on the way to Westminster,” said Will. His eyes widened. “Though perhaps
you
would be a better advocate.”

“What judge would listen to a woman?” said Meg, striving to keep an even tone. “Nay, your best chance is to trust my brother.”

“A woman cannot be a lawyer,” agreed Will. “So disguise yourself as a man. You could easily do so!” He sounded gleeful.

Meg's head began to spin. Did Will already know about her disguise? She struggled to remain calm.

“I would not risk it for love or money,” she said firmly. She pulled ahead of Will with a few long strides. Now he could not see her face and divine her worried thoughts.
If I can memorize Cleopatra's speech, surely I can learn a few Latin phrases. If I can move Burbage to amazement, why shouldn't I be able to move a judge to mercy?

Meg arrived at the Boar's Head just steps ahead of Will to find a tempest breaking within.

“You went to that mad, wicked playhouse, leaving me undefended. When he came in Bandog crawled under the
table and didn't even bark. I could have been killed!” Gwin's voice was tremulous, her mouth a wide
O
framing her teeth. Her hands tore at the edges of her apron.

“Your wits are all a-jangle, woman. I see nothing out of order here,” Overby said.

“There he is, the cause of it all!” said Gwin, pointing to Will. She rushed over and gripped Meg's arms. “O Meg, I had such need of you! He was the most vile-looking fellow, with a broken face and a great pistol in his belt.”

“Did he hurt you?” asked Meg. “I will find him and triple the injury.”

“What did he want?” said Overby. “Did you know him?”

“No, I never saw him before. He said, ‘Give up Mack that lives here.' I would have given him anyone he asked for, but I don't know any Mack.” She trembled at the recollection. “I had to swear it by the body of my poor dead mother.”

Cold fingers crept down Meg's back. Who was seeking Mack at the Boar's Head, unless they knew of her disguise? Meg remembered Roger Ruffneck's threat.
I know who you are, Mack. You can't hide from us
.

“He came to the wrong inn. He won't be back,” said Overby, trying to sound tough.

Meg was not so sure. She asked Jane Ruffneck, who was helping Violetta serve customers, if she had seen the man. Jane nodded but said he was no one she recognized. So Gwin's unwelcome visitor was not Roger or Peter or Davy. Besides them, whom had Meg offended? Or rather, Mack? She could think of no one who could be so determined to find her. Yet, being prudent, she decided to take measures to protect herself.

“This has gone too far, Meg,” said Violetta, watching Meg
strap a small dagger to her lower leg, where she could reach it at any time. They were preparing for bed. “What has Mack done that someone seeks to harm you? Does it have to do with Jane and her son being here?”

“I do not know,” said Meg honestly. “And we need not worry. He is looking for a man, not for Long Meg.”

“But that puts you in danger every time you go out as Mack!” Violetta was now truly distressed. “You must forgo wooing Will on my behalf. That foolish disguise has no effect anyway.”

Meg winced, for Violetta had struck the nerve of her own doubts. What
was
the point of her disguise? As Mack she had done nothing to help Will catch Davy and Peter. As Meg, however, she had helped bring his verses to James Burbage's attention. Why persist in being Mack if she could aid and befriend Will as Meg? Did she dare admit that her disguise, which at first had granted her freedom, was now a burden? Yet to reveal her deceit would put Meg in the same company as the two sisters who had betrayed Will. To what a difficult pass had matters come when to be honest would destroy her friendship with Will! Rather, two friendships: Meg's and Mack's.

“Then woo Will Shakespeare yourself!” Meg snapped. “Forget what is proper for a lady and what is not.”

With tear-filled eyes Violetta implored her. “Oh friend, dear Meg, could I but unfold the contents of my heart to you—”

“You do. I wish you would stop,” said Meg.

But Violetta went on. “Can true feeling be rekindled in this undeserving servant? Can something lost be restored by wishing?”

“What do you mean?” A brief, sad thought of her mother passed through Meg's mind.

“I don't know.” Violetta shook her head and the tears spilled over. “I'm asking you.”

“Honestly, Violetta, how should Will or any man understand our sex? For I am a woman like you, yet you present an unfathomable mystery to me.”

Through her sobs Violetta managed to say, “No, they understand us better than you think.”

In the churchyard of St. Botolph, one gravestone stood for the judge and another for the plaintiff as Will instructed Mack in the proceedings of a courtroom. All Will's knowledge was gleaned from the lawyer's manual he had taken from Thomas Greene.

“Look at the writs in your hand before you speak. Gesture thus as you deny the basis of the judgment,” he advised.

Mack easily grasped the arguments Will had written, but he struggled when it came to learning the Latin phrases meant to buttress them.

Will repeated them again and again. “
Non est factum
. It is not his deed.
Debita sequuntur personam debitoria
. Debts follow the person of the debtor.”

Mack threw up his hands. “Take your nonfacts, your debits and debitors, your sequent persons, and hang them all on Tower Hill!”

Will burst out laughing. “I must remember that line for a play. You shall join my players and perform it.”

“You forget I am barred from the Boar's Head,” said Mack.

“I can persuade Overby to overlook your old slight to his wife. He is ambitious to compete with the new playhouses. Say you will consider it.”

Mack's reply came slowly. “Once the case is settled and everything else is sorted out, perhaps.”

It was not a refusal. Encouraged, Will said, “You are even fair enough for the woman's part. Speak with a trill for me.”

“No!” Mack smacked the writs against the stones. “I'll take my leave of you right now if you do not heed this grave matter.”

“O excellent pun!” Will suppressed a laugh, for he was afraid of Mack's threat.

The fifteenth of October dawned with auspicious sunshine, but Will arose with a cloud of foreboding over his head. It followed him darkly as he dressed and ate a breakfast of cold mutton. He still had not found in the handbook any cause for a counterclaim. He must depend on the judge's mercy, which in turn depended upon Mack's powers of persuasion. Then again, he reflected, probably Burbage could afford to purchase whatever outcome he desired.

Will's dire meditations were interrupted by the sight of his friend waiting for him at the Cornhill, where they had first met only weeks before.

“Good day, Matthew Mandamus!” Will hailed Mack by the name they had agreed upon and gave him a black robe dearly purchased for the occasion.

“Don't lose this; it will make a handy costume someday. Your present cap will do. I have all the documents.” Will patted his pocket for the dozenth time.

On Mack's advice they hired a wherry for quicker passage
to Westminster, which was a mile west of London. The thick-armed boatman rowed against the river's current with ease, pointing out landmarks that included Bridewell Prison.

“You don't want to end up there. The prisoners walk on treadmills to grind flour for bread. 'Tis said the kitchens are a very inferno,” he said darkly.

Will shuddered. He watched the city slip by: warehouses, walled gardens, myriad rooftops, and with them his dreams of being a renowned actor.

The pier at Westminster was so crowded they had to wait in a line to disembark. The buildings with their battlements and high gates projected wealth and importance. The people on the streets moved with greater haste and purpose than their counterparts in London. Who among them, Will wondered, would care about the case of a poor Stratford glover or the fate of his son? What stood between him and prison but his new friend Mack, now whispering Latin phrases and glancing about uneasily?