Love Disguised (25 page)

Talio clapped the doctor on the back. “You are late, Thomas Valentine, but all is well.”

“Thomas—my love?” The wench collapsed against Mistress Over-byte. Had she not been pining for Mack-alias-Meg only moments before?

The doctor whirled around. He snatched the cap from the girl and her dark hair sprang out. “Olivia!” he cried. The girl moved her lips soundlessly as the doctor took her into his arms.

“Olivia? You are not Violetta?” the defendant was saying, still deranged from his fall. Then he smiled. “Ah! Now I understand the reason for your strange melancholy.”

“You are obstructing my courtroom. Away with you both,” Littlewit said, flapping his arms at the two lovers.

The mad hubbub had subsided into cheers of delight as the doctor led Olivia from the bench, not taking his eyes from her. But she looked back at the defendant, saying, “Wait, for I must be sure that Mack goes free.”

This domestic drama was interfering with Littlewit's judgment. “Now to conclude this case.” He stood up and glanced around. The plaintiff and his witnesses were gone—three new malefactors in custody, one of them for murder! The present case appeared to be moot. But Littlewit was not ready to give up. He raised his voice for the benefit of the jury, though he knew none of them would understand his words. “
Habemus optimum testem confitentem reum
.”

“What does that mean?” whispered Mack-alias-Meg.

Talio shook his head and shrugged.

Pleased that his Latin had confounded even the Italian, Littlewit translated. “‘We have the best witness, a confessing defendant.' Though the plaintiff now stands accused of murder, that does not mitigate your crime, de Galle.” He had no idea if this were a valid point of the law, but who could gainsay him?

Talio placed his hands on the bar and leaned forward, his face inches from Littlewit's. “Your Honor, my client has not made a full confession.”

“Will!” said the defendant, sounding distressed. Littlewit decided he was still touched in the head, for wasn't the lawyer's name Dick?

Talio tipped his head toward his client and gave him a long and searching look.

“The truth will come out, howsoever it seeks to hide itself,” said the defendant to Talio in a voice free of fear or distress. “I am not who you think I am. I am not Mack de Galle, as I have claimed to be.”

Littlewit decided that Bedlam Hospital would be a better place than Fleet Prison for the lunatic Mack.

“I ask your pardon for the deceit, which was undertaken with the best of motives. Let Violetta be my witness.” The defendant gestured toward the servant girl, who left the doctor's side and approached the bar.

“I thought you were called Olivia,” said Littlewit sharply.

“I am. I was pretending to be Violetta. As was she.” She pointed to the defendant. “I mean, she was pretending not to be Violetta but Mack de Galle, who is no such person.” Her hand and her voice both trembled.

“Are you all mad?” cried Littlewit. He struck himself on the head and his periwig flew off and landed on the floor.

Talio picked up the periwig and considered it as if it held some grave meaning. “If there is no such person as Mack de Galle, then it is impossible he should have committed any crime.” He peered at Littlewit. “Because there was no crime, then today's action must
ipso facto
be dismissed.”

“Give me that.” Littlewit half stood, seized his wig from Talio, and sat down again. If there was no such person as Mack de Galle, then who was this person at the bar?

“Since coming into this hall, has my client admitted to being Mack de Galle?” asked Talio.

Nib Squiller shuffled through his papers. He gave Littlewit an apologetic look. “Your Honor, he was identified as Mack, alias Meg de Galle, and he stated that Mack de Galle struck the victim, but he did not say
he
was Mack de Galle.”

Littlewit bolted out of his seat, waving his periwig at Talio. “No more of your subtle quibbles!” He turned to the prisoner and shouted, “If you're not de Galle, then who are you?”

For a long moment the silence held. Finally the defendant replied, “I am Meg Macdougall, called Long Meg by my friends at the Boar's Head Inn.” As he spoke his whole demeanor changed. His voice grew reedy, like a young boy's.

“Yea, I'll vouch for you, my dear!” cried Mistress Over-byte.

Was this Mack-alias-Meg a devil? And all these people his minions, come to provoke him to madness and turn Justice on its head? Littlewit fumbled for his flask and put it to his mouth before remembering it was empty.

The defendant gazed at Talio with eyebrows raised beseechingly. “I have no brother; there is only me. That, Will, is
the simple truth,” he said, reaching up to pull off his cap. Out tumbled long, golden locks.

The onlookers gasped as one. Only Talio smiled.

“'Tis a man-woman!” said Nib Squiller.

“Nay, 'tis our Long Meg,” someone shouted. “Huzzah for Talio; Meg is free!”

“I have not dismissed the charges yet,” protested Littlewit. He placed his periwig back on his head. “Draw up the dismissal,” he said to his clerk.

One of the jurors broke out in song.

Here's to our hero, Long Meg
.

She of the mile-long leg
.

Sing high, sing low, heigh-ho!

To the Boar's Head we go
.

The doctor and Talio hoisted the defendant to their shoulders. Mistress Over-byte and her husband, the doctor and his wench, and the witness Jane Ruffneck danced like lunatics under a full moon.

“Arrest the defendant for … for impersonating a criminal!” Littlewit cried. “Arrest everyone for rioting in the courtroom! Unlawful assembly. Nib, draw up new charges post haste.”

But Nib was in the midst of the revelers. Even the sergeants were celebrating by pounding their staves in time with the singing.

“Oyez!” shouted Littlewit, banging his chair against the bar in frustration. He knew with a magistrate's infallible reckoning that young Talio would one day be a renowned and
admired judge, while he himself would die an obscure magistrate. As the joyous party trailed from the hall, he tore at his periwig with both hands and threw clumps of the false hair to the floor.

Will had every reason to be jubilant. Dick Talio was his best performance ever.
Talio
was Latin for “retaliation,” but not even the judge had suspected his alias. He had kept his dearest friend from prison and seen three of his tormentors apprehended for their crimes. He relished the paradox that Justice was done even as its procedures were so riotously overturned. Will smiled at the memory of Littlewit tearing his wig while the officers of the court danced with the victors.

Despite what the old thief had told him, Will was startled to hear Long Meg's voice coming from his friend Mack. More so to see his familiar face change into Meg's and her golden hair tumble forth. Then admiration stirred him. This goddess of the Boar's Head had proved as adept at transformations as one of Ovid's shape-shifting gods! He was elated, for her timely disclosure had sealed their triumph.

Bearing her from the courtroom, Will was aware of Meg's rump on his shoulder, her thigh alongside his cheek, her ankle in his grasp. Her presence made his blood quicken. They had cavorted all the way to the Boar's Head, where she
disappeared, returning in a bodice and skirt. Will sneaked furtive glances at her full, round breasts and wondered how they could have been so well hidden under Mack's doublet. How many times had he unknowingly brushed against them? Now their curves were visible, but alas her strong, shapely legs were hidden beneath a skirt. His new interest in Meg confused him, and he was uncertain how to speak to her now. She gave him no help, rather avoided meeting his eyes.

Why
, he wanted to ask,
did you do this? Was it only for fun?

Master Overby opened the taps, pouring free ale for all. The drink filled Will with warmth. He reveled in his sudden and satisfying revenge against Peter Flick and Davy Dapper.

“Let's drink to Justice, which prevails despite the law!” he said, raising his cup.

“To villains and thieves hoist with their own petard!” crowed Meg.

“Brought down by this arm they were!” said Overby, shaking a fist, proud to have proved useful at last.

“Nay, more by my great girth,” boasted Gwin. “My gut still hurts from the force of his head.”

Will could tell that this story would grow with each telling until it was a legend at the Boar's Head. Like Long Meg herself, already larger than life and glowing with pleasure. He could not look at her for long.

“To Jane,” said Will, “for delivering the blow that felled the fatal Ruffneck!”

Meg raised her cup to Jane and said, “The truth that condemns the guilty, sets the innocent free.”

Will wondered why Jane's testimony had caused Mack to collapse, then rise up again suffused with joy. It had something
to do with his—rather,
her
—mother. The only time Meg had spoken of her past was while they were watching the play. He knew so little about her, really.

A tipsy Jane Ruffneck promised to redeem Grabwill Junior from prison and take care of him. She told how Meg once came into the Boar's Head unaware of the man's cap still on her head. Ned mimicked Violetta—rather,
Olivia
—gesturing wildly for her to remove it. Olivia giggled and turned her face toward Thomas Valentine.

“O how my throat ached after so many hours of speaking in a low voice,” said Meg. “It is a relief to be myself again.”

Will understood that Meg had to disclose her sex in order to defeat the charges against Mack. He realized now that in court, Mack had been mutely beseeching Will to reveal him as Meg. While he admired the strategy he had to ask himself,
How did she expect me to know?
And that led to the inevitable question,
Why did she disguise herself in the first place?
He sensed it was a mystery tied up with everything that was dark and inscrutable in the species womankind.

It was Thomas Valentine, still holding Olivia's hand, who asked the question uppermost in Will's mind. “Meg, why
did
you invent this Mack and pretend to be him?”

All were waiting for her answer. She hesitated and lifted her shoulders. “Is your Thomas a jealous man?” she asked Violetta.

Before she could speak Thomas said, “There is not a jealous bone in my body.”

“Now that you know Mack is no rival suitor,” said Gwin with a wry laugh.

“It was a silly plot we dreamed up!” said Olivia in her
high, quick voice. “Meg invented a brother and disguised herself in order—”

Meg interrupted. “To tempt Will to woo you.”

Will's hands gripped the edge of the table. He had not expected Meg to say that.

“To
trick
Will Shakespeare rather. For I did not love him,” Olivia said hastily, giving Thomas the full force of her beauteous smile.

“Not love him? Who here does not love Will Shakespeare?” Meg spoke lightly, but Will noted her blushing.

Her comment renewed the merry laughter. Will felt his own face redden. How had he become the butt of the joke? He smiled to hide his hurt. No man likes to be rejected, even by a woman he does not love. Or teased, especially by a woman he admires.

“I thought we would be friends, Will,” said Thomas Valentine in a tone of rebuke. “You with your broken head and I with my broken heart. But while I was looking for my Olivia, you were concealing her and wooing her for yourself. O broken faith!”

“You wrong me, Valentine,” said Will.

“My love, I did not know you were in London until I saw you in the courtroom,” insisted Olivia. She turned on Will. “Why did you not tell me when you first met my Thomas?”

Will's triumphant mood was quickly fading. “Am I on trial now? I must protest my innocence. How was I to know that
our
Violetta was
your
Olivia?” He pointed his forefingers in opposite directions. “Had you accepted my invitation to dine, you would have discovered her yourself. Or had you described her better, I might have guessed who she was.”

Olivia stood up and withdrew her hand from her lover's. “Thomas! Could you not even describe me?” she said, anguished. “I suppose you told him I had a set of bones, a stomach, and a liver within me, expecting him to say, ‘O that must be Olivia!' ” She closed her eyes and lowered her face to his. “Of what color are my eyes?”

This should not be a test of love, Will thought. He had stared into the lady's eyes often enough while playing Pyramus but could not say what color they were. He tried in vain to remember the color of Anne Hathaway's eyes. And Meg's? He glanced at her. Blue, just as he thought.

Softly Thomas said, “Why, they are brown. Like …” He faltered. “Like nothing in the body I can think of, except themselves.”

“Ahh,” sighed Gwin.

Olivia opened her eyes and blinked back tears. She favored Thomas with a look more ardent than any she had bestowed on Pyramus. “I have been so cruel!” she said. “There is so much for you to forgive, I fear you will decide not to love me after all.”

“Sit down. You must tell me all, like a patient his every hurt,” said Thomas with gentle authority.

Will hoped she would not tell Thomas how often she had kissed Will onstage. That might move even the mildest of men to jealousy. And from there to a challenge and a duel.

“But first know this,” Thomas was saying, having seized Olivia's hand again. “Nothing you say will diminish one jot my love for you. Therefore I state before these good witnesses that I wish to marry you, Olivia, if you will consent.”

The lady's free hand fluttered to her neck. “I shall upon
certain conditions. One, that you will refrain from writing poetry or destroying flowers for my benefit.”