The Rogue's Princess (10 page)

‘You gave your word.’

‘To a man that does not exist. I do not hold myself bound by it.’

Rose choked. ‘You, my so-honest niece, will break your word? What has he done to you?’

Broken my heart, Mercy thought. ‘Nothing, Aunt. Our acquaintance was so brief that it does not count at all.’

But the fact that she harried the ostler to bring their horse round immediately so they could escape without crossing paths with Kit, betrayed how agitated she was feeling. Her aunt, however, kept her counsel, wise enough not to try to soften her towards the player while the humiliation of the discovery was still raw.

6

Kit rushed to change out of his costume. He had tried very hard not to look for Mercy during the performance, knowing that it would throw him into a spin when he should be remembering his lines. Had she realized that he’d said all his speeches of love to her, giving the performance of a lifetime? Everyone else had noticed. Ned Maplestead, the boy playing Clarinda, had been giving him odd looks, having been on the receiving end of such unaccustomed passion. James Burbage had congratulated him afterwards on deepening his range as an actor and promised to look out more such roles as this in future.

‘That lad Shakespeare’s been saying he wants to write me a play for some time now.’ Burbage grimaced. ‘Can’t believe he has it in him – he’s a Stratford man, nothing but wool to be had there. Still I might give him a try if he can produce something in this vein.’

Kit glanced over at the new addition to the company, a plain-looking fellow already losing his hair, but with a pair of keen eyes that never missed a trick. A bit of a mystery so far, keeping himself to himself, was Will Shakespeare; Kit would be intrigued to see what he could come up with when
let loose on a play. Not that it mattered that much: playwrights were the hacks on which the actors rode; no one had very high expectations of them. Even a provincial man like Shakespeare might just come up with something that could be trimmed into shape by an experienced cast.

Burbage pressed a small stack of coins in Kit’s palm. ‘I see you’re in a hurry. Here’re your earnings – and a bit extra for last night.’

Kit grinned and shoved it in his money pouch. ‘Thank you, sir.’ Excellent: he had enough to treat Mercy and her aunt to supper, the first step in his campaign to win his way back into her favour.

The crowds were thinning by the time he was able to leave the tiring house. A few persistent admirers had hung on, hoping to catch a glimpse of the leading man.

‘There he is!’ called one goodwife, dragging her friend with her. ‘Master Turner!’

Kit pasted on a smile to meet his followers, all the while scanning the departing crowd to spot his little lady. She’d been dressed in a plain dark blue cloak, had she not?

‘We thought you were wonderful today. When will you next be acting Tom Cobbler?’ the goodwife asked, uncertain what to say now she had her idol before her. She twisted the playbill in her hands.

‘I am not sure. We change back to
The Knights
tomorrow.’

‘I like that one too. You are so gallant in the lead.’ The goodwife fanned herself with the rumpled bill.

‘You are too kind.’ Kit wanted to cut this short so he could search for his damsel. ‘I look forward to seeing you here again then?’

‘Oh yes!’ The two women hurried off giggling together, quite drunk on the little sip of Kit’s presence in their lives.

Not seeing her outside the Theatre, Kit hurried over to the very place where he had last talked to Mercy, deciding she might have interpreted his words literally. The spot stood opposite to the tavern shaded by a holly tree. Kit leant against the trunk, studying all that passed for a glimpse of the short maid with the tall goodwife, but he could not see them. Surely she would come? Perhaps she had mislaid something in the Theatre and gone back to look for it? It was easy for anyone to drop a glove or a handkerchief.

He waited for an hour, finally running out of reasons for her not showing up.

Tobias bobbed out of the tavern where he had resumed drinking with Saxon and his friends.

‘Still here, Kit?’

Kit nodded, stamping his chilled feet. Darkness had fallen. He had to admit she had no intention of meeting him.

‘So that one left you standing. Hey ho, but there are plenty of comely girls inside. In fact, I’ve just bought drinks for two lovely creatures, Mab and Bab,’ drink-sozzled Tobias stuttered. ‘Or maybe they are Meg and Peg. No matter. Come along with me.’

Kit pushed himself upright, feeling like a fighter knocked out in the first bout. She hadn’t even wanted an explanation. He’d picked the one girl in London who was ashamed to be seen with him. He could go into the tavern and have them swarming round him like bees to the honeypot. He’d show her.

‘Where did you get the money to buy drinks, sprout?’ He threw an arm over his brother’s shoulder. He could act the careless lover even if he didn’t feel it.

‘I said you’d be along. I’ll pay you back when Will’s ship comes in. Honest.’

Dishonest honest maid
. She said she’d let him explain, but she’d run at the first opportunity.

‘Aye, I’ll stand you a drink, little brother – until you no longer can stand.’ Which wouldn’t be long by the looks of things. ‘Let’s go see Meg-Peg and Bab-Mab.’

After settling the reckoning with the innkeeper, Kit dragged Tobias from the tavern shortly after nine. There went the money he had meant to spend on Mercy’s supper. He was not sorry to say goodbye to their two companions. Predictably, as Tobias had done the choosing, the girls had had more bosom than wit and he had soon tired of their conversation and was in no mood for their advances. He couldn’t help but think they seemed so tawdry after Mercy.

Tobias stumbled and groaned. ‘’Sbones, Kit, I think I’m going to be sick.’

As any caring brother would, Kit removed his cap and cloak then stood well back to allow him to relieve his symptoms in an obliging bush. Tobias staggered out, looking a little better.

‘Did I charm Peg, Kit?’ he asked, having passed into the melancholy stage of drunkenness. ‘Did I woo her like a very …’ he paused searching for an appropriate image, ‘like a very wooer?’

‘Aye, you wooed her bravely, brother.’

Tobias swayed to the far side of the road then managed to
stumble back to Kit, a mariner caught in his own private storm. ‘Did I kiss her?’

‘Aye, that and more,’ lied Kit, knowing his brother would only ask to go back if he thought he had unfinished business with his ladylove.

‘She was a famous wench, was she not?’

‘A paragon among tavern maids,’ agreed Kit solemnly.

‘I love you, Kit.’

Oh, a fig for alehouses! This was probably the signal for an overflow of brotherly affection followed swiftly by insensibility and they still had quite a way to walk.

Kit sighed and put an arm round his brother’s waist to hold the boy up before he toppled over. ‘I love you too, sprout, but look lively, the watch is on the prowl and we must get you home.’

Tobias hiccuped. ‘If they try to stop you, I’ll pistol ’em.’ He made feeble bang-bang noises with his finger.

‘No need for violence, man. Just be quiet.’

With no small difficulty, Kit managed to grapple Tobias up to his room and dump him on the bed. He sprawled on his back, one foot on the ground, arms flung out like a starfish. Placing a cup of small beer and a basin beside him for emergencies, Kit retired to the window. He had no desire to sleep.

His earlier anger against Mercy had ebbed away leaving an awful emptiness inside. He hugged his knees to his chest as he perched on the bench under the casement. Perhaps he was too old to curl up like this, but his childhood habit had never left him; he’d spent more nights than he could count in this hedgehog style – prickles out to fend off the world. Mercy’s
rejection had scratched at his tender belly and he felt the wound deeply.

Not good enough for her, and she hadn’t even stayed to tell him so herself.

He’d left the shutters open so could see the moon riding among the clouds, lighting the topmost flag of the Theatre beyond the huddle of roofs and trees that separated him from his workplace. For years all he had dreamed of was making a success of his career on the stage; now, abruptly, the source of his happiness had become the obstacle.

Would Mercy have a big enough heart to come to accept him for who he was? Today suggested not. So did he care enough about her to try to be something else? Aye, that was the question.

Before he took any drastic decisions, he would have to try once more to talk to her. After all, seeing him on stage without any warning must have disturbed his little Puritan greatly. Perhaps her aunt had dragged her away, believing him a man of low character? He had not considered that. He could forgive Mercy for leaving him waiting if she could forgive him not telling her the whole truth from the beginning.

His thoughts were interrupted when Tobias turned over and fell off the bed, landing in a heap on the floor. With an exasperated sigh of affection for the idiot, Kit got up and threw a blanket over him. Tobias did not wake.

At least that meant he’d have the bed to himself tonight. Today had not been a total disaster.

Third in line, Mercy knelt at her father’s chair to receive his Sabbath blessing.

‘How fare you, child?’ her father asked kindly, framing her face with his large hands. He had green eyes like her own, while her brother and sister took after their mother – Mary Hart was said to have had blue eyes, though she had not lived long enough for Mercy to remember them. ‘I have hardly seen you since you stayed at Ann’s.’

Mercy knew herself to be such a worthless creature. ‘I am well, Father.’

‘I did not realize you played the lute so skilfully. My friends in the City have nothing but praise for your abilities.’

‘Thank you, Father.’

John Hart scratched the side of his nose, senses pricked by a vague threat to his family. ‘But I am not certain that it is something that you should indulge in too often, Mercy. There is danger you will be led into vanity.’ He studied her gravely.

‘I agree, Father. I did it to oblige Mistress Belknap, but in future I will try to avoid making a display of myself.’

He nodded, well pleased with her answer. ‘You are a good girl, Mercy.’

She hung her head. ‘No, I’m not, Father.’

He chuckled. ‘Well, none of us is perfect. It is unholy to think so. But you do well enough. I was pleased with your thoughts on the play. I am glad you realized for yourself that the pretty packaging concealed traps for the foolish. The Devil makes use of such primrose-strewn paths to draw many to their ruin. I was right to let you go – now you will no longer be tempted by it.’

‘Aye, sir.’

He placed his heavy hand on her head and said his usual prayer over her. He rose, drawing her to her feet. ‘Let us leave for church. The bell is already tolling.’

Faith in arm with her father, Edwin escorting Mercy, the Hart family walked to their church, St Magnus, at the northern end of the bridge. Rose preferred to attend the service in St Mary Overie in Southwark where the priests wore the surplice and clerical cap and used the prayer book. The Hart church, a medieval building with arched windows filled with clear glass, was led by a severe follower of Calvin who rejected all such Romish signs, preferring to cut the liturgy to the minimum so he could expound the word at greater length, his words echoing off the bare walls. Privately, Mercy usually preferred the kindly old priest at St Mary’s, but today she vowed she wouldn’t let her mind drift during the hour-long sermon.

Reverend John Field was in fine form this morning. He rattled through the confession and creed to spend a good ninety minutes castigating Londoners for their manifold failings, their lack of attention to the poor coupled with their spiritual poverty. By the time he had finished, Mercy was determined to make sure she gave the pennies she had saved to the first good cause she came across, giving up the treats for herself for six months.

Mercy had almost reached the end of the service with no lapses of attention when she caught the Dodd sisters whispering behind her. They were holding up their shared prayer book to try to hide their secret conversation, but she could hear them very well in the hush.

‘Who do you think he is?’ asked Humiliation. ‘I’ve not seen him at church before, more’s the pity.’

‘Is he not the most … most well-made man you’ve ever seen?’ asked Deliverance, all in a flutter. ‘He doth great credit to our Creator.’

The two girls had to stuff their knuckles in their mouths to stifle their scandalized laughter at their own naughty words.

I will not turn and look
, Mercy promised herself.
I will not give in to unworthy curiosity.

‘Look, look, he’s getting up!’ hissed Deliverance as the service concluded. ‘He’s coming this way!’

Mercy couldn’t help herself. She half turned on her bench. Sweet Lord above, it was Kit, all dressed up as he had been for the Belknap supper, the only difference being a pearl that swung incongruously in his earlobe. He couldn’t possibly be planning to speak to her, could he? That was too much! He’d shame her in front of her entire church and her reputation would never recover. Actors were to her church what the demons were to angels – creatures of the outer darkness that should not venture on to sacred ground. But there was nowhere to hide, no chance of escape.

Kit came to stop at the Hart family, his gaze skipping from Mercy to each of her relatives in turn. He bowed low to her father.

‘Sir.’

John Hart, full of Christian good cheer after the improving sermon, returned the gesture. ‘Have we met, young man?’

‘No, sir, but I had the privilege of meeting your daughter at Alderman Belknap’s supper party last week.’

John Hart thought he now understood. ‘Ah yes, I hear that was a merry evening. My daughter turned out to be quite the musician.’

‘Indeed she is. I had the great pleasure of singing to her accompaniment.’

Hart wasn’t so sure he liked the sound of this. ‘Indeed, what kind of song was this?’