“Perhaps,” said Smythe, frowning as he looked for flaws in the idea. “But on the face of it, at least, it does sound plausible.”
“It could work, could it not?” Elizabeth asked, hopefully.
They all stood there in the rain, which was thankfully starting to let up, but they were still dripping wet. Smythe could feel the cold chilling him through as he considered Elizabeth ’s idea. They looked more like three drowned cats than desperate plotters, but the situation seemed to call for desperate measures. Smythe wondered how he had become caught up in it. It was Elizabeth, of course. Once more, Elizabeth had found herself squarely in the midst of an intrigue, and she had been drawn into it because she cared about her friend. Now he had become involved because he cared about Elizabeth and it seemed that Will would be pulled into it as well… assuming he agreed to do it out of friendship for him.
However, he could scarcely blame Will if he were to refuse. From any reasonable standpoint, refusing to go along with such a byzantine deception seemed the only rational thing to do. Shakespeare had nothing at all to gain by going along with it and everything to lose. His career in the theatre was only just beginning and he had already made a very promising start. He also had a family back in Stratford to consider. He did not seem to care much for his wife, but he took his obligations seriously.
“I do not know,” Smythe said. “It all seems to depend on Will. ‘Tis getting late, and if he has not returned by now, then doubtless he has chosen to remain in the city rather than risk the road at night, which means that he shall surely start out first thing in the morning. If I can get to him and convince him to go along with this before he speaks to anyone, then ‘tis possible it just might work.”
“Why should your friend wish to help us?” Mason asked.
“I do not know that he shall,” replied Smythe. “ ‘Tis asking a great deal. But if he does, then he shall do it for friendship’s sake.”
“As you do it for Elizabeth ’s sake,” said Mason, as if echoing Smythe’s earlier thoughts. “Already, too many people are involved in this. Too many share the risk. It has gone beyond the pale.”
“Yet now there is no stopping it,” Elizabeth said. “Win or lose, we must be strong and see it through, John. We must do it for Catherine.”
“Aye,” said Mason, “I have had no peace these past two nights, thinking of her in London with that witch’s potion, mustering up the courage to drink it down and dance with death. I have been at my wit’s end with worry. God, Elizabeth, what if she does not awake? I could not live with that!”
“She shall awake,” Elizabeth insisted. “I have complete faith in Granny Meg.”
“Would that I shared your confidence,” said Mason. The strain was obviously telling on him. His last reserves of energy seemed to be draining out of him even as he spoke. “I must know how she fares. You promised that she was to awake tonight.”
“Granny Meg said that there was no way of determining the time for certain. She had measured everything with great exactitude, but she warned us there were risks.”
“We must get inside,” said Mason, moving towards the door. “I must see her! I cannot bear the uncertainty. I shall not stray from her side til she awakes!”
“Wait,” said Smythe.
“Wait? I am done with waiting! ‘Tis a simple thing for you to say-”
“Be still!” Smythe said, turning around. “Someone is coming!”
Elizabeth stiffened, turned, and froze, like a startled deer, eyes wide and peering into the night. Over the faint pattering of raindrops, they heard the unmistakable sounds of voices in the distance. And a moment later, they could see the bobbing light of torches coming towards them.
“God’s body! Death and damnation to them all!” cried John, and he threw his shoulder against the door with all his might.
9
SHAKESPEARE HAD GROWN UP IN the country and knew how to ride bareback, but then he had not done so since he was a boy. Nor, he quickly realized, was he even remotely nostalgic for the experience. He had always liked horses and counted himself a decent rider, but he had been spoiled by saddles. Riding bareback at the gallop, which he had done so often in his childhood, was now a punishing experience.
The coachman had not wanted to abandon the expensive carriage and had argued that they should try to get the wheel back on once more. Shakespeare had insisted that they had no time to lose and the horses had to be unhitched and ridden bareback. They had argued and Shakespeare said that he would take one of the horses and ride back no matter what, come Hell or high water. They had nearly come to blows over it, and the argument was settled finally when they noticed that the wheel had cracked and the axle had been damaged. There was nothing for it but to abandon the carriage in the road and ride the horses home.
They had quickly modified the harnesses, shortened the reins and gotten on their way, by which time their already muddy clothes were reduced to little more than torn and sodden rags, but nightfall had caught up to them and they lacked a clear sky and a full moon by which to see. The rain had let up somewhat, but the roads were still puddled and quite soft in places. With Shakespeare insisting on riding at the gallop, the going was treacherous, to say the least.
By the time they reached Middleton Manor, Shakespeare was roundly cursing every mare that ever foaled. They came splashing up the road leading to the house, skidded on the wet cobblestones of the courtyard and nearly went down in a tangle, but somehow, miraculously, their mounts managed to retain their footing and they reined in without further incident. Their noisy arrival, however, had alerted some within the house, for many of the guests had not retired early and were still participating in the wake. A few of them might even have remembered whom the wake was for.
Humphrey, the ever-efficient steward, was one of the first upon the scene as they came staggering up to the front door, looking for all the world like two weary and embattled soldiers freshly returned from the wars.
“Good God!” he said, when he beheld their grim and grimey appearance. “What happened, for mercy’s sake? Have the two of you been set upon by brigands?”
“The carriage broke down on the road from London, but never mind that now,” Shakespeare said, trying to catch his breath. “Damn me, but I need a drink! Is Sir William here?”
“Sir William had departed hours ago,” said Humphrey, as the hall behind him began to fill up with curious onlookers. “You look like Death! What is the matter?”
“Get the master of the house at once!” said Shakespeare. “And get Tuck Smythe. And get me a drink, while you are at it.”
“I shall do no such thing!” Humphrey replied, in an affronted tone. “Master Middleton has retired. This day has been a terrible trial for him, as you must surely know. He is grief-stricken and exhausted. His daughter’s funeral has been a horrible ordeal for him.”