The Slaying of the Shrew (Shakespeare & Smythe 2)

Smythe moistened his lips. “Daniel Holland.”

She almost fell. Smythe grabbed her around the waist, thinking she was really going to swoon this time. “Milady!”

She clutched at him. This time, not surprisingly, perhaps, her distress seemed quite genuine. She swallowed hard, then took a deep breath, which made her breasts swell very visibly in her low-cut bodice. Smythe caught himself and quickly looked away. He felt his face flushing.

“Daniel is dead? But…” she hesitated. “When? How did it happen?”

“Milady, perhaps we should not discuss this now-” “I shall be all right. Now tell me!”

Smythe felt her closeness acutely and released her, but she retained a hold on his arm as they continued up the stairs. “He was murdered in the garden maze tonight. Run through with a rapier.” He paused a moment, then added, “ ‘Tis not entirely clear what he was doing there, but it seems that someone must have followed him who meant to do him harm. I do not suppose you would have any idea who might have wished him ill?”

She shook her head. “No. No, not at all. Goodness, to think that…” She caught herself. “To think that he is dead! First my sister, and now this! Poor Daniel!”

“It must have happened very quickly,” Smythe said. “He could not have suffered.”

“Well, that is some small consolation, perhaps. But just the same…” He felt her trembling. He could well understand why, though she, of course, had no idea that he knew. “How very frightening,” she said. “To think that there is a vicious murderer amongst us… I feel so very vulnerable all of a sudden. This corridor is so empty… would you please escort me to my rooms?”

“Certainly, milady.”

She put a finger to her lips. “We must be quiet, though,” she said. “My sister’s friend is in this room just ahead and to our right. I think that she is still awake and packing, preparing to depart first thing in the morning. I would not wish her to get the wrong idea, you understand.”

“Of course, milady. Nor would I,” Smythe said, with some alarm, wondering how Elizabeth would react if she came out and saw them together, walking arm-in-arm towards Blanche’s bedroom. He was not sure she would believe his explanation. They walked past her door in silence.

“You are most understanding,” Blanche said, after a moment, smiling at him. “You are a true gentleman.”

“Alas, milady, I fear you have the wrong impression of me,” he replied. “I am not a gentleman, merely a poor and lowly player.”

“Oh, of course! Now I remember where I saw you! We met down by the river gate, when I arrived.”

“Quite so, milady. I was among the Roman senators who were assigned to greet the guests.”

“I remember. You looked much better in your toga than did any of the others.”

“That is kind of you to say, milady.”

Her face clouded over. “ ‘Twas when we all thought Catherine was dead,” she said. “And then she turned out not to have been dead at all, only to be killed in her own tomb… how horrible! Oh, no, I must not think of it! I must think of something else, or I shall be quite undone. Tell me how it is to be a player.”

“How it is to be a player?” Smythe repeated, not quite prepared for the question. “Ah. Well…’tis not that I possess a great deal of experience, milady. I am still quite new at it. But I am fortunate, indeed, to have found a position with the Queen’s Men, who are the finest players in the land. ‘Tis something I have dreamed of doing since I was but a boy.”

“I thought that young boys were permitted to apprentice with the players,” she said, “so that they might play the female roles before their voices change. Did you not do that?”

“Regretably, milady, my father did not approve of my becoming a player. He thought ‘twas no fit occupation for a gentleman.”

“Oh! So then you are a gentleman!”

“My father was a gentleman, milady. But he aspired to rise higher and become a knight, and in his efforts to pursue that lofty goal, he bankrupted himself and left me with nothing to inherit. Thus, I cannot claim to be a gentleman. I am but a simple farrier, a smith, an ostler, and now a player, though not, I fear, a very good one, though I do my humble best.”

“Humility in any man is a most becoming trait,” she said, with a smile. “And I can understand your story perhaps better than you know.” They had reached her bedroom and she opened up the door as she spoke and went inside, but without releasing his arm, so that he was forced to enter with her. “Your father sounds very much like mine,” she said, letting go his arm and closing the door behind them. “He is a most ambitious man. Appearances mean everything to him.” She sounded bitter. “He gives more credence to what other people think than he does to the concerns of his own family. He drove my mother to an early grave with his obsessions. A proper lady does this, and a proper lady does that, and a proper lady would never do this, that, and the other. Tis enough to drive one mad.”

As she spoke, as if without thinking, she slipped off her shoes and began unfastening her laces. For a moment, Smythe was too startled to speak, and then he could not quite find a way in which to get a word in edgewise.

“I can imagine how very frustrating it must have been for you, wanting so to be a player and never being allowed to pursue your heart’s desire!” Blanche continued. “Always being told what a proper gentleman must or must not do! There are times, I am quite sure, when you thought that you might scream! Oh, how well I know that feeling. I understand, you see. I do. The two of us are very much alike.”

She had now loosened her bodice and unlaced and removed the first of her petticoats, stepping out of it and letting it drop onto the floor. He was speechless, riveted to the spot. He could not believe that she was actually undressing in front of him. He looked around to see if there were any servants, but the two of them were quite alone. As she removed her second petticoat, Smythe saw that she was not wearing a farthingale, but a padded roll instead, which gave her skirts a softer drape and was probably more comfortable, especially when lying in a garden or upon a floor.

He swallowed hard. Blanche Middleton was a very beautiful young woman and she was exposing more of her beauty by the moment. It occurred to him that she fully intended to bed him, and it also occurred to him that he very much wanted to let her. But he could not go through with it.

“Milady