Strange Devices of the Sun and Moon (17 page)

A few people laughed. George, unmoved, said from his seat, “Can you prove that she does not have a familiar? As I said, I have seen it. It does her work for her, her household chores. It was washing a pot when I visited.”

Some of the stationers murmured among themselves. Blount said nothing. He could not answer, Alice thought bleakly, because he had never been to her house. None of them had except George, because visiting an unmarried woman was considered immoral. And George, of course, would know that, would know that he alone had been favored with an invitation because she had hoped to renew their friendship.

But Blount's defense had given her courage. If he could not help her she would have to help herself. “I have no familiar,” she said, her voice quiet but gaining in power as she continued. “You are all welcome to my house to see for yourself.”

George laughed harshly. “Will you trust this woman?” he asked. “A demon can become the size of an acorn, if it so desires. Aye, I'm certain we will find no familiar in her house.”

“I wonder that you talk so easily about morality,” Blount said. “We have all seen you in conversation with a man who comes into the churchyard, a man asking questions about Mistress Wood's son. He is a counterfeiter, they say, and I have also heard that he dabbles in alchemy.”

“He is a scientist,” George said. “His researches have nothing to do with the spirit world.”

“Can you prove that?” Blount said.

“Master Cowper's morals are not in question here,” the master said. “Mistress Wood has yet to reply to his accusations.”

Alice stood as Blount moved back to his seat. “I can only say that almost everything Master Cowper had said is false,” she said, gratified to hear that her voice sounded strong and certain now. “I have a friend named Margery, but she is no witch. I have never consorted with devils. I have no familiar—”

“You lie!” George said, his calm finally leaving him. “I've seen it myself.”

“I have no familiar,” she said again. How could she explain Brownie? “I can only repeat my invitation. You are all welcome to my house, to judge for yourself.”

“And I can only repeat what I have said about the ways of demons,” George said. “Is it so hard to decide what to do here? It is not enough that she lose her membership. She should be burned at the stake.”

A number of people began to speak, many of them, to Alice's horror, agreeing with George. Someone called for a witch-finder. The master asked for silence. “It seems to me,” he said, “that the state of Mistress Wood's soul is not a fit matter for us to decide. We meet here to discuss the business of the stationers, and that only. I would like to suggest that we take a vote. If the majority of the members thinks that we made a mistake a year ago in voting her into the company, then we will take away her membership. Further than that we cannot go.”

“But I would like everyone to remember,” George said, “that talking to a witch, that even being in the same room with a witch, is a danger to the soul.”

“Very well,” the master said. “Enough. Will all those in favor—”

“I would like to say something first.” A man rose, and Alice saw to her surprise that it was Walter James, the newest member of the company. “The company should know, before it votes, that I have been to Mistress Wood's house many times. I have never seen a demon such as the one Master Cowper mentioned. I have seen a clean, well-appointed home, and a woman who has never, by word or deed, strayed beyond the bounds of modesty. My friend Mistress Wood is a great asset to this company. She is one of the reasons I feel proud to be a member here.”

Another burst of comment swept the room. Alice looked at James with astonishment. She had not talked to him since their first meeting at Edward Blount's stall. He was carefully ignoring her, and she realized that for his plan to work she should act as if nothing unusual had happened. “Silence,” the master said again. “Why have you said nothing of this before?”

“I did not want to call her honor into question. But now that she's in danger of losing her membership I think my testimony can only help her.”

“I don't believe you,” George said. “I've never seen the two of you talk together.”

“Believe it as you like. It's true.”

“And it's still my word against yours.”

“And against Edward Blount's. And most importantly, against Alice Wood's. But come, how many people in this company truly believe that this woman, someone you have all known for years, someone you have worked with these past months, is a witch? Have any of you seen her muttering charms? Have your books become rotten with mold when she passes by?”

A few people were laughing now. “She's a witch!” George said angrily. “I tell you, I have seen—”

“Has anyone else seen this demon?” James said. A few members of the company shook their heads. “I have heard a rumor, which I would hesitate to pass along in other circumstances, that Master Cowper asked for Mistress Wood's hand in marriage. And that she refused him. Can this accusation be caused by hurt pride, by a desire for revenge?”

“That's not true!” George said. “I wouldn't have her. She's immoral, evil.”

“And how moral is it to lie?” Alice said. “You asked me to marry you, that day in the cookshop.”

“You can prove nothing,” George said.

“Ah,” Walter James said. “As our esteemed master said, we are not here to prove anything but that Mistress Wood is innocent of these ridiculous charges. Does the company still want to take a vote?”

A few people nodded. But the panic George had tried to cause diminished, lulled away by James's rational voice. Some of the members looked around them, puzzled, as if escaping from a long and evil dream.

“I demand a vote,” George said.

“Aye, we should have a vote, if only to lay this matter to rest once and for all,” James said. He nodded to the master.

“All in favor,” the master said, “say
aye.”

Only three or four people came out for Alice's dismissal. “All opposed—” the master said.

James and Blount said “Nay!” immediately and loudly. A few of the others joined in, quieter, and then a few more. The
nays
swept through the room like a wave. But still no one would look at her.

The master ended the meeting. Some of the members turned and smiled at her then, and a few of them came over to wish her good day. But no one said anything about the victory she had won. Perhaps they were all embarrassed about the parts they had played.

People were starting to leave by the time Walter James made his way over to her. “I want to thank you,” she said. “I don't—I don't know—”

“There's no need,” he said.

“But why did you—”

He raised his hand to silence her. “This is not the place to speak of it,” he said, so softly no one heard him. Then, louder, he said, “After the fright you received today I think you should see a play. Will you come with me?”

Should she? Other stationers might be able to close their stalls and take holidays, but she needed the trade each day brought. And he must need it too; he hadn't been at the churchyard very long. “Come,” he said as if reading her thoughts. “One day won't matter so very much.”

First Brownie and now this man: folks were always telling her to shake off her cares and go with them. But why not? She hadn't known much joy since John died.

“With pleasure,” she said. He held out his hand and she took it.

When she got outside she found her knees would almost not hold her. Now that her shame had gone she felt terror more than anything else, and a nearly insupportable anger. They had wanted to burn her at the stake. To burn her! It would be ridiculous if it weren't so frightening.

“Are you well enough to walk?” Walter asked.

She nodded, drawing a deep breath to get her strength back. But it was a long way to Shoreditch, outside the city walls, where the Theatre and the Curtain stood. They went along Cheapside, through the crowded market stalls and goldsmiths' shops. She stopped to stare, amazed, at the intricately-worked gold and silver saltcellars and ewers and spoons displayed in the windows.

“What would you like to see?” Walter asked.

She hadn't been to a play in years. As they grew older she and John had not gone out very much, and George had thought plays immoral. She tried to remember titles she had seen on the playbills she printed but they all blurred together, stories of love and war and blood and revenge. She would cheerfully see any one of them.

A coach came toward them, taking up most of the narrow street, and they moved to make room for it. Its wheels creaked; the horses' hooves fell loudly on the cobblestones. She waited until it had passed before she said, “I don't know. You choose.”

“Dr. Faustus
is very good,” he said, and then, “Oh. I'm sorry.”

“Nay, don't be.”

“The Battle of Alcazar,
then. Or
Orlando Furioso.
I've heard talk of both.”

“Nay, let's see
Faustus.
Everyone in the churchyard has been to it. I want to know what all the talk is about.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, and she nodded. “Very well.”

The walk was restoring her perspective, her equanimity. She was not a witch. They were fools to think so. How could she have thought of leaving the company? She would stay, and show them the extent of their folly.

They walked in silence for a while, passing the huge courtyard of the Royal Exchange on their left. Alice saw merchants from all over Europe, dressed in outlandish clothes, crossing the courtyard or hurrying through the pillared arcade. She had a quick sense of vast excitement, as if whole destinies were decided here. It reminded her of something she had forgotten, that London was bigger, and contained stranger sights, than the churchyard of St. Paul's.

They turned left onto Gracechurch Street. “Why did you come to my defense?” she asked.

“How could I not?”

The simple answer warmed her, but it explained nothing. “But you lied for me,” she said. “You have never been to my house.”

“George is an ass. Any fool could see that he hoped to gain something if you lost your membership in the company. And no one who knows you could believe the things he said for a moment. Even I didn't believe it, and I had only met you once. So my conscience is quite clear. If I hadn't spoken up you might have been in some danger. I have seen crowds like that become enraged in a moment, flaring up like fire on a thatched roof.”

“You said George hoped to gain something. What do you think it is?”

He looked at her shrewdly. “I don't know. I would guess it has something to do with that man they talked about, the counterfeiter.”

She had been surprised to hear, at the Stationers' Hall, that George had befriended the man in black. Now she wondered if he might also be looking for Arthur, if he worked for Queen Oriana's enemies.

“And perhaps it has something to do with your son,” Walter James said, looking at her shrewdly.

She said nothing. The man beside her seemed pleasant, and he had come to her rescue when she had most needed it, but she didn't think she knew enough to confide in him. What if it had all been a trick, if he and George had plotted together to get her to trust him? But nay, she was starting to suspect everyone. Surely Walter wouldn't have defended her so strongly if he had been George's friend.

“How long has your son been missing?”

“Some years now.”

“Do you know where he went? Or why folks are looking for him?”

“Nay.” She was unused to lying, so she hadn't known what she was going to say until the word was out of her mouth. Thinking it over, though, she realized she had made the right decision. He wouldn't believe her story, for one thing, and for another she didn't want to burden him with her troubles. And if, unlikely as it seemed, he and George did work for the same forces, she would be glad she had said nothing.

They went through Bishopsgate and past the small houses and fields of the suburbs. He was silent until they reached the playhouses, as if he understood he had trespassed too much on her privacy. They came to the Theatre just as the trumpets sounded from the roof to announce the start of the play.

They hurried inside. It cost a penny to stand, twopence to sit, and three to sit on cushions. He paid sixpence for both of them and directed her to a row of benches. She sat and looked around her.

The theater was circular, with the stage projecting out into the center and surrounded on three sides by the audience. Near the stage almost on it, sat the gallants who had come to see and be seen, and who would comment loudly, not on the action on stage but on who had arrived with whom and what they were wearing. Men and women moved up and down the benches near her, selling apples, nuts, bottled ale, tobacco. Next to her a man was talking loudly to his companion, a woman who smelled overwhelmingly of perfume, about his wife.

The man did not stop talking, and the vendors did not stop hawking their wares, when an actor dressed in black velvet came out to speak the prologue. The city apprentices in their blue coats and flat caps, escaped from work for a day, cheered the beginning of the play enthusiastically, and she missed the opening lines.

When she began to be able to hear she was surprised at how much plays had changed since she and John had gone to see them. The actors no longer spoke in rhyme, but the lines, held together now only by meter, retained all of their poetry and integrity. And soon she found that she preferred blank verse, that she hadn't realized how intrusive the constant rhyme had been.

The actors' lines were better, too, and held an excitement she had never heard before. She watched, fascinated and a little horrified, as Faustus drew his circle and conjured up Mephostophilis, as he made the bargain with the devil that was to cost him so much, as he traveled all over the world with his new powers. She barely noticed the noise of the crowd, the gallants standing in a body and leaving, the two men in front of her who had started to play cards. The day grew hot, and the smells of roasted nuts and sweat and perfume rose around her.