In the Shadow of Shakespeare (40 page)

“How
did you know about the London bookseller?”

Cruise
pulled out his cell.  “It’s secure.  Yes, I had to,…yeah.  There
was no other way. Okay, sure.”  He laughed.  “Right. 
Bond.”  He slipped the phone back into his pocket.”

“What
was that about?”

“Had
to tell the boss I pulled a proper James Bond.”

“And
now we’ll sleep together.” she said.

“Right.”
He said, grinning.

They
moved into San Marco Square and the smoke and fireworks became overpowering and
the stares intrusive.  Alice donned her mask as faces appeared from all
around her – staring. 

“I’d
like to know what’s really going on.”  She said.

A
man dressed as Punch walked the square on stilts. He had two bags with him, one
containing brightly colored orange and pink candies, which he handed to people
freely who smiled and spoke to him, another was filled with balls of gelato,
which he dumped on peoples heads whom he deemed were not adequately
participating in the festivities properly.   Alice steered them towards
a mask vendor when she saw he was making his way towards them.

“I
would think that you would want me to take my mask off instead of put it on.”
he said.

“If
you don’t put this on we will be unmercifully harassed.”

“Yes. 
And that is why I’m here, so you won’t be harassed.  To protect you. 
You see, I’ve been assigned your case.”

“When?”

“You
do remember Hatfield House.”

“How
could I forget?  That arrogant bastard Cecil.  I’m sure he had
Celeste murdered.”

“He
did seem to be exhorting monies from many prominent nobles – lords and ladies
of the realm – many of whom were connected to Shakespeare at one time or
another.”

“So
you were investigating the Shakespeare connection?”

“Yes,
I can’t give out all the details, but that’s why I was there, in Hatfield House.”

The
street narrowed and the crowds thinned.  The smell of smoke dissipated,
while bursts of fireworks flared in the distance.

They
stood before her hotel and Alice took off her mask and took a deep breath of
air.  “I can finally breath.”

“You’ll
be leaving for London tomorrow then?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll
fly back with you.”

“Why
not?  Apparently it will be hard to shake you.”

He
flipped open his cell.  “Yes, tomorrow. One moment.”  He held the
phone away from his face and turned to Alice.  “What flight?”

“Twenty
nine.  Ryanair.” 

He
flipped the phone shut.  “Good to go.  I’ll see you tomorrow then. An
early one, it is.  Good night.”  He nodded and stepped quickly into
the night.

Alice
stood holding his mask, wondering if she should yell after him. 

 ***

She
peered out of her window into the early morning.  The city was quiet and
the water was still and gray in the canal.  Alice waited for him, but he
did not appear.  She lay her key on the table and walked out the
door. 

When
she began to board the flight he still had not arrived.  Alice began to
wonder if it all wasn’t a vague, badly rehearsed dream.  The kind that
would never make it on stage.  She began to feel slightly paranoid. 
Perhaps it was a matter of slipping back into the madness? 

Staring
out the window she concentrated on the workers dressed in orange ready to usher
the plane down the runway.  He ran through the gate and out towards the
plane, waving as he went by the workers, who laughed as he ran by. 
Bounding up the steps he quickly spotted her at the end of the aisle and
plunked down next to her. 

 “Whoo! 
Almost didn’t make it.”

Alice
looked out the window trying to hide her smile.  She didn’t want him to
see the relief on her face.

 “Fashionably
late?” she said.

 “No,
it’s called what you Yanks would say, sleeping in.  Last night took it out
of me.”

The
plane began taxiing down the runway and Alice braced herself for
take-off. 

 “Alright? 
You look a bit stressed.”  Neville said.

 “I
hate this part of flying.” 

The
engines whined and the plane pulled itself into the air.  Buffeted by
wind, it began shaking. 

He
put his hand over hers.  “No worries.  You have me and my parachute.”

She
squeezed her eyes shut, listening to the engine sounds and clenching her
muscles against the plane’s agonized lurching towards the open sky.

 “If
you think this is bad wait until we get over the Alps.  Looks as if there
is a bit of weather coming through.”

 “Thanks.”

As
the plane leveled once it reached cruising altitude, she opened her
eyes.   A flight attendant stood before them.

 “Would
you care for a drink or anything to eat?”  she said.

 “Bloody
Mary.  Stoli.”  He said.

 “Isn’t
a little early?”  Alice said.

 “Of
course not.  We British agents need our cocktails.”

 “Nothing
for me.” 

The
attendant smiled and moved behind them.

 “Truth
is they know who I am.”  He winked.  “How do you think I got on this
flight?”

 “Not
impressed, Cruise.”

The
flight attendant brought him his drink.  “Thanks, love.”  He took a
sip.  “Ahh, now that’s what a drink is all about.  You should have
one.  It seriously will help with your nerves.”

She
glared at him.  “I was almost murdered.  I’d rather keep my wits
about me.”

 “I
don’t take it lightly, Alice.  Speaking of which – ”  He flipped his
cell open.  “Yes, on the way.  See you soon.”  He flipped the
cell closed and pocketed it.  “Sorry.  Had to tell the boss about my
whereabouts.”

 “You
mean he doesn’t instantly know?  C’mon Cruise, with all these high tech
gadgets?  I’m sure he can zero in on you via satellite or something.”

 “Well,
actually he can, but it might blow the plane up.”

 “I’m
starting to think you’re a nut again.”

 “Alright,
Alice.  Enough of the banter.  I understand your situation and you
want answers.”

 “That
might be a start.”

 “It
is a matter of the national trust.  In England and America.  There
are a few people who would love to keep this matter silent.”

 “Wait,
wait, wait.” She held up her hand.  “What matter are we talking about
exactly?  We need to start on the same page.”

 “The
Shakespeare connection.”

 “So
you think Marlowe is Shakespeare?”

 “It
is not a matter of what I think.  It’s a matter of what I know. 
There is a lack of hard evidence proving Marlowe is Shakespeare, but on the
other hand there are volumes of evidence pointing to the fact that he probably
is.”

 “So?”

 “My
point being that there a few powerful people that can, and will keep this
silent.  Why?  Because there is not only the problem that the man
that was Shakespeare knew quite a bit about powerful people, people that would
rather keep certain things quiet.  Certain things in the closet.”

 “And
how do you know this?”

 “I
do know a bit about my fellow, albeit past, spies.  Walsingham was the man
who developed modern espionage.”

 “What
kind of secrets are you talking about, Cruise?”

 “Very
important secrets.  Secrets that involve the national trust.  See the
thing is, Alice, this is a lot like a tapestry.  And once you start
pulling on a thread, the whole thing could unravel.”  He sipped his drink,
and then took a large swallow.  “These people from the past, these nobles,
of course all knew one another.  They each knew, or wanted to know, what
the other ones were up to.   And if you pull the Shakespeare
connection apart, the whole house of cards it rests on will come crashing down. 
People start snooping in places that they wouldn’t have thought of before.”

She
sat quietly looking out the window.  “I get it.”

 “Do
you?  In a way, all of English history rests on this sordid little fact of
Shakespearean controversy.   Can you just picture it?”

 “What?”

He
put his hand to his face in mock disbelief.  “Oh my, if Shakespeare is not
Shakespeare, then what else was going on during that time?  What was your
ancestor doing to my ancestor?  What!  You took away my noble privileges. 
How dare you!”

She
laughed.

 “It’s
no trivial matter.  Everyone believes that horrid looking man in the
frontispiece of the first folio is actually William Shakespeare.  It’s all
based on a charade, isn’t it?”

 “It
is.” she said.

 “And
before you know it, the monarchy will be questioned, and who is the rightful
title to it all.  It will all come crashing down.”

 “It
might.”

 “And,”
He swallowed the rest of his drink.  “It’s all because of you my
dear.  You upset the proverbial apple cart.”

 “I
didn’t start the whole thing, Cruise.  There’s been plenty of Marlovians
before me.”

 “Yes,
but they didn’t have the evidence now did they?  And – ” He leaned close,
and whispered in her ear, “they didn’t go back in time.” 

His
breath tickled.  “Don’t poke fun.”

 “I’m
not.  I believe you.”

 “Do
you?”  She looked at him, searching his eyes.

 “Yes.”
He looked back.  Level and uncomplicated.  “So listen to me now,
Alice.  The bookseller in London checks out.  A bit eccentric, you’ll
see.  But an honest gent.  But there is someone else in your life I’m
concerned with.”

 “Who?”

 “The
professor.  Jim Schelling.”

 “I
know about his dirty dealings with me, Cruise.  He is trying to take my
theatre away from me.  Which, by the way, I contacted an attorney about,
and it looks as if he won’t after all.  I’m surprised you don’t know about
that.”

 “Just
be careful, Alice.  I worry about you.”

 “What? 
Are you trying to tell me you care?”

He
turned to her, and cupped her chin in his hand.  “Yes, I am.” His lips
touched hers, and surprised, she kissed him.  The feeling was warm and
whole and she didn’t question it.  But she pulled back.

 “I
can’t.”

 “You
can.  But you don’t want to.”

 “I
can’t right now.”

 “Alice,
look at me.”

“There’s
too much going on.”

 “You’re
still in love with a ghost.  Aren’t you?”

 “Of
course not.”

The
plane began shifting altitude, lowering itself degree by degree.  The
captain announced they would be in London shortly and to please fasten their
seat belts.

Chapter 53

In
love with a ghost.
 
The thought haunted her. 
How dare he!

If
she let Kit go, it would all be a dream.  She did not want to let
go.  It had all meant so much. 
They
had been through so
much.  Hadn’t they?  How could she possibly let that memory go. 
If she let it go it a sacred piece of history would slip through her
hands.  It would absolve into the void, into meaninglessness, into
nothingness. 

The
feeling began to creep over her that Cruise knew that. 

Irritated,
she pushed open the heavy glass doors of the hotel.  It was a cheap hotel
she had booked at the last moment in Venice.  Located on the Bankside, it
was near the Rose Theatre. 

She
clanked up the stairs with her suitcase after quickly checking in and walked
the tattered and tired carpet to her room at the back of the hotel. 
Fumbling with the key in the lock, she finally managed to push the door
open.  She threw the suitcase in without even looking at the room. 
Slamming the door she quickly moved down the stairs and out the
door.  

Time
had moved on in London.  Instead of the old timber frame Tudor style
houses there now were high rises and modern glass buildings.  Where once
there were cobbled streets and the steady clop of horse’s hooves, there now was
pavement and the rushing movement of automobiles.  Alice felt disoriented
and checked her watch. 

She
moved down the street and found herself drifting towards the Rose.  She
vaguely remembered that its foundations had been unearthed in a routine
archaeological excavation in 1989.  Would there be nothing but bricks? 
Bones?  She consulted her map.  Yes, here it would be, right around
the corner.

The
building confronting her was all bright glass lined in metal mirroring the
sidewalks, cars, and busses movingly rapidly by.   Alice stood rooted
to the spot, uncomprehending the visage. The marquee sign largely and loudly
proclaimed “Rose Theatre.”