Kissing Shakespeare (17 page)

After a short time, he moved toward the bed and collapsed sideways onto it, becoming so still it scared me. I rushed over and nudged him with my hip, whispering his name. Once, then again. He moved, rolling onto his back, and opened his eyes. He blinked at me and said, “Olivia, what are you doing in here?”

“Are you all right? I think you just had a vision.”

“God’s breath! Did you witness it?”

“Just the last few minutes. How long do they usually last?”

“According to my father and uncle, not much longer than that. You must have seen most of it. Was I moaning?”

“I guess you could call it that. I—I was frightened at first.”

“Can you help me sit up?”

Positioning myself behind him, I slid my arms underneath his shoulders. His body felt slack in my grip. “Ready?” He nodded, and with my help, he managed to raise himself up. He swung his feet over the edge of the bed and gave me an apologetic glance. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Don’t be. I’m glad. I wanted to know what it was like.”

He grasped my hand and pulled me down beside him. “What do you wish to know? I can tell you are curious.”

I hadn’t expected him to be so open to my questions. “What was in the vision, obviously.”

“It was not one of my clearer visions. More fleeting, and the feeling of dread I mentioned to you was pronounced.” He paused and rubbed his hands over his face. “You will not like to hear this, but I saw the sheriff.”

“Oh God, not him. What was he doing?”

“He was sitting at a table with another man. One I did not recognize. They were studying a map. I could see it was of the north of England, and Hoghton Tower was marked on it. They seemed to be plotting or scheming, but I couldn’t hear their words. Suddenly, the sheriff looked up and fixed his icy stare on me, as if he were a hunter and I, the prey. That must have been when I felt the fear in my belly and began keening.”

“That’s bad!” I practically shouted. “I’m terrified of that man. He’s evil.”

“Hush, now.” Stephen squeezed my hand. “No need to be alarmed. Sometimes it takes me a few days to sort out the meaning of a vision. I remember things I could not recall at first. It will come clearer, and we will understand more fully.”

I nodded, wanting to believe him, but I knew I’d stress about it until he figured out exactly what the vision had been telling him. Giving him a sidelong glance, I noticed beads of perspiration on his forehead. I rose and went to the washstand, where I dipped a fresh cloth into the bowl of water. I hurried back to Stephen and pressed it to his head. I thought he’d bat my hand away, but he let me take care of him.

“Is it painful? When you have the visions?”

He looked at me in surprise. “Not painful. Only the sweating and sometimes a slight headache.”

I lowered myself back down beside him. “The first day I was here, when you told me about … steering history in the right direction, you used the phrase, ‘for my sins.’ Did you mean that literally?”

Half-laughing, he said, “ ’Tis only an expression. But sometimes it seems I must have done something very wicked in the past, or mayhap an ancestor did, and now I must atone for it.”

“Is it so bad, what you do?”

“I suppose some men would find it exciting. But I would far rather live a normal life—farm, marry, and raise a family—than deal with magic, visions, and hurtling through time.”

“You sound like a real homebody,” I said.

“Is that bad?”

“No. Not bad. Just surprising for someone your age.”

“You do remember what century you are currently residing in?” he said, quirking his mouth at me.

I laughed. “It’s amazing how different it is now. In my time, a young man your age would probably rather hurl himself off the Empire State Building than get married.”

“That is one of your wondrous constructions?” He shrugged. “We don’t live as long in this era, and so must get on with our lives.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It is the truth. Disease is rampant, and nothing to be done for it.”

“I don’t like thinking about it.” I swallowed hard.

He stared at me for a moment, looking confused, and then said, “We shall not talk of it, then. I see you brought a book with you.”

“Oh, damn, I dropped it! I hope I didn’t damage it.” I walked over and picked it up. “I wanted to remind you about teaching me to read Elizabethan script. You probably don’t feel up to it now, though.”

“On the contrary, it will do me good to think about something else.”

“It’s the translation of Ovid. Will it work for teaching me?” I handed it to him and looked at his handsome face, now grown so familiar. Crazy, but for a moment I had the strongest urge to ask him to hold me. I wanted to feel his arms around me and beg him to forgive me for doubting his visions. Now that I’d seen him having one, I was convinced they were genuine. It seemed scary and surreal to me—so what must it be like for him? And then afterward, he had to figure out what it all meant. It must take an emotional toll, even if Stephen wouldn’t admit it.

“Olivia? Are you unwell?”

I blinked back to reality. “No, of course not. I’m sorry, I was distracted, that’s all.”

“Let’s work in the library, at the table.”

“Won’t Thomas be there?”

“He rode out earlier to administer last rites. I do not believe he’s returned.”

In a few minutes, we were seated at the oak library table, where Will had tutored me in Ovid. The smell of leather-bound books and beeswax candles drifted through the air. Stephen found a piece of foolscap—which is what they called sheets of paper—and began writing.

I rested my elbow on the table and propped my chin in my hand. “What are you doing?”

“Writing the alphabet. You must learn to recognize how each letter is formed. Printed books look much the same.”

“Oh.” I stared, mesmerized by the elegant script forming on the page. He slid the paper over to me and handed me the quill.

“You try.”

I dipped the quill in the ink jar and attempted to copy the letters as he’d written them. “This feels so awkward,” I said, glancing at him. I flashed back to second grade, when I’d learned cursive, always hopeful for a sticker on my paper. But I didn’t write cursive anymore. Hardly anybody did, except for older people.

I wrote, crossed out, and sighed with frustration. Stephen curved his fingers over mine, so we were tracing each letter together. His touch sent an electric shock through me. I felt his breath on my cheek, could smell his shaving soap. When I looked goofily up at him and laughed, the quill slipped and slashed a long black stroke against the page.

My cheeks burned. What was the matter with me?

“You’re hopeless,” Stephen said.

I shot him a toxic look and tried again, finally making it through the lowercase letters. While I worked, Stephen had written capitals on another sheet, which he now scooted over to me. I groaned and said, “Slave driver.”

It wasn’t so difficult, only different, with a lot of curving, swirly lines. Extra loops and marks that looked as if they didn’t belong. After a while, we moved to the settle and Stephen examined the book. “This will serve.” He handed it to me. “Can you read any of it?”

I studied it for a few minutes. He rose, and I heard him at the desk moving objects and papers around. He came back over and handed me a magnifying glass. “This might help.”

It did, but only marginally. Even enlarged, some of the words remained a complete mystery. Many were easily identifiable, and others I could guess at. Eventually I tossed the book aside, feeling a headache coming on.

Stephen laughed. “Do not give up. I felt exactly the same when trying to decipher your script. You’ll catch on after a time.”

“Absolutely. Just in time for my return to the present.”

He narrowed his eyes at me.

“Sorry,” I said quickly. I didn’t want to ruin our tenuous peace. “And I nearly forgot to tell you.… I followed Shakespeare and Thomas Cook the other night after I left you. I overheard a very interesting conversation.”

“Go on.”

“Thomas spoke to Will about furthering his education, and ended by urging him—again—to think about becoming a Jesuit. Will promised he would. Think about it, I mean.”

Stephen looked worried. “If we don’t set the plan in motion, it may be too late.”

“I told you I arranged a meeting with Will. Two meetings, actually. That should lead to something.”

Stephen sent me an accusing look, which totally irritated me.

I folded my arms across my chest. “Don’t worry. I’m looking forward to making love with Will. I can’t imagine anything more exciting.”

He muttered a curse under his breath. “Truly, mistress? I am glad the idea is no longer so loathsome to you as it once was.”

He didn’t look glad. He looked kind of miserable. That feeling I’d had earlier of wanting to be held reared up again, and suddenly my heart was in my throat. It had to be homesickness. What else could it be? Stephen took one look at me and must have seen the despair written on my face. He pulled me into his arms, and I clung to him. “Forgive me for pushing you. ’Tis not easy, I know.”

I curled myself into his embrace for a minute. “I think I’m homesick,” I said, drawing back. My voice trembled, my throat so tight I could barely speak.

“I am always here if you need me.” He kissed the top of my head.

“Yes, I know. I’m being idiotic.” I stepped away and inhaled a huge breath.

“Better?”

I nodded.

“We’ll speak of this another time. Come, let’s go to lunch.”

Although my mind was on Stephen, I chatted pleasantly with Fulke and his father. “We may have a visit from Lord Strange’s Men,” Master Gillam told me between chewing bits of pheasant. He sounded excited, so I knew this must be something big.

“Ah. When do you expect them?” I had no idea who Lord Strange was, but I suspected his “men” must be a group of actors.

“Within a fortnight,” he said, “and the Earl of Derby as well!”

“How … thrilling.” I clumsily sliced off pieces of meat with my knife, popped them into my mouth, and washed them down with ale.

“Aye. Preparing for their arrival will mean extra work for the whole household. Then too, it is costly when an earl visits.” He laughed and leaned in close. “Especially this earl, who fancies himself royalty.”

“Father, what play are Strange’s men to perform?” Fulke asked.

“
Orlando Furioso
, mayhap, or
Beauty and Housewifery.
”

This was good news! A performance would definitely engage Shakespeare and help further my secondary plan. I glanced at Will and Thomas across the table, engaged in a discussion about, if I overheard correctly, the
Aeneid
.

“Virgil celebrates the majesty of Rome,” Thomas was saying.

“The Roman Empire?” Will asked.

“Aye. But ’tis nothing compared to the holy church of Rome. The kingdom of Christ.”

Can’t they have a normal conversation?
I gripped the sides of my chair in frustration. Darting another glance at Will, I caught him looking right at me. Maybe it was only a muscle twitch, but I swear to God he winked at me. Which made me wonder if he was taking Thomas Cook seriously and whether or not he was really on board with the religious program.

Fulke and his dad went on discussing the earl’s visit. Stephen was talking to his uncle about sheep and pastures and other farming-related things, from what I could hear. Bored, I’d turned to scan the room when a man approaching our table caught my eye. If I wasn’t mistaken, he was Alexander’s steward. He leaned over and whispered in his boss’s ear.

In a flash, Alexander was on his feet. “Thomas!”

Thomas wiped his mouth and walked over to Alexander. They had a whispered conversation, with lots of gesturing and frantic looks passing back and forth. Among the rest of us, talk ceased, knives dropped to the table, and everyone stared. The mood had quickly changed from jolly to fearful. Thomas and the steward eventually hurried out of the hall, and Alexander sat down. After a few tense moments, I heard pounding feet approaching through the courtyard. The door flew open and a troop of men barged in, led by the sheriff.

Seeing that man again made my stomach lurch, especially now that I knew he’d been in Stephen’s vision.

“What is the meaning of this?” Alexander stood and glared at them.

“Sir, I am arresting you in the name of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth,” the sheriff said.

“And may I know what offense I have committed, sir?”

“ ’Tis one I believe you are well aware of. You have not attended Sunday services for many weeks, in violation of the Act of Uniformity. Nor have you paid your fines.”

The other men seized Alexander’s arms. He didn’t resist, nor did anyone make a move on his behalf.

“Can’t you do something?” I asked Stephen, tugging on his sleeve.

“My lord sheriff,” Stephen said, rising. “Would it not suffice for my uncle to pay the money owed?”

“Who are you, sir?”

“Stephen Langford, nephew to Master Hoghton.” He gave a curt bow.

“Well, Master Langford, if you do not wish to end up in a cell with your uncle, stay out of this. It is not your affair.”