Kissing Shakespeare (29 page)

“He is weary,” Will said, coming to a halt in front of me. “He has been hiding since his return to England near a year past. None of us would like his kind of life, having no home, always on watch for spies and government agents.”

“Why does he remain so long at Hoghton Tower? It’s dangerous!”

“Because of his work. He has been writing an important document, which will rebut the Protestant religious arguments. In it, he exhorts the queen herself to return to the true faith.”

“Surely there are fine libraries in other Catholic homes that would be just as useful to him.”

“Believe me, I have urged him to leave now, not to wait until after the pageant. If he chooses to turn a blind eye to the dangers, there is nothing more I can do.”

“You … will not go with him?”

“I will see him safely to the next hiding place. I’ve told Master Hoghton I wish to do so.”

“Please, Will, do not take this upon yourself,” I said, forcing him to look at me. “My uncle will send someone else, a servant or a laborer. Someone who would not be suspect.” On their journey, wouldn’t it be tempting for Thomas to press Will to join the Society of Jesus? And for Will to easily succumb?

“Thomas is willing to sacrifice his life. Should I not do the same for his sake?”

No, I wanted to shout.
No, you most definitely should not
. “When will he leave?”

“I believe almost immediately after the performance. His work is completed, and he must deliver it into the printer’s hands. In secret, of course.”

“Will, I know it is not my business, but I am your true friend.” My cheeks burned. If he was remembering last night, he must be thinking about what an understatement that was. I plunged on. “As your friend—will you tell me the truth? Do you intend to join the Jesuits?”

His gray eyes darkened, and I thought I’d made him angry. “Aye. How did you know?”

I groaned inside. “You saw what happened to that poor man in Preston! That could be you, or Thomas.”

“Thomas believes we can proceed safely to another location and eventually cross the channel to France. From there I will travel to the Low Countries, to the university for priests.”

I placed my hand on his chest. “Is this what you really want? In your own heart, are you ready to give up a wife and family? You have more than one young lady smitten with you, and that’s just here at Hoghton Tower. And then there is Anne.…”

He blushed and turned away from me. “That is a weakness which must be overcome. Thomas did so.”

“Is love a weakness, then, Will? Do not forget, Thomas did so because becoming a priest was his heart’s desire. He has zeal, a passion for God. Do you have that same passion?”

He pulled a hand through his hair, which caused it to stick out in all the wrong places. “I do not know!”

“And what about becoming a player? You told me yourself that is what you wished to do. And your writing—”

“Did you know Thomas himself has written plays? The Jesuits are known for their oratory and their acting. ’Tis part of the way they teach and learn.”

“There are other kinds of learning. One learns from being out in the world, from engaging with others, from experience. Learning doesn’t come just at universities. And you have a whole library right here at your disposal.” My voice shook, its pitch rising.

Will sighed and dropped down onto a cushioned chair. “What am I to do? Thomas is a man of God, a truly good man. I want to be like him!”

“Maybe you can emulate him in some other …”

Someone was approaching. It was the man in question.

“Master Will, mistress, pray pardon me for disturbing you.” Thomas swiveled and looked directly at Will. “We are ready for you now, sir. And Mistress Olivia, we shall have need of you for the remainder of our rehearsals.”

“Ah, certainly. I shall be there,” I said, trying to keep the panic I was feeling from my voice.

I was glad for the interruption, because I didn’t know what to say next. Sad eyed, Will rose and bowed to me, and I felt sorry that he was so torn. He left the room, and I sank down onto the settle by the fire. We were—I was—failing. Friend or lover, I couldn’t possibly hope to overcome the priest’s influence. Will seemed more convinced than ever that he should follow in Thomas’s footsteps. It was time to make a little foray into Master Will Shakespeare’s chamber. The mysterious letter held the key to Thomas’s sway over him, I was sure of it.

I ticked off the whereabouts of everyone who might possibly catch me snooping. Jennet was in the stillroom with Elizabeth for the morning, and Will of course was at rehearsal. No one else, except Stephen and me, had a chamber in this passageway. The servants should have straightened the rooms by now, so I didn’t think one of them would catch me. Stephen was supposed to be my lookout, but I had no idea where he might be.

I found him in his room, seated by the fireplace, Cop curled up at his feet. “What are you doing in here? I thought you’d be hunting or doing something else outdoors.”

“Come, be seated. Nay, I do not feel up to anything; I am brooding.”

I didn’t ask what about. “I want to search Shakespeare’s room. He’s at rehearsal, and no one else is around. A perfect opportunity.”

“Are you certain?”

“As certain as I can be. Come on, I need your help.”

I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the passage. “Wait!” he said. “We need to form a plan.”

“I
have
a plan. I’ll look for the letter while you keep watch. With all the doors open, you can see in either direction. If someone’s coming, your job is to distract them.”

“Linger in the passage? That will seem suspicious indeed.”

“Why are you acting so weird? Nobody has a reason to suspect you of anything. If someone shows up, talk in a loud voice, so I’ll know you’re warning me.”

He looked skeptical, but nodded. “As you say.” He seemed awfully distracted, but I didn’t have time to worry about that.

I slipped into Will’s room, glancing back to make sure Stephen was in place. Once inside, I slowly twirled around, trying to decide on the best place to start. Will was not exactly a slob, but he wasn’t Mr. Neat, either. Books and papers were piled on a writing table. He’d tossed his sleeping smock onto the settle. His bed had been made, probably by a servant.

With its jumble of papers, the writing table seemed the most likely place to start. Pushing an ink jar and dirty quills aside, I sorted through the stack of foolscap quickly. Most of the documents were closely written in what I recognized as Will’s hand and looked like the beginnings of poems—sonnets, perhaps—with several crossed-out words and smudges.

I abandoned the writing table in favor of the wardrobe, sorting through some clothing. Not that he had much. A few doublets, a couple pairs of hose that looked like they could use a good washing, one linen shirt. Apparently he had only one pair of boots—the ones he was wearing. I exhaled my frustration. Nothing there.

I lifted the mattress off his bed. It was light, like my own, made with some kind of ticking. After I removed it, I could plainly see the ropes, sagging from one end of the bedstead to the other. But no letter. I even ripped off the bed linen, quickly replacing it when it yielded nothing.
Damn!

Stephen stuck his head in. “Are you almost done?” he hissed. “ ’Tis near mealtime.”

“Oh my God, you scared me!”

“Well, are you?”

“Yes! Get out of here.” He disappeared.

Now I began to feel desperate. I swiveled back to the writing table and eyed it again, thinking about where I might stash a letter. Perhaps he’d slipped it into one of the books. As I leafed through the second book in the stack, a folded parchment fell out, and I recognized it instantly because of the sealing wax. I grabbed it, returned the volume to its place in the stack, and dashed down the passage to Stephen’s room. I closed the doors at my end while Stephen took care of those at the far end.

Hiding the letter in the folds of my skirt, I kept my expression flat.

“God’s breath!” Stephen said. “I guess we should give up. Mayhap it would not have helped anyway.”

“Ta-da!” I whipped the letter out and held it up.

He looked shocked at first, but then grinned and said, “You are quite the little thief, mistress.”

I unfolded the paper and—“Oh, no. It’s in Latin.”

“Ah. Clever of him. Only a well-educated person would be able to read it, were it discovered.”

“And that would include you, no doubt,” I said, passing it to him with a smirk.

I followed Stephen to the settle, where he unfolded the letter and began reading out loud, pausing now and then to sort out the phrasing.

Good Master Will
,

May God’s mercy and grace be upon you, my friend
.

Please accept this missive as my attempt to guide you in your understanding of my mission here in England. It is easier for me to lay down my thoughts in writing than to explain it in the short periods of time afforded us to speak privately
.

Out of all Europe, the English have retreated farthest from God. Although I have had to live abroad many years, England is my home, and restoring her to the Catholic faith would bring untold honor and glory to the church
.

I come here on no political business, as some believe, but only to hear confessions, say Mass, and preach. In all earthly laws, my obedience is to the queen as my sovereign. But there is only one sovereign of the church, and that is our Lord Jesus Christ
.

“He doth protest too much, methinks,” Stephen said wryly, before going on.

In my youth, I had the honor of meeting Queen Elizabeth. I much admired her for her great learning, understanding, and godliness. I have since taken a different path from our noble monarch. Would that I could persuade her to cast aside the ways of the reformers and restore her to the one true faith
.

“He met the queen,” Stephen murmured. “Why would Thomas Cook be acquainted with Elizabeth? If that is true, he must be so remarkable a man that she requested an introduction to him.”

“So? Thomas
is
remarkable. You’ve said so before.”

“Exactly. Mayhap too remarkable for an obscure Jesuit.”

I tried to follow his thread, but couldn’t see where his thoughts were leading. “Read the rest.”

As long as there are folk who wish to adhere to the old faith, my work here continues. As long as there is one more soul to save, I must keep on. I seek no honor or glory for myself, only for God. May God’s grace be with you always, Will
.

Your humble servant in the Lord,
Thomas Cook

“Pretty impressive, Stephen.”

He waved off my praise. “Schoolboy Latin. ’Tis a very straightforward letter, and for our purposes, disappointing. It tells us nothing we do not already know.” He threw the letter in the air, and it slowly drifted to the floor.

“I better put it back while I have a chance.”

“Aye,” Stephen said absentmindedly. He propped his elbows on his knees, hands cupping his face.

Scooping it off the floor, I glanced at the letter one last time, turning it this way and that, as if I might be able to ferret out some secret it held. My fingers rubbed against the seal. I looked at it closely, and then I stopped in my tracks.

“Stephen, this seal doesn’t have Thomas’s initials. It says
E.C
.”

Stephen bolted to his feet. “Let me see that!”

I handed it over, watching his face turn pale. “Can it be?” he said. “Edmund Campion?”

“What are you talking about?” Although the name sounded vaguely familiar, I couldn’t remember in what context. “Please, Stephen, explain!”

“Edmund Campion, the Jesuit priest. The most wanted man in all of England. Walsingham, the spymaster, would do anything to get his hands on him. Do you not see? Thomas Cook
is
Edmund Campion.”