Much Ado In the Moonlight (31 page)

“It’s a good thing you never go anywhere without your knitting bag,” Jennifer said, giving Mary a hug.

“You never know when you’ll be stuck in a line,” Mary said.

“Well, it’s a good thing it wasn’t a line to the Tower’s dungeon,” Victoria said, feeling almost giddy with relief. “Come on, Granny, let’s go.”

“Oh,” Mary said with a slight frown, “but I can’t go yet.”

Victoria frowned, as well. “What do you mean you can’t go yet? Let’s get out of here before someone figures out we’re not locals!”

“But, Vikki, honey, I couldn’t disappoint William.”

“William?” Victoria echoed. “William who?”

“Who do you think?” her grandmother asked smoothly.

Victoria felt faint. She’d bypassed woozy, barreled through unsteady, and plowed right into reeling. “Shakespeare?” she managed in a very garbled voice.

Her grandmother took her by the arm. “Let’s go sit over there on that little wall. I have an hour or two before I have to be off for supper.”

“Off for supper,” Victoria repeated weakly. “Off for supper with whom?”

“Vikki, are you not feeling well?”

Jennifer laughed. “Granny, I think Vikki’s having withdrawal symptoms. You know, being separated from her production of
Hamlet
by, oh, four hundred years or so. Cut her some slack.”

Victoria found herself deposited on a little brick wall. Her grandmother sat down next to her, took her hand, and patted it. Victoria had a hard time not bursting into tears.

“I’m all right,” Mary said, smiling sympathetically. “I appreciate you coming all this way to get me. Now, give me a few days to wrap things up and I’ll be ready to go home.”

“Shakespeare,” Victoria whispered. “You met Shakespeare? Where are you staying? How did you get a part in his play?”

Her grandmother laughed. “So many questions, so little time before I’m due for supper with William. He finds my accent charming, you know. Scottish with a tinge of something he’s still trying to identify.”

“Is that so,” Victoria managed.

Mary put her arm around Victoria. “Yes, it is. Now, I have a thousand things to tell you and some gossip as well. Where are you staying?”

“In the seedy part of town,” Jennifer offered. “How about you?”

“Dear William found me a little room in Lord Mount-joy’s house.”

“Granny,” Victoria said, stunned, “do you have any idea whom you’re hobnobbing with?”

“I’m an old woman,” Mary said with a smile, “so titles don’t impress me. But a soft bed does. You know, the pub behind us is quite nice. Let’s go chat, shall we? I have some interesting news for you.”

Victoria managed to get to her feet and trail after her sister and her grandmother. She looked up at Connor.

“Well,” she said.

He shrugged with half a smile. “As I said, a most canny wench. I am unsurprised.”

“But Connor, she met
Shakespeare
.”

“Maybe he was impressed by her knitting needles.”

He wouldn’t have been the first person, Victoria supposed. Mary seemed to know the proprietor of the pub, who subsequently offered them fine seats near a window. Victoria waited until everyone was seated before she turned to her granny and began the grilling.

“All right, now spill the details,” Victoria said.

“Are you feeling better, dear?” Mary asked.

“Much, and don’t hedge. How in the world did you get that gig? In the Scottish play, no less!”

Mary smiled. “It’s a rather long story, but since I assume you found yourselves here in the same way I did, I’ll spare you the details of my trip. I should probably also spare you the details of my encounter with a ne’er-do-well or two who felt the bite of my needles.”

“How did they serve you, those needles?” Connor asked politely.

“You would have been impressed, Connor,” Mary said, her eyes twinkling. “Since I did not have a strapping, braw Highland lord at my disposal, I did what an old woman has to do to get along. Now, as you might imagine, I was slightly disconcerted to find myself so far out of my normal routine, but—”

“Being Granny, you made do,” Jennifer finished with a smile.

Mary smiled modestly. “I do what I can.”

“But, Granny,” Victoria said impatiently, “how did you meet Shakespeare?”

“Apparently, he was off on a little walk to meet a new actor when he saw me and felt compelled to approach.”

“How fortunate,” Connor offered.

“He needed a new witch,” Mary continued, “and liked the look of my needles.”

“But, Granny,” Victoria said again, “you’re a woman. They didn’t let women act during Elizabeth’s day.”

“It’s 1606, love, and James is king. William saw that I was perfect for the role and decided that what the Master of the Revels didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Besides, it’s only for another week. He’s staging something else then and I’ll be free to do whatever suits me.”

“But we came to take you home,” Victoria pointed out.

Mary smiled. “In a week, love?”

Victoria sighed. “I suppose if you’re safe, we can spend a week looking for Michael. Who knows, it may take us that long to find him. I hope not longer,” she added darkly.

Mary leaned forward. “I might be able to help you there, as well.”

Victoria caught her breath. “Can you?”

“Finish your lunch, love, and then we’ll see what appears in the little square across the road.”

“Granny, what’s across the road is the Globe,” Victoria said. “If Michael Fellini has gotten a gig there, I’m going to kill myself.”

“Hold that thought, love, until after you’ve eaten.”

Victoria found that she just couldn’t bear even that long a wait. “Are you telling me that Michael’s acting at the Globe?”

Mary laughed. “In his dreams, dear.” She waited until lunch had been served before she continued. “He’s holding court every couple of days on the stepes of those hallowed boards, trying to get people to pay attention to him.”

Jennifer sniffed suspiciously at her cup. “And are they? Paying attention, I mean. By the way, what do you think this stuff is?”

“Wine,” Mary said. “Safest thing on the menu. And, no, the people aren’t really paying attention. He’s trying to pass off
Othello
as his own. What he can apparently remember of it, which according to my memory, is not very much.”

“But
Othello
was written in 1605,” Victoria said. “And you said it is 1606.”

“Exactly,” Mary said. Then she shrugged. “He’s staying at The Gander’s Goose. It’s not a particularly nice inn, but it’s what he can afford.” She paused. “He doesn’t sound well. I wonder if the shock has done him in or if it’s something else.”

“Let’s figure it out right away,” Victoria said. “Let’s get him right now and be on our way.”

“My run,” Mary reminded her. “I can’t disappoint the Bard.”

Victoria was horribly torn. Jennifer and Connor, she could tell, would have happily stayed for quite some time, but she did have her play at home to be taking care of. Then again, this was Elizabethan London and her granny had a part as one of the witches in a genuine Shakespearean production.

“All right,” Victoria said. “You finish your run and we’ll keep tabs on Michael and make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble.”

“I want to sightsee,” Jennifer said.

“Might as well,” Victoria said, resigning herself to really not being in control of her life. “Granny, are you safe?”

Mary patted her knitting bag. “Perfectly. Besides, one of Will’s most lethal actors has been assigned as my bodyguard. He’s hanging around outside, waiting to escort me wherever I want to go.” She smiled modestly. “I finished the Fair Isle sweater for him.”

“A fortunate lad, indeed,” Connor said, sounding just a little bit envious.

“He apparently thought so,” Mary agreed. She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “I’m sorry to dash, but I’m expected at Lord Mountjoy’s. A witch’s work is never done, I suppose.”

Jennifer laughed. “Granny, I can’t believe you. You’d think you had lived in this century forever!”

“I’m flexible, love. ‘Bloom where you’re planted’ is my motto.”

Jennifer shook her head. “I could never live without modern conveniences.”

“Never say never, love,” Mary said, patting Jennifer’s hand. She looked at Victoria. “You’ll be all right? Can you amuse yourselves for a few days?”

Victoria blinked. “You mean, you’re ditching us until your run is over? I don’t get to meet the man?”

“Yes, I’m ditching you, and yes, I’ll see what I can arrange with William.” Mary paused. “I can’t exactly tell him that you’ve been producing his plays for years, can I? I suppose I can tell him that you’re a huge fan and want his autograph.”

Victoria felt a little faint. “I suppose you could.”

“I could,” Mary agreed. “All right, today’s Saturday. Meet me after the show on Tuesday and hopefully I’ll have a famous playwright in tow.”

Victoria was very glad she was sitting down.

“And Michael?” Mary asked.

“Mayhap we will be forced to resort to violence,” Connor said, not looking unhappy at the thought of that possibility.

Victoria gave her grandmother a kiss and watched her sashay out of the darkened pub. She sat back and looked at her companions. “Can you believe it?”

“I believe anything of your
grandmère
,” Connor said. “A formidable woman, that one.”

“Hobnobbing with William Shakespeare,” Victoria squeaked. “How did she manage that?”

“Like you said, she’s Granny,” Jennifer said. “Well, at least we know where she is. We probably should go find Diva Fellini and see about damage control.”

“Heaven help us,” Victoria muttered as she rose, left money on the table, and headed out of the pub with her companions.

They hadn’t walked ten feet out of the door before she heard Connor swear.

She ducked, just on principle.

“There he is, the rat,” Jennifer said.

Victoria folded her arms over her chest and looked at Michael Fellini standing across the muddy street, arms flung out wide, reciting lines from
Othello
as if he stood on the Drury Lane stage.

Reciting them badly, truth be told.

Victoria looked at him more closely. “Well,” she said finally, “I think he could have benefitted from a trip or two to a Renaissance Faire. Look at his clothes.”

“Sneakers with tights,” Jennifer said in disgust. “I mean, really. I could have done better than that.”

“Of course you could have,” Victoria said crisply. “You’re a fabulous actress, something we
will
discuss when we return home.” She looked up at Connor. “What do you think?”

“What I think isn’t fit for a lady’s ear.”

She smiled. There were just so many things to like about Connor MacDougal. “Well, we could just sit here and watch until he gets tired and goes home so we’re sure of where he’s staying, or we could go sightseeing.”

“I vote for sightseeing,” Jennifer said.

Connor stroked his chin thoughtfully. “And if he flees? ’Twill be a hard thing indeed to find him again.”

“Flee?” Victoria said doubtfully. “I don’t think he will. He’s standing ten feet from the Globe Theater. He’s probably having delusions of grandeur even as we speak. If I were Shakespeare, I’d be watching my back.”

“I’m certain he trembles in fear,” Connor said dryly. “Very well, Mistress Jennifer, where is it you care to go?”

“The Tower,” Jennifer said with bright eyes.

“I doubt there will be a tour of the Crown Jewels,” Victoria said. “We can only hope we won’t have a personal tour of the dungeons.”

Connor shivered. “The saints preserve us,” he said with feeling. He put his hand on his sword and looked at Victoria. “After you, my lady.”

Jennifer gave Victoria a knowing look that made Victoria want to smack her, but she refrained. Who knew but what police frowned on that sort of thing, and then they really would find themselves in the Tower’s pokey.

She followed her sister, Connor’s words ringing in her ears.

Michael
Fellini sat at a wobbly table in the garret of an equally unstable inn and stared at the business end of a quill, wondering if he should dip it again into the inkwell or just poke himself in the eye with it.

He paused.

He was fairly sure he had a fever.

He was almost equally sure he had seen Victoria the day before.

But given that he thought his fever might be causing hallucinations, it was possible that he was imagining the last.

He pulled up the sleeve of his stolen tunic and looked at the slash on his bicep. It was red and angry. As the man who had given him that slice had been red and angry, as well, maybe it was fitting. All he really knew was that it was probably infected and that wasn’t good.

He’d get it fixed later, when he’d sold his play and gotten some money. He looked at the little pouch of gold on his table, hefted it, then decided it was most definitely not enough. He’d clunked someone over the head and poached his clothing on his first day in Renaissance England, but the guy hadn’t been all that well-heeled, so Michael had had to make do with a cheap room and meager supplies. At this point, paper and writing gear was on his list; a doctor wasn’t.

Damn it, where was Bernie when he needed him?

He looked at his quill again and decided on writing instead of damaging. After all, who knew if, when he finished his new play, he might be called upon to take the lead role and a missing eye might disqualify him for that. He wasn’t about to let that happen, given that the play he was about to write was going to be something that would make Elizabethan England stand up and take notice.

Othello, Moor of Venice
.

He paused and frowned. The only problem was, he could only remember Othello’s part.