Dark Aemilia by Sally O'Reilly Read Free Book Online Page B

wield it, but that discovery would put an end to my deception. My true life is lived in those secret times with Will, which make the fakery of my Court life fade to nothing. Each time we meet, he gives me a letter, and I give him one in return. He says my words are his comfort when we are apart; his missives to me are more beautiful than I can say. These are not just letters which talk of love, but which talk of everything. (And if you think me a fool as well as a wanton, then let me say these letters are written in a sort of code.)
    Today I am trying to put such thoughts from my mind, and I am reading St Paul’s letters to the Corinthians in my chamber, disliking his view of women. But Hunsdon comes in, and says, ‘Aemilia, are you tired of your life here?’
    I put St Paul down, taking my time about it. ‘Tired in what way, sir?’
    He sits beside me. ‘You know what I have spoken of. I am growing older.’
    ‘Not to me,’ I smile and touch his cheek, trying to read his expression. ‘You are my lord in all things, dear Henry.’
    He takes my hand and places it in my lap. ‘What do you say to this – we go away from here?’
    ‘Go? Where?’
    ‘To Titchfield, where Wriothesley has his seat.’
    The fear rises in me – is this a trick? A ruse to get me away from Will? I smile, and lean across to kiss him. ‘Why, what shall we do there, my love?’
    ‘The Queen is going on a progress.’
    ‘But is this newly thought of?’
    ‘Her Majesty has been out of sorts, and blames the parched and putrid drains. She wants fresh air, clean rooms, and some diversion. The players have a new piece, and they’re to stage it there for her.’
    The fear remains. ‘Which piece is this?’
    ‘
Love’s Labour’s Lost
. Wriothesley has commissioned it, Shakespeare has wrote it, and he assures me it is good. Some comedy or other. He claims it’s better than the
Shrew
.’
    ‘Mr Shakespeare?’ I feel the room swimming around me. ‘And… Mr Burbage? Will they be there too?’
    ‘Most decidedly they will! Why would they not be? It will be an entertainment for us all. And much needed, before the nights draw in, and the autumn creeps upon us. Place House is handsome, and the country all around is green and pleasant. And it’s not too far – no more than three days’ ride.’
    ‘But… are you sure you want me with you?’ Hunsdon usually leaves me behind if he goes on a progress with the Queen. It is unspoken but understood between us that it pleases his wife better if I stay in my Whitehall rooms when he is gone from London, as if my body was a chance adornment of the palace and not a chosen pleasure. Travelling with his lordship is too spouse-like . So is this suggestion a sign of his growing fondness for me, or his burgeoning mistrust?
    He kisses my obedient little breasts, pushed up tight and high by whalebone and fashion. ‘But me no buts, my dearest chuck. We shall have the players to please us by day, and by night we shall have our sport together.’

Scene V
    There is little sign of the countryside being green and pleasant during our journey, which seems to take three weeks, not three days. A great storm rages for the whole duration, so fiercely that I cannot ride, which I prefer, but instead must leave poor Frey to be ridden by a servant, while I am piled into a coach with a heap of scented, smirking ladies, all of whom seem party to some private joke. This conveyance bumps and trundles along, giving us all great discomfort, and the rain is so heavy that it trickles through the leaking roof, and soaks our cloaks, and the ladies declare that they will all die of the sweats, which sets them off again in the most hysterical and unpleasant-sounding laughter. I stare out of the window, watching the dark clouds flying and wondering at the amount of mud that churns along our way. We should have been better off in an Ark than a wobbling coach, for the wrath of God seems to be upon us and the heavens turned to perpetual