Dating Hamlet by Lisa Fiedler Read Free Book Online

poor regard for me, he will surely present me to Claudius as a pawn in proving good Hamlet’s ill-state.”
    â€œSo this note shall be the proof that Hamlet’s missing mind was lost in his pursuit of you?”
    I nod.
    Anne gives me a long look. “Would you know what I think, Lia?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI think you’re both mad, and need no note to confirm my suspicions!”
    I give her hand a playful slap.
    â€œAnd that is the entire plan?”
    â€œAye. Unless events arise to alter it.”
    â€œAnd what of Horatio? Hath he a role in this deception?”
    â€œOnly to keep silent on’t.”
    â€œAnd me?”
    â€œOh, we may have use for you,” I tell her. “Later.”
    â€œLater?”
    â€œWhen Hamlet kills the King.”

    Anne blinks at me once, twice, then her knees crumble and she is facedown in a platter of figs.
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    Anne is lying on a cot in her grim room adjacent to the larder. I have removed her stockings and elevated her feet. She is an amusing sight. I struggle not to laugh.
    â€œLia, I do not see what you find so comical! Murder is a sin unsurpassed.”
    â€œThis is not murder, this is vengeance.”
    â€œYou split hairs!” Anne draws the coverlet to her chin and frowns.
    â€œI don’t. Men do.”
    â€œI’ll have none of it.”
    â€œYes, you will,” I tell her calmly, standing and handing her her slippers. “But let us not talk on it now.” I move to the door.
    â€œWhere are you going?” she asks.
    â€œTo meet my dearest Hamlet at the stream.” I smile at her over my shoulder. “We’ve a letter to compose.”

CHAPTER FOUR
    WE ARE TOGETHER ON THE BANK OF THE STREAM. It glistens and tumbles and splashes itself, shallow in spots, deeper in others. In the distance, the sun throws long shadows from the towers of Elsinore.
    On the opposite bank, I notice a figure, a man in dusty clothes, with a spade on his shoulder. He walks at a jaunty, almost musical pace. When he reaches the point directly across the stream from us, he turns and lifts his spade in a friendly salute.
    I can see the dark lashes that rim his eyes from here. I wave.
    â€œWho is that?” I ask.
    Hamlet tilts his head backward. “Ah. The gravedigger. I’ve heard him sing.”
    â€œA singing gravedigger?”

    â€œHe is.”
    â€œThat is an unlikely combination.”
    Hamlet nods.
    I watch the man as he climbs the small hill that swells beyond the stream, away from Elsinore. There is a path down the other side which leads to the graveyard. Anne and I explored there once as girls; Laertes and Hamlet followed and frightened us near to death!
    â€œI have never seen him,” I say, more to myself than to Hamlet. “And yet he seems familiar.”
    Hamlet has not heard. I return to my teasing of him with a grass blade, leading it toward his temple, then sweeping small circles around his ear. He is ticklish there.
    â€œStop.” It is not an order, but a plea.
    â€œâ€™Tis fun.”
    Laughing, he catches the weapon of my attack between his fingers and tears the blade in two. “We will accomplish nothing, lady, if you continue this torture.” Hamlet rolls to his side and picks up a quill. “What shall we write in this letter? I cannot decide.” His eyes darken in self-accusation, and he adds, “I can never decide.”
    â€œThat is not true, my lord. You never have trouble deciding how best to make me smile.”
    He grins his gratitude, and reaches for me.
    â€œThe letter,” I remind him.
    â€œYes. How will it begin?”
    â€œDear Ophelia.”

    â€œToo plain. Perhaps …” He thinks. “‘To the celestial, and my soul’s idol, the most beautiful Ophelia’?”
    â€œOh!” My heart beomes a thousand glittering butterflies! I imagine they escape my body on the shine of my eyes. “That’s a pretty