Shakespeare's Spy by Gary Blackwood Read Free Book Online

wore a broad grin. Then I shoved him away. “You huddypeak!” I got to my feet and straightened my doublet. “Love’s not an illness!”
    As I exited the tiring-room, Sam called after me, “I wouldn’t be so sure!”

7
    M r. Shakespeare’s daughter was waiting just outside the door. I suspected, in fact, that she had been eavesdropping. If so, she showed no sign of shame. “Well, at last!” she said. She turned to her companion, a tall, fashionably dressed fellow with a curly black beard, a swarthy complexion, bushy eyebrows that nearly met over a nose like a hawk’s beak, and eyes as dark as lumps of coal—or Madame La Voisin’s scrying ball. “And I thought,” the girl went on, “that it was only women who were so slow in dressing themselves.”
    “I—I was only—” I stammered.
    “Instead of trying so hard to embarrass the lad,” said the stranger, “you might introduce us.”
    “I can’t,” the girl said, a bit petulantly. “I don’t know his name.”
    “It’s Widge,” I offered.
    “
Widge?
What sort of name—?”
    “My name is Garrett,” the man interrupted, and offered his hand to me. His grip was so firm that my finger hones ached for some time afterward. “And this is Mistress Judith Shakespeare. You’ll have to pardon her if she seems a bit lacking in the social graces. She’s from Warwickshire, you know, and doesn’t get out much.”
    I was accustomed to such good-humored jesting, but the indignant look on Judith’s face told me that she was not. Though I was not schooled in the social graces myself, I knew how well-bred folk sounded from having played them so often. “As Aristotle says, ‘Beauty is a greater recommendation than any letter of introduction.’”
    The man named Garrett laughed heartily. “Well spoken, lad.”
    A smile stole across Judith’s face, making it even more striking. “You know, I think I’m going to like you, Widge.”
    Even had I had another suitable line at the ready, I could not have found the breath to utter it. All I could manage to do was look at my feet.
    “You promised to take me to my father,” Judith reminded me.
    “Oh. Aye. Yes. This way.” I led them down to the dark parlor, where Mr. Shakespeare and Ned were still engaged in a heated discussion.
    “Our father would have helped me out readily enough!” Ned was saying.
    “Perhaps so. Unfortunately, he’s dead.” When Mr. Shakespeare saw us approaching, his face took on a curious expression that seemed composed equally of astonishment, delight, and disapproval. “Judith! What in heaven’s name brings you here?”
    “Why, a horse, Father.” She curtsied to Ned. “God you good day, Uncle.”
    “Yes, hello.” Ned seemed to be not so much pleased to see his niece as he was peeved by the intrusion.
    Judith gave her father a kiss on the cheek. Mr. Shakespeare smiled rather wanly and patted his daughter’s hand. “What an unexpected surprise.”
    “You don’t seem very happy about it.”
    “Of course I am; of course,” Mr. Shakespeare said, not very convincingly. Clearly, her sudden appearance had put him out of square, and thinking about it later, I could see why. Mr. Shakespeare’s world was divided into two hemispheres. One centered around his hometown of Stratford and his family, the other around London and the theatre, and the two seldom intersected. To have someone arrive unannounced from his other life must have been jarring, as though he had been performing in
Hamlet
and a character from
The Comedy of Errors
had suddenly strolled onto the stage.
    Though Judith pretended to be put out, I had the feeling that she rather enjoyed seeing her father so disconcerted, just as she had enjoyed catching me unclothed. “As you see, I’ve brought someone with me. This is Father—” She broke off and cast a sidelong glance at Mr. Garrett. She appeared flustered, as though she had said something improper. “That is … I mean … Father, this is John. John Garrett. He was