Shakespeare's Spy by Gary Blackwood Read Free Book Online Page B

lines—”would like to speak with you in private. I’ll just go help Widge with his costume. I’m not a bad hand with a needle, you know.” She slid sideways, nudging me out of the booth. The fleeting contact between our bodies turned my knees so weak that I could scarcely stand.
    “Wait one moment,” said Mr. Shakespeare. “You said that a desire to spend time together was
one
reason you came to London. What was the other?”
    “Oh. I’m to try and persuade you to send more money home.”

8
    S am had managed to put the tiring-room in order, or as near as one could expect from a wight who once cleaned the sheep’s blood from his costume by giving it to a dog to lick. “Did you find your gown for tonight?” I asked him.
    He shook his head in disgust. “I suppose I can say farewell to my wages for the next several months.”
    “Not to worry; I’ll lend you half of mine.”
    “Thanks. And don’t forget—you owe me a penny.”
    “Nay! I paid you back!”
    He held up the gown that no longer fit me. “Our wager, remember?”
    I drew a penny from my purse and threw it to him. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked for interest on’t.”
    He grinned. “Well, now that you bring it up—”
    “Don’t you have something else to do?” I suggested.
    “Yes, and so do you. It’s called rehearsal.”
    “Aye, all right. I’ll be along.”
    “Take your time. I’ll just tell Mr. Lowin that you’re already busy rehearsing …” In a sugary, fluttering voice, he added, “A looovvve scene!” At that moment I longed for something far larger and more dangerous than a penny to throw at him. As he went out the door, he could not resist a parting shot—a line from
Two Gentlemen:
“‘I think the boy hath grace in him; he blushes!’”
    “I’m sorry,” I murmured in Judith’s direction. “‘A’s such a swad.”
    “Oh, he’s young, that’s all. He’ll fall in love himself one day, and then he’ll sing a different tune.” Taking my gown by the sleeves, she held it up against my shoulders and surveyed it critically. She seemed wholly unaware that, only a few inches from her right hand, my heart was doing its utmost to leap out of my chest. “If we let down the hem a bit and move the hooks and eyes out, you may get by with it—provided you don’t make any sudden movements. Where can I find a needle and thread?”
    “I’ll—I’ll just get them.” Reluctantly, I pulled away and went to seek out the sewing box.
    “Sam mentioned someone named Mr. Lowin. I don’t recall my father ever speaking of him.”
    “‘A’s new to the company. When Mr. Pope retired, John Lowin took his place.”
    “Oh? When did Mr. Pope retire?”
    “Well, when we toured last summer, ’a stayed behind, and ’a’s never performed since.” I handed her the sewing box. “It’s his health, you ken. ‘A no longer has the strength for it.”
    She set about threading a needle. “That’s a pity. He must miss being on the stage.”
    “No more than we miss him, I wis. I’ve naught against Mr. Lowin, but it’s just not the same. Of course, I still see a gooddeal of Mr. Pope, as I lodge wi’ him.” I stole a glance at Judith, to find that she was regarding me with open amusement. “What?”
    “Your speech.” She proceeded to mimic me. “‘I wis.’ ‘I’ve naught against him.’ ‘I lodge wi’ him.’”
    I felt my face flush again. “And I suppose in Warwickshire they all sound like princes, do they?”
    She laughed. “Far from it.” She laid her hand—the one not holding the needle—on mine. “I’m sorry, Widge. I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings. I just find it … quaint.”
    I had been called many things in my life—a poor pigwidgeon, a lazy lout, a liar and a thief, even a horse—but no one had ever considered me
quaint
before. I was not certain how I felt about it. I would have preferred to be thought of as courageous or clever or handsome. Still, I supposed that being quaint was better than