Meg had to arrive at the Boar’s Head before Will, who might become suspicious if he found her absent. So she took a shortcut, crossing the Thames in a wherry. Despite her sadness over the child, she felt her spirits lift. Before she and Will parted he had called her “dear friend” and promised, “We will find those villains next time.” She could hardly wait for another opportunity to roam the streets as free in her movements as a man. How easily adventure came to her! Creeping into Crooked Lane she had felt quicksilver flowing in her veins. Talking to Will was like opening a tap and letting wine pour out. It took some effort to curb her tongue, especially once she agreed to share a bottle with him. When Will asked how Mack had been betrayed, she told him how Davy and Peter had been his companions in mischief until the day they chose to save their own skins. She remembered at the last moment to leave the Boar’s Head out of her tale. To Will’s question about Mack’s family she only said, “Our parents are dead. I raised Meg and she raised me.”
“And what is your occupation now that you go about the city furnished like an armory?” Will had asked.
“Like you I am seeking my fortune.” She winked and would say no more.
The drink that eased Meg’s worries made Will melancholy. “A misfortune it was to lose your parents, yet I envy you.”
“Will, are you so stony-hearted that you wish your own parents dead?”
“I mean that you are free to fashion yourself while I, like a hawk tied by jesses, am bound by this debt to my father.”
Meg thought of her parents for the first time not with sorrow, but with resignation. “One day Death will come and cancel all debts, letting the hawk fly free.”
“Unless he has a wife. Nothing binds a man more tightly than marriage,” said Will, refilling their cups.
“Clips his wings, forsooth,” said Meg, striving for the same manly tone. Curious, she added, “Why are you against marriage?”
Will filled Meg’s ears with a tale of the two Stratford sisters, the one he had courted who turned into a shrew, and the other who let him believe she was her sister.
“I love them and I hate them,” he said.
Meg only nodded, wondering, Do all men have such complicated loves?
“The bit in the horse’s mouth, the bridle of his ambitions, the end of his youth, is marriage to a woman!” Will continued. He patted his doublet and dug in his pockets. “Drat! I have no pen to write down my lament of the disappointed lover.”
He had looked so comical, Meg smiled at the recollection.
Her wherry touched the shore. She disembarked and was soon back at the inn. Quickly she changed her clothes and was Long Meg again, filling pitchers of thick brown ale.
At once Violetta was at her side, eager for news. “Why do you look so pleased? What happened?”
“I did a virtuous deed today,” said Meg, thinking of the child.
“But what did you say to Will?” Violetta demanded. “Did you tell him my father is rich?”
“Ill news for you. He is averse to marriage.”
Violetta looked dismayed. “You must change his mind!”
“Go away,” said Meg. “He will arrive at any minute and overhear us.”
An hour later Will had not returned. Meg decided he was exploring the city on his own. Patrons demanding ale and victuals kept her too busy to worry. Another hour went by. What if Will was lost?
“I can wait no longer. What did he say about me?” Violetta demanded, holding Meg’s sleeve.
In truth Will had said not a word about Violetta. But rather than lie to her, Meg handed her a pitcher. “Go wash this,” she said and vanished into the pantry. Moments later she felt Violetta jump on her back and seize her by the hair.
“Tell me what was said between you. Will he woo me?”
“Zounds, never! He abhors shrews. Let go of my hair.” Violetta complied but clung to Meg’s neck. “I confess I found no opportunity to praise you.”
Violetta kicked the back of Meg’s legs. “But you were with him for hours!”
“Yes, in taverns and dark alleys. Places hardly suited for courtship. Aaagh! He has an affinity for bad company—” Meg was having trouble breathing.
“And all the while you not once spoke of me?”
“—Making him a doubtful companion for an honest woman,” she continued.
Violetta slid off Meg’s back. She looked so disheartened Meg felt sorry for her.
“Why not write a letter and I’ll give it to him,” she offered.
“No. Next time walk in the fields and weave a garland of flowers. That will dispose him to love. If you do not advance my suit, I will reveal ‘cousin Mack’ for who he is. You shall feel the shame.” She pinched Meg’s cheek.
“Ow! You have my word; I shall win him for you,” said Meg, surprised by Violetta’s wrath. Did all women turned into shrews when their path to love was blocked?
Violetta reached up to tuck her hair back under her coif and Meg poked her under the arm. “Thus I repay you, acorn,” she said.
“Stop, Meg! This is not a game.” Violetta was almost in tears. “Tell me, where is Will? When is he coming back?”
“God’s truth, I know not!”
Violetta’s face showed alarm.
Meg wondered, Where, indeed, is Will Shakespeare?