The padded doublet and soiled hose lay on Meg’s bed like the lifeless body of Mack. He was a roaring boy no more, Will’s friend no more, and a defendant no more, though he had robbed Roger Ruffneck, who deserved far worse. The loss of her other self saddened Meg. During the trial she realized it was necessary to shed her disguise or else be convicted. Will’s look had reassured her. Trust me, he had said when he first saw her in court. When the moment came she did. She admitted that Mack was really Meg. The need for concealment gone, she removed her cap and resumed her natural voice. She expected surprise and revulsion, for mannish women were considered monstrous, yet everyone had cheered. Were they simply happy to see the tables turned and the villain Ruffneck laid low? Or had they all somehow known of her disguise? Even Will did not seem surprised. Was he really such a good actor? Now he would not talk to her. Did he mean to punish her? How unjust! Meg kicked the bed, not caring about the pain that shot up her leg.
Already she missed Violetta, who had gone with Thomas Valentine to be reunited with her father. Meg found the doctor to be kind and handsome, befitting his euphonious name. Seeing his hand entwined with Violetta’s, however, put Meg in mind of a wrist shackle.
“So when did your tears over Will turn into tears for your lost Valentine?” Meg asked as they parted.
“I cannot tell,” she said with a shrug. “But I hope Will is not angry with me.”
“I think his merry talk hides a broken heart,” said Meg with a wink.
Violetta lifted her round, moist eyes. “O Meg, let us always be friends, you and I! Let nothing come between us.”
But Thomas Valentine had already come between them. Violetta would marry him and take up her duties as Olivia, the doctor’s wife. Her brief role as a tavern maid she would cast off as easily as a soiled apron. But to Meg she would always be Violetta, her first real friend.
At least Jane Ruffneck remained. The news that it was Roger who killed the priest had struck Meg like lightning and shone truth into the dark corners of her soul. Jane recounted the exact and horrifying details, leaving Meg with no doubts. Now she knew that whatever despair had driven her mother to take her life was not compounded by the crime of murder. Her shame melted away. Jane’s burden also lifted. Roger Ruffneck would surely hang.
On every side had been such celebration! Meg was full of glee until the evening waned and Will withdrew. Doubts assailed her. Now that she was no longer Mack, did he disdain her very company? Why could they not speak and unfold their hearts and minds to one another? Meg knelt and buried her head in the torn doublet, the symbol of her deceit, and wondered how to ask Will’s forgiveness, how to explain the tangled purposes of her disguise.
There was a knock at her door. Meg’s heart leaped up. It had to be Will! He had finished his letter and was thinking of her too. She jumped up, smoothed her hair and her skirt, and threw open the door. “Forgive me—”
There, huffing from the strain of climbing the stairs, stood her mistress.
“—Gwin?” Fresh remorse flooded Meg, for she had also deceived Gwin.
“Forgive you? Why? For wanting to become a man? What woman does not sometimes wish herself a man?” Gwin said, coming into the room.
“But I don’t! I want to be a woman. I am a woman,” cried Meg, closing the door and sinking to her bed. “O I do not understand myself. I only know that Will, who I thought was my friend, acts as if he no longer knows me.”
“Can you blame him?” said Gwin. “He realizes all his manly swearing and lewd jesting was done in your company.”
Meg squeezed her eyes shut. It had not occurred to her that Will was embarrassed. But what could she do about that now?
“Gwin, do you forgive me for deceiving you after all your goodness to me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive. No, the master and I thank you.” She smiled her gap-toothed smile, which Meg had come to love. “Within days there will be pamphlets and ballads about today’s events. You’ll soon be a legend. Think of what that will do for our business!”
A fleeting wish that the Boar’s Head would burn down crossed Meg’s mind. “I am tired of being Long Meg, a freak of nature to be gaped at.”
“Not a freak, but rather a prodigy of nature,” said Gwin. She reached out to touch Meg’s arm.
Suddenly Gwin seemed a stranger to her. Meg pulled away. “I won’t stay here.”
“Nonsense. Where will you go?”
Meg recalled the bargain she had made with James Burbage. What began as a prank now seemed an opportunity.
“To Shoreditch. I’ll make my living on the stage.”
“God’s pittikins, how can you even think such a thing?” said Gwin.
“When every man seeks to profit by me, I must consider how I may best thrive. For I have no true friends anymore!”
She hid her face in Mack’s clothes and waited for Gwin to contradict her. She wanted Gwin to touch her back and speak some reassurance. All she heard was a sigh, the click of the closing door, and muffled steps vanishing down the stairs.