Stratford
Will suspected none of these troubles as he rode toward Stratford on the fine gelding Dab had hired for him. He stopped for the night at an inn near Oxford and wished for some robust company as he ate and drank. Then his thoughts turned to Meg and how she seemed to him more womanly all the time, and he regretted not following up the kiss that had gone awry with a more proper one.
Arriving home in Stratford he stabled his horse in the mews. The familiar smells of urine and tallow greeted him but he didn’t even wrinkle his nose, for London smelled far worse. He brushed the dust from his clothes and called, “Heigh! Is anyone about?”
Will’s mother emerged from the house and hurried to embrace him. He was relieved to see she was not ill. Behind her stood Will’s father, his cheeks surprisingly rosy.
“Good day, Father. The Burbage matter is settled, you know,” he said.
His father did not even smile.
How hard it must be, Will thought, for him to acknowledge that he has become indebted to his son! “I calculated how far my earnings will go toward recovering our lost assets; four pounds when my new play is finished and more if the Master of the Revels licenses it for—”
“Keep all your damned earnings, for you’ll need every penny to make the Hathaway wench an honest wife!”
Will was stunned into silence. He had no idea what his father meant. Was his mind afflicted, though he spoke clearly? Then Will heard him say Anne Hathaway was with child. He heard him say she had named Will as the father.
Two months in London, and he had not the least inkling of this trouble!
“I can’t, I … I don’t believe it,” Will stammered. Could a child result from his single encounter with Anne in the forest? If such was possible then yes, he could be its father. Unless Anne—no. He would not think that of her.
“Marry her,” said his father. “That’s your debt and your duty.”
“I can’t marry now,” Will said. “How shall I afford a wife and child? I am but newly hired and have yet to prove myself. Everything depends on my next play.” His heart sank, knowing this argument would never move his father.
“You will marry her,” his father insisted. “It’s a better match than you deserve.”
Everyone knew the Hathaways were wealthy compared to many of their neighbors. Anne and Catherine’s father had provided well for them in his will.
“Ah, now I see the matter clearly,” said Will. “You expect me to pull you out of debt, not by honest labor but with Anne Hathaway’s dowry.”
“’Tis the quickest way,” he muttered, looking away.
“The quickest way to ruin the Hathaways, that is. No doubt Anne would prefer the shame of being unwed to that of being a penniless Shakespeare laboring in this pisspot glover’s shop.” Will would have said more to hurt his father, but his mother laid a hand on his arm.
“Will, everything is mortgaged. We must sell this house. It will become an inn, and we will take a few small rooms in the back.” Her voice was low, as if she were speaking of someone deceased.
Will pressed his hands to his forehead. He wanted to believe he was in the middle of a feverish dream. But he knew this trouble was real. And it was far worse than being robbed of twenty-five crowns. His family was near ruin. Anne was expecting his child. The neighbors were determined to see them wed. Marriage! Yesterday it was a plot device for a comedy. Today it was a prison in which they would lock him.
“Go see her now,” his mother said gently. “Before they find out you are here.”
The last thing in the world Will wanted was to face Anne Hathaway. He owed James Burbage and his patron a new play. He had promised Meg he would return. But how could he go back to London now? The news about Anne had turned his world upside down. Instead of gazing at the heavens above the Theatre, his eyes were fixed on the ground at his feet. He was mired in Stratford.
“You thought you got away, didn’t you?”
Will looked up to see Gilbert leaning against the door, his arms crossed over his chest.
“I didn’t know,” Will protested.
“At least it was not the other one or I’d have to marry.”
Will stared at his brother. “Have you taken up with Catherine?”
“What you leave behind falls to me,” said Gilbert smugly. “All the work, Father’s troubles, the shame.”
“You dare to complain?” Rage rose in Will. “I’ve been robbed and beaten and almost jailed trying to settle that damnable debt to William Burbage.”
Gilbert smirked. “Then you know a man deserves some pleasure for all his pains.”
“A man does, but not a coxcomb like you,” said Will. In an instant he and Gilbert were wrestling on the ground. Gilbert’s fist struck Will’s cheek and he tasted blood. But Will was stronger and managed to pin his brother beneath him.
“You can’t come home and just take everything back!” said Gilbert, gasping for breath.
“Is that why we are fighting?” Will paused to spit out blood and dirt. “I don’t want to be a glover. And as for that harpy Catherine, you may keep her. Anne is worth ten of her sister.”
Giving his brother a final shove, Will got to his feet and brushed the dirt from his clothes. He turned away from Henley Street and started down the path to Shottery, filled with dread.