Chapter Two

 

I awoke the next morning to a room filled with light.

The gloom of the night before had lifted, and the faint scent of fresh-baked bread was in the air. We arrived so late the evening before that we went straight to our rooms in the Base Court. Anne, Judith, and I shared a small room with white walls and a large window. Our daughter was sitting by the window in the bright morning light. She looked out over the frozen gardens.

“It’s so lovely here, even in winter,” said Judith, seeing I was awake. “I feel like a princess.”

“You are, my dear,” I said with a smile. “Where is your mother?”

“She’s gone to find breakfast,” said Judith. “Shall we join her?”

Famished, I agreed without protest. We stepped out into the hallway, and the palace was bustling with life. We made our way down the hall, hoping to find the dining room. Exquisite paintings adorned the walls. While admiring a portrait of Henry VIII, I became lost in the brushstrokes.

“Now there was a king,” came a voice from behind me. I turned around and was greeted by the warm smile of a thin man in his late thirties. He had short black hair and a well-trimmed beard.

“Well, he certainly was…” I paused, choosing my words carefully, “of impressive carriage.”

“Quite,” the man laughed and introduced himself. “I’m Myles Lewis, a chief servant here at Hampton Court Palace. Is everything to your liking?”

“Yes,” said Judith. “It’s magnificent here, and I love the artwork.”

“I’m William Shakespeare, and this is my daughter, Judith.”

“Very nice to meet you both,” said Myles.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” said Judith. “Sir, I’m afraid we’re famished. Would you please direct us to the dining hall?”

“I will do better than that, my lady,” said Myles. “If you would please follow me, I will lead you there myself.”

Myles escorted us down the hall to the busy dining room. People having breakfast packed the Great Hall. The sound of dishes rattling and people talking filled the air, inviting us into the room. On the walls hung beautiful tapestries, made from silk and wool, and stitched together with silver and gold thread.

Just then, the sound of a child crying filled the dining room. I turned my attention away from admiring the tapestries. On the floor, a little girl with blond hair was sitting, tears streaming down her cheeks. She held her knee, which she had skinned on the floor. A tall, heavyset man dressed as a priest came to the girl’s aid. His bright smile, curly brown hair, and rosy cheeks made me like him immediately.

“Who is that?” I asked Myles.

“That’s Martin Page,” said Myles. “He’s the new head priest, serving the king in the Chapel Royal.”

Father Page reached his hand behind the girl’s ear and pretended to pull a shilling from thin air. The little girl laughed with delight, took the coin, and hugged the priest. He hugged her back, his warm smile lighting up the room. The little girl’s mother beamed as she thanked the priest. She and her child giggled together as they walked off hand in hand, forgetting all about the skinned knee.

“What a kind man,” said Judith, smiling at me.

The scent of fresh-baked bread in the Great Hall made my mouth water. I scanned the room and saw my wife. Anne waved to us from her table, where she sat with Samuel Winston, Richard Burbage, and other members of our acting company.

“I see our friends,” I told Myles. “Thank you for your help.”

“My pleasure, my lord,” said Myles. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to.” He bowed and left the busy hall.

“I would love to work here,” said Judith. “Maybe meet and marry a prince one day.”

“No one you marry will ever be your equal,” I smiled at her as we sat at the table with the rest of our party. “Whether they are prince or pauper.”

“Look up,” said Burbage, pointing overhead. “I love that hammer-beam roof.”

“It reminds me of a medieval castle,” said Anne. “But nice and warm.”

“And dripping with enchantment,” said Judith.

Warm bread rolls were on the table, along with dried fruit and hot tea. We ate together and talked about our upcoming performance.

“This is where we’ll perform,” said Richard, looking around the Great Hall. “I can hardly wait.”

I nodded and imagined A Midsummers Night’s Dream coming to life in this performance space. This location had great potential for theater. I dreamed of one day moving our acting company here permanently.

“It’s so nice not to have that awful plague breathing down our necks,” said Anne. “I wish we could stay here until it passes.”

“The plague is not the only thing to fear,” said Samuel. “There may be other terrors we know not of, even in this mighty palace.”

“Please,” said Judith, munching on a piece of dried apple. “May we enjoy the moment and not dream up phantoms to fear?”

“I agree,” I said. “Besides, we have work to do to prepare for our upcoming performance.”

“I’m sorry,” said Samuel. “Please forgive me, my lady.”

Smoke from a nearby fireplace backed up into the room. Two servants investigated to find out what was causing the problem. One of them reached inside the chimney with a metal hook and dislodged an old shoe. I thought a shoe being in a chimney curious, and even a little humorous. However, the servants now seemed more concerned about the shoe than the smoke. I wondered aloud why they seemed so upset.

“You don’t know, sir?” asked Samuel, looking surprised.

“I’m afraid not,” I replied, intrigued by his seriousness.

“Why, it’s a way to ward off witchcraft,” he said. “An old shoe carries the scent of the one who wore it. When placed in a chimney, the fire intensifies the odor and it becomes a decoy.”

“You mean the witch would go after the old shoe instead of the person?” Anne asked.

“That’s the belief, my lady,” Samuel said, finishing his tea.

A group of young women nearby were talking together with animated faces. Their expressions ranged from terror to exhilaration. Judith went to ask them what they were so excited about. In a moment, she returned, her eyes wide and shining.

“People have just seen the ghost of Catherine Howard outside the Chapel Royal,” said Judith, clapping her hands.

“A ghost?” said Richard. “What happened?”

“They were preparing for the king’s noonday Communion service when she appeared in the hall. Everyone dropped what they were doing and came running to see the ghost. I’m going! Who wants to go with me?”

“I do,” said Samuel. “That is, if Master and Lady Shakespeare permit it.”

I glanced at Anne, and she nodded her approval. Samuel was young, and I felt that since our performance was still a few days away, he had time this morning to have a little adventure. Besides, I was glad to have someone to look out for Judith in the busy palace.

“Enjoy yourselves,” I said, remembering what it was like to be young.

“Come on,” Judith took Samuel’s hand and pulled him behind her. “I hope we’re not too late!”

A stately woman came over to our table. She looked to be in her early fifties, and her red hair was greying.

“Pardon me,” she said. “My name is Lady Sarah Goody.”

We introduced ourselves and asked her to join us. She agreed and sat next to my wife. Anne poured Lady Goody a steaming hot cup of tea. I noticed that the hall was clearing of diners. It would soon be time to build the set for our performance.

“The reason I wanted to speak with you is to ask you about the man who left with the young lady.” Lady Goody took a sip of her tea. “He looks very familiar, but I don’t remember where I know him from.”

“That’s Samuel Winston,” said Anne. “He is a new actor with the King’s Men.”

“Oh, you’re with the King’s Men!” Lady Goody seemed pleased. “I saw you perform at the Globe Theatre three years ago.”

“How wonderful,” said Anne. “And you think you know Samuel?”

“Perhaps,” said Lady Goody, sipping her tea. “But I don’t know where I know him from.”

“Could it be that he merely looks like someone you know, my lady?” I asked. “A helpful feature of a successful actor is to have an appearance that can be easily mistaken for someone else.”

“Yes, perhaps,” said Lady Goody. “But I don’t think so in this case. Oh, this will drive me mad!”

“Well, I hope you can join us for our upcoming play,” Richard smiled.

“Yes, I plan to,” said Lady Goody, smiling. “Now I must go. Very nice to meet you.”

“Our pleasure,” said Anne. “May I walk you out?”

“Thank you,” said Sarah Goody as she finished her tea. She stood, smoothed her dress with her hands, and left the hall with Anne and the last of the diners. I was glad my wife was making friends here.

Richard and the other actors began setting up for the play, and a few servants helped rearrange the chairs and tables. We had brought basic scenery with us, and we all joined in building the set for A Midsummers Night’s Dream. I’ve always loved the sounds of setting up for a performance. Richard felt the same way. His face had a look of almost mystical rapture.

We needed rope to secure scenery, so we asked a servant where we should look for some. He directed us to a nearby storage room; Richard and I made our way there together.

“What do you think of our new actor?” asked Richard.

“Samuel?” I asked. “He seems fine. Perhaps a bit melancholy.”

“Yes,” said Richard as we entered the storage room. “But with the plague beginning so close to his home, that’s understandable.”

“Yes,” I said, lighting the stub of a candle to search the dark room. “Besides, being dramatic is part of being an actor.”

Assorted boxes and supplies filled the room. Richard sneezed, startling me.

“Oh, bother!” said Richard. “It’s so dusty in here!”

We began searching for the rope, but had difficulty finding it in the crowded storage room. We only had limited time, because our small candle stub was about to burn out. Richard moved two large boxes, opening access to a space with lots of assorted items. We found wooden pegs, nails, and tacks, but not rope.

We had almost given up our search when Richard at last found a coil of rope, entwined in a pile of kitchen supplies. When he pulled it free, something dropped to the floor. I reached down, picked it up, and turned it over in my hands. It was a small wax doll. The waxen figure was about four inches tall and had a crown on its head. There was a small stake stabbing it in the heart.

“Look at this,” I said, moving the candle closer to the wax figure. “It has a word scratched into it.”

“Let me see that,” said Richard, taking the wax doll and candle. “It says, James.”

“What do you think it is?” My skin crawled.

After a long pause, Richard lowered the wax figure and looked at me. The flickering light from the dying candle illumined his face. There was something about his expression that filled me with dread.

“It’s a witch’s poppet,” said Richard, just as our candle died out.