Love Disguised (26 page)

Thomas nodded. His eyes were bright with hope, for he was a man about to realize his dearest ambition. Will almost envied him. His own desires were at that moment hopelessly muddled.

“And two, that you not hold my hand at all times.”

Thomas frowned, considering the request. He opened his hand and released Olivia's.

“In truth a hot and moist palm is a detriment to good health. Your hand shall henceforth be free.”

“Thus mine to freely give again.” Olivia extended her hand, palm upward. Thomas lightly took it up and kissed it.

“And now, let's away to your father and share this news,” he said.

“Love's favor falls on those who freely choose.” The words sprang from Will's lips. He smiled an apology. “Thomas may not rhyme their love, but the lady put no such constraint upon me.”

The glad company broke up, and Meg embraced Olivia at their parting. Watching Meg, Will decided he did not believe she pretended to be Mack only as a jest. As Long Meg she had been kind to him. As Mack she seemed to relish their adventures as much as he did. Mack had been a boon companion; they had helped and trusted one another like the truest of friends. No, there was more to her disguise than mere trickery. He approached Meg, saw her wary look, and turned away. Did he want to know the truth?

“Will?” she said, surprising him. “Do you have a question for me?”

More than one. Too many for this moment
. He shook his head. “No, I am going to my room to write my father. He will want to know his affair is settled.”

“I am glad of the outcome,” she said.

Which outcome?
He kept his expression blank.

“We should talk, Will. I want to explain.”

Will shook his head. He was no longer able to speak freely to her.
What did I tell Mack about myself that Meg now knows?

Meg persisted. “You must have known. When did you figure it out?”

Was it only yesterday that he and Mack were at Westminster and in and out of jail? Today he no longer had a friend named Mack. And the Long Meg standing before him was a cipher. A mystery.

“Truly I don't know,” he murmured, turning away.

Writing the letter did nothing to ease his confusion. Every incident related to his father's debt was tied to Mack. To
Meg
. Rather than explain he chose to relay the barest facts, omitting the theft of the twenty-five crowns because it reflected poorly on himself. There was left only the outcome, for which a few sentences would suffice.

The Boar's Head Inn, Whitechapel

16 October 1582

To John Shakespeare, Henley Street, Stratford-upon-Avon

Honored father, I hereby inform you that the debt to

William Burbage is settled and the matter concluded

with an offer of employment by his brother, one James

Burbage, the proprietor of the Theatre in Shoreditch
.

Where if I am successful, our family's financial woes

will in a short time be relieved and my own ambitions

realized
.

Thus while sad necessity drove me hither, glad

Fortune greeted me and now contrives to keep me in

this paradise of possibility
,

Where you may find your dutiful son
,

William
.

Will knew his father would never come to London to see him disgrace the name of Shakespeare on a stage. He in turn had even less reason to return to Stratford. Glovemaking was his past. His future lay with James Burbage's company. The lucky break he owed to Meg. To
Mack
. It was Mack whom Burbage wanted to hire; Will's job was merely part of the bargain. He began to worry: When Burbage learned that Mack was really a woman, would he refuse to hire either of them? Could Will persuade him he was not a party to Mack's trickery?

Uncertainty clawed at his earlier confidence. He had gone from having two friends to having none. Mack was a brave and goodly fellow. But by revealing himself to be Meg, he had deprived Will of all the delights of their friendship and possibly jeopardized his new job.
Fie upon him! And fie upon Meg
. He had enjoyed her witty companionship at the Boar's Head and at the Theatre. What fortitude she displayed in her trials! She was a brave sight in doublet and hose with her golden hair about her shoulders. Now a misunderstanding as thick as the morning fog in the forest of Arden hung between them.

A small voice spoke to Will, the same one that warned him when he was in the woods with Anne, the insistent voice he
often chose to ignore. It said:
What right do you have to be angry at her?
He could not shake it out of his head. It chastened him, forcing him to admit that he had suspected the truth—then about Anne and now about Meg. To be still more honest, he had
known
the truth and pretended not to. Had played the very game he accused Meg of playing.

You must have known
, she said.
When did you know?

When, indeed? It was a fair question. He would have to think about it and undeceive himself before he could undeceive Meg de Galle.

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.

In the gray light of dawn before anyone else was stirring, Meg arose and dressed as herself. She stuffed Mack's clothes in a corner.
I am no longer Mack
. Nor was she Long Meg the tavern maid anymore.
I am only Meg
.

Hoarfrost whitened the cobbles of the innyard and she could see her breath as she set out for Shoreditch. She stopped at the Cock and Bull tavern outside the Bishopsgate to warm her hands and break her fast with some cold mutton. She listened as people came in and greeted the host. No one mentioned a prisoner named Mack who turned the tables on his accuser and revealed himself to be Long Meg. But it was early yet. She wondered how long it would take for the news to spread and grow into a tale full of lies. How soon would the curious come flocking to the Boar's Head to the delight of Master Overby? When would Gwin realize Meg was not coming back?

She lingered in the tavern while the thought repeated itself like a stream tumbling over the same rocks:
I am no longer Mack; I am only Meg
. But who exactly was Meg? She pondered that vexed question and came up answerless.

When she left the Cock and Bull the morning sun was melting the hoarfrost. In the fields, flocks of noisy crows fought over the grains left over from the harvest. She rehearsed what she would say to James Burbage. “I confess our bargain was my desperate ploy to aid Will Shakespeare, who was innocent of my deceit,” she murmured. “Still, I will honor my word and join your company if you will have me.” She hoped this would avert his certain anger. Would he, however, agree to her new stipulation? “I am no longer Mack; I will be only Meg.”

She did not realize she had spoken aloud until she heard the familiar voice. “Good. Then I will always recognize you.”

Meg whirled around and was surprised to see Will. “Have you been following me?”

“Do you want me to?” He was leaning against a stile, his hand raised to shield his eyes from the morning sun.

Meg's heart fluttered.
Of course I do!

“I posted my letter to Stratford, then cut across the fields. It seems we now have the same destination.” He nodded northward.

Meg had so much she wanted to say to Will. Now his sudden presence had scattered all her words.

“Is silence then your new disguise?” He peered at her. “I preferred Mack for his better conversation.”

What could she say? That she preferred the ease of being Mack to this discomfort?

“I hardly slept last night. Tell me, Meg, was your disguise only a trick to tease me?” Will said in a rush.

The accusation jolted Meg. “No, it was not! Violetta said so
only to keep Thomas from becoming jealous. It was my idea to disguise myself as Mack. Mocking you was no part of my motive.”

“What was your motive?”

“Was it not evident?” cried Meg. “I meant to help you find Davy and Peter. How could Long Meg do that?”

“But why did you feign to be my friend, who is as much a part of a man as his own heart?” Will struck his breast as he spoke.

“I only feigned to be Mack. I did not feign being your friend.”

Will crossed his arms over his chest. “That argument does not acquit you.”

Meg felt herself growing hot. “If you do not see the distinction, Will Shakespeare, you must believe that no woman can be a man's friend.”

“A woman may be a man's wife or his mistress. A man only can be his true friend, his second self,” argued Will, dividing the air with his hands.

“In that you are deceived,” said Meg. “And may the devil take me, for I believed Mack was mine.”