SHAKESPEARE’ SECRET (22 page)

 

Mrs. Roth flattened the letter on her lap. “There's one more thing,” she said quietly. Clearing her throat, she read:

 

 

She paused and looked at Danny, who was staring at the porch, tugging the bottom of his shirt. She shook the envelope, and a creased photograph fell into her lap. She gave it to Danny. Hero could see that it was a picture of a woman and a little boy. The woman was blond and pretty. Her head was turned, laughing at the boy, whose hands she held stretched out as far as they would go. The boy was smiling at the camera, a wide easy grin that even now was completely Danny's own.

“Read the back,” Mrs. Roth said quietly. Danny shook his head, sucking in his breath. He handed the picture to Hero.

She looked at him questioningly, but when he nodded, she turned it over and read aloud the words printed carefully across the back:

“My heart, my hope
My soul, my smile

My held and whole
Beloved child.”

Hero looked at Mrs. Roth. “Is that a quote from something?”

Mrs. Roth sighed, smiling a little. “It's from a song I used to sing to Anna before she went to sleep. I can't believe she remembered it.”

Danny took the photo. They sat in silence, staring at it, the words of the letter echoing in the air between them. Hero loosened her fingers to look at the diamond.

“So what do we do now?” Danny asked finally.

“We'll have to call the police eventually,” said Mrs. Roth. “But I don't think we have to do that right away. Let's put it back first, shall we?”

Mrs. Roth went into the house. When she returned, she had the necklace draped across her palm. She took the diamond from Hero and gently pressed it into the pendant. “It will need to be reset properly,” she said. “But, here. Look.” The pearls and rubies marched unstoppably toward the pendant, which hung at the bottom, now beautifully complete.

“Wow,” Danny said.

Hero could only stare at it. She thought of the
necklace's long journey, from brave, persecuted Anne Boleyn to her daughter, Elizabeth, trapped in her prison room, too scared to wear her mother's pendant but clever enough to use its diamond to scratch a poem on the window glass. Then to Edward de Vere, maybe Elizabeth's son and the secret Shakespeare. And then through the Vere family to Eleanor Murphy, who died not knowing the necklace's history and secrets.

And now, finally, to the three of them, who knew its secrets but would have no choice but to give it up.

Mrs. Roth handed the necklace to Hero. “Put it on, my dear,” she said softly.

Hero hesitated, then took it gingerly and unclasped it, fitting it around her throat. She felt the pendant plunk against her chest as she ran her fingers over the jeweled chain.

“Isn't it lovely?” Mrs. Roth smiled with satisfaction.

They sat in silence, staring at the diamond. Hero felt transformed by it.

Danny sighed. “Do we have to give it to the police? What a waste.”

“Hey,” Hero said suddenly. “I know what we can do! We'll tell my dad. We'll tell him the whole story. He'll be so excited. I mean, to see the necklace that proves who Shakespeare really was. And the other
night, he said that the Maxwell buys lots of things besides manuscripts and old books. Don't you think they'd want something like this?” She touched the diamond. “They can pay the insurance company for the diamond, and then the diamond and the necklace can stay together, at the Maxwell.”

Mrs. Roth clapped her hands together. “What an excellent idea! Perhaps everything will work out after all. If the necklace ends up at the Maxwell, we can always go there to look at it.” She smiled with satisfaction. '“Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie.'”

Hero smiled back at her. “Shakespeare?”

“Of course.”

Danny shook his head. “Now here's what I don't get: How could somebody write something five hundred years ago and it still makes sense today?”

Mrs. Roth rose slowly from the steps, her eyes lingering on the necklace. “That's the real mystery, isn't it? Not whether he was a common merchant or the queen's son, but how he could understand so much about human nature. And write about it in a way that still rings true, all these years later.” She smiled at them. “That's Shakespeare's secret. And I suppose we'll never figure it out.”

She opened the door. “Now, my friends, we need to start getting ready for our guests. Danny, pick up
those clippers and put them by the side of the house, will you?”

Mrs. Roth disappeared inside. Hero stayed on the steps, watching Danny in the garden. Past the fence, in her own driveway, she saw Beatrice's friend Kelly walking toward the house. Kelly looked over at them and came to the fence. “Danny?” she called.

Danny glanced up, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Hey,” he said.

Kelly smiled at him, tossing her hair. “What are you doing?”

“Hanging out,” Danny said.

Kelly shot a quick glance at Hero. “Who with?”

Danny sat back on his heels and looked from Kelly to Hero, as if he didn't understand what was going on but still found it funny. “Hero,” he said. “I'm hanging out with Hero.”

Hero felt a warm tingling spread through her.

Kelly snorted and started to say something, then stopped. “Well, why don't you come over later?”

“I can't,” Danny said. “I'm going to be here for a while.”

Kelly pursed her lips. “See you at school,” she said finally, and turned back toward the Netherfields' house.

Danny stood up, slapping the dirt off his jeans. He
climbed the steps of the porch. The afternoon sun slanted over him, and Hero had to shield her eyes with her hand to see his face. “Is it weird for you?” she asked. “All the stuff with your mom?”

He looked down at her, smiling his easy smile. “The stuff with my mom has always been weird. You won't believe this, but the letter, and the picture she sent. . . that kind of makes it less weird.”

Hero nodded. “I believe it.”

She unzipped her backpack and pulled out the green book.

“What's that?” Danny asked.

“A book of Shakespeare's plays,” Hero said, scanning the table of contents. “Mrs. Roth gave it to me. I'm going to read the one about the girl named Hero.
Much Ado About Nothing.”

Danny laughed. “Well, yeah, that's the story of our lives.” Hero liked the way he said “our.” He pulled open the door. “You coming?”

“In a minute.”

As the door banged shut, Hero leaned against the porch railing and opened the book across her lap. She smoothed the pages. With one hand she stroked the diamond, absently touching the chain.

Then she began to read.

While the characters and plot of this book are entirely fictitious, all the historical figures and details are true, with the exception of the necklace. The necklace never existed, but I modeled it (and the diamond) on jewelry of the period.

There is no proof that Edward de Vere, the seventeenth Earl of Oxford, was the real author of Shakespeare's plays. But that theory has gained momentum recently—as Hero's father relates—with the discovery that Oxford's Bible contains marked passages corresponding with key verses in the plays.

For the most part, scholars still favor the man from Stratford as the true Shakespeare. However, both the Stratfordians and the Oxfordians (as the two camps are known) believe that a significant relationship between Elizabeth I and Edward de Vere would further the case for Oxford. Any conspiracy to conceal Shakespeare's true identity most likely depended on the blessing of the queen herself. While there is no proof that Edward de Vere was the son of Elizabeth I, there is clear evidence of a connection between them, and the notion that he might have been either her lover or her son continues to be discussed.

The case for Edward de Vere as Shakespeare is compelling. Edward de Vere's purported nickname at court was “Spearshaker,” perhaps stemming from his skill in tournaments or from his coat of arms, which depicted a lion bran-

dishing a spear. While his published poetry is considered inferior to Shakespeare's, scholars note that certain unusual poetic forms occur in both Oxford's work and Shakespeare's, but not in the poetry of their contemporaries.

Moreover, many details of Edward de Vere's life coincide intriguingly with aspects of Shakespeare's plays. His travels to Italy might have influenced the settings of
The Merchant of Venice
and
Othello.
His notorious tennis feud with another young courtier appears to be referenced in
Hamlet.
And in the same play, the character Polonius is considered a parody of Oxford's father-in-law, William Cecil, Lord Burghley.

The biggest argument against Edward de Vere as the true Shakespeare is the fact that several of Shakespeare's plays are believed to have been written after Oxford's death in 1604. However, even the most ardent Stratfordians admit that the dating of the plays is uncertain.

What do I think? As a historian, I don't find the evidence to be complete enough—yet—to topple the man from Stratford from his literary pedestal. But as a novelist, I am more convinced. Writing this book reminded me of what I love so much about history. The past offers up its gifts: Anne Boleyn's speech on Tower Green, the scandal that sent Elizabeth in a cloud of shame from her stepmother's house, the poem she wrote with a diamond on her prison window, and the vague circumstances of Edward de Vere's birth and close relationship to the queen. But it is left to us—as readers, explorers, detectives, and storytellers—to
see the patterns, to make the connections. Perhaps the answer to the mystery of Shakespeare's true identity is best found in the words of the Bard himself:

All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts.