All the Queen's Players by Jane Feather

Author:Jane Feather
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 2010-10-19T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

BACKSTAGE, THE PLAYERS were counting the evening’s takings, and Burbage was grumbling as usual as he took the leather pouch from the doorkeeper and shook out its contents. “Five bad coins. Thieves, God rot ’em.” He looked up as Kit and his companions entered the tiring-room. “Eh, Master Marlowe, any complaints today as to the versifying?” His tone was sour and challenging.

Kit was untroubled, understanding the worries that plagued Burbage. He merely chuckled. “Not to speak of, Burbage. But I bring companions. Will Creighton you know, but I doubt you are acquainted with young Pip here.” He pushed Rosamund forward with a hand between her shoulder blades.

“Another ladikins, eh, Marlowe?” Ned pulled off his wig, laying it carefully over its hanger. “I’d have thought you’d enough to keep your sword busy at home without going a-hunting.”

“I plead innocence on this occasion.” Kit perched on a stool. “Our friend Will has first option.”

Will opened his mouth to protest as the men in the tiring-room turned with interest to look at Rosamund, who, deciding she would play this part to the hilt, tugged at her doublet and set her hat at a rakish angle, striking a pose with one hand on an outthrust hip.

Laughter rocked the rafters as the men recognized in this cocky youngster Thomas Walsingham’s usually timidly reclusive little sister.

Will relaxed, his protests unborn. If Rosamund wanted to play this game, then he too would play. He bowed with a sweeping flourish of his plumed hat. “If you gentlemen would permit the company of a pair of young gallants for the evening, we would gladly furnish the feast with a pitcher of burgundy.”

“Well said, Will.” Kit slapped his shoulder. “Come, gentlemen, let’s repair to the White Horse, and Pip here shall put pen to paper and re-create the scenes of this afternoon. I have some suggestions to make as to the staging of the lovers’ tryst. I will demonstrate more easily with a sketch for reference.”

Rosamund remembered little of that evening. At some point she saw Will and Burbage in earnest discussion and hoped they were talking of Will’s play and hoped more fervently that Burbage was giving him encouragement. Will didn’t look downcast at least, but she had no opportunity to talk to him privately until finally they staggered out of the White Horse in the company of the others, all of whom were far from sober, but in good enough mood, laughing, tossing lines of verse at each other, while Kit, prancing like a pony down the street, burst into ribald song, waving his hat in time.

They reached a corner and Will nudged Rosamund to the left, while the rest surged drunkenly to the right, following Kit as if he were the Pied Piper. “We must go this way, Rosamund. I have to collect my horse from the livery stable.”

His voice was slurred and Rosamund giggled as she looked at him. “I think you are overdrunk, Will.”

“I may be, but so, my dear Pip, are you.” He caught her arm as she swayed against a wall.

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