The First Act Page 2

  In the morning, William woke to find the barn empty, save for the pallets. The company had moved on, only the embers of the fires on the common left to remind him they were ever there. He surveyed the scene glumly from the barn door.

  Then a figure came into view, and he remembered one connection he still held to Richard. He couldn’t let it go.

  “They’ve gone,” Geoffrey called as he ambled across the grass. “It’s a long road to London. Best to set off early.”

  William moved aside as Geoffrey entered the barn and inspected it to make sure nothing had been left behind.

  “Help me shift these pallets, lad.”

  William obliged, grateful for the opportunity to talk with Geoffrey in privacy. “How long will you stay?” he asked casually, though his whole future depended on it.

  “Only until Thursday morning.”

  That gave William two days to prepare himself and his family for his departure. They had been concerned when Geoffrey had gone off with an acting company but his success made them proud of him. William anticipated a far easier time than Geoffrey had experienced.

  “When is your next performance?”

  “Monday, assuming Richard has managed to get us into our usual theater by then. Another company might have their eyes on it.”

  “Does Richard often get what he wants?”

  Geoffrey shot him a playful look and winked. “Not if I can help it.”

  William didn’t for one minute think Richard and Geoffrey had ever been in competition for anything. He knew his cousin better than that. He rolled up a pallet and rested it against the wall, then went back for another. “I hear you’ve been telling Francis tales of London.”

  Geoffrey picked up another of the makeshift beds and carried it outside. “What of it? They’re more interesting than what I’ve seen or done in the provincial towns we’ve been touring this past year.”

  “I don’t doubt that. Why have you never told them to me?”

  Geoffrey let out an embarrassed laugh but gave him a sympathetic smile when it was clear he was wounded. “When you’re older, perhaps. Some things are not meant for young men’s ears.”

  “I’m twenty!”

  “And still living like a boy here in the house of my aunt and uncle. You’re not ready to hear saucy tales. You toy with the girls like a master, but Francis tells me you’ve never seen it through.”

  William hadn’t, and he was glad of his innocence for once. “That is precisely why you should take me with you when you return to town. It’s time I got out into the world.”

  Geoffrey frowned, and William tried not to look too gleeful. His cousin had stumbled right into that.

  “What has brought this on? Aren’t you happy at home?”

  “I am not unhappy, just mindful that this will not last forever. I am the youngest son, and it would be imprudent to not consider my future. There’s nothing for me here. I could make a living for myself in London.”

  Raising an eyebrow, Geoffrey replied, “Or you could get yourself killed. London is not meant for gentle sorts like you. You can’t cross the bridge without seeing thirty heads on pikes, and if someone wants your purse, they’re as likely to cut you as the strings. It is dangerous, fetid, and diseased. You would not last a day, and your parents would never forgive me.”

  William noted that he hadn’t said no. “I’ll be fine,” he said cheerfully. “And besides, you’ll look after me.”

  “You’ll not be my ward.”

  “Not for long.”

  “Not for a day. What do you intend to do when you get there?”

  Get on the stage and kiss Richard Brasyer, of course.

  “You’ve seen me act in plays on feast days,” William reminded his cousin. “I seem to remember you saying I was quite good. I could join your band as a player.”

  Geoffrey laughed again, but no sympathy followed this time. “You don’t have the ballocks for the stage, and even if you did, we don’t need another man.”

  William remembered his stammering hollo to Richard yesterday. He had been nervous, but it cost him so dearly that he wouldn’t allow shyness to get the better of him again. Besides, having heard Richard the night before, he possessed all the confidence he needed—he had attracted Richard with that stuttering hollo. He could do anything.

  “I can do more than you imagine for now, and a position will come up. Until then I can do any other jobs you have.”

  “Such as?”

  That, William hadn’t considered, but he would empty the theater piss pots if it meant getting to London. “I can stitch a costume or sweep the floor if that’s what you need.”

  “Women’s work,” Geoffrey muttered dismissively, but William had an inkling that the players did it themselves.

  “I am not too proud for any job within your company. Please take me with you and let me prove myself.”

  “You’ll hate it.”

  William noted again that he was yet to say the word no. “I won’t,” he promised. “I want to be an actor.”

  “It is harder work than it looks, and you’re too old to apprentice. You should have asked me five years ago.”

  “I can learn as well now as I would have done back then. And I don’t mind the low wage. It will be more than I have here.”

  “It will cost you more to live too.”

  William didn’t expect riches, but he would need room and board, and a little for essentials. “You keep your apprentice,” he said, believing that to be the norm.

  “He costs me enough, and I don’t need another.”

  Apprenticing with his cousin was the last thing William wanted. “What about Richard?” He asked the question as if working for the other lead had just occurred to him.

  “I feared that was where this was going.” Geoffrey let out a sigh. His eyes darted about to make sure they were alone; then he shuffled William into the barn and shut the door behind them. Tone hushed, he said, “Forget about Richard. You’re not the first man who’s had his head turned by him, and you won’t be the last. He has a boy who serves him well, and you won’t see him again. Aren’t there girls enough in Oxford to catch your eye?”

  William ignored that question. “All I want is to go to London and find work with your company. If I must wait for the position I want to become available, then I will.”

  “Please, William, don’t ask me to do this. He will sully you.”

  “That is my goal.”

  “Then I am definitely not taking you.”

  Geoffrey snatched up the last two pallets from the corner and quickly headed for the barn door. He yanked it open violently and let it clatter against the wooden wall as he marched straight toward the house.

  “Please, Geoffrey!” William begged, catching him and pulling him to a halt. “I am the youngest of four brothers. What is there for me here? Francis will get the land when my parents die, and I will have a pittance. The others have been bought apprenticeships, but there is no money for me to have one. I have no skills besides farming, no money for a tenancy. Have you forgotten your position was once the same? You have become a prosperous man in your profession. Do not deny me a good livelihood because Richard Brasyer has a taste for men.”

  “I do not care what he likes,” Geoffrey hissed. “He is my friend and will do what he wants with my blessing. But you are my cousin and the youngest, at that. What would your mother say to me if she knew?”

  “She would thank you for giving her youngest a chance in a family business. She will be made proud by my success, and my brothers will be envious. My father will thank you for allaying his fears for my future.”

  “They will not thank me. This is not a reputable business.”

  “It is not a bad one these days either, and you are much celebrated for your achievements. They’ve felt the weight of your moneybag. You think they wouldn’t want that for me?”

  Geoffrey dropped the pallets and rubbed his temples. William could see he’d hit his mark and his cousin had little fight
left.

  Pursing his lips, Geoffrey rallied for one last attempt at dissuading him. “If they weigh my coin now, they won’t find it so heavy. It’s feast or famine in this business, and times are tough. Besides, it’s not the acting that will make you rich. You need a share in the company, and you cannot afford to buy one.”

  William would worry about that later. “You had your inheritance. One day I will have mine, albeit a small one. I can save, supplement it however I must, until I have the money. Let me find out what the business is like now before I sink what little cash I have into it. If I hate it, I may return home, and I’ve lost nothing. Isn’t that better than me losing the lot later when I have the funds and you cannot stop me?”

  His cousin shook his head slowly, but William could see he’d won him over.

  “I’ll give you the season,” Geoffrey relented. “You will do any job I ask and get only one shilling a week. I will provide room and board, which is the same terms as my apprentice gets. If a position becomes available with one of the other sharers, no matter who it is, you will take it.”

  A familiar excitement grew in William’s belly. It came and went with the playing company, but now he thought he would feel that way forever. “Thank you!” He hugged Geoffrey tightly. “You will not regret this, I swear it.”

  From the look of Geoffrey’s face, he already was. William didn’t mind. He was a week away from seeing Richard Brasyer again, and next time they met, he wouldn’t stammer.

  Chapter Two

  RICHARD SAT on the edge of the stage, surveying the sturdy wooden beams of the theater. It was not twenty years old but already felt ancient to him.

  Humans had told stories since God created the Earth, and Richard considered himself part of that long and noble tradition. Even the plays were timeless, rewritten yesterday, but telling stories of events sometimes thousands of years in the past. People would probably still be performing them thousands of years into the future. There was a strange comfort in that.

  He was in a fine mood and pleased to be back in his old home for two reasons. First, he made ten times the money, and second, the return to London meant old friends, new plays, and a real bed in his own room every night, which was more than was guaranteed on tour.

  London hadn’t changed much. Richard arrived to find Marlowe dead—an occupational hazard for any man who involved himself in intrigue as much as Kit did, even though Richard had always thought him particularly skilled at it—and the Upstart, Shakespeare, back with some new plays. If they were half as popular as his Henrys, Richard would have stiff competition, particularly if Burbage was around to lead.

  None of that worried him right then. Anything was better than trawling the provinces.

  The rest of the company arrived for the afternoon performance in twos and threes. Watching them file in, Richard could see the mood was high and there was an atmosphere of anticipation among them all. It would be their most generous pay in more than a year, and they were eager for it.

  Geoffrey shuffled in last with his head down, shoulders bunched up around his ears. Richard’s mind traveled back to the birth he’d helped to celebrate the previous week, and he hoped mother and child were well.

  The two actors had been friends a long time, although they were little alike. Geoffrey didn’t seem to mind Richard’s male lovers, and Richard didn’t care that his friend sired bastards all over town. As the two biggest sharers in the company—owning 70 percent between them—they had a lot invested in their friendship, but Richard would have felt no different if they hadn’t a penny to their names. Given their trade, one day they might not.

  Jumping from the stage and into the pit, Richard went to greet him. “Friend!” he said, embracing Geoffrey warmly. “Is your sister well?”

  “She was in good health when I left,” Geoffrey replied with the forced cheer he normally reserved for the stage, patting Richard’s back and shifting away awkwardly.

  “And the babe?”

  “He’s a healthy boy.”

  “So tell me, why do you look so tense?”

  Before Geoffrey could deny it, a young man stepped up beside them. Richard knew him instantly as a Moodie. He could not forget a face like that.

  The lad was exquisitely handsome, with rich, brown, wavy hair that fell to his shoulders, and eyes so dark that, even at a short distance, Richard couldn’t make out where the inky black ended and the iris ought to begin. His hair was scraped back now, and he didn’t appear as nervous as he had previously, but he was unmistakably the youth who’d caught Richard’s eye in the Oxfordshire countryside.

  Richard had occupied himself with fantasies of his country boy several times since greeting him—usually first thing in the morning and last thing at night. What was he doing in London?

  “Who’s this?” he asked, smirking at the young man and wondering if Nick watched.

  “My cousin, William.”

  “Cousin? Did we meet last week?”

  He expected William to stammer again, but the lad replied confidently. “We weren’t properly introduced, but I think you noticed me.”

  Richard’s grin widened. He had not expected that or the seductive smile that followed it. “So what brings you to London?”

  “I’m here to work.”

  “At what?”

  “Whatever you wish.”

  Richard had not expected that either. “Geoffrey has employed you?” he asked, giving Geoffrey a sideways glance.

  “Yes, but I hope to work for you one day. I am an admirer of yours.”

  “I am not short of those, and they don’t usually ask a wage for the privilege. May we speak, Geoffrey?”

  From the corner of his eye, Richard could see William looked troubled, but he ignored it as he and Geoffrey stepped away to talk.

  When they were far enough apart that William would not hear their low voices, he said, “Do we no longer make the decision to take on men together? I have several cousins I should like to keep via the company coffers.”

  “I will cover his wage from my share until an apprentice’s position becomes available. There’s little for him in the village, and he’s the youngest son. We could give him a chance.”

  Richard knew all too well the difficulty of being the youngest child. He felt a grudging sympathy for William in that respect. “What do you expect him to do until then?” he asked wearily.

  “He’ll do anything. He can work the door this afternoon.”

  “Can we trust him?”

  “He’s not got the wit to steal anything yet. Besides, he’s in awe of you, and he wants to be an actor. He wouldn’t risk his chance.”

  The last was said with a tinge of worry. Richard searched his friend’s face. Geoffrey was unenthusiastic about the young man’s presence, but he wasn’t a man prone to optimism. He’d bothered to bring William, so the lad couldn’t be entirely useless.

  “All right,” Richard relented. “Set him on the groundlings’ door, but if he disappears with the money, you will be paying us all.”

  “I can’t afford that!”

  “Then you better hope he is as honest as you say.”

  William didn’t look like a thief, but Richard thought him an easy target for one. He sat on the edge of the stage and watched William listen and nod attentively as Geoffrey explained what to do and how to avoid cutpurses. William looked across at Richard and smiled shyly when their eyes met. It would be interesting to see how far his admiration went.

  “Why did you bring him?” Richard asked when Geoffrey finally joined him.

  “He begged me, and he knew all the right things to say. He needs a chance. I am in a position to give him one.”

  “But you don’t want him here?”

  Geoffrey hesitated. He was holding something back, but Richard could not fathom what.

  “He has as much opportunity to ruin himself as to improve his lot,” Geoffrey eventually replied.

  Richard would have guessed by his looks and manner that William was sensib
le enough, but he knew better than to judge a man on something as superficial as that. “He doesn’t seem like the type.”

  “I would have said the same a week ago, but I think he’s more determined of that than anything else.”

  “And yet you put him in charge of the money?”

  “There’s more than one way to ruin a man. You know that.”

  Dice, wine, women, men… yes, there were plenty of ways to do that, and those methods were for the fainter hearted. The Tower beckoned many a man who thought himself beyond such things. Whatever William’s particular vice, Richard decided not to worry about it. The company already had its fair share of rogues. What was one more?

  AFTER THE performance, the men all sat on the stage and eagerly awaited their pay.

  William had been given the takings for all three doors and was counting it up in silence with a look of wonder on his face, chuckling to himself as he worked. That only increased the excitement among the others. Richard enjoyed their happiness, and even Geoffrey smiled.

  When William was done, he cackled with childish glee. It must have been more money than he’d ever held in his life.

  “Well, William,” Richard pressed, “how much did we take?”

  William handed the bag of coins over to Geoffrey. “Nine pounds, ten shillings, and sixpence,” he said, laughing. “A king’s ransom!”

  The hired men and apprentices whooped and danced, certain they would get their wages and a promised bonus. The company hadn’t taken above eighteen shillings—less than one pound—at a performance since they fled the capital, and this was something to celebrate. The sharers didn’t look so happy.

  “Are you sure?” Richard asked, glancing to Geoffrey, who was shaking his head and spitting blasphemies under his breath.

  “I swear it,” William squealed. “It’s a fortune!”