The Marlowe Conspiracy (8 page)

A
udrey tiptoed along toward her bedchamber. The ends of her coat dragged lightly on the floor behind her. A sudden coolness in the night air caressed the nape of her neck and she pulled the coat close around her angular shoulders. She snuggled her chin into the fur collar. Just as she reached her room, she turned to see across the corridor. Light spilled out from under the door of Thomas’s bedchamber. She gave a long, regretful look at it.

Their families had pushed them into a marriage that should have worked: Thomas had the wealth and she had the respectability through her relation to Anne Boleyn, the Queen’s mother. Of course, love was never the object of their union. Even so, she had soon learnt the true reason why he wasn’t interest in her or in any other woman.

Reluctantly, she glided across to his bedchamber and cracked the door open.

Inside the vast room, Thomas laid in bed staring up at the ceiling. A single candle burnt next to him. He made no sign that he acknowledged her presence. She remained in the corridor but pushed her head forward into the room.

“I've invited Christopher to town with us on the morrow,” she said weakly and her voice trailed away into the silence.

Thomas stared upwards, his face blank.

“Did you hear me?” she asked more forcibly.

He coughed as if clearing his throat.

“I just received a note a few hours ago,” he replied coldly. “There's something I must attend to. I won't be able to go with you.”

She expelled a small groan and wondered if he was lying.

“But we can't cancel the trip! The banquet's only a few days hence, it’s unfair, I won't have time to see the tailor otherwise.”

He reached over and his quick fingers snuffed the candle out.

“I only said I couldn't go. You can still see the tailor with Christopher.” In the darkness, he turned on his side away from her, clasping the sheets tightly. He lay there stiff, his mind relentlessly brooding.

She frowned at him. Her gaze fell and she drew her head back out of the room.

“As you wish,” she muttered and closed the door.

Exasperated by his attitude, she walked away from his chamber and thought about it more and more. How could she feel guilty about thoughts of Kit when she was married to such a husband? Thomas made it easy for her. She was glad he wouldn’t be there tomorrow.

SCENE NINE

London.

K
it and Audrey traveled by carriage into the city. To enter London, they crossed the Thames at London Bridge, the only bridge constructed over the river, and gaped up at a set of spikes thrusting severed heads into the air. The heads belonged to Catholic traitors. The elements had wrinkled and rotted the skin.

Once over the bridge, the carriage launched into shaded, serpentine streets. Houses, shops, and taverns jostled together along the roadsides, their tall buildings darkening the cobblestones and furtive alleyways. Most buildings started at the base with herringbone brick then, as if someone had cut the floors in two, changed to a second story of black half-timbers and white-plastered nogging. The second story often bulged over the foundations and overhung the first floor, while the doorways and roof lines sagged to one side or the other. Beneath leaded windowpanes, the odd flower box added a pinch of green, yellow, and pink to the shadows and dirt.

Apart from the starvation of light, one most noticed the noise of the streets. Horses' hooves and heavy cartwheels droned over the cobblestones and the din amplified off the close walls. Rowdy washerwomen chatted on doorsteps and scrubbed rags in tubs, apprentices stood under shop awnings and shouted to friends across the road, dogs barked and roamed loose, and children screamed and ran wild among the gutters.

The Walsingham carriage rattled speedily through East Cheapside, for this area had the worst of the plague. Though they skirted the most pestilent districts, the roads here were emptier and some buildings had boards nailed over their windows and doorways. A peculiar stench of rotten cabbage suffocated the air.

As if some formal division had been made, the carriage suddenly ventured away from the slums and into broader roads and stronger, prestigious buildings. In the warmth of the morning sun, the timbers of the buildings expanded with squeaks and groans, as if the sunlight played upon their beams like the strings of a musical instrument. At the convergence of Cornhill and Threadneedle Street, Kit and Audrey passed the Royal Exchange – the center of London commerce and home of banks, money-lenders, and wholesale traders of wool, lead, cloth, and tin. Everyday, rich lords and ladies jammed into the courtyard with their servants to shop the stalls. Feather-plumed hats bobbed in front of striped awnings as the nobles browsed and lingered at displays of perfumes, imported wines, Persian silks, and expensive wigs.

Beyond the Exchange, Kit and Audrey entered the busiest streets of London and their carriage slowed to walking pace among the crowds and traffic. Cries of hawkers assaulted Kit's ears. Maids with baskets hooked over their forearms haggled with the traders. Kit's mouth watered as the carriage passed the a bakery fragrant with loaves, rolls, and biscuits; yet the air soon fell heavy with the wet fumes of haddock at a fishmonger’s stall and the sweaty, bitter smell of iron from a blacksmith's workshop. Among the crowd of shoppers, cut-purses darted through with concealed daggers. Their ears twitched at the clink of purses dangling from the belts. Stealthily, they swept-up behind a fat purse, slit the fabric, and caught the flow of coins that tumbled out. Above it all, along the rooftops, pigeons sat in neat rows and eyed the kites circling in the warm drafts overhead.

After the Walsingham carriage had slogged its way past St Paul's churchyard, it turned into the streets of West Cheapside and found a refined row of haberdashers and tailors. Kit and Audrey exited the carriage outside a shop nestled between two large homes. The symbol on the shop sign indicated it was ‘Golding & Co. Tailors.’

Half an hour later, Kit stood inside the shop and watched Audrey flaunt her new gown. It swished on the floor as she strutted past, and the fabric twisted at the rear as she turned and walked back. He nodded appreciatively.

“Lovely.”

She scrutinized his face.

“You really think so? I want your honest opinion. I can still make changes.”

“Quite befitting of a lady.”

“Yes, but to your eye, is there anything misjudged? Anything at all? Feel at liberty to say.”

“I'm no expert... but I see nothing wrong.”

“The sleeve's aren't too full?”

“No. They're lovely.”

“The gown?”

He gave a small chuckle.

“It's lovely too!”

She glanced at him, slightly mistrustfully. Today, there was an odd seriousness about her manner. In the light from the window, her face and hands seemed imbued with a marble-like sheen. As soon as she stopped walking, a stubby tailor with thin brown hair and horsy teeth set about making measurements at her waist. With glasses perched low on his nose, he hung the tape measure around his neck, bent down, clamped a pin between his teeth, and stuck another pin into the fabric at her hip.

Like the wives of noblemen at court, Audrey dressed sedately and wore a gown of black and white. A Spanish, cone-shaped farthingale puffed out her skirt and gave her an overall ‘A’ shape that was now fashionable. Her taffeta bodice squeezed tight around the incline of her midriff. Above, on her chest, she wore a sheer white partlet with lace trim – a decoration that matched the blackwork silk of her gown, her drooping sleeves, and the fleur-de-lis embroidery of her forepart.

With a pretend, carefree air, she turned toward Kit and tapped her finger just above the slope of her bosom.

“Mark this: the gold stitch-work, I had it added specially. The fashion at court is for plainness at the moment, but I don't care.”

He raised his eyebrows. In reaction, her face turned grim.

“You don't think it's too much, do you?”

“Not at all,” he replied quickly. “I'm sure if I attended the banquet I should see all the other ladies look enviously at you.”

“In all honesty?”

“Yes... if I attended...”

The tailor scowled and battled with a pin at her waist.

“Stand straight for me, my lady,” he said in a clipped manner.

She arched her back more and straightened her shoulders. Eventually, the tailor wedged the pin into the fabric. Kit took a deep breath and stared off to the side of the shop. He walked ponderously by the shelves.

“I'd love to know more of courtly life,” he said almost to himself.

“I thought like that, once,” Audrey replied. “All that finery and ceremony, all the spectacle and sound...”

“You're very fortunate to have the position you do.”

Her expression saddened but she concealed it with a half-smile.

“Yes. I'm certainly fortunate. You might even say I'm fortune's wife.”

The tailor rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“Straight, please, my lady. Straight.”

She ignored him and kept her body twisted toward Kit. She continued slowly.

“Of course, I doubt if I should please such a husband... I'm sure... I'm sure... I'd disappoint him.”

“My lady,” said the tailor, “I need–”

She slapped his hand away.

“I'll stand straight when I want to and not a moment before! Remember your place, good sir!” Her chin trembled as she glared at him. Her composure began to crack. A tear slipped down her cheek.

Kit reacted immediately and strode toward her. He waved the tailor away.

“Give us a few minutes alone.”

The tailor huffed, made a short bow, and left the corner of the shop.

Audrey recovered almost instantly, but her cheeks turned blotchy as she dabbed the tears away with her fingers. Kit stood at her side, concerned.

“Is there anything wrong?”

“No,” she replied with mock confusion. “Why would you think that?”

They both smiled a little. Kit offered her his handkerchief and she finished drying her eyes. A small silence followed. He searched for a way to lighten her mood.

“Thomas tells me he funds my work because of you.”

“I'm afraid that's right.”

“So... I only think it fitting that you should decide the subject of my next play.”

She paused and cocked her head to the side in thought.

“Make it about love.”

“Agreed.”

“Yes, love. Though I'm not sure if it should be a comedy or a tragedy.”

Kit's eyes suddenly widened.

“How about neither? Why not just a story about the union of two people, and how they overcome the obstacles between them?”

“It's good. Yes, I like that.”

“There's hasn't been such a play before.”

“Oh, but what would the heroine look like?” She plucked her thumb and forefinger at the sides of her gown. “Would she have a dress like this?”

“No, much more colorful. Perhaps green.”

“Or purple.”

“And her kirtle could be blue.”

They began to laugh at the bizarre design. Audrey fluttered her fingers over her head.

“I see her in a big myrtle wreath.”

“How about a necklace made out of pebbles?”

“Pebbles?”

He nodded, and they both continued to laugh. She dabbed at the corner of her eye, then stepped forward lightly and embraced him.

“My thanks, Christopher. You always manage to cheer me.”

The action surprised him with its boldness, yet he put his hands on her arms and held her briefly. She was only a friend. He told himself that truth over and over. There was no reason to feel threatened. There was no reason to be thrilled at her embrace. She was only a friend and in need of his support.

They stayed together only a moment. However, when she tried to step back, her body suddenly jerked to a halt. A brooch on the breast of his doublet had snagged the front of her gown, threatening to rip the fabric. She gave a look of dread.