Страница 22 из 72
‘I am sorry to trouble you,’ I said, reckoning it was best to conciliate him, ‘but is Simon Hetherington here today?’
‘Aye. Friend of his, are you?’ He looked me up and down and – presumably deciding I presented no threat and would not steal the costumes or the takings – nodded toward the stage. ‘Go through at the back there. He should be about.’
I climbed the steps he indicated and found myself on the stage. It was a strange sensation, facing in the opposite direction, as it were, and seeing the tiers of seats rising up on three sides of me. They were empty now, but how intimidating it must feel to step out in front of hundreds of faces, peering up from the ground below your feet or leaning over the railings above you, everyone listening to your every word. What if you were to forget your lines? Or trip over your feet? Or otherwise make a fool of yourself? Yet Simon did this nearly every day. Surely I could act a part for three weeks, before a much smaller audience.
At the back of the stage were two doorways, covered with curtains, through which the actors made their entrances and exits. Between them was the i
Almost at once I fell over something. My eyes had not yet adjusted to the dim light and it was crowded here. And chaotic. I had fallen over a throne-like chair, carved and painted to look like gold, though some of the cheap paint came off in flakes on the hand I put out to save myself from falling. There were boxes and chests everywhere, and bits of scenery – a tree, a low table, a ‘rock’ which rolled away when a tall man in an extravagant cloak barely brushed against it. It hit a stack of Roman spears which fell over.
‘God-a-mercy!’ He cried. ‘Who left those there? What if I’d knocked them down on my last entrance?’
He seemed to be addressing no one in particular. Certainly no one replied. I stooped to help him gather them up.
‘My thanks, young gentleman.’ He swept me a extravagant bow that would have done credit to any courtier. ‘You are my deus ex machina, my saviour, my knightly rescuer come from mighty Avalon!’ Then is a normal tone of voice, with the merest touch of Kent about it, ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I’m looking for Simon Hetherington.’
‘Over there.’ He pointed to a dim corner furthest away from the stage. ‘He will be shedding his curls and his farthingale, his dainty cap and mittens, and resuming his manly state.’
He peered at me. ‘Not looking for work, are you? We’re short of boys this season.’
‘No, no.’ I gri
‘Pity. We could make a fair damsel of you.’
This conversation was getting a little dangerous.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I see Simon now.’
With a quick bow, I slipped away, and found Simon in his normal clothes, but wiping his face with a damp cloth to remove the rosy paint from his cheeks.
‘So,’ he said, ‘and why were you in earnest conversation with James Burbage?’
‘Was that who it was? I didn’t realise. He knocked over some spears and I helped him pick them up.’
‘Did he try to recruit you?’
‘How did you guess?’
‘He’s really worried about how few boys we have to play the women’s parts. I told you we could make an actor of you.’
I laughed. ‘Not for me, I fear. I have come to offer you a meal, in exchange for the one you stood me, that time you pawned the gold earring.’
I was suddenly seized with the realisation that I was trespassing on Simon’s professional ground, and was embarrassed. ‘Unless, of course, you were pla
‘Not at all. No actor ever refuses a meal!’ He tossed away the cloth. ‘Am I fit to be seen in the streets?’
‘Nearly.’ I picked up the cloth and wiped a smear of rouge from his left cheek. ‘Now I won’t be ashamed to be seen with you.’
‘Come, then. Where shall we go?’ He hooked his arm through mine and led me back on to the stage.
‘I can’t imagine how you can stand up here and play your parts,’ I said, tilting back my head to look up to the highest ranks of seats, where I could see the doorman pushing a broom and stopping now and then to pick something up.
‘It’s easy,’ Simon said. ‘You just imagine yourself into the skin of the person you are playing. Think as he – or she – would think. Forget who you really are. Once you have truly become that person, it’s no longer pretence. It’s reality.’
‘I wonder.’
‘Good night, Master Burbage,’ Simon called. The director of the company of players was examining something in the i
‘Shall we go to that ordinary where we had a meal before?’ he asked.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m in the chinks this time.’ From the weight of the purse Sir Francis had handed me as I left, I reckoned I could stand Simon a better meal than that. ‘Let’s go to the Dolphin.’
He raised his eyebrows and whistled. ‘You are indeed feeling extravagant, Dr Alvarez.’
I laughed, but I was a little confused too, not wanting him to think I was trying to outdo his own treat.
Although we entered the great i
Perhaps it was the ale, or perhaps the sense of a stomach full of good food in the clean and elegant surroundings of the famous i
‘I’ve heard people grumble about the Huguenots living in Petty France,’ he said, ‘and I knew they had been driven out, but I never knew how terrible it was.’
I nodded. ‘Sir Francis told me because he wanted to make me understand just how bad it will be here, if the French or the Spanish overrun us.’
‘You really think there is a danger of that?’
‘Oh, yes. I ca
Simon poured us each another glass of the ale, emptying the flagon.
‘I knew you were working as a code-breaker, you told me that before. I didn’t realise that your work was so important.’
‘I’m only a small part of it.’ I drank deeply of the ale. It was growing hot as more people crowded in to the dining room of the i