Free Shakespeare's Spy by Gary Blackwood Page B

Pavy would lose his hair, that I would he the cause of another person’s death. Those were hardly the sorts of predictions that were calculated to keep us coming back for more.
    I got unsteadily to my feet, dizzy from breathing in the smoke—or from too many confusing thoughts buzzing in my brain. “I must go. God you good day.”
    “A good day,” she said, “would be a warm one.”
    I glanced at the smoldering sign. “You’ve run out of fuel, then?” She nodded and pulled her scarves more tightly about her. Impulsively I reached into my purse, brought out my last shilling, and laid it on the table. “To buy coal with.” As I left the tent, I thought I heard her murmur something in reply; I could not be sure of the words, but they might have been “May Fate be kind to you.”
    Only when I was halfway back to the Cross Keys did I realize how foolish I had been to give her that shilling. What would I use now to pay the fine Mr. Armin was sure to demand of me for missing scriming practice? And, as I soon discovered, that was not the only penalty I would be expected to pay.
    In my preoccupation with Judith, I had forgotten all about my costume for that night’s performance, and the fact that it had not yet been let out to fit me. With our tiring-man home ill and but two hours remaining before performance, it would have to wait. Perhaps no one would notice if I pressed into service my costume from
The Spanish Tragedy
.
    But when I dug through the trunk of clothing for that play, there was no sign of Bel-Imperia’s gown. Alarmed, I went through the lot again, piece by piece, and still failed to turn it up. “Oh, gis!” I sank to the floor, my head in my hands.
    “S-something wrong?” said a voice behind me.
    “Aye,” I groaned. “Me gown for
The Spanish Tragedy
has come up missing.”
    Mr. Heminges crouched down next to me. “I hate to t-tell you this, W-Widge, but we’re not d-doing
The Spanish Tragedy
. this evening.”
    “I ken that. But me dress for
Two Gentlemen
no longer fits, and I thought I’d substitute this one, only it’s gone.”
    Mr. Heminges sighed heavily, as though he’d heard this same tale before and was weary of it. “That’s unf-fortunate. But I’m n-not surprised. It’s the f-fourth item that’s d-disappeared in as m-many weeks.”
    “Is someone stealing them, do you wis?”
    “I’m afraid it’s a p-possibility. Of course, it’s also p-possible that they’re st-still at the Globe somewhere, though I d-doubt it. Richard is always very c-careful in p-packing the costumes.”
    “I suppose it’ll come out of me wages, then?”
    “I’m s-sorry, but that’s the r-rule. We c-can’t make an exception for you. If we f-find out who the th-thief is—assuming th-there is one—we’ll return the m-money to you.” He got stiffly to his feet. “N-now, let’s see about that other g-gown.”
    When I tried it on, the hem proved to be, as Judith had guessed, several inches too short, and no matter how Mr. Heminges tugged at the back of my bodice, the hooks and eyes could not be made to meet. “Well, we d-don’t have much t-time. If you’ll s-see to the hooks and eyes, I’ll l-let down the hem—pr-provided you thread the n-needle for me; my eyes are n-not what they were.”
    Though, like all prentices, I had made my share of emergency repairs, I was no great hand with a needle. Before I had managed to move all two dozen hooks and eyes to their new positions, I must have dropped each of them at least twice; severalwere never seen again. Mr. Heminges’s needlework; however, was swift and sure. When I commented upon this, he laughed. “When you have b-been on the road as many t-times as I have, without b-benefit of a seamstress or t-tiring-man, you learn to d-do for yourself.”
    “Will we go on the road again this summer, do you wis?”
    He paused and rubbed thoughtfully at his graying beard. “It’s hard to s-say, at this p-point. What we d-do will depend largely upon what