London - Edward Rutherfurd [332]
“You must get away from the theatre.” No wonder her kindly uncle shook his head. The Fleming family were cautious, and proud of it. When the Dissolution of the Monasteries had ruined their old business, they had moved into haberdashery. “Haberdashery is more reliable than religion,” Jane’s grandfather had solemnly declared, and he bequeathed a sound little business to his three concave-faced sons. Why Gabriel had deserted this for the unstable world of the theatre, his two brothers could never understand. The eldest, with a family of his own, had never spoken to him since; but Uncle, as Jane called him, having remained unmarried, had appointed himself her guardian, constantly gave her advice and, since he was convinced Gabriel would die a pauper, had promised her and little Henry a legacy.
The haberdashery business was good. Buttons and bows, ribbons, sequins, all manner of knick-knacks. The two Fleming brothers also had a workshop making brass pins, as had several others. “That’s where we’ll find you a husband,” Uncle told her. “You want a good pin man. Just leave it to me,” he would add with a sigh. “Your parents will never do anything.”
But even Uncle was a little impressed by Edmund, who had become a familiar figure at the playhouse. As for his play, she had seen parts of it and thought it wonderful. He was going to be a playwright she was sure – perhaps even, as he said, take the place of Shakespeare.
For nobody really knew what Shakespeare planned. There were rumours that he wanted to set himself up as a gentleman. She knew this was a fine thing to be; but what did it really mean? So many people in Elizabethan London swore they were. In olden times, everyone knew, such men were of the knightly caste; and merchants, as they always had, bought estates to enter the gentle class. This was not all, however. Those styled Master, from Oxford and Cambridge, were gentlemen now; and lawyers from the Inns of Court. For learning must be respected. But best of all, for any man – courtier, lawyer or the apprentice son of a squire – was the claim to be gentle born, not gentle made.
Edmund, his father and grandfather being courtiers, was gentle born. Will Shakespeare was not.
“And yet,” Edmund had told her with a smile, “he means to be not only a gentleman made, but gentle born as well!” For though some believed that Will Shakespeare wanted to make his fortune and retire to the life of a country gentleman, and though there was a rumour that he was buying a large house and some land in his native village of Stratford, Edmund through his lawyer friends had discovered something else.
“It’s such a good story,” he explained. “His father’s a merchant whose business got into trouble. He’d applied for a coat of arms two years ago, to make himself a gentleman, but been refused. So what does Will Shakespeare do? He goes to the College of Heralds last year, and re-applies. I’m surprised they considered an actor – I bet it cost Will a pretty penny – but anyway they did. Only Will gets the arms granted not to him but to his father! So now he can go back to Stratford and claim to be gentle born. Isn’t that a splendid joke?”
One thing seemed certain anyway. If Will Shakespeare had enough money to do all this, he could probably afford to retire to Stratford any day. “In a year, he’ll be gone,” Edmund predicted. Jane knew that her father and some of the Chamberlain’s men thought so too. Would Meredith’s name then replace Will’s as the best-known playwright?
And if he were successful, would he still take an interest in her?
Cuthbert Carpenter sneaked home, hoping he had not been seen. Even so, he had made a detour to the church of St Lawrence Silversleeves, where he had tried to pray. But he had not even stepped inside the door when a sharp voice accosted him.
“Where have you been?”
“To church.” It was true.
“And before that?”
“Walking.”
“And before that? The playhouse?”
His grandmother. Cuthbert was squat, and she only came up to his chest, but ever since