London - Edward Rutherfurd [350]
It was the same thing, all over again. Nothing had changed. She knew it, with a sudden sickness, in her heart.
At her side, Dogget had not realized whom she had seen and was still chatting happily. She forced herself to walk forward. Dogget was rather surprised when, as they walked, she took hold of his hand.
They were still fifty yards away when Edmund glanced back and saw them. With the lamp still close to his eyes, he would not have recognized them in the dusk if it had not been for the white flash in Dogget’s hair. Staring for a brief moment, he saw from her walk that the figure beside him must be Jane.
For a moment he hesitated. He knew the two were friends. Could there be something more that he did not know about? Could they even – the thought flashed across his mind – be lovers? No, he decided. That was absurd. Little Jane would never do such a thing. Dogget was just walking her home, quite innocently. Yet what was he himself doing? Would he be parting from this lady at her door?
He almost went over to them. But then he did not. After all, it might seem as if he was anxious about them: that would be beneath his dignity. As for reassuring Jane – the hypocrisy of the gesture secretly embarrassed him, since he might well spend the night in the lady’s arms. No. Let her think what she liked. A fine fellow like himself should do as he pleased. Besides, she might not have recognized him.
A moment later, the lady and Edmund had turned westward across the city, and Dogget and Jane continued northwards.
The little procession that crossed London Bridge one bright noon a week later had a festive air. In the first wagon, filled with costumes, rode Fleming and his son. In the second, his wife presided. The third vehicle was an open cart full of props. Cuthbert Carpenter was perched on top of that to make sure that nothing fell out. In the fourth cart, also full of props, rode Jane, and in the fifth, Dogget.
The contents of the carts were like something for a carnival. There was a throne, a bedstead, a golden sceptre, a golden fleece; Cupid’s bow and quiver, a dragon, a lion, and a hell-mouth. There was a witch’s cauldron, a Pope’s mitre, a snake, a wooden log. Armour, spears, swords, tridents – the bric-à-brac of legend, superstition and story. People gazed and laughed as this extraordinary cargo rumbled by, and those riding in the carts waved cheerfully.
The Globe was ready to open; Fleming had his house in Southwark; and it was time to bring the contents of his store to their new home. And none of the party was more radiant than Jane, for she had made her big decision.
She was bored with Meredith. She had chosen Dogget instead. Since she and the boatbuilder had come to an understanding, she had felt an extraordinary sense of peace and happiness. She was looking forward to telling Meredith.
Two days later Edmund Meredith began to have doubts about his play. More than a week had passed since he had given it to the Burbages. The days passed and he waited in an agony of doubt. It did not help his nerves, therefore, when, two days after his encounter with the actors, he received a visit from William Bull.
“I think it is time that I see the Burbages myself,” his cousin said stolidly. “I want my fifty pounds.”
“But you must not,” Edmund cried. He could not tell William that the Burbages thought the money had all come from him. “It’s the worst thing you could do,” he blurted out. It had just uncomfortably crossed his mind that if they did not think they owed him money, the Burbages might not put on his play.
“Why?”
“Because,” Edmund searched his mind feverishly, “they are subtle. Full of strange humours. Saturnine. Splenetic. The Globe will provide the first profits they have enjoyed in three years and you are not the only man to whom money is owed. I have persuaded them to pay you first,” he lied. “But if you come to