Love's Will by Meredith Whitford

company do. The landlady is clean; and yes, she feeds me well.” His mother’s mouth turned down dubiously. Hastily Anne asked what the troupe had played.
    “At the Theatre, oh, everything. I could recite you the bloody Spanish Tragedy in my sleep. I probably will.” Under the table he took her hand, lacing his fingers tightly into hers. She returned the squeeze, trying not to blush. They’d sleep together tonight. Sleep, and more besides, with luck. “And, oh, works by Greene and Nashe, and by Kit Marlowe, of course. No-one can get enough of him. Old stuff and new, whatever pays best.”
    “Do you get any pay?” his mother asked, and once again Anne rushed into the breach.
    “Madam, you know he does, I told you how much he sent me with his letters. It seems,” she couldn’t resist adding, “that the theatre is a paying concern.”
    William put his hand on her arm, hushing her. His eyes never leaving his mother’s face, he took his purse from his belt and spilt its contents across the table. In reverent, astonished silence his family looked at the pile of coins. Gold coins. More money, in cash, than most of them had ever seen.
    “There’s eleven pounds and a bit more there,” William said evenly. “Made from playing and writing and patching up other men’s plays. I can, at last, provide properly for my wife and children.” He lifted Anne’s hand and piled the coins one by one into her palm. “It’s yours, love. I’ve enough for the rest of the tour, and there’s a bit more in London.” Neatly he folded her fingers down over the money. “You see, we common players share the groundlings’ gate. That’s the money paid by the people who stand in the space before the stage. Penny a head, and we cram ’em in. Burbage and his partner in the Theatre share the takings from the galleries. It’s tuppence up there and an extra penny for a cushion if your bum can’t stand bare wood. Yes, it pays. Enough for now.”
    “So it seems. And what parts have you played?”
    “A bit of everything. Well, not the leads, I’m too junior yet. Got to work my way up. Spear carrier. Deathless lines like ‘Here comes the King of France.’ Funny how there’s always a king of somewhere. I’ve fought for every nation on the earth, often, mutatis mutantur, for two different sides in the same piece. I’ve murdered and lied, poured wine, carried letters, been a Jew, a Spaniard, once a king myself – oh, and the loveliest girl.”
    “I noticed the beard had gone,” Anne said drily.
    “It’ll be back again. I’m too old to play girls now. That’s what the boys are for. With a wimple I can play a nurse. Or a mother. Or a queen.”
    “Surely it would be simpler just to allow women to play?”
    “Anne!” said her father-in-law, truly shocked. “It’s against the law, and for another thing, not even the lewdest woman would think of treading the stage.”
    “No, sir. I’m sorry.”
    “Quite right,” William said straight-faced. “Think of the havoc women would cause in a company. And we’re such a sober, God-fearing lot, we actors. We have women seamstresses to make our costumes, but that’s a different kettle of fish. Speaking of fish…”
    “Yes, dinner is ready. Come to table. William, you’ll say the blessing?”
    Listening to him, Anne thought how he’d changed in voice as well as in appearance. Some of the Warwickshire burr had gone, he turned some words in what she guessed was the London way, but most of all he spoke more clearly, deliberately and with a deeper tone. If this was what he could do with a simple meal-blessing, he was probably a good actor. Which was a relief. He had a mannered, fluid way of moving, and his gestures were controlled. It was all art, now, whatever the matter. He was brisk and confident and polished, much different from the provincial boy she’d sent away two years ago. You’d take him for a courtier today.
    Out of that thought she said, “Will, have you seen the