Mr. Shakespeare's Bastard by Richard B. Wright Page A

the riverbank for a groat or an apple core. Was it not something like that? I asked, and she said it was, though in London men paid more than a groat or an apple core. I told her I couldn’t imagine having boys or men poking their things into me, and she said I was well advised to hold to that opinion.
    As Mam told me about this part of her life, I imagined her walking along the London streets on that September afternoon. She must have felt buoyant with hope for a little happiness in her life; she was going to a playhouse with a new friend, and what did it matter if the friend did sell her favours? Mary Pinder, at least, was no street bawd. As Mam said, “I saw any number of those forsaken souls hanging about street corners, poorly dressed and looking ill used.”
    As the noon bell tolled, Mam was watching out for Mary, while being jostled by others and trying to affect a knowing air, as if she did this every afternoon. “Then,” she said, “I was surprised by a gloved hand on my arm, and there in front of me was this large gentleman with a small moustache in a broad face beneath a hat.
    “‘Well now, Miss,’ he said. ‘On time, I see.’ A snort then of familiar laughter. ‘Yes, Elizabeth, my dear, it’s Mary,’ and I had to laugh.
    “‘So help me God, Mary,’ I said. ‘You gave me a fright. I thought I was being taken for a pickup.’
    “‘Well now,’ said Mary, leaning closer, ‘were I really a man I would ask you, and since I am playing the part today, I shall. Will you along to the playhouse with me, Miss?’
    “‘I will,’ I said, and Mary took my arm.
    “‘And how do you fancy me, by the way?’ she asked. ‘Am I not handsome?’
    “Looking at her in the velvet doublet and breeches, the stout legs in silk hose with buckled shoes, the broad feathered hat, I had to smile.
    “‘Am I not in the fashion, girl? Have you ever seen better in that hat shop of yours?’
    “‘I don’t believe I have,’ I laughed.
    “‘There you are, then,’ she said as we made our way through the crowd, Mary parting others before us with no apology.
    “‘But why those clothes?’ I asked, though Mary pressed a thick finger across my lips as we walked. To those nearby it could have been taken for nothing more than a flirting gesture.
    “‘Here we are,’ said Mary, ‘crossing London Bridge on a fine afternoon. Off to see Mr. Marley’s play, a gent with his lady.’
    “Mary then bent towards me as if in intimate talk, because as she said, going to the playhouse was a great occasion for courting. Gentlemen took their mistresses to the plays to better acquaint themselves.
    “‘And look around, Elizabeth,’ she said. ‘It’s not only gentlemen about with their lady friends. It’s the rabble too you’re in company with, so you’re better off with a man. A woman by herself is fair game and two are not much better off unless one of them has my proportions. Look at all these unruly fellows half-filled with ale. You’re a prettysight, girl, and I’ve watched some of them eyeing you. In no time they’d be asking about your tariff. How much for a two-minute stand-up against an alleyway wall on the other side? If you were on your own and in the pit, they’d think nothing of standing behind you and rubbing their pricks against your backside. Having it off while your eyes are on the players. Oh yes, I have seen them at such things. But they’ll not lay a hand on you today, or they’ll get a cuff from me and it will smart where it lands. Besides,’ she added, ‘I enjoy the disguise. And men sometimes like this too, this dressing-up business. It’s part of the game, Elizabeth. Part of London.’
    “And on we went as Mary parted others before us, passing apprentices in their blue jackets and cloth caps, and older, scruffier types, masterless men who had scrounged a penny for an afternoon’s escape at the playhouse or bullring. When we reached the playhouse, the pit was already filled and people were