reached behind and caught it just before it would have fallen to the floor, then set it back under Matthew as he plopped back down again. Matthew probably never realized the chair had tipped.
Suzanne went over and claimed the last vacant place to sit. “Greetings, all,” she said.
Matthew, filled with good cheer and aslosh with ale, smiled wide and said entirely too loudly, “Greetings, Mistress Suzanne! Welcome to the Goat and Boar, and don’t you look fetching this evening?” He made a faux bow to her from his seat, and Louis moved his cup so his head wouldn’t knock it over.
A murmur of agreement rippled along the table and Louis raised his glass to it. Suzanne noted the presence of Arturo, whose daughter sat with Louis. She wondered whether there would be a wedding soon, because Louis’s heart had been taken with the girl since the beginning of the summer. Tonight she sat next to him on the bench against the wall, nearly beneath his arm and leaning in just enough to make it plain they were together but not enough to alarm her father. Suzanne looked over at Arturo, who seemed to ignore Louis’s interest in the daughter. Yes, she guessed there might already be an understanding. Or else a terrible misunderstanding.
In reply to Matthew’s compliment, Suzanne said, “You men keep to yourself all the comfortable clothing. Shame on you!” She shook a finger at them and they laughed.
Young Dent, the proprietor, brought her usual ale, and she took a deep draught of it. Good cheer washed over her, here among people she knew were friends because they’d shown their loyalty in the past. The performance that day had been well received, the landlord was not knocking for his rent, and all was right with the world.
The door behind Suzanne opened to let in the brisk night breeze and a guest. Someone came in from the alley, the door closed behind him, and Louis stopped laughing when he looked up. The others looked, and Suzanne turned around to see. Ramsay stood for a moment by the door, spotted the table filled with players, and with a big, blithe grin, approached them. The men remained silent, but Suzanne raised a beckoning hand.
“Ramsay! Come, sit with us!”
“There’s no chair,” said Louis, a little too quickly. “We haven’t room.”
Suzanne threw him a glance, and understood that Arturo had been talking to the rest of the players. This would never do, not if
Macbeth
was to go smoothly. “Nonsense,” she said. “Take one from that table over there.” An empty chair stood nearby at the next table, and Ramsay picked it up to straddle it next to Suzanne. She scooted a bit to give him room, but nobody else did. “Oh, come, Arturo! Give over some, so Ramsay can at least put a cup on the table.”
Arturo shoved over, clearly not pleased to do so. Ramsay scooted his chair to get between him and Suzanne.
Suzanne grinned at Ramsay, and quaffed her drink once more. The warmth of it spread in her belly and filled her with well-being. “So, my Scottish friend, are you ready to play Macbeth in two weeks?”
“Oh, aye!” he said in an exaggerated brogue. “Eager to cut the king’s throat, I am!” He raised an imaginary tankard to the prospect.
Louis said, “I say, I wonder why Shakespeare was allowed to have regicide in his plays. I’d think murdering kings would be a bad example to set, and monarchs are ever so fussy about what’s presented onstage.”
“Och,” said Ramsay. “’Tis simple enough, I think. All the regicides in Shakespeare come to a bad end, do they not?”
Louis said simply and flatly, “
Richard III.
”
Ramsay’s answer was so quick it nearly anticipated Louis’s comment. “Richard III died in battle for one thing, and for another he was killed by the army of Elizabeth’s grandfather. Apparently regicide, like beauty, is bought by judgment of the eye.” He winked at Louis, as if suggesting a judging eye. A tiny smile touched the corners of his mouth, and he glanced at
Suzanne went over and claimed the last vacant place to sit. “Greetings, all,” she said.
Matthew, filled with good cheer and aslosh with ale, smiled wide and said entirely too loudly, “Greetings, Mistress Suzanne! Welcome to the Goat and Boar, and don’t you look fetching this evening?” He made a faux bow to her from his seat, and Louis moved his cup so his head wouldn’t knock it over.
A murmur of agreement rippled along the table and Louis raised his glass to it. Suzanne noted the presence of Arturo, whose daughter sat with Louis. She wondered whether there would be a wedding soon, because Louis’s heart had been taken with the girl since the beginning of the summer. Tonight she sat next to him on the bench against the wall, nearly beneath his arm and leaning in just enough to make it plain they were together but not enough to alarm her father. Suzanne looked over at Arturo, who seemed to ignore Louis’s interest in the daughter. Yes, she guessed there might already be an understanding. Or else a terrible misunderstanding.
In reply to Matthew’s compliment, Suzanne said, “You men keep to yourself all the comfortable clothing. Shame on you!” She shook a finger at them and they laughed.
Young Dent, the proprietor, brought her usual ale, and she took a deep draught of it. Good cheer washed over her, here among people she knew were friends because they’d shown their loyalty in the past. The performance that day had been well received, the landlord was not knocking for his rent, and all was right with the world.
The door behind Suzanne opened to let in the brisk night breeze and a guest. Someone came in from the alley, the door closed behind him, and Louis stopped laughing when he looked up. The others looked, and Suzanne turned around to see. Ramsay stood for a moment by the door, spotted the table filled with players, and with a big, blithe grin, approached them. The men remained silent, but Suzanne raised a beckoning hand.
“Ramsay! Come, sit with us!”
“There’s no chair,” said Louis, a little too quickly. “We haven’t room.”
Suzanne threw him a glance, and understood that Arturo had been talking to the rest of the players. This would never do, not if
Macbeth
was to go smoothly. “Nonsense,” she said. “Take one from that table over there.” An empty chair stood nearby at the next table, and Ramsay picked it up to straddle it next to Suzanne. She scooted a bit to give him room, but nobody else did. “Oh, come, Arturo! Give over some, so Ramsay can at least put a cup on the table.”
Arturo shoved over, clearly not pleased to do so. Ramsay scooted his chair to get between him and Suzanne.
Suzanne grinned at Ramsay, and quaffed her drink once more. The warmth of it spread in her belly and filled her with well-being. “So, my Scottish friend, are you ready to play Macbeth in two weeks?”
“Oh, aye!” he said in an exaggerated brogue. “Eager to cut the king’s throat, I am!” He raised an imaginary tankard to the prospect.
Louis said, “I say, I wonder why Shakespeare was allowed to have regicide in his plays. I’d think murdering kings would be a bad example to set, and monarchs are ever so fussy about what’s presented onstage.”
“Och,” said Ramsay. “’Tis simple enough, I think. All the regicides in Shakespeare come to a bad end, do they not?”
Louis said simply and flatly, “
Richard III.
”
Ramsay’s answer was so quick it nearly anticipated Louis’s comment. “Richard III died in battle for one thing, and for another he was killed by the army of Elizabeth’s grandfather. Apparently regicide, like beauty, is bought by judgment of the eye.” He winked at Louis, as if suggesting a judging eye. A tiny smile touched the corners of his mouth, and he glanced at
Similar Books
