disclaimer: not mine
rating: R prostitution, swearing, spying, folksong
genre: a/u. redone as historic fiction
thanks: Nicky, without whose feedbacks I would have spiked this when it got too much like work, and who gave me a tremendously helpful detailed beta. Remaining errors are all down to me.
warning: this story is not very young-american - it has the same faces in a different combination.
notes:
In 1590, there were two main court factions in England. The first was the war party - Essex, Southampton, Raleigh, Sidney, among others. They wanted to attack foreign powers, stab them with their shiny swords, steal their treasure, and live on the loot for evermore. They were uncomplicated souls, and by their efforts the British Empire was built. The peace party - Lord Burleigh, his son Robert Cecil, Spymaster Walsingham who reported to them, and others - wanted all the same gains for England but hoped to win them by diplomacy. And spying and bribery. And assassination. Both sides set their henchmen and minions against each other as well as against enemies of the state.
Jacob Pratt wriggled into the peacock brocade bodice, his elbow stabbing at an armhole. The gown had become too small since his last growth spurt. The great silk bell of farthingale swung round his hips and legs. It was the finest court dress in the company's wardrobe, rich blue silk embroidered in gold thread with ships in full sail. It once belonged to the late Lady Calhoun herself, acquired by way of her maidservant at (Finn said) great cost. If Jake couldn't fit into it, well, London town was full of hopeful boy players whose one hope would be to seize his place.
And then what will I do to earn my way? Whore?
The laces had not been loosened enough, and, halfway in, Jake got stuck, his shoulder almost dislocated. "Bring me my sleeves," he called, muffled. Time was wasting.
There was a costume change between acts two and three - and this rehearsal proved he would never do it in time. Breathless, his face was red when he emerged from the billowing fabric. Fan and gloves and wig were all yet to come. He looked round frantically.
Master Finn himself was acting as tiring-woman. "What do you think?" Finn yanked the bodice tight. Jake breathed more shallowly.
Jake thought his days as a boy player were numbered, and incidents like this did not help. Few boys continued into adult acting... but his ambition to become a full member of the Company was not Master Finn's concern. Glumly, he said, "We need a longer soliloquy from Will." More stage business might cover this delay.
Finn nodded, and started to smooth white lead and vinegar onto Jake's face. Jake told himself to stand like a girl, move differently, get into the role. The constraints of the dress kept him in mind of "Arabella". And was not Will using variants of the name Bella suspiciously often?
"Ryder has been working on a dance - that might hold the crowd," he suggested. He was loath to encourage Ryder's endless ego, but in this case it might be useful. "It's Scottish." It might ingratiate us with this new innkeeper. Steven Fleming was a recent business associate, but his enclosed courtyard was good for players, and the Sign of the Oars was excellently situated, just beyond the reach of the Mayor, who hated actors. It would be good for the players to cultivate Master Fleming's friendship.
Once Finn had gotten him ready, Jake hurried along to the head of the stairs, then slowed. Guests walked the dirt and trash of the street into the common parts of the inn, so he had pattens like little stilts on his feet to protect his slippers. It was the devil to balance on the stairs. Frowning, he watched the edge of the steps as he went down.
A body careened into him. "O! Lady, I beg pardon."
Jake looked up, patting himself. A classic cutpurse trick, that, but no, nothing was taken. It was only the paste jewels for rehearsal, anyhow, but they might be shiny enough to tempt some poor Scot. The lout was stammering apologies in a Scottish accent. He must be a servant of Innkeeper Fleming. "It's nothing, easy now, I'm not offended," Jake said soothingly.
The boy froze at the sound of his voice, mouth half open like a carp fish.
It's a pretty lad Jake thought. Vivid blue eyes Smiling, Jake took his chance to whisk past while he was still distracted. "And -" Jake called back mischievously, "I am no lady."