Chapter Five

Viola awoke in her cabin. She felt weak and tired, and she could only just barely distinguish Sir Thomas and Charlie, the ship's doctor, standing over her, worried expressions on their faces.

"Oh, good, you're awake!" Sir Thomas said, smiling tiredly at Viola. His face was lined and looked very old, very weary. She smiled blearily back at him, trying to reassure him of her well-being.

"What happened?" she asked, and rubbed her forehead. She could hardly remember anything. Her head hurt very badly, as if she had hit it. She tried not to wince at the pain.

"You fainted, my Lady. While you were telling us a story, you just up and fainted. You've been asleep for a few hours," Charlie informed her. She bit her lip. She had never fainted in her life. She wondered why she should now, all of a sudden. She wasn't seasick or anything. She had never been.

"I'll leave you to rest, Viola. I'll check in on you in a while. Don't stress yourself too much. None of us on board could bear to see you hurt yourself."

Sir Thomas stood and left the cabin, which was dark and lit only by one candle which sat on the table by Viola's bed. The door to the cabin closed with a soft clatter, and there was a note of finality and foreboding to that sound.

"Viola, I have something important to tell you, and you may not like it," Charlie said quietly. Viola tried to sit up, suddenly worried by the tone in his voice, but found she could not. She sank back onto the pillows with a groan.

"What is it?" she asked warily. She hoped it was not life-threatening.

"Well, you're going to have a baby. You're about four months along," Charlie said, twisting his hands nervously. He was embarrassed by the indecency of the situation, for never before had he to tell a woman such news. Viola, too, blushed crimson, and looked at her waist. She had been wondering why she had been gaining weight so rapidly, despite her small appetite. She had first noticed it on the island, and had thought it rather strange because of the few things available to eat.

"Oh," she managed to say after a pause, and then relapsed into her thoughts. She hardly noticed when Charlie made his quiet exit from her presence, feeling that he didn't need to stay there any longer. Her silence was oppressive to him, and he was eager to get back to men, who didn't have such problems.

In Viola's mind there was no doubt as to who the father could be. It was Will. He was the only man who had ever made love to her. She had never had an opportunity during her marriage, for right after the ceremony she was whisked off to the ship, upon which love-making was difficult. She beamed, proud of the tiny child she was carrying, proud of the playwright who had fathered it. But then her face fell.

During the entire journey she had looked forward to seeing Will again. She knew that he wouldn't mind taking her back, even after her failed marriage. But now there was doubt in her mind.

She knew about his wife, and the children that he never saw. Suppose that when she told him he would not take to the news, and try to run away from her? What would she do then? She could always try to pass the child off as one from her marriage, but Will wouldn't be fooled. He would know. He would never want to see her again, for he hated children, as far as she knew. He never wanted to see his wife, and he had once told her that the only reason he had married was because his wife was carrying his first child. But she wouldn't have that opportunity, for she had been previously married. And he would have the right to never see her again. If she had been his wife, she would have gotten to see him sometimes, to avoid being ridiculed by the town, but she was not in that position. He would never speak to her again.

And what if he did still care about her, even if she told him? He would want to see the child, and she couldn't do that. She would have to tell the world that it was the only descendant of her dead husband, and then Will would have no rights over it. He would only see it when he visited her at home, and that hardly ever happened. Oh, what a horrible position she was in! And she was barely a week away from home!

Only a week to ponder things! Only a week to try and decide what to do with her life! Only a week! Such a thought was intolerable to Viola. She couldn't bring herself to face the sailors, who had come to regard her as one of them, and to have her femininity brought into play so close to the end of their voyage, when she had already earned their friendship and trust… She spent the remaining week at sea in her cabin, pleading illness. Her only visitors were Sir Thomas and Charlie, who came to check up on her medical state. And the freckles which she had come to love as a sign of her independence from society began to fade and disappear, leaving her skin as white and flawless as it had ever been.

They docked in London in the morning. Viola left the boat, holding on to Sir Thomas' arm for support. She had no luggage, though Sir Thomas had kindly offered to give her the dresses she had worn, but she refused. The only dress she took from him was a pale blue one which hid her thickening figure slightly, and a dark blue cape to keep out the chill early morning frost.

"Do you want me to escort you home?" Sir Thomas questioned, looking slightly sad at the imminence of their parting.

"No, I have a few stops to make before I return to my parents," she said, smiling sweetly. She was eager to find Will and tell him her news, however afraid she was of his reaction.

"All right, then. You can find me here at the docks every few months. I'll try to call on you sometimes. Your friendship is much valued, my lady."

They smiled at each other, then parted ways. Viola started to walk through the streets of London, so familiar to her. She inhaled deeply the smells of the city, and avoided the piles of muck which she had grown up so accustomed to. The first stop she made was to Will's house.

She knocked timidly on the door, wondering if he might be home. She knew that he might be at the theater, rehearsing a new play, or at the alehouse, but she knew that he was often at home, writing. She hoped that this was one of those times.

"Come in," came a tired, depressed voice from inside. She cringed, at first not recognizing it as Will's. But she slowly opened the door, and peered inside.

The room was torn apart. Papers were strewn across the floor, and used-up quills were thrown into corners. Finished candle stubs were discarded on table tops, and the bed, on which Will lay, was untidy. Will himself was disheveled-looking, unshaven and unbathed. His clothes were dirty and smelly, and Viola wondered what had happened to the eloquent man she had seen last three months ago.

"It's Viola," was all she could say, trying to draw his attention. Will's eyes were closed, as if he was trying to block out the world.

"This is all a joke. A cruel joke. It's my mind playing tricks on me. Viola is not here. Viola is in America, with her husband. Oh, my God, my drinking has finally caught up with me!" Will moaned from his bed. Viola almost laughed. This was the man whom she had seen once, at the exposition of a play. She had been stricken by him, but had not known who he was, then. Perhaps Will had not changed as much as she had feared he might have.

"Open your eyes, you fool, and look at me," she said. Will obeyed, and stared at her open-mouthed for a few moments, as if trying to decide if she was real, or simply a figment of his imagination and over-tired mind.

"Is it really you?" he asked quietly, in a hushed, reverent tone. Viola nodded, smiling to herself.

Will stood up and ran to her, scooping her up in his arms and kissing her. She kissed him back, and it was like old times. Oh, how she had missed him! She was so happy to see him, so happy that he had not forgotten her! But then she came back to herself, and remembered the unpleasant news she had to tell him.

"Will, stop. Stop, please," she said, her voice strained.

"What, are you still married? Did your husband bring you back to London only to torture me?" Will asked angrily, frowning and looking like a monster. Viola laughed.

"No, I was shipwrecked during a storm, and everyone on the ship save myself died. But then I was saved by a merchant who had stopped on the island which I had lived on for a few weeks, and I came back here to London. But Will, I have to tell you something…"

She lost her voice, and was unable to tell him. She couldn't. She didn't have the courage.

"What is it, my cherub? Oh, life is beautiful again! To have you back with me, to have you in my arms, and without fear of your imminent marriage!" He smiled at her, but his smile faded when he saw her face. "What is it?"

"I have something important to tell you, but I'm afraid you'll take it the wrong way," she said, in a desperate attempt to salvage her friendship before it fell apart.

"I won't, I promise. No matter what it is, Viola, I will always love you!" Will said, taking her hands in his and kissing them.

"Oh, Will, I'm just so afraid that you may not be able to keep that promise!"

"I will, Viola, I will," he said encouragingly, curiosity burning in him.

"I'm with child," she said finally, her face turning crimson as she spoke. She had never before said that hateful sentence aloud, and now she loathed having to say it. Will could only stare at her for a minute, then glare hatefully at the floor.

"And whose child is it, may I ask?"

Viola took a deep breath, gathering her strength.

"It's yours."