Simon Hawke - The Merchant of Vengeance

“Well, perhaps not,” Elizabeth replied sceptically, “but I see by the title here that this is all about the ‘notorious and secret practices’ of this supposed thieves’ guild, and I should like to know just how secret these practices could be if they were notorious. And I should also like to know how Robert Greene should happen to know all about them, unless he were a thief himself and a member of this guild. And one would think that if he were, why then, his fellow thieves and scoundrels in the guild would not take very kindly to his ’bringing to light‘ all of their secret practices.”

“But Master Greene is not a thief,” Antonia said. “He is a respected master of the arts! I should have thought that you would surely know of him, Elizabeth, for he has written numerous plays, many of which were staged at the very playhouse where your Tuck once worked, and in which your father has an interest.”

“Well, my father does not speak much of playhouses of late,” Elizabeth replied dryly. “Ever since the Lord Admiral’s Men began to play together with Lord Strange’s company at the Rose, the attendance at the Burbage Theatre has been greatly in decline. My father has witnessed the value of his investment dwindling steadily. That Tuck has left the Queen’s Men, together with his friend Will Shakespeare, has only served to strain relations further with my father. Not that Tuck’s departure from the company made much difference one way or another, for he was never an important player, but Will had become their resident poet and was beginning to make a reputation for himself. Now, Philip Henslowe has both him and Christopher Marlowe, which greatly increases his ability to stage new productions at the Rose, whilst the Burbages are in danger of losing their lease, in which event Father would likely lose all the money that he had invested with them. So even though Tuck and Will have done my father good service in the past, we do not speak of them these days, nor do we speak of playhouses or companies of players in this house.”

“Oh. I see. Well then, I can tell you that Master Greene is a university man and a respected, well-known poet who has written a considerable number of these pamphlets with an aim to keeping the honest citizen informed of the ways in which the criminals of the underworld conduct their shadowy practices, so that good people may avoid being robbed and cozened.”

“The underworld, is it?” said Elizabeth. “It all sounds quite dramatic. What makes you think. that he is not simply making it all up?”

“Well, he did not make up Charles Locke, did he?” Antonia countered. “He is real enough. As is Moll Cutpurse, whom he also mentions in this pamphlet.”

“And what would you know about Moll Cutpurse?”

“I know that she is real, because Tuck has met her. He has told me so.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Did he, indeed? And just where and when, pray tell, did you two have this conversation?”

“Why, at the bookstall, when I purchased this,” Antonia replied. “He was buying one, as well. It turns out that he is a great admirer of Master Greene and has read nearly all of his pamphlets about cozeners and coney-catchers.” She hesitated. “He asked about you, of course.”

“Ah. How good of him.”

“As it happens, ‘twas he who recommended that I purchase this,” Antonia continued blithely.

“Indeed? And why did he do that, do you suppose?” Elizabeth asked, trying to mask her irritation. She felt irritated that Antonia had met Tuck at St. Paul’s, and at the same time it irritated her that she felt irritated.

“Why? Oh, I suppose because I told him that I was looking for something new to read and then asked him what he was going to purchase,” Antonia replied, as yet unaware of Elizabeth’s reaction.

“So now it seems you both have an interest in common,” Elizabeth said dryly, wondering even as she said it why her irritation with Antonia was growing. She had always enjoyed Antonia’s company before, but now it seemed she was only getting on her nerves. Elizabeth told herself that it was not as if she had any sort of claim on Tuck Smythe, after all. Their relationship, Such as it was, was ill defined, if indeed it could be said to be defined at all. Was it possible that she was feeling jealous of her friend? Though she was young and very pretty, Antonia was a married woman. But then Elizabeth reminded herself that Antonia had also just confessed to having taken lovers. And if she could so easily be unfaithful to her husband, could she not just as easily be unfaithful to a friend? Or had she been already? It was a disquieting thought, and Elizabeth found herself looking at Antonia in a new and not very favourable light.

“Elizabeth, I do believe that you are jealous,” said Antonia, as if suddenly reading her mind.

“Nonsense. Why should I be jealous?” asked Elizabeth, crying to keep her tone neutral and hoping that her face was not turning red. ‘Tuck is free to meet with anyone he chooses, and at any time he pleases. As are you, I suppose.“ She flinched inwardly, wishing that she had not added that last comment. It had sounded tart even as she said it.

Antonia glanced at her and raised her eyebrows. “You are jealous!” she said. “And I do believe you disapprove of me.”

“Not so much of you as of your behaviour,” admitted Elizabeth, somewhat reluctantly.

“My behaviour,” Antonia repeated. “Do you mean my behaviour as it regards my husband or my behaviour as it regards Tuck Smythe?”

“I do not know that there was anything in your behaviour as it regards Tuck Smythe that anyone could fault,” Elizabeth replied. “Or was there?” She kicked herself mentally for that. It had sounded less like a question than an accusation. She felt exasperated. Why did she keep doing that? What on earth was the matter with her?

“I do not think that there was anything wrong in my behaviour toward him,” Antonia replied. “But ‘twould seem you are afraid there might have been. Or may yet be, more to the point. Is it because you suspect that I may have designs upon him?”

“Oh, Antonia, do not be ridiculous!” Elizabeth replied, sensing the telltale flush in her face even as she spoke. She wanted nothing more than to end this conversation. It was absolutely maddening.

“Ridiculous, am I?” Antonia replied. “Well, do you want to know what I think?” And she proceeded to tell her without waiting for a response. “I think that you like Tuck a great deal more than you truly care to admit. And though ‘twould be the height of folly,

I dare say you may even love him. Nay, hear me out,“ she quickly added, raising her hand when she saw that Elizabeth was about to interrupt. ‘There is much about Tuck to commend him to any woman, as you well know. He is strong and handsome, honest to a fault, amiable and agreeable and possessed of a good heart. But regrettably, he is also a player and poor as a church-mouse, which means that he would never be considered suitable, not by your father certainly and, if you have any sense at all, not by you, either.

So then where does that leave you? As far as I can see, it leaves you with but three choices. The first would be to realize that you could not have a future together, for your father would never agree to the match, which would mean that tile only sensible thing for you to do would be to forget all about Tuck and wait for the right sort of man to come along, one that could be acceptable to both you and your father. However, I have never known you to be particularly sensible, so I rather doubt that you would choose the sensible course.“

“I see,” Elizabeth replied dryly. “And what would be the second choice?”

‘The second choice,“ Antonia continued, ”would be the romantic one, in which you would throw all caution to the winds and defy your father, absconding with Tuck to some far-off place where the two of you could begin a new life together, with both of you as poor as church-mice and struggling to survive as best you could, hoping that you could somehow live on love. And while I do think that you have a romantic side, Elizabeth, I do not think it overshadows your practical nature, though it does tend to interfere with it somewhat. Aside from that, methinks that Tuck would never agree to such a plan, for ’twould place you at a decided disadvantage and take you away from the sort of life to which you have grown accustomed, not to mention that ‘twould also take him away from the life of a player, which is what he has always wanted. You would both wind up unhappy, and you would only make one another miserable in the end.“