I blow out the candles next to our bed and lie back. Kate curls around me, warm and smelling faintly of sweat. Spring’s pleasing mildness has fled, and the air now carries the sultry feel of summer. For the first time this season, we don’t draw the bed curtains. Lucrezia’s portrait gazes down at me, tangled with Kate in the bed they surely must have shared. I wonder what she would think of me. If she would be jealous or give us her blessing.
“If it bothers you, we can take it down,” Kate murmurs, as if reading my mind. She weaves her fingers through mine.
“Would it be asking too much to do so? I always feel as if she’s judging me. That she would be upset at my being in her bed, with you.”
“She wouldn’t be. She would understand. She was softer than she looks. We were only lovers briefly, for a very short time in the physical sense of the word. Lucrezia was much too frail for the sorts of things you and I do. She was nothing like you. She was stoic. Almost holy, like a Madonna of old. I worshipped her. But you ...” Kate chuckles. “You bring out something primal in me, Lil. Something possessive.”
“I’ve noticed,” I say, smiling in the darkness. “I’m a little jealous that you don’t findmeworthy of worship, though.”
“But that’s where you’re wrong. I covet you. I crave you. Completely.” I turn to her. To my surprise, I see tears gleaming in her eyes. She traces my cheek with her thumb. “Please say you’ll go to London with me. Build a new life. Marry me—become Mrs. Mayhew. Or Winthrop. I care not which gentleman you prefer. Just be my wife, my world. I cannot bear the thought of ever being parted from you. You are my Portia, my Eurydice. I’d go to the depths of hell for you.”
Suddenly, it occurs to me that Kate might need me more than I need her. There’s a vulnerability in her voice, a tender, childlike pleading that disarms me completely. I think of the little girl she once was, singing and acting to escape the grim circumstances of her life.Something breaks in me then, and the last of my reservations fall to the floor, like ill-fitting clothes. My lip trembles, my throat clenching around my words. I hesitate for only a moment. “Yes. I’ll go to London with you.”
She laughs. “Oh, Lil. You’ll never regret it. I’ll make you so happy, I promise.”
“You’re not present. You need to concentrate, Lillian. Get up,” Kate says sternly as she stands over me, hands on her hips.
“I’m tired. Can’t we take a break?”
“I’ll let you have a break after we run through it with the sheep’s bladder. You’ll need a bath after that, anyway.”
I drag myself up from the floor. Is this truly an actor’s life? Repetitive rehearsals, exhaustion, the endless quest for perfection? I can’t say I see the appeal, frankly. Thunder rumbles outside, as rain sheets the roof and lightning flickers through the windows. Our first summer storm.
I face Kate, scowling. “Once more. Only. I’m on my courses, Kate. I’m not well.”
It isn’t a lie. My menses came on this morning in a maelstrom of cramping pain.
“There are no excuses in acting, my love. I once played Rosalind with a shaking fever. It was my best performance yet. This is youronlyrole. Your life—our future—depends upon you mastering it. Summon the strength.” She’s so smug that I want to scream.
“Turn around,” she orders. I sigh and do as she commands, wincing as she pulls my arms behind my back and roughly binds my wrists. She produces the swollen sheep’s bladder, and stuffs it in the pocket above my left breast. It smells foul. The coppery scent of the blood inside makes me gag.
She falls right into Winthrop’s chilling cadence, jerking me forward so hard that I almost stumble. We go through the preliminaries—thestruggling, the wrestling—and I hold nothing back as I growl and hiss. I’m angry with her, and I let it show. When she finally pins me to the floorboards, I stare at her defiantly, baring my teeth. Winthrop’s cool gaze appraises me in return. He raises the stake. “Foul creature. I take great pleasure in sending you to the depths of hell.”
This time, when he brings the mallet down, I feel the stake pierce my bodice, then tear through the sheep’s bladder. The sharp tip grazes the flesh of my bosom. I yelp at the pinch of pain, and then, remembering that this is my final act, and that I’m sick to death of rehearsals, I roar and writhe, just as a massive clap of thunder shakes the house.
Winthrop pushes me onto my side. Dark blood streams from my bodice, onto the floor, soaking my rehearsal dress. It’s cold. Sticky. “Stay still,” he hisses. “Don’t you dare blink.”
Once we finish, Kate heats water for a bath and strips the dress from me to wash later. I glimpse myself in the looking glass. The pig’s blood streaks my body, drying and flaking. There’s a small wound on my breast, where the stake scratched me.
“Come bathe, Lil,” Kate says. “I’ll wash your hair.”
I let her help me into the steaming tub. The storm still rages outside, rain lashing the darkened windows. I sink in, up to my chin. Kate brushes my hair back from my forehead and cups water in her hands, letting it stream over my scalp. I’ve let it grow since she cut it, and it now brushes my jaw in soft, becoming waves.
“I’m sorry I was harsh earlier,” she says, working soap into my hair. “I do realize this isn’t who you are, or what you want to do. The things I aspire to aren’t your passions. One more night. And then all of this will be over. We leave for London next week. I booked our passage on a steamer when I went to town today.”
I sit up, water splashing over the sides of the tub. “A week? I thought you said we would leave in autumn.”
“It will be a safer passage in summer. We don’t want to wait. The storms come late in the season. Besides, I’ll want to try for a few roles when we arrive, to see us through our first winter.”
Anger claws through me. I bite my lip against the harsh words that want to tumble free. She wasted no time, nor did she consult me. “Couldn’t you have spoken with me first? I thought ... I thought we’d have more time.”
“You’re angry with me.”
“I am, Kate!”
She sighs. “What do we have to gain by waiting? There’s nothing left for us here, sweetling. Only the risk of discovery. Even this house has become a prison.”
I laugh. “You know nothing of prison.”
