Page 80 of The Two Wills

“Would you really have wanted that? I not only didn’t want to interrupt your performance, I didn’t want to cause any discord between you and Kit.”

That’s when I came to my senses and could see how, once again, he was doing that devilish dance between passion and friendship, suggesting his affection for me would make Kit jealous. (He couldn’t know how true that was.) But what of that affection? What was it? Passionless love for a muse. Why did I ever trust a poet’s words?

“Is that so?” There again was my bitter anger.

“It is. I know he cared for you so deeply. It was evident by how he could write such beauteous words. Only one who had done the same could say as such.”

“Fie on thee, scoundrel!” I slammed my rag on the table. “Do you even know what it is to care for somebody the way Kit cared for me?”

The Poet sighed in exasperation. “Willy, please let’s not do this. I understand your heart is broken, but let’s be friends now, shall we? You know how important you are to me.”

“Do I? Do you? Do you even understand what actually caring for someone looks like when it’s not attached to an opportunity to feed your writing or your pocketbook?”

“Stop, please. I know you don’t mean that …”

“Can’t you even see it?” I continued, relishing my opportunity to finally speak up. “You cared for me because I inspired your plays or poems; for Rose, because she inspired your lust; and your poor wife who inspired you by overseeing your properties and bearing you children who will carry on your name. We are all just things for you to use for your inspiration and benefit. And all you give us in return is your words when all we want is for you to care for us without the need of creating some product to your betterment. Just to love us as we love you. That should be enough!”

He stood there, looking at the hat in his hands. He knew I had spoken the truth, but I also sensed he wasn’t finished, and what he wanted to say he was embarrassed to say, so I said it for him. “You want me to come back to the company, don’t you? That’s why you’re really here, isn’t it?”

“No … no, I really came to let you know how sorry I was, and to tell you—”

“Just go!” I could not contain my frustration and tears.

“Hughes, if you’d only listen for a minute?”

“Why? So, you might sway me with your sweet words or a sonnet about how you can’t bear to write without me, how you can’t love me the way Kit did, but you can write words words words like boiled candies to appease me—”

“Beshrew thee, selfish boy!” he blurted, then lowered his voice. “How could you say such a thing? I came here because I do love you most dearly, no matter what you think, but also to let you know something most important.”

“What?” I snapped, waiting for his next conniving parry.

“I was able to manage it,” he said, allowing a smile to appear on his face. “I secured Little Goat’s release from the Children of the Chapel.”

“What?” I was astonished. The joy of the news stumbled and tripped over all my fury. I couldn’t even reckon with what I was feeling. “But how? Both you and Kit said it was impossible to free him, that Little Goat’s contract was unbreakable.”

“It came down to money and the promise of letting the Children of the Chapel do three of my old plays without a fee. I also paid off the Master of the Revels to intervene as well. It was a lot of money I lost in the end, alas, but having him out of there was worth it.”

I felt the way a child feels when it spins rapidly in a circle, the world wobbling this way and that, all becoming a dizzy haze. When my head settled, I was certain it was happy tears that had come to my eyes. “And he’s free? Little Goat is back with the Lord Chamberlain’s Men?”

“He is.” He smiled.

“When did this all happen?”

“Well, I’ve been working on his release ever since you asked me. But they only just agreed. He was returned to us just yesterday, which is another reason I waited to come to you. I knew you’d need some good news. Little Goat has now rejoined our company, with a new seven-year contract. He’ll be appearing with us at the Globe in August. You’ve heard about the new playhouse?”

I nodded. Butterflies of happiness were still battling with those bats of rage still flapping inside my innards. Still, I smiled. “By Saint George, who hasn’t? ’Tis a good name the Globe. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” he said, and I expected him to go on and on about it, but instead he kept to the subject of Little Goat. “Everyone was happy to see him return. He’s excited to see you but wanted to make sure you were ready to meet people after what happened.”

“Thank you for doing that,” I said, and truly meant it. I could not prevent it any longer: my heart melted again for his kindness. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You might say you’d be willing to join him and come back to the Lord Chamberlain’s Men.”

And there it was. With his open hand he slapped dead all my butterflies of happiness. “As I thought,” I spat, and started to walk away as he followed.

“Stop, please. Willy—”

I turned toward him abruptly. “Don’t call me that!”