Betrothed

Late again! My heavy velvet skirts rustled as I hurried down the hall. Mother would be furious! It was the second time in a week I had been late for my lessons, and she had been angry enough the first time.
I reached the door to the schoolroom out of breath, and paused for a moment to rest before venturing in. As I expected, Mother was already there, with Anne (my older sister) beside her and some other court children sitting in desks in front of her. I expected Mother to lecture me about the importance of being prompt, but she merely nodded toward my desk and went back to the lesson plan. This was most unusual. My mother was not exactly a lenient person, so I was more than a little surprised at her reaction. I did not say anything, however, and sat down as quietly as possible.
Our tutor was sick, so Mother had left her Court duties for a time while he recovered. Normally I looked forward to my lessons, but now…well, let us just say that my mother was not the best tutor. Even with Anne as a secondary tutor, the minutes inched by as we went over Latin, French, mathematics, music, and literature in the most tedious way imaginable. Finally, lessons were over. I tidied up and made for the door.
“Elizabeth.” ’S blood! I had hoped she wouldn’t notice me. My lecture was coming after all.
“Yes, Mother.” I turned around and made my way through the maze of desks towards her.
“We need to talk.” I could have said it along with her. This was how her lectures always started.
“I was having trouble with my dress,” I babbled. “It wouldn’t fit right. I know I should have just chosen another one but I—”
“This is not about your tardiness, Elizabeth.”
“It’s not?” I was bewildered.
“No. It is about your betrothal.” My mother’s voice was perfectly calm, but I could tell she was waiting for a reaction.
“Oh.” I could not think of anything else to say.
“Sir William Rochester has made you an offer. Your father and I have decided you are of the proper age…” She went on, talking about how we would wait a few years after the betrothal before actually having the wedding, how it would be good for me, and I would be happy. I barely heard her. I was still in shock. The proper age? I was only fifteen! And more importantly, I did not want to marry. Not yet.
“Your father—Elizabeth? Are you listening to me? Have you heard a word I’ve said?”
“What?” I pulled myself out of my reverie. “Oh. Yes, Mother.”
“Good. As I was saying, your father told Sir William that we would talk to you about a good date for the betrothal. But that can wait. You may go.”
“Yes, Mother.” I hurried out of the schoolroom as fast as I could without being rude. Once in the hall I broke into a full out run, though my cumbersome skirts slowed me down considerably. I burst into the room Anne and I shared and flung myself down on the bed. Anne looked up from the book she was reading by the fire.
“What is it Elizabeth? What happened?” Anne had been betrothed for three years, so she would understand my plight.
“Mother says I must be betrothed.” My voice was choked with tears.
“I thought as much. Sir William Rochester has been spending quite a lot of time with Father of late. But don’t worry. I’m sure it will all come out right.” Anne’s voice was soothing in a way my mother’s never was. “Oh! I was going to ask you anyway, but now you need it more than ever. I’m going to the Globe Theater tomorrow with some of the Queen’s other ladies. Would you like to come?”
“That would be wonderful. Thank you.” I sat up and wiped my tears away.
“There. That’s better. I’ll even help you with your dress.” She winked at me and went back to her book.

* * *

The next day we helped each other dress with an air of giddy excitement, and piled into the carriage that would take us to the Thames. There we would board a barge to carry us down the river to the Globe. An hour later, we were sitting on cushioned seats in the galleries reserved for nobles. The play to be performed was The Two Gentlemen of Verona, by a man called Shakespeare. He had not been in the area long, but he and his plays were already famous throughout London.
The play began, and from almost the first line, I was caught up in the story. Even though I knew that women never went on stage, I realized that this was what I wanted to do. I wanted to stand and tell a story with my words and gestures. Not only that, I wanted to be the one who made up the words and gestures, who made up the stories that brought so many people swarming to the theater. By the end of the performance (which came all too soon), I knew what I had to do. I had to tell Mother that I couldn’t marry Sir William. I wanted to become a playwright and actor like Shakespeare. Better yet, I would get Anne to back me up. Yes, Anne would help me persuade Mother. All through the carriage ride home, I thought, and by the time we got back to Whitehall, I had perfected my plan. Now all I had to do was wait for the perfect time to set it into action.

* * *

The time came a few days later when I was working on a translation of French poetry for Mother (our tutor was still sick). Anne was sitting by the fire again, reading. Suddenly Anne looked up and asked, “What did you think of the play, Elizabeth?” It was the perfect opportunity.
“Oh, it was lovely! You know, Anne, I think it would be divine to act in a play like that. Or even write one! What do you think?”
“I suppose it would be rather nice as a hobby, doing little performances at court,” Anne said, sounding unsure.
“No, I mean as a living. I want to be like Shakespeare. Do you think I could do it?” I waited eagerly for her answer.
“Oh, Elizabeth. You know you could never do that. Mother would never allow it. And even if you did somehow persuade her, women don’t become actors. It’s just not how things are done.”
I could not believe what I was hearing. I had been so sure that Anne would agree with me. I had been depending on her to help me persuade Mother. Without her, I was alone in my cause. Completely and utterly alone. But even if I had nobody to back me up, I had to try. Even if all I got was a reprieve from that horrid betrothal Mother and Father were setting up for me, I had to stand up for myself. Otherwise, I would be stuck with a husband I didn’t know anything about (except his name) and an empty life at Court. As much as I admired Queen Elizabeth for her strength and courage in a world ruled by men, I could not be truly happy in her Court. That life might be for Anne or Mother, but it was not for me. I braced myself and set off for Mother’s apartments.
I had already worked out what I was going to say. I had to change it a bit, since Anne would no longer be there to help, but I thought it sounded very convincing. Mother had to listen to me. She just had to.
I found Mother sitting at her desk, writing a letter. I stood quietly behind her, waiting for her to notice me.
“Yes, what is it?” she asked without looking up.
“Er, Mother? It’s Elizabeth. I came to talk about my betrothal.” I waited.
“Oh! Yes, of course. I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Have you decided on a date? Or have you come to find out about Sir William?” She smiled wryly. “I remember wanting to know everything about your father before I married him.”
“Er, no. I came to talk about the possibility of…er…not having the betrothal.”
The room went silent. I waited anxiously; my heart beating so hard in my chest I was sure that everyone on the rooms on either side could hear it.
“Perhaps you could explain to me why you do not want this betrothal?”
This was what I had been hoping she would say. At once I launched into an oration of how I did not want to marry, I was too young, and would like to at least have some say in who my husband was to be when I did eventually marry. Then came my description of the play. I wanted to do what Shakespeare and other actors and playwrights did: to cast a spell over an audience with mere words and a few gestures.
Mother listened silently while I spoke, and when I finished, she remained silent for a good while longer. I imagined what was going through her head while she sat there. She was thinking what a willful child I was, no doubt, and wondering what she was to do with me. But she might see some validity in my request. Finally, she said, “I do not see why you want to turn away a perfectly good marriage. Concerning your possible career as an actor, you know that is impossible. Women are not allowed onstage. It is not proper. We will talk later about your betrothal.”
“But, Mother—”
She turned her back on me and returned to her writing. This effectively ended the conversation. I stood there for a moment, thinking. Then I turned and left the room.
As I walked back to my apartments, I made a decision. I would not blandly stand by and wait for others to arrange my future. I would instead do something I had never before dreamed of doing: I would run away. I would pack a few clothes, my warmest cloak, and some money and slip out of the palace under cover of darkness. I was not sure where I would go. Perhaps I would hire a horse and ride to our country estate in Kent. Perhaps I would find a band of traveling players and join them. I would decide that later. For now, I needed to get out of the palace and make some decisions for myself.

* * *

Sneaking out proved to be more challenging than I had expected. It seemed that Anne would never go to sleep. When she finally did, she slept lightly, and stirred at the smallest sound. Then, after I’d dressed and snuck out of our apartments, I had the task of sneaking past all the palace guards. My room did not have a back way out as some apartments did, and the servants were sure to raise questions if I went out one of the servants’ exits. So I had to go the old-fashioned way: out one of the front doors.
By some miracle, I slipped out of the palace unnoticed by anyone. I had bribed a stable boy to leave a horse ready for me, and sworn him to secrecy. He was good to his word. A fine mare waited for me in the courtyard. I stowed my spare clothes and what money I had for myself in the saddlebags and swung myself onto the horse’s back. I kept the mare at a walk until we left the courtyard, and then let her trot through London. Once out in the open, we sped up to a canter along a road leading southeast, to Kent. Sometime during my journey through the silent palace, I had decided that it would be best to go to our country estate before venturing out into the unknown. Though it was spring, the night air was chill, and I was grateful for my warm cloak.

* * *

It took all the night and much of the next day to get to our estate, though I stopped only to change horses and catch a little sleep at a roadside inn. Of course, I had not sent any notice to the good people who looked out for the estate while we were away. They were taken completely by surprise. They recovered quickly, however, and began settling me in. My horse was led away to be fed and watered, and maids were sent up to ready a room while I dined.
It was only after all the excitement had died down and I had retired to my room that I thought about what I was to do there. All the activities (besides lessons) that usually occupied my day were Court-related. I spent my time talking with the other Court girls, doing lessons, attending meals, doing more lessons, helping Anne wait on the Queen, and still more lessons. Without all that to do, I had no idea what to do with myself. The house seemed unnaturally quiet, and I couldn’t bear to stay inside for long. To think that I should have ever complained about the bustle and noise of a royal palace! I spent most of my time outside, walking and riding about. Soon enough I fell into a comfortable rhythm of life, and though I tried to forget my troubles, they were always at the back of my mind. All the same, I felt as if I could stay in this lovely countryside estate for the rest of my life.
Unfortunately, my tranquility was disrupted one evening by a message from my father. In a flash, I remembered what I could never quite forget: my betrothal. Father’s message was all too clear. I was to return to Whitehall immediately, and prepare to be betrothed to Sir William. If I did not comply, he warned, he would personally come down and fetch me. He assured me that my journey would be much more pleasant if he was not forced to accompany me.
I faced an unpleasant decision. Either I set off at once for Whitehall and an unwanted betrothal, or I stayed where I was until Father came and dragged me to back to the palace. Either way I would have to be betrothed, unless I found some way to persuade my parents to call it off. That did not seem likely. I spent some time debating with myself, trying out ideas for other ways out, and weighing the one side against the other. Finally, after much thought, I decided that I would be much better off coming back of my own free will. The next morning, I ordered a horse and thanked the caretakers of the estate for all they had done for me. Then I stowed my belongings in the saddlebags of the waiting horse, and for the second time in only a few weeks I was cantering through the countryside. The only difference was that this time I was riding toward Whitehall and my impending doom, instead of away.

* * *

I arrived at Whitehall the next day around noon. I had a joyous reunion with Anne, though she scolded me severely for running away after the first tearful embrace.
“Whatever could have possessed you to run off like that? I was worried sick! Now, change your dress. Mother told me to send you to her as soon as you returned.”
I dressed in my favorite gown: midnight blue velvet with a silver underskirt and silver trim. Anne helped me brush and dress my hair, which was tangled and windblown from my ride. I wanted to look presentable, as Mother and Father (and maybe Sir William) would be there.
When I was ready, Anne held me at arms length. She smiled and said, “You look beautiful. Now go. Stand tall and don’t let Mother or Father think you are afraid, even if you are.” Then she hugged me and sent me on my way.
I was grateful for Anne’s help and advice. When I entered Mother’s apartments, Mother and Father were there, waiting for me. Looking past them, I saw a tall young man, maybe two years older than I, standing by the window with his back to the door. My heart leapt. It had to be Sir William. I hadn’t imagined him so young.
“Ah, Elizabeth.” Mother motioned me closer. “Allow me to introduce Sir William Rochester. Sir William, this is our daughter, Elizabeth.” Sir William turned, revealing a handsome face with well-formed features. I hadn’t imagined him so handsome, either.
“I am honored to make your acquaintance, Sir William.”
Sir William bowed and said, “The pleasure is mine, Mistress Peyton.”
Maybe it won’t be so bad, marrying him, I thought. But then I came to my senses. What if he was just putting on a show for my parents? And besides, I was too young to marry. Wasn’t I?
“Well. I suppose we should start by deciding on a date for the betrothal.” Father said loudly. “What think you of a summer betrothal, Sir William? Sometime in July, perhaps?”
“I—” I was stopped by Mother’s sharp look.
“No, no, let her speak.” I looked in surprise at Sir William. Had he really just spoken up for me? Or had I just imagined it? Mother waved her hand at me to continue.
Now, though, I wasn’t so sure that I wanted to continue. But I had to stand up for myself. “I-I’m not ready to marry. Or even be betrothed. I want to wait a few years. Or maybe,” I took a deep breath, “maybe not marry at all.” I rushed on before either of my parents could stop me. “I want to be a playwright, like Shakespeare. Court life is just not for me.” I stopped. I had not said much, but there was nothing more I could say. It was up to my parents and Sir William now.
“Well.” Father again. I wished he would stop saying that. “What think you, Sir William?”
I waited anxiously for his answer. The next words that came out of his mouth would either seal my fate or set me free.
“I do not want to force Mistress Peyton into an unwanted union. I believe a betrothal should have the consent of the future bride as well as the groom.” He smiled at me. After a moment’s hesitation, I smiled back. Then Sir William spoke again. “May I have permission to speak to Mistress Peyton alone?”
Mother, though a bit taken aback, replied, “Oh. Yes, of course.” She and Father rose and left the room.
“I thought you would be more comfortable talking without them listening to every word we say.”
Again I was surprised by his thoughtfulness, and didn’t know what to say.
“I know you do not wish to be betrothed. But I have a proposition for you. You say that you want to write plays, as William Shakespeare does. Have you ever thought of what the world will think of a female playwright? Do you think they will accept you any more than if you tried to become, say, an actor?” I opened my mouth to say something, but quickly shut it again. After a moment of silence, he continued. “My proposition is this: you will write your plays, on whatever subject you like, under a male pseudonym. I will act as your, shall we say, spokesman. Any public appearances to be made shall be made by me. I shall leave it up to you whether I am to be merely your representative or to take credit for actually writing the plays. What say you?”
This required some thought, but not much. There was no real decision to be made. Sir William’s proposition was the only way I was ever going to become a playwright. (I had given up the idea of acting.) It seemed like a reasonable proposal. I had only one concern.
“So all this, you being my spokesman, will be in exchange for my consent to marry you?”
“No, no. Do you think me such a monster? I ask only that, if you accept this proposal, that we can be…” he seemed to be fishing for the right word. “That we can be friends.” He looked at me steadily, waiting for an answer.
“I would be honored to be your friend, Sir William,” I replied, and smiled.
“Please. Call me William.” He smiled back.
Perhaps, in a few years, we can be betrothed after all, I thought.

* * *

A few months later, I had finished my first play, and William asked if he could show it to my parents. I consented, of course, and came along with him. My parents read it thoroughly, and when they were finished, Father commented, “This is a wonderful play. Almost as well written as those Shakespeare writes. I had no idea you had such talent, Sir William.”
William merely smiled, and winked at me. I winked back.
Yes. Betrothal to William is definitely a possibility, I thought. A wonderful possibility.