The Dark Lady's Mask Read Online Free PDF Page B

happy for the first time in weeks, would not be dissuaded.
    â€œThe play is
Bucolia,
” he said, using his most coaxing voice with Mother. “An English translation of Virgil’s
Eclogues.
Virgil, the greatest of the Latin poets.”
    Aemilia trembled in anticipation. Papa had told her such intriguing stories of the plays and masques at court—she couldn’t imagine a more wondrous spectacle.
    â€œMay I go?” She reached to clasp his hand.
    â€œUnder no circumstances,” Mother said. “The playhouse is no place for a respectable girl from a good family.”
    Â 
    A FEW DAYS LATER , when Mother was at the market, Jasper Bassano called in.
    Uncle Antonio’s seventh son and the youngest of her paternal first cousins, Jasper was the closest thing Aemilia had to a brother. Just a year older than she was, he seemed so much more worldly. As a boy, his future was a clearly marked path—he would become a court musician like his father. Already Jasper could play the trumpet, the viol, the recorder, the lute, the cornett, and the shawm.
    â€œCome along with me and see the play,” Jasper said.
    â€œI’m forbidden!” Aemilia nearly spat in her frustration. “Because I’m a girl.”
    Jasper gave her his most conspiratorial grin. “It would be different if you were a boy.”
    From his satchel he pulled out a boy’s doublet and a pair of breeches.
    â€œI dare you,” he said, dangling the garments before her.
    â€œHa!” Fire danced in her heart as she snatched the clothes from him and ran off to change.
    Â 
    H ER HAIR STUFFED UNDER a cap, Aemilia sprinted off to the Shoreditch playhouse, racing Jasper.
    Winded and panting, they each paid a penny to enter the inner court, open to the sky. Three tiers of galleries rose around it. For an extra penny, you could stand in the galleries and get a better view, Jasper told her, and for three pennies, you could even sit upon a stool. But Aemilia and Jasper were stuck with the groundlings and couldn’t see a thing until they barged their way to the thrust stage where they spotted Jasper’s father and the other uncles in the musicians’ gallery. Only Papa was missing. Aemilia’s heart drummed in fear. Was he ill?
    Her uncles were too busy struggling to tune their instruments over the roar of the crowd to notice Jasper—or Aemilia in her disguise. For this she was grateful. If Mother found out, she’d surely thrash her. Even Mistress Locke would despair of her and say she was no better than a heathen. Never had Aemilia stood so close to so many strange men, many of them reeking of spirits though it was only noon. But both Jasper’s presence and her boy’s clothes protected her, and she felt no fear, only a mad curiosity and impatience for the play to begin.
    Her uncles began to play music so sweet that a hush fell over everyone, even the roughest quarrymen in the crowd. As the music swelled, figures appeared on the stage. Aemilia cried out in delight to see Papa with a wreath of ivy on his graying head. He carried a crook and wore a roughly woven shepherd’s smock, but when he opened his mouth, poetry poured forth, as bright as sunlight dancing on a stream.
    Wonderment overwhelmed Aemilia—Papa wasn’t just a musician but also a player!
    â€œThe minstrel stepped in,” a knowing voice behind them muttered, “because the actor was too drunk to go on stage.”
    â€œ
Sh,
” Aemilia hissed.
    The stage transported her to a lost and long ago place called Arcadia, peopled by shepherds who had no other labor but to sing and recite poetry of yearning and love. The place seemed as perfect as Eden in the Geneva Bible, except it was full of gods and goddesses who miraculously swooped down from a trapdoor in the stage ceiling, painted to resemble the starry heavens, and descended to the main stage upon a wire to the accompaniment of her uncles’ trumpets