Granny Meg drew another card and placed it face up on the table, in a position directly above the others. “This is the crowning influence,” she said, looking at Elizabeth. “It represents what you hope to achieve, but have not, as yet. And it is the Lovers.” She smiled. Elizabeth blushed at the frank depiction of a nude young man and woman on the card, surmounted by the sun and a godly or angelic presence. “You long for simple things, for what any young girl longs for. Attraction, beauty, true love, contentment and security, trials overcome…”
She drew another card and laid it down below the others. “This is beneath you,” she said. “It signifies your past, what is yours, what you must work with in order to achieve that which you desire. The Eight of Swords.”
Elizabeth drew in her breath sharply at the depiction on the card. A woman, bound and blindfolded, surrounded by eight swords stuck into the ground.
“You are in a crisis,” Granny Meg said, looking at her. “There is conflict, bad tidings, and censure. And your ability to act is limited, if indeed, you have any ability to act at all in this current situation.”
Elizabeth glanced at Smythe, alarmed at the accuracy, so far, of the reading. Granny Meg continued, drawing yet another card. “This is behind you, that which has passed or is passing even as we speak.” She turned up the Death card and Elizabeth cried out and brought her hands up to her face, getting a sharp glance from Granny Meg. “The Death card does not always mean literal death, although it could,” she said. “It could also signify mortality, corruption, destruction or a decisive end, a discovery, or an event which shall change the direction of the querent’s life.”
She dealt another card and put it in the opposite position, completing the formation of the cross. “This is before you, that which is coming into action, or about to come to pass. The High Priestess. Interesting. This signifies secrets
, mysteries… the un-revealed future. There is much intrigue surrounding you, girl. Much that has yet to be revealed and resolved.”
She dealt the next four cards in quick succession, placing them face up on the table to the right of the cross formation, one above the other. She pointed to the lowest card. “This card represents yourself,” she said to Elizabeth, “and your attitude in relation to your current circumstances. It is the Tower.”
“It is a frightening card,” Elizabeth said, softly. “Even more so, ‘twould seem, than the Death card.”
“It frightens you because it represents your emotions and your current state,” Granny Meg replied. “A tower struck by lightning, flames bursting forth, a man and woman, apparently a king and queen, plunging to their destruction… it all signifies catastrophic transformation, ruin, disgrace, adversity, a fall from grace, deception, sudden change. All most unsettling, of course. And this card,” she pointed to the one immediately above it, “signifies your house or your environment, the influence of people and events around you. The Seven of Wands. A young man armed with a staff, or wand, in a belligerent attitude as he stands upon a height, confronting six staves that are raised against him. His opponents are unseen. This signifies bravery and valor, for he battles against superior numbers, and yet has the advantage of position.”
Elizabeth glanced at Smythe and smiled wanly. She looked a little pale and she was breathing shallowly, through slightly parted lips.
“This card,” Granny Meg pointed to the second to the last card, “represents your hopes and fears. It signifies how you would like things to turn out, or else how you fear they may turn out. ‘Tis the Emperor. A father figure. The representation of power and stability and protection. A great man, one with the qualities of reason and conviction.”
She pointed to the final card. “This is your final outcome. It represents how your current situation shall be resolved. And here we have the Wheel of Fortune. The card of destiny.”
“What does it signify?” Elizabeth asked, anxiously.
“The end of troubles,” Granny Meg replied. “Fortune, change, a moving ahead, either for better or for worse.”
“It sounds like a good outcome,” Smythe said. “I would say ‘tis most encouraging.”
Elizabeth seemed somewhat relieved, but still, she was uncertain. “You are sure ‘twill all turn out well in the end?”
“These things are never certain, girl,” Granny Meg replied. “Conditions could change at any moment. As things stand right now, this is what your situation portends. But there is much around you that is uncertain. A roiling, turgid cloud of intrigue. I sense that it does not truly have anything to do with you, but that you are caught up in the middle of it.”
“What sort of intrigue?” Shakespeare asked.
“That I cannot say,” Granny Meg replied. “But I sense great powers at work behind it all. As if great winds were gathering from far off to produce a fearsome storm. And somehow, for some reason, she has found herself at the center of it all, trapped within the tempest.”
***
All throughout rehearsal the next day, Smythe kept thinking about Elizabeth, wondering how things had gone for her after they had taken her home. Had the story they had concocted for her been believed? It had been Burbage’s idea on their way to the Darcie residence to have Elizabeth tell her parents that Granny Meg had seen favorable omens for the marriage and that Elizabeth had therefore changed her mind about it and was now willing and even eager to proceed. This would, of course, mean absolutely nothing in that Gresham had been killed, but as Burbage pointed out, her parents would probably not know that yet and it would allow Elizabeth to tell them something that they both wanted to hear.
Burbage had explained that this ploy would predispose them to accept the story, because people always tended to believe what they wanted to believe, regardless of any facts to the contrary. On the face of it, his reasoning had seemed to make sense at the time, but Smythe somehow could not shake the feeling that something somewhere had gone wrong. And it affected his performance. Not that there was much performance to affect. He had only one entrance and one line, but he couldn’t even seem to get that right. Here was his dramatic stage debut, about to occur in the very next performance, and he was making a horrid mess of it.
“No, no, no!” Shakespeare said, standing in front of the stage and holding the book as Smythe missed his entrance cue for the fifth time in a row. “The cue is, ‘I would give a king’s ransom for a horse!’ And then you enter from stage left, come to the center of the stage, and say your line. You do not enter before the cue has been given, nor do you enter while the cue is being given. You enter after the cue has been given. God’s wounds, is that so difficult?”
Smythe sighed. “No, ‘tis not difficult at all. I am sorry, Will. Truly, I am.”
“Aye, you certainly are sorry,” Will Kemp said, as if the comment had been addressed to him rather than the other Will. “You are the sorriest excuse for a player that I have ever seen.”
“Oh, come on now, Kemp,” said Speed, from stage right. “Give the lad a chance.”
“Aye, ‘tis only his first time,” said Fleming. “I am quite sure that you were not perfect your first time on the stage, either.”
“Perfection is one thing,” Kemp replied. “And doubtless ‘tis entirely unreasonable to expect perfection from a novice player. But with this one, even bare adequacy seems utterly beyond him!”
There were times, thought Smythe, when he wanted nothing quite so much as to hammer Will Kemp into the ground like a tent peg. Instead, he held his temper, took a deep breath, and said, “You are quite right. I have been making a thoroughgoing mess of it. I shall try once more. And I shall keep trying until I get it right.”