STAGS 2, page 19
‘You’re drunk,’ he said, with the utmost contempt.
Then Cass did a weird thing. She pulled Louis to her by the sleeve she held, and kissed him on the lips.
It wasn’t a snog or anything. It wasn’t like there were tongues. But it was still weird to see a sister kiss a brother like that.
For a moment he let it happen, then he pulled away. Cass collapsed in her chair, distraught.
Louis looked equally upset. ‘For God’s sake. I can’t do this any more.’ He turned back.
‘Ty, you coming?’
Ty looked at him and then at us, torn. Then she seemed to make a decision. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I am.’
I couldn’t let this play out. I got up and followed her into the hall. I held her sleeve just as Cass had done to Louis, who had gone ahead, stalking up the stairs. As she turned back I said what I’d wished someone had said to me this time last year.
‘Ty, you can’t seriously be thinking of a future with Louis.’
‘Why not? Things are changing. Look at Meghan Markle.’ She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head on one side, in what I was coming to learn was Ty-in-defiant-mode. ‘You think I’m not good enough for him?’
‘No, of course not that. Quite the other way around. You’ve got to admit he’s a little … off. Look at how he was about Henry’s ashes.’
‘Greer,’ Ty lowered her voice, ‘my mum cleans hotels during the day and offices at night. She has to feed four kids and a smart meter. She pays off one loan shark with another. So yes, I’m thinking of a future with Louis.’ She looked up the stairs after him. ‘Gotta go.’
I thought about this. I was from a middle-class background with a dad in the media. I’d never been short of anything and I’d been knocked sideways by the prospect of being mistress of Longcross. Who was I to judge Ty?
I let go of her sleeve and watched her bound up the stairs after Louis, graceful as a deer.
Scene viii
When I went back into the Queen’s Dining Room we all clustered around Cass.
Nel and I took the chairs either side of her and Shafeen sat half on the table, like one of those casual newsreaders. ‘Cass,’ I said gently, ‘what did you mean, that it’s happened before? What has?’
She had her head on the table now. She looked up, unsteadily, then plonked her chin on her hand. She looked at me as if she’d never seen me before and smiled. It was so weird. At that point Betty came into the room, saw us all crowded around Cass and started to back out.
‘Betty,’ said Shafeen with the command that he and the Medievals seemed to have been born with, ‘bring some coffee. Strong and black.’ She went at once, closing the door again.
It was just us, in the Queen’s Dining Room. Just us and the queen. Elizabeth I watched us with her hooded green eyes – but it didn’t matter if she heard our secrets; she couldn’t tell.
‘Are you saying that the play has raised someone from the dead?’
She nodded, her great eyes fixed on me.
A chill travelled all the way down my spine. ‘How do you know?’
She put her forefinger unsteadily to her lips, squashing them unnaturally into a duck’s bill.
Nel said, ‘Do you mean those people in London? The ones who came alive after their loved ones had seen the play?’
She shook her head, finger still on her lips, then took the finger away. She held it up, a centimetre away from her thumb. ‘Someone a little closer to home.’
She leaned in close to my ear and said, in this massively loud stage whisper that everyone heard, ‘It was Nazereth de Warlencourt.’
I closed my eyes, and spoke with them closed. ‘Are you actually saying that this play raised your ancestor from the dead?’
‘Yes. Yes. Yes.’ She nodded, so many times and so rhythmically that I thought she would put herself to sleep – literally nod off.
‘But Nazereth de Warlencourt was Gabriel Spenser.’
‘Yes.’
‘And Gabriel Spenser was in the play.’
‘Yes.’
‘So he wasn’t dead then.’
She started to laugh, in this odd, shaky way. ‘Obviously.’
I was getting nowhere. Shafeen had a try.
‘Cassandra?’ he barked. Her head snapped round, and I wondered if she’d been told off using her full name as a child, the little girl I’d seen in Henry’s arms. ‘When did Gabriel … Nazereth … die?’
‘He was killed in a duel after the play closed.’
‘And if the play closed, how did it bring him back?’
‘It was a very special performance.’
‘By whom?’
She looked at us, wide eyed. ‘Ben Jonson, of course. Who else?’
The three of us looked at each other. ‘Ben Jonson brought Gabriel Spenser back to life?’
‘Yes.’
‘But … why?’
‘Because he was the one who killed him.’
At that moment Betty came in with the coffee on one of those huge silver trays. She placed it before Cass in such a practised way that it hardly made a sound on the polished oak table. She vanished just as soundlessly, in that way she had.
We could barely wait for the door to close this time. Cass looked at me, and I looked back at her, trying to process the fact that Ben Jonson might be a murderer too.
‘Ben Jonson killed him? How?’
‘In the duel.’
‘What were they duelling about?’
‘Nazereth felt that The Isle of Dogs insulted the queen. The queen had been his guest at this house, and after the play was performed our family fell out of favour at court. As you might imagine.’
‘No shit,’ I said.
‘Jonson had been in the army, in the Low Countries, so he could really fight. He killed Nazereth – or Gabriel as he was known – in Hogsden Fields in London.’
‘And then what?’
‘He was thrown in jail for the second time in his life. But this time it was serious. He was going to hang.’ She flapped her hand at me. ‘That’s why there’s a rope at the end of the play. Remember? There is a noose hanging down and Poetaster … Ben Jonson … you … puts his head in it to speak the Epilogue.’
‘Maybe he knew what was coming down the track if he put on this play,’ I said with a shiver.
Then Nel said, ‘But it was a duel. They both must’ve agreed to fight. Aren’t the rules different in that case?’
Cass shook her head as if she would shake it off. ‘Doesn’t matter. Even if he didn’t mean to kill Nazereth, he still killed him. He was still a murderer. And that’s what should happen if you murder someone, isn’t it? Trial and punishment.’ Her eyes were boring into me. It definitely felt at that moment like she knew how much I (we) had to do with her beloved cousin’s death.
‘So what happened?’
‘He … he dodged the noose somehow and was freed with the help of Esmé Stuart. Jonson was mortified, racked with guilt. He couldn’t countenance the idea of being a murderer. He brought the play to Longcross and performed it over Nazereth, and raised him up. It was said that Nazereth spent the rest of his life here at Longcross.’
The chill spread – now I was shivering.
‘Didn’t anyone realise?’ asked Shafeen.
‘How?’ said Cass. ‘There were no photographs then, no – what is it called … what is it called … what is it called?’ She banged her hand on the table, making us all jump. ‘Social media. Nobody really knew what anyone looked like, unless they’d met them. There was no one to put together Nazereth de Warlencourt, Lord in the North, and Gabriel Spenser, a penny player on the London stage.’
‘So he just lived happily ever after?’
She wagged her forefinger again, in front of my face. ‘Not quite. He was changed, evil. He began to hunt. But not just deer.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘The legend goes that he started to hunt, well … peasants, if you can imagine something so horrid.’
I looked at the other two. ‘It just so happens that we can imagine that.’
‘According to the legend, he styled himself the Grand Stag,’ said Cass, in her stride now. ‘The hunting continued, and the play remained in the library here all these years. Except the fifth act, which stayed in the family tomb where Nazereth had been laid. The tomb was supposed to be opened last year to lay Henry to rest, but now I don’t think it was. Now I think that it has remained closed all this time, with the last act kept safely buried. I think Jonson left it there so no one could do what he did ever again.’
‘Then why didn’t Jonson burn it or something if he was so worried?’ asked Nel.
She gave a small smile. ‘He was a playwright. When it came to the crunch I imagine he couldn’t bear to destroy it. I guess he thought that some of the writing was good. You know: Either the hunter, or the hunted be,’ she quoted sleepily, her head beginning to loll onto her shoulder.
‘What did she say?’ I prompted.
‘Either the hunter, or the hunted be,’ repeated Shafeen.
‘It’s from the play,’ said Nel softly.
‘I know,’ I said.
‘I know you know,’ said Nel, not taking her eyes from Cass. ‘But how does she know?’
‘Well … the rehearsal …’
‘No,’ said Shafeen slowly. ‘We stopped when she ran out onto the roof. We never got to that bit. I never got to play the Grand Stag. That line is the last line in the play, bar the Epilogue.’
‘Cass.’ I’m not proud of this, but I did shake her a little bit. Nel lifted the coffee to her lips. ‘Cass, how did you know that line of the play?’
She snapped awake. ‘I don’t. I didn’t,’ she said. ‘I never.’ She looked to all of us in turn, a deer surrounded. Now she looked afraid, at bay.
‘Cassandra,’ I said softly, ‘you were the messenger, weren’t you?’ I put my hand on her shoulder. ‘You gave me the play in Lightfoot. It’s OK. You can tell us.’
She breathed out as if she’d been holding her breath for a long, long time.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I found the play in the library, last year when we were here for the funeral. There were only four acts, and I didn’t know where the fifth was. I knew it was somewhere here, but not where, and then, last night, we found it. And now it’s complete and everything is ready.’
‘Ready for what? Why give it to me in the first place?’
She was drunk enough to be honest. She looked at me with huge blue-grey unfocused eyes. ‘Because it has to be performed,’ she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘I told you. That’s part of the ritual.’
The word ritual, over and above the strangeness of what she was saying, made me more afraid than anything.
‘But you could have put it on. With your brother and family.’
‘No, you don’t understand. A person can only be brought back by the person that killed them. That’s why the queen in the play brings back the Earl of Greenwich. That’s why Ben Jonson brought back Gabriel Spenser. And that’s why –’ she pointed her finger at me unsteadily and actually touched my nose – ‘you have to bring back Henry.’
I recoiled as if she’d hit me.
‘Is that what you think?’ I whispered. ‘That I killed your cousin?’ It was the first time I’d actually said it out loud.
‘Didn’t you?’
‘No. What makes you think that?’ I looked at the others. Now it was our turn to be afraid. How much did she know about that night at the top of the waterfall? How could she possibly know?
‘I just do. I know you were all here that weekend. And I know you were the last one to see him. I just got a feeling.’
I started to breathe again.
‘I know you didn’t mean to and I know you’re sorry. And I know you loved him.’ In that moment I couldn’t look at Shafeen. ‘And that’s why you’re going to help me.’
I felt really sad then. There was something very wrong with Cass if she actually thought that the play could bring Henry back. I said, very gently, as if she might break: ‘But this is just a legend, a spooky family tale. Admittedly it’s a good one, but it’s still a ghost story. Surely you can see that.’
‘Can you? Do you believe in ghosts, Greer?’
Suddenly everyone’s eyes were on me. And the queen, bone white and luminous, stared too from the Longcross Portrait.
‘If you don’t believe, why did you make Ty skip that line?’
I couldn’t answer that, especially under the dark gaze of Shafeen. But luckily I didn’t have to. Cass crossed her arms on the table and dropped her golden head onto them. She was asleep.
‘We won’t get any more out of her tonight,’ said Shafeen. ‘Let’s get her safely up to bed, and then hit the hay.’
Between us we bundled Cass up the stairs, pausing at the top. ‘Where do we take her?’
We all knew that Cass and Louis had been sharing a room at STAGS, and they’d probably been doing the same at Longcross. But now Ty was with Louis, what happened? In the end we took Cass down the passageway to a room called Fenwick, the one she’d gone into the afternoon before. The bed was pristine, and there was no luggage on the floor or clutter on the dressing table. I’d have bet this was the first time she’d been on this bed. Because there were no night clothes to put her in, Shafeen politely stepped outside while Nel and I took off her jacket, tie and trousers. We rolled her onto her side – ‘Recovery position,’ said Nel. I put a wastepaper basket by the side of her bed, just in case, and filled a glass of water from the carafe to put by her.
I smoothed a lock of hair from her forehead and felt, suddenly, enormously sorry for her. She looked like one of the Lost Boys.
Before we left her, I drew the curtains against the dark.
Scene ix
Just as we’d done the year before, the three of us went back to the Queen’s Chamber (Shafeen’s room) with more questions than answers. But this time we weren’t going to discuss someone dying. We were going to discuss someone coming alive again.
And, just as we’d done the year before, we all sat on the four-poster bed, the bed that Elizabeth I had slept in. Then we had watched all the crap that the Internet had to offer, bathed in the blue light from the ambulance on the drive outside. This time, it was lightning that illuminated the room. There was the mother of all storms brewing outside.
‘God,’ I said as I climbed up on the bed. ‘Where to start?’
‘I’ve got one,’ said Shafeen, loosening his tie. ‘I wonder how Cass knew that line from the play.’
‘Because she’d read it. We established she was the messenger.’
‘But we also established that she never had the last act. She needed us to help her find it.’
‘And it was us who decoded it,’ added Nel. ‘She wasn’t there. And when we rehearsed it, we never got that far. She ran out onto the roof.’
‘Could Ty have told her?’
‘No. They’re not close, have you noticed?’ said Nel. ‘It’s some sort of tussle over Louis.’
‘Ty might have told Louis,’ said Shafeen. ‘I wonder how much Louis knew about the play.’
‘They share everything,’ said Nel.
‘They used to,’ I replied. ‘I wonder how Cass found out all this stuff about Ben Jonson and The Isle of Dogs since Henry died. Who told her?’
‘All this wondering,’ broke in Nel, ‘is dumb.’
She snapped open her sparkly clutch bag decisively.
‘What are you doing?’
‘What we should have done in the first place. Googling Ben Jonson.’ She fished in her bag and got out her shiny rose-gold Saros 8S smartphone. I knew Nel’s phone would be, A) close to hand, and B) charged – she was much more of a Savage than me. Smartphones were her birthright and she found it much harder than me or Shafeen to stay Medieval. I remembered a time, of course, when I’d been very glad that she hadn’t been able to leave tech behind: when I saw the torch of the Saros shining out above Longmere Lake. Then she’d searched for ciphers and found out how to crack the coded Act Five. It looked like tech might be saving the day again.
‘Ooh, there’s a notification. It’s for you. That is, it’s your Instagram.’
‘I must still be signed in,’ I said. ‘Give it here.’ My thumbs a little out of practice, I clicked the little paper aeroplane for direct messages. The message was from mrs_de_warlencourt – I’d all but forgotten about her. It read:
I think you might find this Quite Interesting.
And underneath it was a URL:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GMWsKtaJoG8
And a number:
15:24
‘What’s 1524?’ Nel said. ‘A date? That would be Tudor, right?’
‘No,’ I said, ever the film nerd. ‘Look at the colon. It’s not a date. It’s a timecode.’
Shafeen leaned into my shoulder. ‘Click it then!’ he urged. But I already had.
The URL directed me to YouTube, and an episode of a quiz show I vaguely knew of, called QI. There was this woman host, that funny one from Bake Off, and a panel with two comedians on each team. When the clip began, the host asked a question about something called the ‘neck verse’ and then played a piece of beautiful choral music, which seemed very familiar. We all barely breathed through it, until one of the comics made a joke and broke the tension. ‘What’s this got to do with anything?’ whispered Nel. ‘What’s that song?’
‘Wait,’ I said, clutching her arm. Because I’d just heard something that grabbed me. Ben Jonson the playwright …
I scrolled back along the timeline a little, and this time we listened intently. And this is what we heard:
Woman host
Ben Jonson the playwright, in 1598, avoided being hanged for killing an actor in a duel, an actor called Gabriel Spenser, by pleading Benefit of the Clergy.
Scottish beardy comedian
(Cutting across her) I know a bit about Ben Jonson. He murdered someone that he acted in a play with, the play was called The Isle of Dogs, and it was so offensive that it was suppressed so completely that nobody’s ever worked out what it was about.
Woman host
We don’t even have a record of the script or anything.
