A Walk With the Past

Chapter Ten

The chaotic energy backstage on opening night at the Royal Shakespeare Company Theatre was palpable. Actors rehearsed their lines while costume fitters made last-minute adjustments. Stagehands wheeled sets and props into place as a very anxious director fired off final instructions.

“This is it, people!” Gregory Doran shouted above the thrum of noise. “Take your places. Curtain rises in less than five!”

He turned to make his way to the front row where Antony was waiting for him and slammed into a firm figure. Prepared to chew out whatever bumbling idiot dared to get in his way at such a hectic time, Doran held his tongue when he looked up and realized who he’d bumped into.

“Tom!” Gregory blurted, taking a step back to examine his prize actor. “My, my, but Wardrobe was good to you. You look fantastic!”

Tom regarded his costume and the director’s flattery, and offered him a simple smirk in response.

“Ready for the big show? Oh, but I bet you are. You know this piece in and out. You’re going to blow the roof off this place, I am sure of it!” Doran clapped Tom’s shoulder as he rambled.

“Yes, well,” Tom said, deciding not to address the man’s polar shift in demeanor towards him. “I believe we are all prepared to give more than one hundred percent tonight, Gregory.”

“Quite right!” Doran agreed. “Antony and I will be cheering for you, old boy. See you after the show!”

Tom remained still after the director stepped around him, and took a serene moment in the middle of the commotion to consider the events of the past few days.

When the key turned and the funerary monument unlocked, a brilliant white light filled Holy Trinity Church. It began at the center of Elizabeth’s form and grew outward until Tom was forced to shield his eyes with an arm. Before losing complete sight of her, Tom caught a glimpse of the woman in the cloche hat. Elizabeth’s fair countenance was sublime, and she graced him with a radiant smile.

Tom knew deep inside it was the last time he would see the woman that had changed his life forever. At least on this side of the Veil….

The original Shakespeare manuscripts, written in the Bard’s own hand, were tucked away in a slim compartment between the bust and its base. A piece of decorative molding on a hidden hinge flipped down to allow Tom access. His pulse racing and his hands trembling, Tom slid long fingers into the narrow slot. When they grazed layers of crisp parchment, Tom froze.

The moment Tom resurrected the treasurable scripts from their ancient tomb, centuries of speculation and controversy would be confirmed or negated. The sensitive question of Shakespeare authorship might be answered once and for all. The literary world would never be the same.

It didn’t matter.

It made no difference who penned such legendary lines all those years ago. Shakespeare as a whole touched the hearts and minds of countless souls over the ages, and united them in a collective love that transcended any argument of composition.

Regardless of what the manuscripts revealed, each inspired work would be no less precious when Tom walked out of that church with them.

Elizabeth gave her life so the world might enjoy this discovery. Tom refused to let her down.

So he took a steadying breath and slid them out.

Holy Trinity Church might have been empty, but had anyone been inside they could not have escaped the deafening hoot of euphoric victory that reverberated inside its ancient walls that late October day. Tom leaped from the ladder, bounded across the church, and then burst forth through its doors.

The rain had stopped and the clouds were dispersing above him. Tom wanted to run through the streets shouting for joy, but thought better of it. Before the spectacular news broke he wanted to savor these secretive minutes with the memory of the one who led him here.

Tom walked down the drying cobblestones caressing his swollen cheek. He hoped the mark from his fall left a scar to serve as a souvenir; a reminder of this wondrous adventure that he could never forget.

Turning back for one long gaze at the church, a large, winsome smile spread across the actor’s handsome face when he looked up. What remained of the grey clouds parted to reveal the bluest sky Tom had ever seen, and a solitary ray of golden light shined down upon the cross atop Holy Trinity’s great spire.

If he ever needed confirmation, this was certainly it.

The media went berserk, as suspected, and Tom made a deliberate effort to downplay his part in the discovery. When questioned as to how he came across William Shakespeare’s original manuscripts, Tom simply replied that he was assisting a friend in the church who needed help with dusting a tall statue. He passed them at once to the Royal Shakespeare Company Theatre, allowing them the prestigious exposure and promotion that was sure to come on one condition: the manuscripts must remain at the theater always with a plaque that read ‘In memory of Elizabeth Young’ displayed under them.

“Tom, you’re on in two!” an assistant interrupted his musing.

Tom took a quick swig of water, squared his shoulders, and when the time came took his place in the wing of stage right. The house was packed; Doran and Antony visible in the front row, and Alice and Basil side-by-side a few seats behind them. Ready to keep his promise, the mischievous Puck prepared to share his beloved Bard with the people.

But not before touching a pocket under his costume and dedicating his performance. As Tom patted the key he’d retained, a singular spirit occupied his thoughts.

This is for you, Elizabeth, wherever you are.

“How now, spirit! Whither wander you?” ~ A Midsummer Night’s Dream Act II, Scene I (Puck’s entrance)