Chapter 27
Samantha stood on the floor of the Globe, at the back where she could lean against the wall and have drinks spilled down the back of her simple lower-class-gal dress, and contemplated the quirks of Fate.
For all the time she had spent in the theater, she had to admit that she had spent very little of that time in front of the stage.
She had mostly stayed behind the curtains, fixing costumes, reassuring her father that he was the most amazing thing to hit the stage since Sir Laurence himself.
That she should find herself standing in the cheap seats, in the original Globe, waiting for a production of Hamlet in which she knew the star .
. . well, it was memorable. She might have to make a list.
First on that list would be waking up to find herself alone in bed with the bolster.
She’d sat up quickly, fearing that she’d been left behind, only to find Derrick sitting in front of the fire.
He’d been as motionless as a statue, staring out the window as if he contemplated dire things.
She’d crawled out of bed—again being quite grateful they hadn’t had to come to Elizabethan England in the winter—and gone to kneel in front of him.
He’d studied her for so long that she wondered if he’d forgotten who she was. Then he’d simply smiled that charming, half-crooked smile she had come to love and leaned over and kissed her very softly.
She’d known he would survive.
She had called her maid to help her dress, then insisted that they leave Lord Derrick alone, no reasons given. She’d seen him fed, watered, then ferried off to the theater.
Second on her list would be cleaning up evidence of their stay with help from Granny Mary.
She had given Lord Walter’s gift back to her great-aunt and asked that she find a particularly unique yet believable way to get them back to him.
She had been given a rucksack of things Granny hadn’t let her sort through, things she was sure James MacLeod wouldn’t have approved of.
But when it came to that feisty, amazing woman who was seventy-five years young, there was just no arguing with some things.
She’d rolled her dress up far enough to have it fit in Oliver’s pack and set off for the theater with Derrick’s lads in just ordinary middle-class women’s wear.
Sir Thomas had been faintly horrified, but seemingly been willing to accept Mary’s excuse that Samantha just wanted to mingle with the common people whilst in London.
The lines to get into the Globe had been appallingly long, but she’d waited, then taken up her current spot at the back of the crowd.
She supposed she would have been able to see more if they’d bought seats a level up instead of standing on the floor, but Oliver had insisted it was better where they were.
In case they needed to make a hasty getaway, of course.
If she were going to be honest with herself, that wasn’t what worried her. It was one thing for Derrick to have the guts to get up on stage. It was still that one thing for him to have the sheer audacity to get up on a stage that found itself in Elizabethan England.
But it was another thing entirely to hope he remembered lines from a play he’d auditioned for over a decade ago.
“Not to worry.”
She looked at Oliver who stood on her left. “Worry?” she said, her mouth horribly dry. “Why would I worry?”
Oliver smiled faintly. “He has a photographic memory. Leaves the rest of us at a disadvantage.”
Peter snorted. “And you can pick any lock ever created. Nothing is safe.”
Samantha looked at him and smiled. “And you could probably bring down the world’s banking system with a few clicks.”
“Well,” Peter said modestly, “probably.”
She took a deep breath, then took another handful of them. All right, if Derrick knew his lines, that was at least one thing she didn’t have to worry about. And she had read his college reviews. If he was only half as good presently as he had been in the past, well . . .
The guards suddenly took their place on stage and she realized the time for fretting was over.
The play was the thing.
She forced herself to remember not to lock her knees and made a conscious effort not to wring her hands.
She thought perhaps she didn’t breathe at all during the scene with the guards and ghost, and she was certain she hadn’t swallowed as the bulk of the court took their place and Claudius started pontificating.
She closed her eyes, because she just couldn’t watch.
“A little more than kin, and less than kind.”
She opened her eyes and found Derrick there, on stage, at the original Globe.
And she realized in that moment that that was where he belonged.
Well, not in 1602, but on stage. It was hard to deny his beauty, but that was just the start of it.
As the play wound on, as far as she was concerned, he was Hamlet.
If there had ever been anyone born to keep his head while everyone around him was losing their minds and trying to make him look like the crazy one, it was Derrick Cameron.
She wasn’t even sure she had noticed whether or not they’d taken an intermission.
She was fairly sure she hadn’t taken a decent breath until the final scene when Hamlet was fighting with Laertes.
The swordplay was terribly real and she couldn’t help but notice the maniacal grin on Laertes’s face as he and Derrick sparred.
And then Hamlet fell.
And the rest was silence.
Well, it was for the space of approximately five seconds before the crowd erupted in thunderous cheers and clapping. She looked first at Oliver, who was making a tremendous noise, then at Peter, who was watching her.
“He’s good,” was his only comment.
She supposed that was the understatement of the year.
And then Oliver swore. “Bedamned guards. Pete, get her to the gate. I’ll fetch Derrick.”
Samantha wasn’t sure that was such a great idea, but Peter was apparently utterly uninterested in her input.
She wasn’t sure how he managed it, but he got them both out of that crazy crowd.
He ran with her, keeping hold of her hand until he found a place for them to stand near the ring of mushrooms. She heard all kinds of commotion coming from inside the Globe, which alarmed her greatly. She looked at Peter.
“Is he okay?”
He held up a finger. “Out yet?” He frowned, then looked at her. “They’re working on it. Oliver says to go ahead.”
“No.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “As you will.” He paused. “I think he’s having a hard time getting past his adoring fans.”
She didn’t doubt it. She waited with Peter for what felt somewhat like an eternity, then finally saw Derrick and Oliver trotting toward them with a purpose.
She hardly had time to say anything before Derrick had grabbed her by the hand and hauled her with him toward the gate.
They clasped hands, the four of them, then stepped inside the circle.
A woman screamed.
Samantha looked over her shoulder and saw the Eye, then the Globe behind them. The cluster of people they’d simply appeared in the midst of were backing away, as suspicious as medieval Londoners.
“Magic show!” Derrick called loudly.
“Paging Rufus,” Peter said.
“Walk quickly,” Oliver suggested.
Samantha supposed there was wisdom in that, though at least a couple of teenagers were calling for more tricks.
She clasped hands with Derrick and they hurried for the street.
She was enormously grateful when that sleek black Mercedes appeared by magic at just the right spot at the curb.
She didn’t even hesitate; she simply flung herself into the backseat, not complaining when Derrick piled in on top of her and she almost gave herself a black eye against the door.
“Sorry,” he gasped. “Oliver, move. And shut the door.”
The car pulled away before Oliver managed that, but apparently the three crazies she was with weren’t unaccustomed to taking off with the doors open.
Samantha managed to get herself upright, then switch seats with Derrick so his head wasn’t crushed against the roof.
He buckled her in, buckled himself in, then sat back with a sigh.
“Clear?” he asked.
“Fully,” Peter said. “Thanks, Rufus.”
“My pleasure, and no, I wasn’t in the loo, you little—”
Oliver laughed and peeled off his headset. “Now, that was a proper adventure.” He looked around her at Derrick. “Where do we go next?”
“Go ask James MacLeod,” Derrick wheezed.
“Where to, Master Derrick?” Rufus asked.
Samantha found Derrick looking at her. She held up her hands. “I don’t care.”
“I do,” Peter said pointedly. “I want a decent shower.”
“What the hell,” Derrick managed. “The Ritz, Rufus, if you please.”
Samantha found her hand taken. She looked at him and realized he was watching her closely. She simply returned his look, thinking that perhaps he might enjoy what he was fishing for if he had to wait a bit longer for it.
“Well?” he asked, finally.
“Brilliant.”
“Tolerable.”
“How’re those hot pins looking?”
He laughed a little. “Don’t ask me right now. I might give an answer I’d regret later.”
She squeezed his hand, hard. “I’ll give you a full review when we’ve eaten something I recognize.”
“I’ll do better than that,” Oliver said. “I recorded the entire thing.”
Derrick laughed a little. “You didn’t.”
“Had to stay awake somehow, mate.”
Samantha laughed at Derrick’s curse, then leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. She had started a list earlier that morning, but realized she hadn’t finished it. She wasn’t quite sure what it would contain, but she knew what the last entry would be.
All’s well that ends well.
Or maybe all good things ended at the Ritz. She didn’t know, but she was happy to have the chance to decide.
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