“I am not at all surprised to learn that, sir. I have even been told that the Queen dyes her hair.”
The effect of a speech so daring was to startle Master Tidey quite visibly. The world looks to one of his craft to have a conventional mind, and there was no doubt the times were perilous. The shears almost fell from his hand. If this was not treason, might he never sew another doublet!
The play-actor, however, was of a fiber less delicate. It was as much as Mr. William Shakespeare could do to refrain from open laughter.
“May I ask, mistress,” he said, “what is your warrant for such a grave charge against the Queen’s Majesty?”
“The warrant of my own eyes, sir. Her hair was certainly dyed when she stayed at the Castle a month since.”
“But bethink you, mistress, might it not appear less treasonable if Gloriana’s true subjects presumed her hair to be a wig?”
“Let them presume nothing, sir, but that which is the truth.”
“To so pious a resolve even a poor actor may say amen.”
Mistress Anne realized that she was no match for this man. The only hope for her dignity lay in a cool scorn of him. Suddenly the gloriously straight back was turned disdainfully. Let the greatest lady for ten miles beware how she chopped logic with a strolling actor.
“Master Tailor, I would have you devise me a second pair of these right excellent breeches, in every particular as the first, and do you have them at the Castle against the first of May.”