Armin emerged from the tiring-room or the property room and greeted me. The Fortune was a good deal newer than our theatre, though, and less worn and weathered. I felt almost as though I had been transported back in time, to the Globe as it was when I first joined the company—before Julia left, before Sander died, before I knew Judith or Jamie Redshaw, before I was so burdened by ambitions and responsibilities, when I was still just Widge. The sudden sense of loss that swept over me was so powerful that it staggered me, like an attack of vertigo, and I had to stop and steady myself. “Is anything wrong?” asked Mr. Alleyn. “Nay,” I murmured. “Just gi’ me a moment.” “You’re feeling a bit homesick for your old company, I expect.” I nodded. “Aye.” “Perhaps they’d take you back if Philip were to go to them and plead your case, tell them that you’re not his informant.” “They’d never believe him. They’d only think ‘a was trying to get me back i’ their good graces so I could resume me spying.”
