“Hail, Miss Next!” rumbled Falstaff, waddling up and staring at me unsteadily from within a cloud of alcohol fumes. He had drunk, stolen and womanized throughout Henry IV parts I and II, then inveigled himself into Merry Wives of Windsor. Some saw him as a likable rogue; I saw him as just plain revolting—although he was the blueprint of likable debauchers in fiction everywhere, so I thought I should try to cut him a bit of slack.

“Good morning, Sir John,” I said, trying to be polite.

“Good morning to you, sweet maid,” he exclaimed happily. “Do you ride?”

“A little.”

“Then perhaps you might like to take a ride up and down the length of my merry England? I could take you places and show you things—”

“I must politely decline, Sir John.”

He laughed noisily in my face. I felt a flush of anger rise within me, but luckily the Bellman, unwilling to waste any more time, had stepped up to his small dais and tingled his bell.

“Sorry to keep you all waiting,” he muttered. “As you have seen, things are a little fraught outside. But I am delighted to see so many of you here. Is there anyone still to come?”

“Shall we wait for Godot?” inquired Deane.

“Anyone know where he is?” asked the Bellman. “Beatrice, weren’t you working with him?”

“Not I,” replied the young woman. “You might inquire this of Benedict if he troubles to attend, but you would as well speak to a goat.”

“The sweet lady’s tongue does abuse to our ears,” said Benedict, who had been seated out of our view but now rose to glare at Beatrice. “Were the fountain of your mind clear again, that I might water an ass at it.”

“Ah!” retorted Beatrice with a laugh. “Look, he’s winding up the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike!”

“Dear Beatrice,” returned Benedict, bowing low, “I was looking for a fool when I found you.”

“You, Benedict? Who has not so much brain as earwax?”

He thought hard for a moment. “Methink’st thou art a general offense and every man should beat thee, fair Beatrice.”

They narrowed their eyes at each other and then smiled with polite enmity.

“All right, all right,” interrupted the Bellman, “calm down, you two. Do you know where Agent Godot is or not?”

Beatrice answered that she didn’t.

“Then,” announced the Bellman, “we’ll get on. Jurisfiction meeting number 40319 is now in session.”

He tingled his bell again, coughed and consulted his clipboard.

“Item one. Our congratulations go to Deane and Lady Cavendish for foiling the bowdlerisers in Chaucer.”

There were a few words of encouragement and backslapping.

“There has been damage done but it’s got no worse, so let’s just try and keep an eye out in the future. Item two.”

He put down his clipboard and leaned on the lectern.