Suppose Gertrude, instead of saying yes, answers no.
Oh, she thinks it through, in a long silence that go-between Polonius fills with blather. It’s a tricky situation, and any choice is a gamble. As she deliberates, her son hurries from Wittenberg, following highways toward home and an assumed assumption. Yet the countryside is treacherous, mildly so at the best of times, particularly so when thrones are unoccupied. No one would be surprised if he came to a Banquo at the hands of two or three murderers along the way.
Nevertheless, her son is clever. Capable. What if he reaches Elsinore? He’ll expect the throne to be available.
So this Gertrude makes a decision that ours never did.
Polonius blinks at her refusal, massy caterpillar eyebrows twitching in surprise. Doubtless, he promised results.
Convey to Claudius my answer, she nudges.
Polonius scrapes his way out the door.
She wonders how much preamble he'll use to lubricate her reply.
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Suppose Gertrude prays fiercely, but oblivious to her orisons, the gods return her son in two unfortunate conditions:
1) late
2) perforated
Brigands, the courtiers say.
Of course, she says.
A tragedy, says her suitor.
Yes, she says.
Her son a corpse, no one having a better claim, election lights on the man she rejected.
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Suppose Gertrude's mourning is scandalously brief.
Summoning Polonius, she tenders a new answer to the man he serves. Her response is well received. With two unexpected deaths, first father then son, there have been whispers. The new arrangement may quiet them, spruce up appearances.
Wedding and coronation are planned for the same day.
At the reception, she interrupts Polonius's endless speech, brandishing a goblet for a toast of her own. No one objects. With a stammer, Polonius fumbles into his seat. Dignitaries from Norway and Venice exchange bemused smiles. An apothecary she invited chews a fingernail.
Raising cup and voice, she toasts
the man she loves,
the man she joins today,
a man both kin and kind
(how naughty giggles erupt from those who misunderstand).
With her other hand, she displays her wedding gift, lambent and milky and round. She faces Claudius and the smile as she drops the pearl into the chalice never reaches her eyes.
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Suppose Gertrude, to ease suspicions, drinks first.