The Scottish Play Murder (A Restoration Mystery)

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The Scottish Play Murder (A Restoration Mystery) Page 13

by Rutherford, Anne


  Ramsay nodded. He wore a frown, for any visit from the constable promised trouble, no matter how slight, and there was no pretending otherwise.

  Suzanne said, “What may we do for you, Constable?”

  Pepper drew himself up to his best height, his hands behind his back and his mouth set with as much authority as he could muster among people who generally thought little of it. He said, “I have intelligence that you may have been involved in the murder of Henry, Earl of Larchford.”

  Suzanne barked out a single laugh, but Ramsay’s face only went hard. “That’s utterly ridiculous,” he said.

  “Where did you hear that, Pepper? Did Arturo come to you? He was saying some very silly—”

  “It wasn’t your mummer. I assure you I would not act on just the word of an itinerant performer. It was a member of the peerage who mentioned this man’s name to me.”

  Daniel. Suzanne sighed. To Pepper she said, “I assure you, constable, Ramsay had nothing to do with Larchford’s murder. Arturo and Ramsay don’t get along, and Arturo said something in front of his lordship Throckmorton that was taken mistakenly.” That Daniel didn’t like Ramsay, either, was more than she was willing to share with Pepper.

  “I’m also told that the three murders which happened so close together in time and place were all of men who did business together, and that Ramsay here had threatened the life of one of them the day before that man was murdered.” He addressed Ramsay again. “I’ll need to take you into custody.”

  Pepper gestured to the five palace guards, who lowered their pikes at Ramsay. The Scot raised his hands in surrender to prevent precipitous attack and injury.

  “I’ve done naught, Constable.”

  “That will be determined by a judge and jury.” Pepper gestured to the soldiers, and spoke in a tone that suggested he truly thought Ramsay had nothing to fear from the court if he were innocent. Suzanne’s heart began to pound, for she knew well he must fear for his life if arrested, no matter how innocent. Her faith in the system was no better than most who lived in daily fear of it.

  She stepped forward to place herself between the pikes and Ramsay. “Constable, this is not right! Do not arrest him, for it would be a travesty of justice!” A slight hesitation to reflect, then she added in inspiration, “And a waste of your time! I can prove that Daniel’s logic is faulty, here and now, without the need of incarceration or court proceedings. You shouldn’t go to the trouble of arresting him, only to have him released for something so obvious.” Her true meaning was plain: If he persisted in the arrest he would later be thought a fool. That cut to the heart of Pepper’s greatest concern—his reputation with the crown.

  He attended to her, and waited for her to enlighten him.

  “Well, then.” Suzanne knit her fingers together and clenched them hard as she focused on her line of reasoning. “Arturo came to me and said that Diarmid must have murdered all three of those men because, as you said, they knew each other and Diarmid threatened the life of one of them.”

  Pepper nodded, and gestured for her to continue with all speed.

  “However, he certainly did not murder Angus, for the man who did that murder was not wearing brogues, such as Diarmid wears.” Diarmid lifted a foot to show his simple, soft leather shoes. “The footprints in Angus’s room were of fashionable shoes with high heels.”

  Pepper tilted his head in irritation. “You were in the room where your friend was murdered? Why did you not tell me this?”

  “You had no interest in the deaths of Angus and the Spaniard. I had no reason to report anything to you. Besides, I am not your employee. Again, I have no reason to ever report anything to you.”

  Pepper pressed his lips together. “Obstruction of justice. You have a responsibility to report what you see, just as any honorable woman would.”

  “Well, then in future I shall.” If it suits me.

  He nodded, glad that it was settled, and said, “Well, now you have my attention. Please tell me everything you know about all three deaths.”

  “As for Larchford, I don’t think the murders are connected. The first two victims were killed with a knife, and Larchford was bludgeoned to death.”

  “Larchford and the Spaniard were both murdered in the same spot. The earl was even lying atop the bloodstain of the previous murder. And all three victims knew each other. They did business together.”

  “Daniel told you that?” Arturo had said the three had been seen together at the Goat and Boar, and Daniel had mentioned he knew Larchford was rumored to be involved in mercantile ventures. Suzanne once again wondered: Had Larchford been doing business with a pirate?

  “Throckmorton did attest to it.”

  Perhaps the dead earl had been involved in ventures even more unseemly than the ordinary buying and selling activity of the merchant class?

  “And so you have nothing connecting Ramsay to any of them other than that Ramsay also did some business with Angus and the Spaniard. Certainly that would make hundreds of Londoners equally suspect. Ramsay surely is not the only man to buy goods from them.”

  Pepper considered that, then grunted in grudging agreement.

  Suzanne added, “Ramsay’s threat only serves to make him even less likely a suspect, because were he to have really wanted to kill the Spaniard, he could have done it right then with perfect justification, for the Spaniard attacked him. As it was, the last time they spoke they were on good terms, the Spaniard was paid, and all was well. At that point, Ramsay had no reason to kill anyone.”

  Pepper grunted again, then frowned at Ramsay in another show of authority. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll let you go for the time being. But be advised your behavior will be watched closely, and anything untoward will be taken as cause for arrest.”

  “Aye, constable,” said Ramsay.

  To Suzanne, Pepper said, “I’ll require that you report to me everything you learn about these three cases.”

  “I will.” She wondered whether he would listen if she did, and if he listened, whether he had the brain power to draw any valid conclusions. In any case, she would report what was to her advantage to report.

  With that, Constable Pepper bade her and Ramsay good evening, and gestured for his five guards to accompany him from the theatre.

  Suzanne watched him go, and young Christian shut and bolted the entrance door behind him. Then she turned toward the ’tiring house and found the three weird sisters standing before the upstage doors, decked out in their costumes and carrying their gnarled staffs, watching all that had just taken place in the pit. Caught eavesdropping, they all leapt to their dancing and cackling, and disappeared through the doors into the ’tiring house backstage.

  Suzanne bade Ramsay good evening, whereupon he left the theatre for whatever amusements awaited him elsewhere, and she retreated to the ’tiring house herself as she blinked away the alarm of Pepper’s visit.

  There she was met by Piers, waiting for her in her sitting room. He stood as she entered. “Mother, where have you been?”

  “To see a play at the Lincoln’s Inn Fields.” She removed her hat and gloves, and handed them to Sheila, who went to put them away. “It was one of those new French plays, put on by the Duke’s Men. The Ridiculous Précieuses, by that Molière fellow. They say he’s all the rage in Paris, and I believe it. The performance was an absolute scream.”

  “You went alone?”

  “I went with our friend Ramsay.” She settled herself onto the sofa and let Piers take the far chair.

  “Why would you go out with that Ramsay? Constable Pepper came to arrest him, you know.”

  “Why shouldn’t I go places with Ramsay? Better that than go alone as I have done for over a year. Or not go anywhere at all, as I did for many years before that. Besides, I might not have gone to one of those new plays at all, had he not asked me to accompany him. And you should know Constable Pepper had no genuine interest in arresting Diarmid. It took but a few words to make him see there is no basis in Arturo’s acc
usation.”

  “Diarmid, is it, then?”

  She sat with her hands in her lap and tilted her head at him. “Why is it you hate him so?”

  “He’s a murderer. I should think that would be enough to put you off him.”

  “Nonsense. He’s no more a murderer than I am.”

  “At the very least he’s a liar and a thief. He stole those necklaces in Edinburgh.”

  Suzanne remembered the ruby necklace, which gave her a slight pause. But she shrugged and said, “Nobody has established that he is the same Diarmid who called himself Gordon in Scotland. There’s a great deal of territory between here and Edinburgh, and a great many men named Diarmid. Has anyone ever described any of the jewelry that was stolen?”

  Piers frowned, thinking hard. “Well, not that I’ve heard.”

  “Well, then. None of us knows what that Gordon fellow looks like, nor do we know what the jewels look like. What sort of coincidence would it take for that very Diarmid to land on our doorstep on the very day Daniel’s friend told him of the thief in Edinburgh?”

  Piers shrugged. “I still don’t like you keeping company with him.”

  “Very well, Piers, when I’m old and feeble and must surrender myself to your care, then perhaps I’ll have a mind to your opinion of with whom I should keep company.” She said it as gently as she could, smiling, but Piers was plainly not happy.

  “You put us all at risk with your behavior.”

  “Us all? Whom do you mean?”

  “Myself, Daniel, and Horatio.”

  She opened her mouth to reply, but he continued. “Matthew, Liza, Christian, Louis, Arturo . . . we all are on watch for your safety.”

  She shut her mouth, surprised that anyone would ever care a fig about her safety. Piers, perhaps, for they had always looked out for each other. Maybe even Horatio, who’d always had a soft spot for her. But the others. And Daniel. She never would have thought he cared if she lived or died. “Daniel?”

  Piers nodded. “He’s half mad that you are showing interest in that Scot.” He said the word as if “Scot” were synonymous with “pig.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “’Tis true. Every time he sees that Ramsay his eyes turn black with hatred. Surely you’ve noticed.”

  She had, but had been too amused by it to take it seriously. “You don’t think he’d try to hurt Ramsay, do you?”

  Piers shrugged. “He’s not one to draw his sword without provocation, but neither is he one to hide from a fight.” There was a note in his voice that hinted at pride in his father. Remarkable in that Piers hated Daniel for failing to acknowledge him. Now suddenly the two were allied in their distrust of Ramsay. Suzanne’s faith in her new friend faltered. It was one thing for Piers to express concern, for he was always so and not always with cause. But Daniel. And Horatio. And the others. That was a consensus she couldn’t sneer at. Daniel?

  She said, “So now you’re allied with your father and all is patched up between the two of you?”

  “On this particular subject we happen to be in full agreement. We both care about you and wish only for your safety.”

  “And while you and I were fending for ourselves and he was off with the king in France, did he have the slightest care for our safety?”

  “That’s neither here nor there.”

  “It’s both here and there. I was on my own for nearly twenty years, and your sole support. Daniel has no authority over me.”

  “You had your patron.”

  “Who is dead. And not so very worthy a patron, for that.”

  “And now I’m your guardian.”

  “In name.”

  “In fact. I’m responsible for your behavior. I have a duty to keep you safe.”

  “To keep me under control.”

  “I wouldn’t be much of a man, were anything to happen to you. Particularly something I could have prevented by simply ordering you to stop keeping company with that Scot.” Again he spat the word.

  Suzanne straightened in her seat, and leaned forward to peer into his eyes. Anger rose. The sort of crazed, flaming ire she’d always felt during the days of struggle for daily bread, knowing she would not have been in those straits had she been born a boy. “Piers Thornton, I will have you know that if you ever attempt to control me in that manner, I will part company with you in the very same way I did my father. I love you more than I can possibly ever say, but if you turn on me the way he did, I will assume you care nothing for me.”

  Injury showed in his eyes. She’d touched a nerve. More than touched; she’d bruised it badly. “I do care for you. You’re my mother, and you’ve done everything for me. I should never want to hurt you.”

  “Then let me live the rest of my life as I please.”

  “That Ramsay will hurt you. I couldn’t bear to watch it.”

  “He won’t, Piers. I won’t let him. I didn’t let William hurt me, nor any of the other men I knew after your father. If you want to protect me from someone, look to your father. He’s hurt me more than anyone ever has.”

  A puzzled look came over Piers’s face. “Yes, he abandoned us.” It was a question, asking if there were something else Daniel had done.

  “After I ran away from my father’s house, I thought he would care for us. I wanted him more than I wanted a stable marriage. I trusted him because I loved him so much. I cared for him almost as much as I do you. And now I feel as if I’ve got a barb in my chest I can’t remove.” As she said those words, she realized she’d never admitted that before, even to herself. As angry as she’d been with Daniel for denying her and Piers, the betrayed love had been an extraordinary pain impossible to ignore. Suddenly her throat closed and she couldn’t say any more. She pressed her lips together and sat back, her hands limp in her lap. She gazed at Piers, who looked so much like his father, and she realized that every day since his birth he’d presented the image of Daniel to her. And she’d been tortured by it, knowing she would never be a part of his life, and knowing she would never find a husband of any kind because of him.

  She leaned forward and gripped her knees. “Piers, I understand your concern. I am glad you care enough for me to want to keep me away from someone you think is harmful. But I must also do what I think is best. Ramsay has done nothing to make me think he isn’t a good man.”

  Piers opened his mouth to argue, but she hurried to qualify. “A good man at heart.”

  “Very well. But I’ll be watching him, lest he misbehave in any way.”

  Suzanne sat up and sighed. In her experience, everyone misbehaved eventually.

  *

  THAT night before bed, as usual Suzanne took a candle to her desk table in the alcove to work at her writing. First she composed a short reply to a message from Stephen Farthingworth, who had been Piers’s master during his apprenticeship. Stephen, who lived in Newcastle, had heard about her new theatre and was asking about it, wishing her well. She replied with her thanks and some details about the new venture and Piers’s involvement. Short, polite, and proper.

  That finished, sealed, and set aside, she fingered some pages of a play she had begun. She had mixed feelings about the thing, which was her first attempt at putting a story to paper. She’d memorized her share of dialogue, and understood how a play should be constructed, but the situation was entirely different when taking a story from scratch and deciding what should happen on the stage and how. The play interested her, but it was yet unformed. She knew there needed to be more to it, but wasn’t sure what was missing. Further, she wasn’t sure whether to continue writing it for presentation on her own stage, or try it with the French staging. Imagining how her drama would look behind the new arch that framed the unmovable set was just not possible. It was too strange for her. So she set the manuscript aside and reached into the pocket of her doublet draped across the foot of her bed for the folded note written by Larchford.

  Daniel had said it was in Larchford’s hand, and though his knowledge of handwriting was slim, he
had also identified the paper as stationery made specially for the earl. The design was a source of humor among those who disliked him and thought his use of the fleur-de-lis pretentious.

  The blood rose at the center was very dark now, brown and nearly black. But she could still see the writing beneath it. The note said:

  And at the bottom of the paper, just over the gilt design, were the numerals 1 and 3.

  It appeared to be nothing more than a string of random characters. Meaningless. But it had to mean something. Somebody wrote it, to be read by someone else. Furthermore, it was important enough to have been encoded. Shopping lists were rarely converted to code for secrecy.

  Suzanne stared at it. Her gaze ran over each line, as if the words were there and all she needed was to know how to read them. For several minutes she stared, until she was nearly in a trance. Her eyes went unfocused, and she saw a pattern in the strings of characters. The letters were mixed with non-letter symbols. None of them made sense in context, but she noticed that while there might be several letters in a row, there was never more than one symbol in a row. In her gaze, the symbols began to stand out from the letters. Punctuating them, dividing them into . . . words.

  Excitement rose as she grabbed a quill from the wooden cup she kept, trimmed it with a knife, and dipped it into her inkwell. On a fresh sheet of paper she copied the letters in the note, leaving spaces instead of the symbols. Now she had something that looked like a note with words. Only the words made no sense. As if the letters were out of order.

  HC RWSUC GOBHWOUC XOAOWQO

  W KWZZ BCH PCK HC SLHCFHWCB QCBHWBIS OG PSTCFS CF MCI KWZZ TOQS OFFSGH W YBCK VCK HC RSOZ KWHV PZOQYUIOFRG GIQV OG MCI

  She tried moving the letters around within their clusters, but came up still with gibberish. Not enough vowels. She stared some more, hoping a pattern would show itself within the words. She looked from word to word, seeking similarities. Then she saw it: Some of the words were identical. “OG,” “HC,” and “MCI” plainly were commonly used words. She considered which might be the most common three-letter words, and thought “the.” So she wrote above each “MCI” the letters “THE.” But replacing all the Ms with Ts, the Cs with Hs and Is with Es resulted in more gibberish. So she crossed all that out.

 

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