The Twelfth Night Murder

by Anne Rutherford

  As she settled into the seat and the carriage lurched forward, she shut her eyes against the world and laid a hand against her face. “Oh, that poor boy!”

  “What did you learn?” Ramsay took her hand again, and she could tell by his grasp he wanted to hold more of her and more closely, but he only captured the one hand between both of his.

  She shook her head. “They abducted him. It was Higgins whom Willie saw in the Goat and Boar that night.”

  “Do ye think he killed Lord Paul?”

  Again she shook her head. “The boy was worth too much money to him. Nobody associated with Higgins would have hurt Paul, for they would have had to answer for it, and dearly.”

  “Perhaps if the boy tried to escape to his home?”

  Suzanne considered that. Might Higgins have killed Paul if the boy tried to go home? Would Paul have wanted to go home? Willie hadn’t indicated any resistance in his behavior toward Higgins that night. “I don’t think he did. I think he would have been reluctant to return to his father’s house.”

  “Surely you don’t think he preferred to sell himself.”

  “I do. Even when I learned I would have no help from Daniel to raise Piers, I never considered returning to my father. With Higgins, Paul was among people who were at least pleasant to him. Who praised him for being the way he was. He spent his nights pleasing people and making them feel good.” Suzanne knew it couldn’t have always been so, but Paul had still been new to that life. There hadn’t been enough time for him to have realized its drawbacks. “You saw him that night at the Goat and Boar. He was having fun, and no pretense about it. He was good at being a girl, and now he was able to indulge himself with it to his heart’s content, and was praised for it. Men gave him money for it. I don’t think he tried to get away from Higgins. Not that night, in any case. He was still too new. Besides, the mutilation would have required far more anger than could have been aroused by a simple escape attempt. It would have required the sort of anger and disgust Higgins and his crew would never have had for someone like Paul. He was one of them. They valued him for that. As Higgins told me, and as I’ve said before, this was done by someone not of that bent.”

  Ramsay sat back against the carriage seat to think. “You’re certain?”

  “As certain as I can be without having witnessed the deed.”

  “Then you’re not any closer to the truth than you were this afternoon.”

  “Don’t know whether I’d say that, but it all does seem as if it were coming very slowly.” She said thoughtfully, “I’ve an idea. When we return to the Globe, I’ll need to wake Christian and send him on an errand.”

  The winter dawn was still several hours away when the hired carriage deposited them at the front entrance of the Globe. Suzanne invited Ramsay in, for she knew he wouldn’t go home if she told him to. He would more than likely fall asleep propped against the wall of the stairwell, blocking the way in and out. Better for him to have a seat in her sitting room and be out of everyone’s way. She was exhausted, having been awake since early yesterday morning, but was too nervous from the expedition to the Haymarket to sleep. Ramsay’s eyes also looked haggard, but she knew he would stay with her as long as she required him. “Go wake up Christian in the green room; he lays his pallet beneath the table nearest the hearth. Bring him to me in my quarters.”

  “Aye, Suze.” He went to do her bidding.

  Meanwhile, she let herself into her rooms, quietly so as not to awaken Sheila, and went to her desk in the alcove of her bedchamber. There she took a sheet of her best paper and wrote a note on it in her most careful hand. She hoped it would explain enough without revealing too much. When it was finished, she folded it and sealed it just as a sleepy-eyed Christian presented himself according to Ramsay’s request.

  “Take this to the Duchess of Cawthorne, and await her reply. The household should be awake by the time you get there.”

  “Duchess?” Christian went wide-eyed. He was accustomed to carrying messages to and from Daniel’s quarters in Whitehall, but Daniel was only an earl, and addressing a duchess was beyond the scope of Christian’s imagination.

  “The Duchess of Cawthorne. Hire a carriage in Maid Lane, and the driver will know where to take you. It’s in Orchard Street, in Westminster.” She handed him some coins. “These are for the driver, and don’t let him tell you he needs more than this. Give him my name, and tell him that if he insists on more money he may take the issue up with me later today.” That would prevent the driver from trying to take advantage of a ten-year-old.

  “Yes, mistress.”

  “Remember to wait for the reply from the duchess, and don’t hand this to anyone but her grace. The butler will give you a fair amount of grief, but if I know you it won’t sway you from your mission.”

  “Yes, mistress.” A tiny smile of pride curled his lips.

  “No matter who might demand you turn it over.”

  “Yes, mistress.”

  “If you’re asked who is the sender of this letter, tell them the Earl of Throckmorton. Daniel won’t mind, and by the time anyone can verify you will have delivered the message and returned with the reply. But most of all, make certain nobody but her grace sees this.”

  “Yes, mistress.”

  “Hurry, now.”

  Christian spun on his heel and ran from the room.

  Ramsay appeared at the bedchamber door and tapped on the frame, asking to know what was going on. “What is it we’re needing so early in the morning?”

  “Just some information. I find myself down a dark alley, with no direction to take, and I need a bit of information in order to proceed.”

  He stepped inside the room. “Ah.” He sounded as if he didn’t understand any of it, but was unwilling to question further.

  She said, “Come, sit,” and gestured to the foot of her bed. “He’ll be a while.”

  Ramsay sat, and looked around. “I’ve dreamed of this place.” His utter seriousness, a truly theatrical deadpan, was comical enough to make her smile. “I can hardly believe I’m here.”

  “I can hardly believe it, either. Behave, or I’ll make you leave.”

  “How would you have me behave? As a marauder? A thief in the night? You must be clear, for me to know what you would have me do.”

  “You’ll keep your hands to yourself, please.”

  “To what purpose?”

  “So I might feel safe in my own bedchamber.”

  “How could you ever be unsafe with me in the room?” He laid a hand on the smoothly made-up mattress beneath him. “With me in this bed?” The humor drained slowly from him as he caressed the comforter that covered the bed. She watched him, suddenly fascinated by his large hands, barely aware of his soft voice. For a moment she wondered whether she hadn’t been unfair to him by thinking his profession of love was only a ruse to get something from her. Perhaps he had real affection for her and she was throwing it away unnecessarily.

  But, no, that was what had always landed her in trouble with Daniel. Every time she had thought he truly cared about her, it always turned out he only wanted to lie with her and nothing more. Most men were like that, and she couldn’t bring herself to believe even one of them might do otherwise. Particularly Ramsay, who never seemed serious about anything. She said, “I imagine you would be quite dangerous in bed.”

  “Only if asked. If you like, I could be as gentle as a kitten. I could show you things you cannae even imagine.” He reached over to kiss the back of her hand, then when he looked up his face was very near hers. “I could make you feel so womanly you couldn’t bear to be in the presence of another man for all your life.”

  Her voice became far huskier than she would have liked. “That might make my life terribly difficult.”

  “Nonsense. I would make a home for you. Give you a house and fill it with everything your heart could ever desire. You wou
ld have furs and horses. You could spend your days doing whatever you pleased.”

  “Except be around other men.”

  “As I said, you wouldn’t want to be around other men.” He kissed her hand again, then tugged on it and drew her from her chair to sit next to him on the foot of the bed. She let him, for her blood was running hard and it felt marvelous. At that moment, though even then she knew she would regret it later, she wanted it to grow. She wanted to see how marvelous it could feel, for she hadn’t felt anywhere near this good in an extremely long time. He leaned down, and this time he touched his lips to hers.

  Her heart did flip-flops. Ramsay wasn’t nobility like Daniel. She knew he was lying about the riches he would bestow on her, for he had none. But since he knew she knew he had none, the lie was more like a story for entertainment. He was an actor, and this was a performance.

  He kissed her more deeply, and touched fingertips to her cheek. He kissed her eyelid, then the other. He was the performer, playing the lover.

  And she was the audience waiting to be amazed and entertained. She was a maiden in that audience, heart pounding that she might be deflowered by him. All the years of selling herself dropped away and she was returned to the day she’d first given herself to Daniel.

  Daniel.

  He who had taken her gift, then walked away without returning even the smallest part of it. She couldn’t afford to let that happen again.

  “Diarmid, no.”

  Ramsay tried to kiss her again, but she avoided it and focused on the floor so she wouldn’t have to look at him and his disappointment.

  “No, I can’t.”

  “Not yet?”

  She had to think about that, then said, “I don’t know. I’m sorry—”

  “Och, there’s naught to be sorry about. I’ve stolen a kiss . . . two kisses. I leave to the good and with hope of better next time.” He stood, made a leg with a wide flourish of his arm, then straightened with a cheerful smile on his face. Always the performer. “I will wait in the sitting room for the return of young Christian, while my lady sleeps the sleep of the just, alone in her bed.”

  “Very well, Ramsay. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. Truly it is my pleasure.” And with that he retreated to the outer room.

  Suzanne gazed at the open doorway for what seemed an uncommon long time, and half entertained the notion of calling him back. After all, she was saving nothing, and particularly not for marriage. It would mean nothing for her to invite him to bed with her, and they would sleep the better for it afterward.

  But that was the very problem. It would mean nothing. She could mean no more to Ramsay than she had to Daniel, which was not nearly enough. It was better to keep herself to herself and not allow him to take hold of her in any fashion.

  So tired she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer, she lay back on the bed and the world went away in an instant.

  * * *

  CHRISTIAN returned with a pounding on the door, and Suzanne awoke to find herself lying on the bed, still in her clothes. She rose and stumbled toward the outer rooms, rubbing sleep from her eyes and circulation back into her face. Sheila reached the door before her and let Christian in just as Suzanne entered the room. Ramsay was still oblivious, lying on the sofa, and snored like a bear.

  Christian burst into the room with the energy that is owned only by children, and thrust a sealed envelope at her. “The duchess wrote you an answer, and she put it in a real envelope!”

  Ramsay startled awake, and looked about to see where he was.

  Suzanne took the message, and dismissed Christian before breaking the seal. The envelope was indeed a fine one, of smooth, soft paper that felt more like cloth than anything else. It was bleached a pure white that made everything around it seem shabby and dirty by comparison. Absently she took it through the kitchen and onward to her bedchamber. When she arrived and sat at her desk, she found herself followed by Ramsay, who settled himself once more at the foot of her bed. He scratched his head sleepily and ran his fingers through his hair by way of organizing it as he watched her read the letter.

  Mistress Thornton,

  Many thanks for your efforts. I assure you the duke will not know you are continuing the investigation. There is some news. I have learned that Thomas was not let go, but rather he simply disappeared two days after New Year’s. His belongings are not here, and so I suppose he has fled. James repeats to me that he doesn’t know where Thomas might be. I have no idea, either, and of course cannot ask Jacob. If I learn anything further, I will send another message via James.

  The information you have requested is: February 21, 1649, London, England, shortly after the noon hour.

  Suzanne smiled. “Come, Diarmid. We’ve an errand to accomplish.” She rose from the bed and took his hand to draw him with her.

  * * *

  SHE didn’t bother to change clothing for this trip, possibly because she balked at removing it with Ramsay anywhere in her quarters. The night had been long and her nap short; she preferred to do her errand and return to sleep some good, long hours.

  However, at the top of the stairs she heard a voice in the green room near the upstage entrances that reminded her she had other business to attend to that was equally important. Liza was chattering away to someone, gossiping about one of the other whores who frequented the Goat and Boar. The subject didn’t interest Suzanne, but she separated herself from Ramsay for the moment with one raised palm and ducked into the green room.

  Liza was talking to Matthew, the both of them having just arrived for the morning’s rehearsal. Suzanne gave them each a gracious smile.

  “Good morning to you both. You look well.”

  Matthew chuckled as if she’d made a joke. Liza said, “We are well. We’d be more well, did I not have an entire guinea disappear from my earnings last night. ’Twere stolen from my table at the public house, and I know by who.” Anger flushed her face and her lips pressed together.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Perhaps you might consider giving up the whoring and attend to your acting, then?”

  “Whatever for? I earn nearly as much banging the drunkards at the Goat and Boar as I do acting in plays.”

  Matthew kept singularly silent. It was widely known he wished to marry Liza, and it was up in the air as to whether she would continue to sell herself if he did.

  Suzanne sat on a chair near the large table at the end of the room. “I think you’ve a far better future as an actress than as a tart.” Liza’s tongue was much too sharp to be overly pleasing to her patrons. “And I speak as one who has gone from one to the other. In fact, Little Wally was telling me just yesterday—”

  “Little Wally’s got naught to say ’bout me.” Liza looked to Matthew for confirmation, and he nodded to Suzanne. They’d apparently discussed Little Wally between them. “I won’t hear naught from him.”

  “Well, I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t want a compliment from him.”

  “He’s a sod,” said Matthew, as if that explained everything.

  But Liza’s brow crumpled. “Wait. A compliment, it was? What sort?”

  “Why, he told me he envies your beauty. He knows he’s not the fairest actress in the troupe, and he wishes he had your fine appearance.”

  “He says I move like a pig.”

  “That’s not what he tells me.” He’d never said “pig” to Suzanne, so technically it wasn’t a lie. But the next was entirely falsehood. “He says he wishes you would help him move like a real woman.”

  Liza gawped at her as if she’d told her the moon was made of green cheese. “Do you mean that for true, or are you having me on?”

  “’Tis true. Every word.” Suzanne knew she would burn in hell for this, but hoped God might understand her good intentions. “He knows he moves in imitation of a genuine lady, and would like to know how best to appear like one. What
with so many women ascending the stage these days, he fears the audience will expect him to be indistinguishable. Really, he believes his career is in the balance.”

  “He should, because it is. It won’t be very long before he’ll not have any roles for being too male to play women and too female to play men. In a way, I feel a mite sorry for him, I do.”

  Good. Suzanne was making progress. “Then you won’t mind helping him. Give him some advice regarding his portrayal. I’m sure he’d be ever so thankful for it.”

  Liza thought about that for a moment, but Matthew broke into the talk. “I think it would be best to just leave him be and cast women in those roles as soon as the king makes that decree his lordship has been saying he would.”

  Liza said, “What decree?”

  “His lordship Throckmorton says the king keeps promising to make a decree that female roles should be played by women. ’Tis what they do in France, and he thinks them French is all better than us English. Throckmorton says it’ll be all women in them roles by Christmas.”

  Liza said, “Poor Wally, then. He’ll be on the streets.”

  “Like the rest of us when things go against us. Better him than us.”

  “But he doesn’t deserve it. Nobody deserves that. He can’t help it.”

  “He’s a sod. He makes his own choices, and lives with ’em just like the rest of us.”

  Suzanne addressed Liza, hoping to cut Matthew and his negativity out of the discussion. “You could help him. Perhaps if he were more convincing as a woman, he could continue to play the women’s roles. For a while, at least.” She knew it would be quite a while before the Players would be able to find enough skilled women to fill all those roles, and there would be work for Wally in her troupe until then. However, it appeared there was a chance Liza would have enough pity on him to stop fighting him.

  Liza opened her mouth to reply, but Suzanne added, “But we don’t wish to hurt his feelings. I hope you’ll tread lightly with your advice. Don’t let him think you’re correcting him. Let him know you think he’s a skilled actor.”