“Very well.” His tone was now reasonable. “We shall rejoice in our lucre and not care why we are popular.”
The room relaxed at once, and everyone began to breathe again, except Suzanne. She didn’t care much what the audience thought of William’s murder, nor was she all that concerned about Horatio’s temper, but she did still wonder what was going through the mind of Constable Pepper.
Horatio said brightly, in a tone of false cheer, “And even better, we can be glad we’re no longer paying the mummers.”
Louis muttered, “But we have to fill in their bits, don’t we? I rather wish they’d stayed, myself. They pleased the audience.” They also had a daughter who was fourteen and beautiful, and everyone knew Louis had set his eye on her. Since the mummers left, Louis had been keen to find them again.
Big Willie, parked in a corner and cleaning his fiddle, said, “They had to leave, or Pepper’d be all over them in a heartbeat, he would. One of them had a to-do with Master William not long ago.”
Suzanne frowned to learn this and came to sit beside him. She leaned her elbows on her knees to listen closely. “What did you say, Willie?”
The fiddler shrugged and shook his head as he rubbed the sound board of his instrument with an oiled cloth. “Weren’t nothing, Suze. One night a few weeks ago, one of them mummers—Arturo it was, I believe—had a fight with Wainwright. Came to fisticuffs, it did.”
“A fight? An exchange of blows?”
Willie nodded.
“Did you see the fight?”
Willie shook his head. “Nah, we all just heard about it after. Arturo was a-telling it about at the Goat and Boar. Said Wainwright came after him for something or other. Said he wanted his knife back, or somewhat. Seems he was a mite forceful about it, shouting and poking and such. Arturo told him to shove off, or he’d show him his own dagger. Wainwright insisted he’d have his knife back and then he’d cut the throats of everyone who’d disrespected him. That was when Arturo presented his weapon and told Wainwright to leave off or he’d be the one to die.”
“So Arturo threatened William’s life?”
“He did. But it was defense. Arturo didn’t look for it none. And as far as I know he never meant to do it. ’Twas only a threat.”
“And where did this take place?”
Willie pointed with his chin in the general direction of the stage and said, “Out in the pit, when most everyone had left, he said.”
“There were no witnesses?”
“None as Arturo mentioned. But he took his mummers and left after the murder, seeing as how he’d told the story around so much and Pepper was bound to hear of it.” On his fiddle he found something invisible that he removed with a hard, moist puff of breath and a scrub with his oiled cloth.
“So, William backed down and left without a fight?”
“Well, he was a madman, but not so far gone as he’d fight a man with a knife on him, I expect.” He held his fiddle up to the candle to assess its shine, and seemed satisfied. Then he began to tune the strings, plinking with his fingers, then stroking with his bow.
That someone in the mummers’ troupe had fought with William just before his death, then they’d all departed so quickly, looked bad for Arturo and might not be good in actuality. Particularly if Constable Pepper caught wind of it and decided to arrest him. Suzanne liked Arturo and couldn’t imagine him doing cold-blooded murder, but even she had to wonder whether he had killed William that night.
“What do you think, Horatio, that Arturo and his group left so precipitously that night?”
Louis said, “I think he done it.”
“Arturo?”
Louis nodded. “That Arturo is a mean, sly bastard. He’ll stab you in the back as soon as look at you, and never with the slightest conscience. He’s got no conscience. Them foreigners is all like that.”
“He’s not a foreigner. To the best of my knowledge, he was born right here in London. At least, he speaks like a Londoner.”
“His people are from Italy. Or Greece. Italy, I think. They’re all oily foreigners, and can’t be trusted.”
“Except for their young girls.”
“Well, of course except for the girls. Girls ain’t all ready to knife you like that. You can trust a girl. But the men, they all stick together and anyone who isn’t one of them can’t trust ’em as far as you could throw this here theatre.”
Suzanne made a humming sound as a fit of melancholy came over her. “Yes, they’re loyal to their families. I think there’s something to be said about the ideal of familial ties. Never having had family ties of any kind, I am rather awed by it. I envy them.”
Horatio opened his mouth to say something, but didn’t in the presence of the others. Suzanne knew he thought of himself as her family, and she appreciated the sentiment, but she wished for a real blood tie and knew she would never in her life find it with anyone other than Piers.
But she shook off the sad thought and said, “All that aside, Louis, I asked Horatio whether he thinks it’s significant that the mummers departed without a ‘Fare thee well’ the very night of the murder. Horatio? What do you think?”
Horatio grunted noncommittally and shrugged. “I couldn’t say, for a certainty, except that they surely were afraid of something. Whether their fear related to the murder or not is a mystery. Perhaps they fled for the sake of escaping punishment for another crime. Even a minor one. They are thieves, after all. After we took them on, I had to take Arturo aside to inform him that he was not to send members of his troupe through the audience to relieve them of their valuables. For that, he would need to attach himself to the royal companies and victimize the gentry.”
“And what was his response to that?”
“He said that robbing the grubby sort who are likely to attend our theatre would net his men little more than buttons and lint, and that we shouldn’t worry about gaining a reputation for harboring cutpurses. In fact, he suggested he put his group out to identify known thieves in the galleries so they might be ejected.”
Louis laughed. “’Sblood! Were we to eject every thief who came into this theatre, we’d have no audience at all!”
Everyone chuckled at that. Suzanne said, “But still, though Arturo is an honorable thief in his own clannish way, perhaps there’s reason to believe one or several of the mummers could have involvement in William’s murder.”
Horatio said, “I wouldn’t completely discount the possibility.”
Louis nodded and said, “You never can tell with them. ’Tis the simplest misdirection to let folks believe in an honor system that may or may not exist. The most skilled liars will tell you they’re liars and let you think that they only lie to other people.”
Thoughtfully, Suzanne said, “I think I would like to know where they went. And why. Louis, you know people in all the right places to hear where Arturo might have gone.”
“If they’re still anywhere near London, I can find them.” He seemed eager to bolt out the door to that very end at that very moment.
“Good. Do that, won’t you?”
“I’ll have Arturo back here in a trice, mistress.” Louis gave a large, flourished bow.
“Oh, that won’t be necessary. Just let me know where they are, and we can go speak to them. No need to send them all into a tizzy by abducting anyone. We should be civilized about it, I think.”
“As you wish, Mistress Suze. I expect we can be civilized even when they might not be.”
“We’ll see how it all turns out, Louis.”
SHE didn’t have long to worry about Arturo. Three days later, after two more performances with sellout crowds, the feeling during rehearsal that afternoon was of pleasant confidence in a full house. The company had come to expect it, and even Horatio’s wounded pride was muted in the wake of the public attention given to his new troupe. And the money. Money had a way of healing many sorts of wounds, and was especially effective on wounded pride.
His fine mood soured again when his instruction
s to the players were interrupted by thunderous banging at the entrance doors. He turned and glowered at the noise, saying nothing. Everyone else in the theatre stopped to listen and watch, for they all knew it was the sound made by men with intent to enter whether invited or not. Someone was looking for someone to arrest. Suzanne’s heart leapt to her throat, and she had to suppress the urge to flee. Running away would help nothing. Instead she strode across the pit to the entrance and ordered the huge doors to be opened before the men outside did damage to them. Two men of the Globe Players complied and lifted the bolt.
In swarmed soldiers in dark red coats and wielding pikes, some with arquebuses. At their head strode Constable Pepper, and Suzanne’s alarm edged toward panic that he’d been given charge of so many heavily armed king’s men. He was only a local official and shouldn’t have command over any part of the army, but there they were, obeying his orders as if he were Lord and Commander. She hitched a little, resisting the urge to run away from him, then forced herself to address the pompous little man, who gazed about at the place as if he owned it.
“What is meant by this?” She bluffed as smoothly as her talent as an actress would allow. “I thought your investigation of my theatre was finished.” Not true, but she thought it sounded strong and she meant to discourage further disturbances. “The king shall know of this.”
“Indeed he shall,” said Pepper with a knowing air. Now she wondered what had already been said to the king, and by whom. Her bluff wobbled, but she held her chin up.
“We’re rehearsing, if you please. We have a performance in two hours and haven’t time to spend on interruptions.”
Pepper’s eyes narrowed at her, then he said to the men behind him, “Take her.”
Two men with pikes stepped forward to grab her by the arms. Her composure crumbled and she resisted, tried to yank free, but they held her and she realized a struggle would only make things worse. She then relented and stood as calmly as she could, but trembling, and addressed Pepper with all her dignity and half her voice. “How dare you!”
“By the king’s authority, I place you, Suzanne Thorn—”
“I did it!” Piers’s voice cut through the commotion as he called out over the heads of those clustered around his mother.
Suzanne turned to see her son approach through the players, who parted before him, astonished. He shouted and waved a fist. “Arrest me! I killed William Wainwright!”
“Piers! No!”
He ignored her, and kept his eyes on Pepper. They were alive with his habitual anger, and his nostrils flared with heavy breaths. His cheeks flushed dark red, and his clenched fists seemed ready to strike out at whatever might challenge him.
Pepper peered at him. “You?”
“I killed William Wainwright. I took a crossbow from the green room, found him in the gallery, and shot him.”
“No, Piers! You did no such thing!”
But the light in Pepper’s eyes told them all he liked the idea of being able to arrest a man rather than a woman for the murder. He gestured to the soldiers to release Suzanne, then said to Piers, “Why did you shoot him?”
“I’ve always hated him. He deserted my mother in a time of need. He used her when it suited him, and was never particularly good to her in any case. I’ve always wanted him dead, so I killed him when I saw a chance. It’s exactly that simple.”
“That’s not true!” Suzanne felt the world distort, and suddenly it seemed she was shouting across a great distance to her son. “No, Piers! Don’t do this!” Then she burst into tears as the soldiers shoved her aside and grabbed Piers by his arms.
As the soldiers hustled him away, he looked back at her, and she saw for a moment the little boy he had once been, afraid and hoping for his mother to help him. Then he shut his eyes. When they opened, he was once again the grown man who would sacrifice himself for his mother. He went peacefully with Pepper and the king’s men.
Suzanne screamed and Horatio caught her as she collapsed, sobbing.
Louis, Christian, and Horatio helped her into the green room, away from the others. Rehearsal resumed for the rest of the troupe, for there was nothing for it but to continue with that afternoon’s performance. Loss of revenue was one thing, but turning away a full house of patrons eager for a show and a look at the murder scene was a prospect more risky than dealing with a platoon of redcoats. Outside the green room voices rang out here and there as performers readied themselves. Suzanne sat on a stool and leaned against the face paint table behind her.
To Horatio she said, “Not Piers. Anyone but Piers.” The image of her son in a dank cell rose and choked her so she couldn’t take breath. She clutched the front of her shirt in both fists and bent nearly double in her chair. Liza put an arm around her shoulders, and so did Christian. Horatio stood to the side, silent and wide-eyed. Silent Horatio was even more frightening than angry Horatio, for the rarity and strangeness of it. Suzanne’s sobs came harder. “We’ve got to do something, Horatio.”
“Perhaps the earl will have him out soon.”
That hope washed over Suzanne, cool and fresh, for it was a reasonable one. It was something to cling to, a rock in a flood. She blinked and stared at the floor as she realized it. “Yes. Daniel will help. Now that there’s something for him to take to the king, he can help. Surely he will.” But though Suzanne was able to straighten and breathe again, hands still shaking, a small, cold terror remained that Daniel might not want to help his son.
Horatio dispatched Christian at a run to Whitehall with a message, but two hours later the boy returned without Daniel. Suzanne received Christian in her quarters, where he reported, sweating from his exertions and wide-eyed with apprehension. She grasped his shoulders and made him look at her. “Did you see Throckmorton?”
Christian nodded, then looked at the floor.
“What did he say?”
“He said naught.”
Suzanne blinked and let go of the boy’s shoulders. “Nothing at all? Tell me from the beginning.”
Christian stared straight down at his feet and fidgeted. “I was allowed into the palace, and admitted to the earl’s quarters. His page at first claimed Throckmorton wasn’t present, but upon pressing my mission was an emergency, the earl came from the inner rooms to speak to me.” He shrugged, a little apologetic. “I was a bit loud, and I suppose he’d heard me, well, shouting.”
“And you told him what happened?”
Christian nodded. “I said Master Piers had been arrested.”
“And what did he reply?”
“Nothing, as I told you.” The boy’s voice took an edge of impatience, and he looked at the floor, then glanced sideways at her to gauge her reaction to it. When she showed no reaction to read, he continued in a more subordinate tone, “He only sat in a chair and stared at me for a spell. Soon I began to wonder whether he’d forgotten I was there, though his eyes looked right at me. I dared not speak until spoken to, and he weren’t speaking to me at all. Then finally he dismissed me.”
“Dismissed you? With no explanation? No answer for me?”
“None, mistress. He only said, ‘You may go.’ Just like that. And then he rose from his chair, retreated to his inner rooms, and left me there for his page to show me the door.”
Suzanne sat, for her legs quite failed her and her knees buckled. Daniel wasn’t going to help. She’d been left alone once more to fend for herself. Tears rose, and she choked them back, for crying never solved anything. She’d done enough of it to know. So she took deep breaths and struggled to clear her mind. No Daniel, and no Piers to help her through this. Horatio was sweet and she knew he supported her with all his heart like an uncle, but he was unsuited to the task of freeing Piers from gaol, and especially he hadn’t the power to save him from the gallows.
Oh, the gallows! Once more panic gripped her hard and there was no breath to be had. Her fists pressed to her chest, and she leaned forward so her forehead almost touched her knees. Oh, the gallows! For several minutes she
sat there, unable to speak or move.
Horatio said softly, “Fear not, my niece. Piers has his mother to protect him.”
Through the panic, Suzanne heard this, and it touched something deep within her. Piers had her to protect him, just as he always had as a child. She sat up and found her breath, and her head began to clear. Piers would be all right, for she would make sure of it. It was up to her now to save her son.
“Horatio, do you know where Piers was when William was shot?”
The big man shrugged. “I cannot say. I was behind the entrance door, awaiting my cue. I saw nothing, not even the falling man.”
She turned to the boy. “Christian, was he in the green room when the crossbow was stolen?”
Christian shook his head, certain of his answer. “No, not at all. Master Piers never goes into the green room, mistress. He’s not a trouper, and there’s precious little enough room in there for them as are supposed to be in there during a performance, what with all the guests there always is. Folks who want to be backstage but never onstage; he never cared for them. Had he gone in there for any reason, it would have been an oddity noticed by all. There weren’t no Master Piers in the green room at all that night, not any night, not for any reason.”
Suzanne would have thought the same thing. Piers could not have taken the crossbow. Without that crossbow, it was impossible for him to have killed William. The thing to do now was to go to Constable Pepper in the morning and make him understand the truth of it.
The office of the constable in Southwark was a tidy little building on a more or less quiet side street near the bridge but not on the bank. The office itself was so quiet and stuffy, its atmosphere sludge-like, Suzanne wondered what might ever get done there. She thought it likely not much did. It smelled of old wood, dust, and cheap ink, and the floors appeared to have gone a long time since they’d been scrubbed.
The Opening Night Murder Page 20