Cold panic washed over Suzanne as she saw how little hope she had of freeing Piers with her proof that William’s death was an accident. Her voice would only come in a whisper. “But you’re a peer. Why would the king let your son hang? You’re of high enough rank to influence, and your word is valued.”
“Charles doesn’t know he’s my son.”
Suzanne fell silent, not daring to speak lest she say something ugly and irretrievable. The silence stretched like gut on a violin.
Finally Daniel added, “Charles has no reason to believe Piers didn’t do the murder.”
“I found the crossbow.”
Irritation rose, and Daniel’s voice was sharp with impatience. “You should have left it where you found it. Had you sent for Pepper and shown him the bow where it had lodged, you might have had a chance of convincing him you didn’t put it there yourself. But now the crossbow is just another one of your theatrical properties.”
“The blood…”
“The blood.” Daniel gave a slight, rather Continental shrug, as if to allow she had a point, but only a small one. “He might take that a little more seriously, but if he really wants a body to hang, he’ll discount it as sheep’s blood.”
“Arturo said—”
“Is Arturo here to give his story?”
“No.”
“Is he likely to be talked into coming back by morning to testify to Pepper?”
Suzanne sighed. “No.”
“Then anything Arturo said to you is worthless.”
Suzanne was silent, thinking hard and struggling not to cry. Finally she sat straight as a rod in her chair and said, “Your word could set Piers free.”
Daniel said nothing and fiddled with the fingers of his gloves as if he wanted to don them and leave. Suzanne waited.
Finally she asked, “Daniel, why won’t you ask the king to pardon him?”
“I don’t wield that sort of power.”
“You mean you don’t wish to squander your goodwill with Charles.”
“If that’s how you would put it, then yes. I have other concerns that require political coin, and haven’t any to spare.”
“How can you think that way? How can you toss your son to the lions?”
“My wife’s family would stand against me vigorously were I to go to Charles and ask for a pardon for my son. Even if I committed everything of myself to Piers’s cause, I would more than likely fail to save him. They would make certain of it.”
“And you the coward would let them. Shame on you! Shame on you for not protecting your flesh and blood! You are a coward, Daniel Stockton, and I’m ashamed to have ever thought otherwise!”
Daniel said nothing in argument, and his eyes betrayed his belief she was right. He said, “I’m afraid I can’t argue with that. I am a coward. And I am powerless to change the situation. My brother-in-law carries a great deal of weight in Parliament, and Parliament has a nose ring on Charles. He depends on them for money.”
“And Piers is so unimportant to you that you will allow your wife’s family to use him for political purposes?”
“Nobody is using him, Suzanne. He’s simply landed in a bad spot and I am prevented from helping him because I am at the mercy of Anne and her brother. They don’t care for the fact that she is childless due to my long absence, and they especially don’t care for the fact that I have children by mistresses. And they only know about the daughters. Piers being the only male has sealed his fate. James would be ever so pleased to punish me with whatever he might use against me, particularly where his sister is concerned. He’s made my marriage impossible, and is breathing down my neck in Parliament. Anne wants retribution for her childlessness, and if she knew I had a son, she would like to see him dead because it would hurt me. James would give her that wish, and relish it.”
The countess had not struck her as the sort to be so vindictive, but Suzanne pressed her lips together to keep herself from saying so. It would not do to let Daniel know she’d gone to see Anne. Neither would it make a difference, since Daniel was certainly right about the brother.
She felt as if a band of steel were tightening around her chest. She couldn’t breathe, and was panicked to be free of it. She stood and went to the door, thinking she might leave, but instead turned and walked toward the door at the other side of the room. She stopped, unable to retreat to the inner rooms. There was no escape from the situation. “Daniel, I’ve got to do something!”
“There’s nothing you can do. Our hands are tied.”
“So easy for you to say! He’s your son, too! How is it so easy for you to give him up?”
He watched her pace for a moment, then said in a voice that had softened, “I never had him, Suze. He was never part of my life. He was always just yours, and you clung to him like a raft in a storm. For the rest of us, there’s no entering that magic circle. I realized it when we spoke that day at the Goat and Boar. I’d thought we might rekindle the old fire, but all you could talk about was Piers. All you ever talk about is Piers. There’s nothing of you left to know. Only Piers.
“And you seemed quite happy with that. It appeared to me that you could have gone on the rest of your life all wrapped up in him. In fact, I’m stunned you were able to bring yourself to send him away for an apprenticeship with Farthingworth. It must have killed you to let him go. I should have thought you’d keep him under your skirts until he was worthless for anything but petty theft. I must hand it to you; as a mother you’ve quite succeeded.”
That mollified her and took the edge off her panic, but only the fine edge. Was she that wrapped up in Piers? Was there really so little of herself apart from him? She couldn’t imagine a life without him. It seemed natural for every thought to be about him, to feed, clothe, teach, and protect her child. How could that ever be wrong? Furthermore, how could that have prevented a caring father from being a part of that life? What was so “magic” about the bond between mother and son that it couldn’t accommodate a father who wanted to know his son?
She turned to him. “You could have been his father. You could have been part of his life. You should have been.”
Daniel shook his head. “No, that was never possible. Anne and her brother would never have stood for it, and Charles needed me during the war.”
“Then it’s not our fault you didn’t know us. More than there being room for you, there was a gaping hole in our lives where you should have been. We needed you far more than he did.”
“But my previous commitments took precedence. I had no choice in the matter.”
“Your wife is more important than we.”
“In many ways, she is. In other ways, not at all.”
She thought she might regret asking this, but curiosity made her do it. She folded her hands before her and braced herself to hear something she might rather not. “In what ways is it not true?”
He considered his reply for a moment, then said slowly, “You know ours was not a love match. I married Anne for her father’s influence. My own father believed an alliance with a Presbyterian family would be advantageous, regardless of his own loyalties and beliefs, given the religious climate at the time. Were he alive now, he would be shocked at how mistaken he was and how unyielding they can be. How unaccommodating.”
“You married a Presbyterian?”
“You didn’t know that? Her father converted when she was a little girl, and I was unable to convince her to convert back to the English Church after our marriage. Nor would she even budge after her father’s death. Her brother was raised Presbyterian, but is as zealous as a convert and as hardheaded and straitlaced as any pastor in the Marches. There’s no talking to him once he’s made up his mind, and he hates me for my illegitimate children as much as Anne does. Perhaps more, for he views it as a sin and she sees it only as a personal insult. They wish to punish me for my daughters’ existence, and would ruin me if they knew of Piers.”
Icy cold crept up Suzanne’s spine as she realized the true meaning of his word
s. Her voice shook as she said, “So you would see Piers dead. That’s why you won’t take his case to the king.”
Daniel’s eyes went wide. “No!”
“You do want him dead. He’s an inconvenience, and you want him dead for fear of your wife and her brother. So you can become a proper Presbyterian toady, so holy and free of…sin!”
He stood, and his voice rose, desperate to convince her. “No, Suzanne! Don’t think that!”
She went to stand toe-to-toe, her face upturned and her own voice as strident. “It’s true. You can deny it all you like, but what you’ve just told me is exactly that but coated to appear as if you have nothing to do with our fate, and no responsibility toward your son.”
His hands were fists at his sides. “I have no power in this. There’s nothing I can do.”
“You mean there’s nothing you can do that won’t cost you anything. There’s nothing you can do that won’t make you vulnerable to someone who hates you. And you’ll be backed against that wall so long as Anne lives. As long as she and her brother have your tender bits in a vise, your interests will never be other than theirs. You’re spineless! I despise you! I despise everything about you! Get out!” She waved him toward the door. “Leave me; I don’t want to see your face ever again!”
“Suzanne—”
“Get out!”
He stared at her a moment, then slowly drew his gloves from his belt and donned them. Sheila brought his hat and cloak, and he put them on. Then he made his utterly dignified exit without any more comment.
Chapter Eighteen
Suzanne sat up all that night, unable to even consider sleep. Piers was to die at noon the following day. How could she sleep, knowing that if she didn’t do something she would never see him again? The fires dwindled and candles guttered. Cold crept into her bones, the sharper as she began to realize she could see no avenue to take that might save her son. If Piers were to die, she would have no more need to live. Her life would be a failure. As her mind cast about for possible avenues of recourse, and found none, hope dwindled like the fires until she was in danger of descending into eternal darkness. Without Piers, there could be no light. No joy.
She lay on the sofa, her fists tight against her chest, her fingernails dug into her palms, unable to move and barely able to breathe. There had to be something. Something. She thought of going to the king, but there was a great deal of truth to what Daniel had said. Charles didn’t want to be bothered with the small concerns of unimportant people, and it would be only too easy for him to dismiss the pleadings of a convict’s mother as fiction. Daniel was powerless because he believed himself to be, and would not put himself forward and risk the ire of his wife’s family. The only other man in London with any power in the situation was Pepper.
Constable Pepper, that vile, lazy, stupid man. Well, certainly vile and lazy. Had he done his job, for which he was well paid, he would never have needed to arrest Piers. But he was lazy, and that was the long and the short of it. He had his conviction, and now he had no reason to want Piers freed.
No reason.
The flame of hope flickered into existence. Slowly it rose. A reason to want Piers freed. Suzanne found a line of thought that did not come to a dead end. What if Pepper did have one? What if he did have a reason to want Piers exonerated? She sat up on the sofa, her thoughts rushing about like a cat after a mouse. What if? What if? What could Pepper want that might make him change his mind about Piers?
Then a real idea came to her. It burst in her brain like the flare of Greek fire, lighting all in a clear, luminous vision. Brilliant, undeniable. Joyous laughter rose in her, for it had been before her all along and she’d not seen it until now.
She rose from the sofa and hurried to her desk, where she opened the ink bottle, dipped a quill, and began to write. In her hurry the ink spattered and ran, and she would have to copy the letter, but just then she couldn’t write fast enough to keep up with her idea and she hurried to put it down on paper.
Once the sun was up, still without sleep, Suzanne dressed in her most conservative outfit, mahogany brown and showing very little bosom. In such a hurry, she didn’t bother with cloak or vizard, and pattens would only slow her down. She took Horatio with her, carrying the crossbow in a sack, and hurried to the office of the constable. She walked through the streets so quickly, tall Horatio found himself skipping a step every so often to keep up with her. His wig slipped on his bald head, and he had to shove it back into place several times. By the time they reached Pepper’s office he was puffing hard. Suzanne was also breathing hard, but it was impossible to say it was because of the walk and not for the urgency of her mission.
They burst into Pepper’s office at full speed. The clerk looked up and opened his mouth as if he might say something. But they both walked straight past him, so he said nothing and only went wide-eyed at Horatio’s size and stared as he passed.
Inside the inner office, Suzanne and Horatio found Pepper was not in. Suzanne groaned in frustration and returned to the outer office, where the clerk was still gawping at the intrusion. “Where might I find the constable? It’s terribly important. I can’t tell you just how important it is I see him immediately. Where is he?”
The clerk blinked, thinking. “Ah…at home, perhaps. He sometimes is late coming to the office of a morning, mistress.”
She straightened and looked down her nose at the clerk. “How remarkable he should show such temperance with his brandy.”
Horatio swallowed a snort of laughter.
“Where does he live? I must talk to him now.”
“I couldn’t tell you, mistress.”
“Your loyalty is commendable.” She reached through the slit in her skirt for her pocket. “I’m certain I can ease your conscience—”
“I can’t tell you because I don’t know, mistress. The constable is very close with information regarding himself. I know not where he lives, nor where he is now.”
Suzanne retrieved her hand from the pocket. Suddenly the situation appeared impossible again. The sun was peeking over the tops of buildings now, and they were running out of time. In a matter of short hours the hangman will have executed Piers and it would be too late. She said, “We’ll just wait…” She looked about the room and saw two wooden armchairs standing against the wall opposite the clerk’s writing desk. “We’ll wait over here.” Before the clerk could reply, she and Horatio claimed both chairs.
The clerk gawped some more, then apparently decided he didn’t care much what they did, and returned to his work, nose to the paper.
Suzanne and Horatio waited in silence. Each second that passed was an eternity and an agony. Nevertheless they flew as time never had before. The light through the window by the door brightened, and she willed it to stop, but it did not.
Eventually the street door opened and in came Constable Pepper. Suzanne leapt to her feet and blurted his name. Horatio rose beside her. On sight of his visitors, Pepper’s mouth went agape much as the clerk’s had. Then he recovered himself and proceeded toward his office, saying as he went, “What brings you here, Mistress Thornton?” His face was pinched with annoyance. His jacket hung open. His wig had slipped forward. He had to shove it back to get the hair out of his eyes, and without a mirror he shoved it too far. It revealed his high forehead and a few strands of his own gray hair.
“Good day to you, too, constable. I have something for you.”
He stopped and considered her presence for a moment, glanced at Horatio and the sack he held, then sighed and said, “Let us do this inside.” He went into his office and the two followed. Pepper plopped himself heavily into his chair without offering seats to Suzanne and Horatio. Suzanne preferred to stand during this in any case, and pulled from the pocket beneath her skirts the papers she’d spent the night writing.
“Constable Pepper,” she began, “I’ve come to share a letter with you. One I intend to have delivered to the king, via a friend of mine, Daniel Stockton, Earl of Throckmorton.” She
hadn’t spoken to Daniel of this, but was certain he would do this much for her. Besides, just then it only mattered what Pepper thought Daniel would do.
“I see,” said the constable, not the least moved. “I daresay you’ll have no luck with a complaint to the king. I’ve done my job correctly where your son is concerned, and the case is, quite literally, closed. He will hang shortly.” He leaned back in his chair with his fingers laced over his belly, his habitual posture. A glance at the window to his left told her he was checking the time to see whether it was noon yet.
A chill skittered down her spine at his words, and she pressed on, more urgent than ever. “Hear this, Pepper.” She opened the pages she’d folded into a letter packet. On the outside of the packet she’d printed “Charles, King of England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales” in large, plain letters, the better for Pepper to read them and know she was serious.
She began to read, in a clear, strong voice. “Your majesty, my dearest Charles.” Her gaze flicked to Pepper’s face to read it, for she hoped he would take note of the too-familiar salutation.
Pepper was yet unmoved. Suzanne wondered what it would take to budge him, and hoped the approach she’d chosen would do the trick.
She continued, “I hope this finds you well, and that the Lord has graced you with fine health since our last meeting. I hope your children are well, and your business with Parliament goes your way.”
A puzzled frown came over Pepper’s face. That last had been a mite silly, but that was what she was after, to disarm Pepper. And if necessary the king himself, should he ever actually read this letter.
Suzanne continued, “You may be aware of a certain case of murder here in Southwark. A man, one William Wainwright, was shot with a crossbow in the Globe Theatre, and fell to the stage during a performance. It was a terrible thing, and a shock to all who witnessed it. None of us quite knew what to do, but there was one man who stepped to the fore and calmly brought the situation under control. I wish to tell you of the heroic and industrious constable who solved the crime, one Samuel Pepper. Without him, the mystery of the death of Wainwright might never have been found out.”
The Opening Night Murder Page 26