Much Ado About Murder (26 page)

"And then the servants returned," said Smythe.

"Aye," said Shakespeare, "but they had been drinking, and so they failed to realize that their master had been slain. They never ventured upstairs, never saw the body, never realized the house had been ransacked. They knew that Hera would be coming home soon and most likely awaited her return in the kitchen. And when she came home, she doubtless went straight upstairs to say good night to her father and found him slain. Her cries brought the servants running, then in a madness of grief, she fled the house, running out into the night. Budge, fearing for her safety, gave chase as best he could, growing more sober by the moment, until he saw that Hera had reached the safety of the Darcie house, whereupon he reported to Henry Darcie what had happened. Or, more to the point, what he believed had happened. And the very next day, poor Corwin was arrested for the murder of Master Leonardo."

"One moment, I could not believe that he had done it," Dickens said, "but the next moment, it seemed certain that he had. What other explanation could there be?"

"And so you gave up on him and went looking for your money?" Molly asked, bitterly.

"I went looking for the money, aye, but I never gave up on Corwin," Dickens said. "Without the money, I would be able to do nothing for him. With it, I could hire a lawyer to plead on his behalf, find witnesses to swear he had been elsewhere in their company that night." He sighed. "But whatever money had been left was gone. Those miserable, murdering bastards took it all."

"Which brings us to this sorry pass," said Shakespeare. "We know what must have happened, and how it must have happened, for we have used reason to deduce it. The trouble is, we cannot prove any of it. And without proof, poor Corwin swings."

"Surely, there must be
something
we can do!" said Molly.

"Methinks there is," said Smythe, thoughtfully. "Ben is not the only one who knows something of the art of cony-catching. As it happens, I have been reading up on it myself, of late. And I believe a trap set for a cony may catch a rat, as well. I have in mind a new production, Will, one eminently suited to your craft. And yours, too, Ben, and yours, my friends," he added, glancing round at all the players. "That is, if you are game for it?"

"We are!" said Burbage.

"Tell us, Tuck!" said Fleming.

"Aye, tell us!" Speed said. "What have you in mind?"

"If I, too, may help, I shall," said Liam Bailey.

"You may, indeed, Liam," Smythe replied. "But most of all, we shall have need of Molly."

"Me?" she said. "What can I do?"

"Once before we met," said Smythe. "Now you may reacquaint me with your sister."

Chapter 12

THE BROOM AND GARTER WAS the sort of tavern that attracted a rough and tumble crowd and notable among them were the Steady Boys, a congregation of apprentices from various crafts and trades who all had in common the aggressive unruliness of youth and a desire to cause mischief. Here, among the wherrymen and dockworkers and drovers, they held court like young lords of the streets and presiding over them were Jack Darnley and his chief factotum, Bruce McEnery.

On this occasion, the Steady Boys were spread out among several tables in one section of the tavern, shouting and drinking and carousing, playing cards or games of mumble-de-peg with their daggers or bouncing young wenches on their knees and pawing at them greedily. Most of them worked hard during the day, from before sunup to nearly sundown, and this was their time to play. When they played, they liked to play hard and often, and the games they played were at other people's expense.

"Cheer up, Jacko," Bruce McEnery said, punching his comrade in the shoulder. "You have been glum for nigh on several days now. What troubles you, mate?"

"The money," Darnley said, with a scowl. "There should have been more bloody money."

"Are you on that again? Let it go, for God's sake. We got what we got. 'Twasn't all that bad a haul now, was it?"

" 'Twas pathetic," Darnley said bitterly, clutching his tankard with both hands as it sat upon the well-strained wooden table into which most of the Steady Boys had, at one time or another, carved their initials — those of them who knew how to write their initials, at any rate. "There should have been much more."

"Well, we tossed the place right proper, we did. If 'twas any more there, we would have found it, eh?"

"The man was bleedin' rich, Bruce," said Darnley, with a scowl. "Everybody said so. He was going into business. He was in the bloody Merchant Adventurers Guild, trade voyages to the colonies and the Far East and all that. He was going to invest in Burbage's damned playhouse and who knows what else? He had bought a house and was going to build himself a mansion right outside o' London. You don't do none o' that on your good name, Bruce. All that takes money. Lots o' money. Gobs o' money.
So where in the bloody hell was it?"
He slammed his fist down on the table so hard that all the pitchers and the tankards jumped and everyone looked toward him.

"Steady on, mate," McEnery said, placatingly. "If there was more, well then, we never found it, eh? Like as not some merchant banker kept it for him."

"There would have been papers there if that were so," Darnley replied. He took a drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "There were no papers. We looked everywhere. We tore that bloody place apart."

"We did get some money, Jack," McEnery said. "We did not come away empty-handed."

"Bollocks! What we got was no more than a good journeyman makes in about a week," said Darnley, savagely. "Not even what a rich man would keep around the house for spending money."

"Well, so he had it stashed away, then," said McEnery.
"Where?"
Darnley practically screamed, so that everyone turned toward him once again. "We cut that man to ribbons," he said softly, through gritted teeth, "and he kept saying over and over that there was no more money. A pox on his lying soul! He had it hid somewhere, I tell you. We must have missed something. We
must
have!"

One of the Steady Boys came up to the table and whispered a few words into McEnery's ear. McEnery glanced up at him with surprise. His comrade nodded and pointed over toward another table that stood nearby. McEnery nodded back to him.

"Go on then," he said, "and keep an eye on him. Make certain that he does not leave." He turned to Darnley. "Jack," he said, "methinks you might want to come and have a drink or two with that chap at yonder table there." He jerked his head in that direction.

Darnley glanced at him darkly. "What the hell for?"

"Because he works for Liam Bailey, that's what for," McEnery said.

"So? Why should I care a fig about Liam bloody Bailey?"

"Because Tuck bloody Smythe works for Liam bloody Bailey now and then, remember? And because Smythe said something very interesting to this chap he works with about what happened at the Genoan's house that night, and this chap is drunk and running off his mouth about it."

Darnley sat and stared at him a moment. "Is he?" he said, after a long pause. "Well then, let us go and listen to what he has to say."

They got up and walked over to the table where the loquacious Bobby Speed sat with a couple of the Steady Boys, apparently deeply in his cups. He was holding forth with elaborate, expansive gestures that nearly caused him to overbalance on occasion and teeter on his stool. One of the Steady Boys reached out and grabbed his arm, to keep him from falling over.

"Take it easy there, friend," said Darnley, laughing goodnaturedly as he clapped Speed on the back, pulled up a stool, and sat down next to him. The transformation from the dark and scowling brooder of a few moments ago to the cheerful boon companion seemed dramatic to McEnery.

It was as if Jack had become another man entirely. This was the Jack Darnley that always seemed to be the center of attention, the one the girls all liked so much, the charmer and the wit. But he knew another side of Darnley, a much more dangerous side that he both feared and respected. And also idolized. It was the Jack Darnley who had slashed away repeatedly at Master Leonardo while the others held him, demanding to know where he kept the money.

"Eh? And who might you be?" Speed asked, in a slurred voice.

"The name's Jack," said Darnley, holding out his hand to Speed. "Everyone knows me around here. What's your name, friend?"

"Bob-bobby," Speed replied. His cheeks puffed out and then he belched profoundly.

"Well, Bobby, you look as if you could use another drink," said Darnley, clapping him on the shoulder. "Something to drown that frog in your throat, eh?" He signaled the serving wench to bring more beer.

"You give him much more an' he'll pass out," one of the other Steady Boys said.

"Oh, now, never fear, Henry," Darnley replied. "Ole Bobby looks like a man who knows how to hold his drink. Is that right, Bobby?"

"Ri… rüüüüght!"
Speed belched in response.

"A ripper!" Darnley exclaimed. He took the pitcher from the serving wench and refilled Speed's tankard. "Bottoms up, eh?"

He picked up his own tankard and made as if to drink, but refrained while Speed quickly quaffed his down.

"Now that's the way to do it, eh?" Darnley said. "You know, they tell me that you work with my good friend, Tuck Smythe."

"Ah. Good ole Tuck. Here's to 'im!"

"Right, here's to him," Darnley said, refilling Speed's tankard and watching as he drank. His tone was jovial, but his dark eyes were like a predator's, sharp and intense. "You know, Tuck was saying something about that Genoan merchant who got killed the other day. Methinks his name was Leonardo, was it not? We have all been talking about that. Terrible thing."

"Aye, terrible, terrible," said Speed, nodding so loosely it seemed as if his head would roll right off his neck. "Poor bloke." He held up one finger dramatically. "But despite it all, they still didn't get 'is money!"

"They?" said Darnley, softly. "But I thought there was just one killer. And they have him locked up in the Marshalsea."

"Hah
!
"
Speed barked, swaying slightly on his stool.
"Hah
!
"
That's what
they
think!" He leaned close to Darnley, conspira-torially. "Tuck says they got the wrong man!"

"Do they, indeed?" Darnley said. "How does he know?"

"Said so. Said Corwin 'ad no money on 'im when 'e was arrested. A few crowns, is all. So if 'e robbed the Genoan, then where's all the money, eh? Where is it?"

Darnley looked mystefied. "I have no idea, Bobby. Where?"

"Need 't 'ave 'nother drink," slurred Speed.

"And so you shall," said Darnley, refilling his tankard from the pitcher. He watched intently as Speed drank with greedy swallows. "So," he said, when Speed set down the tankard, "what did Tuck say happened to the money?"

' 'Twas all stashed away, y'know," said Speed.

Darnley's eyes lit up. "Where?"

"Ssshhh!
'Tis a
secret?"
Speed whispered, putting his finger to his lips.

Darnley lowered his voice. "I shall not tell a soul! Cross my heart!" He performed the gesture. "However did Tuck know the Genoan's money was all stashed away?"

"The daughter told 'im," Speed replied.

"Leonardo's daughter?"

"Aye." Speed's cheeks puffed out again and a low rumble issued from his throat. He patted his stomach. "Settle down there," he said, and then broke wind prodigiously.

"S'trewth!" said McEnery, waving his hand before his face. "Smells like something bloody died in there!"

"Be quiet, Bruce," said Darnley, softy, but the tone of his voice demanded immediate obedience. McEnery fell silent instantly. "So the wench knew where the money was hidden?"

"Aye, she did," said Speed. "Gold coins, moneys o' account and letters o' credit and what all… a bloody fortune, Tuck said. All stashed away! An' they never even found it! Leonardo took the secret to 'is grave! The poor, old sod."

"Astonishing!" said Darnley, pouring him more beer. "And so where was it all hidden?"

"In a chest!" said Speed.

Darnley's eyes narrowed. "A chest! The devil you say! He had all that money just hidden in a chest? Why, 'tis not a very clever hiding place, if you ask me. You might think that anyone could find it in a chest."

"Ooooh, 'twas a
special
chest, this one," said Speed, leaning close to him and nearly falling off his stool. "Wif a secret compartment inside it!
Sssh!
Mustn't let anybody know, Tuck said. 'Tis a
secret?"
He held up his forefinger and moved it around unsteadily in front of his mouth, but could not seem to make the connection between the finger and his lips.

"Mum's the word," said Darnley. "Where is this chest now? Still at the merchant's house?"

"Nah," said Speed, shaking his head, then grabbing it with both hands, as if to steady it.
"Hooo!
Head spinnin' round!"

"Have some more beer," said Darnley, pouring. "Hair o' the dog. Settle things down. So… what happened to this chest?"

"Tuck an' Ben brought it to the shop," said Speed, "for safe-keepin'."

"You mean Liam Bailey's shop?" asked Darnley, his gaze so intense that his eyes seemed to glitter.

"Aye," said Speed, nodding heavily. "For safe… keepin'." He slumped forward and his head struck the table with a thud.

"Bobby?" Darnley said. He reached out and took a handful of Speed's hair and raised his head up, then let it drop back down onto the table. "Dead to the world," he pronounced.

"The chest!" McEnery said, eagerly. "I remember that old chest!"

"Bloody old sea chest," Darnley said.

"Heavy old thing," said McEnery. "We just dumped it out onto the floor.
Damn!
We should have looked at it more closely! But who would have thought it had a secret compartment?"

" 'Twould be just like a rich man to hide all his money inside a battered old chest, where no one would think to look," said Darnley. "But now we know just where to look, don't we?"

"In Liam Bailey's shop," McEnery said, with an ugly grin.