The Opening Night Murder (12 page)

Suzanne had to laugh, remembering the times coins were tossed at her feet. Usually copper, but even copper could be a pleasure when you knew the giver was giving freely, in appreciation of a skilled and inspired performance. She said, “What might you think about doing that sort of thing always?”

At first he chuckled, but she said nothing and he realized she was serious. “You mean, to make money?”

“Why not?”

“Will the king allow it?” They both knew any business venture was subject to approval by the crown, and the only people who acted with any freedom were the nobility. Their only chance of obtaining that approval was to have the support of a peer, or else demonstrate they were in a position to provide something that couldn’t be had from anyone else.

She shrugged. “I hear he and the Duke of York are very much involved with theatre as one way of setting themselves apart from Cromwell’s rule. Perhaps they would like to encourage theatre among the rabble as well.”

Piers made a face. “The rabble might not be so willing to pay for admission.”

“They were eager enough to hand over their coppers when we were playing in alleys.”

“A pittance.”

“I don’t recall starving for lack of ready cash.”

“Where will you stage your plays? Cromwell was a tyrant to make the king appear careless, but even Charles won’t care to have unsanctioned plays popping up in the streets. He’ll want to control the stories if he’s any sort of ruler at all. If you’re to have a theatre in which to perform, rather than a temporary stage on the street, you’ll need to pay for it. If your audience is groundlings only, you might be hard put to ask for more money. There is a reason not all the audience is in the pit.”

Suzanne went silent. She hadn’t thought of that, and now she turned over in her mind what to do about it. Money. They would need money to even begin such a venture. A loan from a usurer would be impossible, for she was a woman and her son untried and unconnected. She would need to go to someone she knew, with spare cash and connections, and the only man she might touch for this was Daniel. Slowly, thinking hard, she said, “I’ll talk to your father.”

“No, you will not.”

She looked over at Piers, who wore a red scowl. He was such a puppy, growling and squealing and pretending to be the one in control. “Why not?”

“He hasn’t even asked to meet me. He has snubbed you
these past months, and wasn’t terribly curious about how well you were doing when he did ask. He doesn’t deserve to hear from us.”

Suzanne smiled and laid a hand over Piers’s. He was such a dear, thinking that a visit from her was to be coveted rather than avoided. “On the contrary, my son. He richly deserves a visit from someone asking for money. And that someone knows exactly where his most tender places can be found. I will go to him not with a feather, nor even a bludgeon. But I will carry a needle, long and sharp. I will stick him where he is most sensitive, and he will be ever so pleased to help us.”

Piers thought about that for a moment, then a sly smile crept across his face. He said, “I only wish I could be a cat on your shoulder, Mother.”

That made Suzanne laugh aloud.

S
uzanne wasted no time. No point in sending a letter; that would be too easily ignored. She would need to go to him in person. One enquiry on the street let her know he was currently at court, which was good in that he was in London but bad in that it meant she would need to gain entrance to Whitehall. Not such an easy thing unless one looked the part. Fortunately for Suzanne she was well versed in looking and acting as if she were not herself, and now she readied herself to play a role once again.

Since William’s departure she’d had one new dress made, to be seen in public and not look like the discarded mistress of a Puritan hypocrite. Now she donned it as a knight going to battle. French couture had always been more revealing than English, because of the warmer weather in the south. These days, though, the bare bosoms brought over by the king and his court startled even Suzanne, who had never been afraid of revealing clothing. At her age the breasts had deflated and the
bones had become just a little too prominent. It behooved her to not show too much flesh that might be lined, sunken, and discolored.

Today she wore a loosely gathered golden-brown silk over a bleached white linen shift trimmed in delicate lace. The front she clasped with a brooch that was finely wrought silver and appeared rich though it boasted no jewels. Her shoulders and chest were all bare, revealing her fine collarbones, but her bodice pressed her breasts up and together enough to cover her rather knobby breastbone. A padding of handkerchief to the outside of each helped them to appear more substantive than they were. Her long neck was still smooth, without the horizontal lines so common in women her age, and rose gracefully from ladylike shoulders. She dreaded the vulture neck she knew awaited her in extreme old age as it did every woman, and vaguely hoped she might not live that long.

She viewed herself in the handheld glass and lifted her chin to be sure she wasn’t creating unnecessary wrinkles. She already had more than enough, and didn’t need more. Then she let Sheila help her into pattens and cloak, and ventured into the street.

She contemplated hiring Thomas and Samuel if their chair were about, but thought better of that and walked to the Bank Side to secure a carriage. It would be expensive, but creeping up to the palace gate in a sedan chair would take ever so long, would impress nobody, and would make it that much more difficult to gain entrance. She wished there were a carriage she could borrow that wouldn’t appear hired, but she was of limited means and needed to make do with what was available to her.

Bold and blithe had always been the way for her. To the best of her knowledge no woman ever got what she wanted
by waiting with her hands in her lap for someone to notice she needed it, and she’d learned long ago that if she acted as if she assumed she would have her way, then she often had her way. Nothing bad ever happened for it. Nobody ever died from being told no and sent away. To be sure, she hated being told no, so it was no small thing to her. But she succeeded often enough to make it worth the risk. She approached the palace gate with her heart in her throat and a gracious though bored smile on her face.

Bored, because the worst thing one could do among the fancy folk was to appear overly impressed by them. One must, of course, have proper manners and correct deference according to rank, but going all boggle-eyed and panicky in the presence of a duke or earl pegged one as not just a commoner, but one without the slightest connections or grace. This was her first visit here, and it took a mighty effort not to look around at the street and the traffic through the gate as she descended from her carriage. She must appear to know where she was going even though she had not the faintest idea which way to head. Without so much as a pause to collect her skirts and gain her bearings, she dove straight into character and strode toward the gate as if she knew she was on course. Like a ship at full sail, she breezed past others who were stopped and questioned by guards in armor and carrying pikes.

“Hold!” she heard, but she kept going. Her aim was a small door beyond the gate. Once she was inside the complex arrangement of towers, apartments, and galleries, she could make herself “lost” and end up nearly anywhere she pleased. Then it would be a simple matter to find Daniel, for the king’s personal guard protected the king and never his lesser courtiers. She had no need to test their mettle.

“Hold!”
A guard ran to intercept her and placed himself
and his pike between her and her goal. A small groan of frustration escaped her, and she stamped her foot in a theatrical pique.

“Let me through, guard.” Her tone conveyed that she condescended to speak to him. His instinctive reaction would be to wonder whether he’d misjudged her rank and would be in trouble for stopping her. Though any palace guard worth his pay would fight that instinct, it would still throw him off balance for a moment and that would give her a slight edge she could exploit.

“Who are you, and what business do you have?”

Then, to keep him further off balance, she graced him with a wide smile, for she had been taught at an early age the art of pleasing men, and it had been her vocation for two decades. She was very good at it. “My name is Suzanne, brave soldier, and I can’t imagine you need to ask what my business is.” She gave her bosom a slight shake and hoped the guard wouldn’t notice she was nearly old enough to be his mother.

She needn’t have worried. He never saw her face because his gaze never left the cleavage between her breasts. She drew an enormous sigh in the softest voice she could manage, and her bosom swelled and fell directly beneath his face. For a moment she thought he might fall into it and his nose would be stuck there, and wouldn’t that be a jolly thing?

Nevertheless he had the presence of mind to say, “Where’s your escort? You must have an escort.” The poor fellow’s speech was slurred, as if he’d been drinking, and though he struggled to look at her face he never quite managed it.

She giggled, pretending it was of no consequence that she was out and about alone and breezing into Whitehall Palace without a man to vouch for her. “Oh, you know how he is; he’s fallen down drunk at the public house. He drank a barrelful,
I vow. Too drunk to walk, and too big for me to carry. I knew the king would be in a perfect snit were I to tarry there, so I hired myself a carriage—out of my own pocket, I will add—and here I am, and I can only hope his majesty will make up for my loss. So I really must be on my way, or the king will have someone’s head. Or, I should say, someone else’s head, since he’s got so many perched on the bridge already.” Then with a bright grin of good cheer she waved the guard good-bye and proceeded on her way.

The guard hadn’t the nerve to stop her again, probably assuming the king’s bodyguard would be able to identify a fraud, and once she was through the door she was on her own. Out another door, across a courtyard, and through yet a third door, and she’d surely lost anyone who might have followed her. She paused in an alcove a moment to discard her filthy pattens, gather herself, and button and straighten her cloak.

Now to find Daniel.

Whitehall Palace was an amazing confusion of buildings surrounding several odd-shaped courtyards, sparsely populated for the cold weather. Some were wooden and some stone, some dating back to the time of Henry VIII.

People passing by paid her little attention. Servants in livery ignored her, intent on whatever mission had them hurrying through the palace. Those who obviously were not servants also ignored her, and she could guess why. Though the dress she wore was her very finest clothing, compared to the rich velvet, brocade, soft leather, fine embroidery, and accents of gold, silver, and jewels, her finest dress seemed a rag. Women wearing the latest fashions from Paris strolled past, so involved with themselves and each other they never spared Suzanne a glance. Men might catch their eye on her bosom, but never her face, and that was the end of it. She
wasn’t deemed worthy of flirting. When she realized it, at first she was a little embarrassed, but then she reminded herself that she wanted to be invisible here. She could go where she wished and not be apprehended, so long as nobody noticed her. She looked around to see which direction to make her search for Daniel.

To her left was a jumble of lesser structures and to her right stood an archway that appeared to lead to a large courtyard before a majestic, imposing building that towered over the smaller ones. Her guess was that she would find the king there, but Charles was not her objective. A passing boy in livery caught her attention, and she reached out to grab his jacket and detain him. He was in such a hurry, she nearly pulled him off his feet.

“Boy!” He was perhaps ten or twelve years old, and nearly wriggled from his skin to be out of her grasp and on his way. She dug her fingers into the fabric of his jacket, and her hand followed him whichever direction he took.

“What is it, milady?” He finally stood still, though he leaned away from her to be gone if her grasp should fail for even a second.

“I seek the Earl of Throckmorton. Can you tell me where I might find him?”

“In his apartments, I expect. Or else in the presence chamber with the others at court.” He glanced up at the sun, which had nearly reached its zenith, then added, “This time of day, I’d look to the apartments. The king will still be abed this early, and probably so will a great number of his courtiers who join him in his amusements of an evening.”

Suzanne hadn’t thought of that, but then considered that it might be a good thing to approach Daniel in his bedchamber. Assuming he was alone, though she knew she couldn’t
count on that. “And where would one find the earl’s apartments?”

The boy pointed with his chin toward a stone building in the direction of the river. “That one there, milady. Enter from the north, and ’tis the first door you come to on the right. Knock loud and long, as ’tis my experience his grace likes his privacy and orders his valet to ignore the door.”