The Opening Night Murder (20 page)

As she watched William struggle fruitlessly to free himself, Suzanne said, “He’s nobody. Nobody at all.” Her anger made her want to spit at him, but she refrained as she struggled for
control of her rage. “Take him to the street and leave him there.” Her tone was angry enough to keep Horatio from asking further questions, and the actors complied with her wishes.

On her way back to the dressing table, her foot knocked the hilt of William’s dagger, lying on the floor, and it went spinning a few feet. She bent to pick it up and turned it in her hand to examine it. The thing was small and plain, and not particularly sharp. She set it on her dressing table, where it would not be stepped on.

T
hree weeks after the incident with William, Daniel came to the Globe to see after its progress. One misty morning when the fog was low over the nearby tenements, his carriage arrived at the entrance and everyone attended as he stepped out of it. The crew whitewashing the outside of the building stopped to gawk at the well-appointed blue carriage with its matched black horses. Suzanne saw it from the stage through the front entrance doors and knew well whose it was. The workers’ enormous brushes dripped onto the cobbles and went unheeded. The muralist inside the theatre, painting the pale-blue, puffy-clouded heavens onto the ceiling over the upstage area, continued with his work, engrossed by it and uninterested in the outside world. He was the only one who didn’t take the momentous arrival as an excuse for a break from work.

Suzanne hurried to meet Daniel and intercept whatever he might have to say to anyone. At the moment Piers was high
in the third floor gallery, measuring various areas with a knotted string and calculating the number of new benches they would need. In a wealthier theatre, those galleries would have required folding chairs, but the Globe’s anticipated audience might not be so gentle with expensive, fragile seating, so benches were thought to be the best choice for these galleries. Particularly since benches would increase the Globe’s capacity of about three thousand by nearly a third, and that would make up for the lower admission price. The audience in the pit, of course, would stand as always, and for that they would pay even less than those on benches.

Somehow, the last time she’d seen Daniel slipped from her memory and she found herself happy to see him. It was as if he hadn’t shamed her last they’d met, and his presence here made up for the embarrassment she’d felt then. She dashed through the entrance and came to a staggering halt next to the carriage as Daniel debarked. “Good morrow, my lord,” Suzanne said, cheerful and a bit tongue-in-cheek as she performed an elaborate curtsey to the earl. It was easy enough to act as if their last meeting hadn’t happened, for they were in her territory today. She was the one who would send him away if she chose. He was the earl, but she was the one who lived there.

At the moment she was attired in breeches and tights with a ruffled shirt she’d embroidered with flowers and butterflies to make the outfit just a little less masculine. With no stays tight about her midriff, it was a joy to breathe like a man, and her mood was light. Her hair hung down around her collar, utterly scandalous and only for the premises. Were she to venture outside the theatre she would want to change her clothes and restrain her hair, or be gawked at even in London, where it was becoming the style to never be shocked by anything.
But here in her theatre, where any sort of dress could be passed off as creative and eccentric, she greeted Daniel as she was and expected he would think her more interesting than scandalous.

Daniel grinned, apparently in a good mood also. He graced her with an approving look, and that made her glad. It made her feel interesting. “Good morrow, wench. I’ve come to see what my coin hath wrought.” His glance took in the newly hung entrance doors, which were plain but solidly built and bound in good iron. He seemed to approve of the theatre as well.

“Very good, then. Come this way and I’ll show you what we’ve accomplished.”

He offered her his arm and she accepted it. They stepped through the open doors to the theatre interior, which had changed much since the days when she’d stopped by to admire it. She took him onto the stage, which was now entirely new, sloping just slightly from rear to front and extending into the ground-level, dirt-floor pit, exactly as it had done originally. The new-style stage was not for them. Rumor had it the new royal theatre stage would have a small apron at the front and the bulk of it would lie behind a frame-like arch called a proscenium, an innovation that was all the rage in Paris. The new plays, Suzanne had heard, were made to be seen from only one side, like a living picture with realistic-looking murals at the rear, which, unlike the small set pieces traditional theatre used on occasion, left little to the imagination and limited dramatic flexibility. Scenes were less fluid in the new plays because changing the scene involved changing a great deal of scenery.

However, the Globe’s new stage wasn’t entirely without innovation, for it boasted two trapdoors—one at center and
one downstage—that gave access to the platform from the cellarage below. All else was as before. Steps at each side allowed entrance to the downstage apron. Upstage where the platform met the ’tiring house and its galleries, there were two large doors for entrance and exeunt.

Daniel’s smile faded some. “This is as far as you’ve come on the work?”

Suzanne wasn’t entirely sure what to reply to that. She’d thought the reconstruction was going wonderfully. There had been so much needed to make the place even safe for occupation that making this much progress in the amount of time spent was a miracle to her. “Well, my lord, the workers have been hard at it. You didn’t see what it was when we started. Perhaps you should have, given the large amount of money you’ve invested.” Anyone else would have inspected the place before putting up the money, but Daniel had waved off her offer to see the theatre.

“You know I’ve been terribly busy.”

Right. Terribly busy wandering through the park with Charles. And there was that he didn’t wish anyone to connect him to Piers. Suzanne warned herself to resist thinking that would ever change. This visit today might mean his wife was out of town, and so Daniel thought himself safe. But rather than dwell on that thought, she shook it off and reinforced the smile she presented.

As he looked around at the construction, he spotted Piers in the third floor gallery and a change came over him. Even at this distance, he could recognize the son he’d never met. He said nothing, but went silent and stared, as still as the foggy air. He’d never seen Piers before now. All the business and exchange of money had been in Piers’s name, but Suzanne’s messengers and Daniel’s pages had been the ones to ferry the
papers and negotiations back and forth. At the time she’d thought he was avoiding her, but now she understood why Daniel had done it that way. It wasn’t herself, but Piers he’d avoided. She watched his face for a sign of what he might be thinking.

It was blank. He revealed nothing.

Piers, up in the top seating gallery, gazed down at Daniel, also with a blank stare, eerily like his father. Suzanne raised a hand and gestured he should join them there on the stage.

After a moment’s consideration, Piers set down the papers in his hand, said something to the worker at his side, and headed toward the stairs.

Daniel watched the muralist above the stage while they waited, and appeared fascinated for the moment. It seemed to take Piers forever to descend the stairs. Suzanne and Daniel waited.

When Piers arrived, Suzanne opened her mouth to introduce them, but words failed her. Neither “Daniel, this is my son” nor “Daniel, this is our son” seemed right. Saying “This is Piers” seemed insufficient.

“Good morning, my lord,” Piers said, and executed a token bow that was little more than a nod. “Piers Thornton.”

Daniel turned, his mouth opened to say something witty, but when he saw Piers up close his voice failed him. Suzanne held silent as she observed. She’d once thought Daniel uncaring, callous regarding his only son, but just then she wasn’t so sure. His wife had no children at all, and Daniel admitted to two daughters with French mistresses. As far as she knew, he had no particular affection for any of his three known children, but now as he saw his son for the first time she noticed a spark of interest. Maybe more than just interest; his gaze riveted on Piers’s face.

The young man stood still, almost at attention. Neither did his face reveal his thoughts. Then he slowly bowed fully, and straightened. The silence continued. Finally Daniel said, “Greetings”—he coughed to clear his throat—“Piers.”

Piers seemed a younger version of Daniel except for a wider mouth that resembled his mother’s. The eyes and nose were so much like Daniel’s it nearly gave the impression of a mask made to emulate his father’s face. Daniel’s hair was grayer, of course, and his bones more prominent, as age will do to a man. But particularly as they gazed, one examining the other, it was almost as if each were staring at a magic mirror that showed himself at another age.

Daniel broke the silence. “You appear well.”

“I am, quite, thank you.”

“I’m told you’ve become an enterprising young man.”

“Time will tell.” Piers wasn’t terribly forthcoming with conversation, and a whiteness about his lips betrayed the anger he barely controlled in his curiosity. Suzanne wished he would say something worthwhile. Anything. She wished one or both would say something to end this draw, even if it were only something more honest than witty. But she expected they would not. Not here where everyone could hear and it would all certainly be repeated elsewhere.

“Let us all go have some chocolate!” she said, and loudly she called through the trapdoor to Sheila in the kitchen behind the cellarage that she should begin preparations.

“No, Mother, I think his lordship would prefer to see the theatre. It is, after all, why he’s here.” Piers addressed Daniel. “Is it not?”

They all now knew it wasn’t really, but nevertheless Daniel nodded and said, “Certainly. Would you care to show me around? Piers?”

“Excellent idea!” Relieved, Suzanne reached for her son’s arm. “Let us—”

“But, Mother, you said you wanted chocolate. I think you should have Sheila make you some. And perhaps some dinner.” He glanced up at the sun overhead. “’Tis nearly noon. You know how you get if you don’t eat on time. Go have some chocolate, and some meat as well, and allow me to show the earl the fruits of his investment.”

Suzanne looked from Piers to Daniel, then to Piers again. Should she let them alone together? She had no idea what to expect from either of them, except that she knew Piers was likely to say anything in his youth and his anger. Daniel, knowing nothing about his son, might not know where not to tread in conversation with him.

But she had no choice in the matter. Piers was a man now and wouldn’t be told how to feel about anything. She stepped away, and curtsied to Daniel. There was nothing for it but to trust her son to take a diplomatic approach with his father, no matter what resentment there might be. He was intelligent, and in spite of his youth and inexperience, he stood a good chance of not endangering his first business relationship.

“Go, Mother,” he said softly. “Sheila must be waiting for you. She surely heard you through the trapdoor.” He pointed with his chin toward the stage.

“Very well, Piers.” She turned to Daniel and dropped another quick curtsey. “Daniel, enjoy the tour.” With that, she gave an airy, carefree wave and retired.

But she went only far enough to let them think she’d retreated to her rooms. As soon as she was inside the ’tiring house, she turned back to peek at Daniel and Piers through the upstage right door. The men spoke for a moment, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying. Piers gestured broadly,
indicating the three tiers of galleries all around them. Then he pointed upward to where the muralist was on his back on a scaffold, painting clouds on the ceiling and focused on his work as if he were Michelangelo himself in the Sistine Chapel. Then the two headed upstage toward the backstage doors and Suzanne, who caught a glimpse of their faces before she ducked farther away into the ’tiring house. It was hard to tell what each was thinking, but in that moment she saw them both thin-lipped and with furrowed brow. Not the family feeling she’d hoped for.

In the darkness she lurked, watching from behind some costumes hanging from a rod attached to a rafter by ropes. Bits of disturbed feathers drifted down past her nose as Piers took a candle from a candelabra and the two men proceeded.

“Here are the ’tiring rooms, where the actors will prepare for their roles and wait for their time onstage. See over here…” Piers directed Daniel into a passage, where Suzanne could no longer hear what was said. Daniel appeared absorbed in the tour, and she took heart from that, but Piers’s face was harder than she’d ever seen it. She followed them, hoping to hear more gentle voices from them.

Piers showed his father the chamber where more costumes hung from rods suspended in rows. There weren’t a great many pieces in their wardrobe, and most belonged to Horatio. The troupe still needed a number of armor bits to costume the battle of Agincourt in their opening play. And weapons. The knights of Henry V would need pikes, crossbows, and swords. The wardrobe and properties seemed scant.