The Opening Night Murder (22 page)

“William Wainwright! Give us William Wainwright immediately!” The sergeant was short and muscular, like an English bulldog even to his teeth protruding from an underslung jaw, and his gravelly, commanding voice evidenced years of whiskey and shouting much like what he was doing now.

Suzanne burst from the stairs, hurried forward, and went straight toward the invaders while everyone else fell back. “What is the matter, good man? How may I help you?” She struggled to seem casual, for authority always smelled fear and suspected guilt for it. Just then she would not have butter melt in her mouth, so cool was she.

The sergeant turned to her and on sight faltered in his insistence on seeing William. He blinked at her masculine costume and smooth, confident air, but recovered himself and said, “We seek William Wainwright.”

“What makes you think he’s ever been here?” Of the very few who knew of William’s visit, not one would have spoken of it to the authorities on his life.

“You’re a known associate, Mistress Thornton. I’m charged with searching the premises for him.”

“Whatever for?

“We’ve a warrant for his arrest.”

“Again I ask, whatever for?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Surely the king isn’t seeking vengeance from every Puritan in the realm.”

The sergeant thought about that a moment, looking a bit confused, then went stern again. “I’ve no knowledge of Wainwright’s religious leanings. All I know is that certain authorities wish to question him about some statements made recently.”

“About him, or by him?”

The sergeant considered his reply, then said as if confiding a secret, “’Tis said he’s threatened the king.”

That took Suzanne fully aback. “Threatened? Oh no, it must be a misunderstanding. William is in terror of the crown. He would never utter a word against the king.”

“Nevertheless, the crown wishes to interrogate him. If the charge is proven to be false, he will then be released and no harm.” Except, of course, for whatever damage might be done during interrogation, but that went unsaid by both of them.

“Who made the charge?”

“I surely cannot say, even did I know.” Then he was moved to add, “And I do not.”

“His wife?”

The flicker in the sergeant’s eyes told her she’d guessed right, but he insisted he didn’t know. A lie, of course, and Suzanne had learned to expect nothing else from men in authority.

“He’s wanted for interrogation, then? Pray, don’t tell me Parliament has interest in what William might know about anything. His is as empty a head as any I’ve known. Pick his brain and you’ll surely come away disappointed, whatever you’re after. Pierce his skull and then watch it collapse as the air escapes.”

The witnesses standing about all chuckled. The sergeant
caught himself in a snicker and brought himself up to attention, lest he lose control of the situation. Here on business, and nothing else, and he gave a stern glance to his men. He continued, with as much authority and superiority as he could muster, “If he’s on the premises, you would do well to surrender him. We’ll find him one way or another.”

She held out her palms to either side to show she had nothing to hide and he was welcome to search the theatre. “By all means, sergeant. Be my guest, and best of luck to you. He’s no friend to any of us, and if you find him, you’re welcome to him.” She gestured toward the surrounding galleries and the terrified Globe Players, including in her insouciant wave a few of the curious who had stepped just inside the entrance to gawk. “Have your men search. We’ve nothing to hide. William isn’t here. In fact, we sent him on his way when he did come here. I told him to never show his face again. Were you to arrest him, it would be a blessing to us all.” She looked to the rest of the troupe, who all picked up the cue and nodded and muttered in the affirmative, though most of them had never seen nor heard of William Wainwright before now.

“So you say he was here?”

“Months ago. There was an altercation and he was shown the door. To the best of my knowledge, he hasn’t returned. But if he ever does, sergeant, I’ll be ever so happy to alert you so you might come get him. I assure you we’ve had quite enough of him and wish to see him put where he will be less of an annoyance to us and to the rest of humanity.”

Her attitude seemed unexpected by the sergeant, who likely was more accustomed to reluctance in this neighborhood than cheerful cooperation. His men remained still, one holding the small iron battering ram and the rest with their arquebuses and pikes at ready. The sergeant looked from Suzanne
to Horatio, then he scanned the rest of the house, turning a small circle to see the galleries. He ordered his men, “Search the premises.”

They obeyed. To Suzanne the sergeant said quite reasonably, “If you’re telling the truth and we find no evidence of him, we will leave you in peace.”

Suzanne nodded, knowing that the best one could ever hope for from any army was that they would go away. She took a seat on a nearby bench to wait. There were only four men searching the huge theatre; this would take some time.

Horatio said, “May we continue our rehearsal?”

The sergeant replied, “No. Your people will keep still while my men look around.”

Horatio looked as if he wanted to say something angry, but at a glance from Suzanne swallowed whatever it was and it soured him even more. He eyed the soldiers as they disappeared into the ’tiring house.

Suzanne crossed her arms and continued to appear uncaring, but alarm returned and her stomach flopped over when she remembered William’s dagger lying on her dressing table. A shiver took her as her skin went cold. God help them all if for any reason that dagger were recognized by any of the soldiers.

S
uzanne needn’t have worried. The searching soldiers took no notice of the dagger, which lay in plain sight. Daggers were common enough, and there was nothing noteworthy about this one. As nondescript as it was, if any of them saw it, they most likely passed it off as Suzanne’s personal knife, nothing more than an eating utensil. There was nothing special about it to identify it as William’s, and apparently the crime for which the crown wanted him did not involve a weapon.

However, much attention was given to any papers found on the premises, and the soldiers whiled away an hour or so paging through Piers’s accounting ledgers and some scribbled notes that were a germ of a play Suzanne fantasized she might write someday. The story was a purposefully innocuous comedy, and so elicited nothing more than a chuckle from the sergeant, who was apparently the only literate soldier of the group. In the end, none of it sparked concern, and it was all
left scattered across a table in the corner of Suzanne’s bedchamber.

Once they’d gone, Suzanne was relieved to have the soldiers leave them alone, but was not happy to have been noticed in the first place. It left an uneasiness in her gut that felt a little like rumblings caused by bad food. Early on in life she’d learned that in this world undue attention from the authorities often brought more attention, whether warranted or not, and nobody in the kingdom was eager for authority to take notice of them. Suzanne prayed William would stay away forever, and hoped whatever trouble he’d gotten himself into would cause him to leave the country. If he showed himself again in her theatre, she thought she might like to knife him herself. That dagger could come in handy after all.

The next afternoon the play opened and William slipped from everyone’s mind. The audience crowded into the theatre to fill up benches, until even the pit was packed with milling bodies. The luxury of sitting for the price the duke’s new theatre charged for standing drew everyone in walking distance, and the neighborhood was overrun with people who loved a good play.

If the excitement among the audience was palpable, the mood in the ’tiring house was near hysteria. Joking and stifled laughter fed the energy until the littlest of the boys ran from the green room to vomit in a fire bucket. Laughter followed him and shamed him, though many had done the same thing once or twice in their careers and nobody was entirely immune to excitement. For most of them the thrill was what they lived for. The boy returned to the green room with a red face, patted on the shoulders by his elders.

In her quarters, Suzanne readied herself to watch the play, eager to see her new theatre through the eyes of its audience.
Through the cellarage window in the kitchen she could hear the voices of gathering spectators grow from scattered conversations to a low collective murmur to a roar of thousands trying to be heard amongst themselves. As she painted her lips she toyed with the idea of lurking in the pit to listen in on conversations, but decided she would enjoy the afternoon more if she went upstairs to sit with the musicians in a gallery over the stage. There she would be able to chat with Big Willie, Warren, and that Scottish fellow, and they would be as fine an entertainment as the play itself. She hurried with her beauty marks, eager to be finished and take her place in the audience.

The door from the stairwell opened, and she heard someone enter. She turned as Piers made his way through her rooms to her bedchamber. Though the day was cheerful and sunny, Piers’s visage was not so. He glowered as he planked himself down on the foot of her bed, wrapped an arm around its post, and leaned his face against it. He was in a sulking mood, and Suzanne steeled herself for a bit of childish pique. For the most part Piers behaved as an adult, fully his eighteen years, but sometimes he slipped back into childhood, requiring to be nudged toward maturity again.

He said, “I would have thought Daniel might have been here tonight.”

“I, on the other hand, would not have thought it.” She examined her hair in the small hand mirror she’d wheedled out of William several years before. “And what makes you think he’s not here?”

“I haven’t seen him.”

“You mean he hasn’t come backstage.”

“Surely you would agree that he should present himself on opening night. I think it’s an insult to you that he hasn’t.”

“You mean he should have come backstage to wish me well?”

“Precisely. He should be here with gifts. Flowers and jewelry. But I see naught. He’s insulted you.”

“And by extension, he’s insulted you.”

Piers straightened his posture and shrugged. “That isn’t the point.”

“Oh, but it is. He’s your father, and he should treat you better than he does.”

“I have no father.”

“You do, and I think he cares more for you than you think.”

“He does not. He cares only about himself and his money. If he had any thought for us—for you, he would be here right now, wishing you luck in your venture.”

“It’s his venture as well, so wishing me luck would be a bit self-serving, don’t you think?”

He thought that over for a moment, then reiterated, “He should be here.” Piers said that as if it settled the entire question.

“Well,” Suzanne said as she waved dry the glue on her star-shaped beauty marks, “We must remember that his help has enabled us to eat every day, which wouldn’t be the case now that William has deserted us. If you wish to be angry with someone, William is a marvelous candidate. You should feel free on that account.”

Piers grunted, unhappy with the entire situation. “William. If he returns, I think I should kill him.”

“Don’t say that. Never say that, even about William. He is mad, and can’t be held responsible for his delusions. You should pity him, not hate him.”

“But he’s dangerous. Someone should gut him, I think.” Piers thought about it a moment, then muttered half to
himself, “Slit his throat.” He thought some more. “Hang and quarter—”

“That will do, young man. Now go make certain the cash box is well attended by someone more trustworthy than the mummers’ troupe. It’s like setting a weasel to guard the hens’ nests.” Piers hesitated, so she waved him on. “Go. Before someone absconds with the proceeds and we’ve nothing to show Daniel for our first night.”

Piers reluctantly rose from the bed and scuffed his boots in insolence all the way out the door. Suzanne made one more check of her coif, then set the mirror on her dressing table and left her quarters.

As the time drew close, Suzanne climbed the steps at the rear of the ’tiring house to watch the performance from the gallery directly above the stage, where the musicians sat. As she found a stool and settled in at the front, Big Willie, Warren, and the Scot played an old-fashioned tune that might have been played in this theatre during Elizabethan times. Suzanne’s fancy toyed with the thought that Shakespeare himself might have listened to this very tune from this very gallery half a century ago. She looked around, and the idea made her smile. It was a fine, sunny day, and especially warm even for this time of year. Afternoon light bathed the stage, and there was no fear of a sudden rain from the pale-blue sky overhead.

In the third tier gallery over the theatre entrance directly across from the stage, she spotted several rather well-dressed men making their way to a vacant bench, and she thought one of them resembled Daniel. She hoped it was him. She would have liked to tell Piers his father had come after all. It was hard to say whether it was him, and the others with him—one very tall and one very short—she didn’t recognize at all. They
might have been former Cavaliers and were probably older men, though they dressed rather plainly and the tall one wore no wig. Beneath the plain green cloak were brown doublet and white collar. On the other hand, the wigless one wore an uncommonly large feather in his hat, more appropriate for a parade than for theatre in Southwark.