The Opening Night Murder (24 page)

Pepper grunted and muttered to himself, “No surprise there.”

Louis glanced over at Suzanne and blew out his cheeks
impatiently as he awaited the next question without seeming to care much what Pepper thought about anything.

The constable said, “Where were you standing when the body dropped to the stage?”

“Bloody near under it, sirrah. I jumped back when it landed, afeared for me life.”

“So you stood directly beneath the victim?”

“Yes, sirrah.”

Suzanne, standing next to the bloodstain, looked up and again shaded her eyes from the nearly noon sun overhead. Directly above was the stage right gallery, which had been unused last night. The musicians had occupied the stage left gallery.

“Where were you looking when it landed? Did you see it fall?”

“As I’ve said, I never seen the sod until it made a big, bloody noise at me feet. I was looking at Matthew, who was speechifying as Henry.” He gestured vaguely upstage, where Matthew once again watched from one of the doors. “
Once more unto the breach
, and all that.”

One of the other men spoke up. “No, it was later.
Well have we done, thrice valiant
—”

“That far along?” said Louis. “Are you certain?”

“At least. Maybe later, even.”

“Or perhaps
I was not angry since I came to France until this instant
?” He called back to Matthew at the upstage doors. “Oh, Matthew! What line was it—”

“Never mind!” Pepper shouted. “The dialogue is not important!” He again addressed Louis. “And your crossbow was pointed where?”

“I expect I had it pointed at the stage, sirrah. I believe we
all did.” He gestured to the other four, and each of them nodded in the affirmative, except for the boy. Christian looked up at Louis, as if searching his face for the correct answer. Not finding it there, he gave a quick glance to Matthew upstage. Then he glanced at Pepper and gave a slight nod before returning his attention to the stage. He stared hard at it, as if he’d spotted a snake about to strike and didn’t dare take his eyes off it.

Pepper seemed to take the testimony without question and nodded sagely as if he’d known it all along. Suzanne began to feel as if he were wasting their time and wondered whether he was merely filling his. There were a few more questions, none of them addressed to the boy, then Pepper announced he was finished with his interviews and dismissed the five actors.

Suzanne said, “I suppose you’ll want to find and question the mummers next.”

“Mummers? Whatever for?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but for a moment was quite stunned. “Why…on the face of it, one might wonder why they departed so hastily. Thinking a mite deeper, one might wonder whether they had seen anything or if one or more of them might have a conflict with the deceased. As I see it, asking questions is always worth the effort.”

Pepper’s face reddened, his eyes narrowed, and his chest puffed out, looking like an offended rooster. “I’ll thank you to not presume to tell me my job, mistress. I’ve been constable here for a number of years and know quite well how to accomplish it.”

“I was only—”

“As I said, do not tell me my job. Now, good day, I must be on my way.” With that, he trundled off the stage, across
the pit, and out of the theatre without another word to them or to Suzanne.

Suzanne looked at the men, who looked back at her, and she shrugged. “I suppose that’s all he needed from us.”

They all shrugged, and the four men headed toward the backstage. Suzanne looked to the entrance doors, where the constable had just disappeared. That couldn’t have been all there was. Surely Pepper couldn’t believe he would ever find the murderer with the scant information he’d just obtained. Suzanne called after the four. “All of you! Bring me the crossbows you had onstage last night.”

They glanced back at her, nodded, then went to comply. She said to Christian, “Boy, come speak to me.” Christian didn’t move, and he blinked at her as his face paled.

He watched the others return upstage to disappear through the doors to the ’tiring house. Then he glanced at her sideways, unwilling to look her in the eye.

“Your name is Christian, yes?”

The boy nodded.

“Christian, where is the crossbow you had onstage last night?”

“I had none, mistress.” The quaver in his voice betrayed his terror.

“Why are you so afraid?”

“I cannot find the weapon, mistress. I had it in Act III, but for the battle I couldn’t find it to carry it back onto the stage. I went without it. Did some arm waving and shouting as if I still had it. I’m small enough, nobody noticed I wasn’t armed.”

“Someone had taken it?”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Why didn’t you tell the constable this?”

Christian became agitated. “Because I was afraid he’d accuse me of doing the murder myself.”

“He would think it because you
didn’t
have the weapon?”

He thought about that for a moment, realized her point, then said, “It was all irregular and everything. You know how them folks in charge of things always jumps on anything irregular, then they work things around so’s they can make an accusation no matter what actually happened. What if he said I got rid of the thing? What if he said I shot the fellow and then threw away the crossbow like you does a knife when you’ve done a murder?”

“One would think you speak from experience.”

Christian blanched, and Suzanne patted his shoulder.

“Fear not, young man. I only tease you.”

“Yes, mistress. So you see why I fear the constable.”

It was a bizarre sort of logic, but it made sense to anyone who grew up distrusting authority the way she had. And apparently Christian had. She said, “No blood on a crossbow, even when it’s killed someone. You would have had no reason to throw it away.”

He blinked at her, and his cheeks flushed red at his error. He mumbled, “Even still…”

She said, “Well, someone has done away with William, and I don’t know about you but I’m intensely curious as to who it was. Where was the thing when you saw it last?”

Christian pointed toward the ’tiring house. “’Twas in the green room, mistress. I had it leaning against a table leg in order to adjust my costume. My leggings was all a-falling down and I had to pull them back up under my tunic and tie them all proper.”

“You were right there when the crossbow disappeared?”

Christian lowered his gaze again and shook his head just
barely. “No, mistress. I left it there to go into the dressing room.”

“I see. Was there anyone in the green room when you left it there?”

“Of course there was. Otherwise I could have yanked up my drawers all in privacy, and maybe had a good scratch while I was at it without being chastised by Master Horatio. There was nearly everyone who was ready to go on for Act IV, a-waiting for their cues. Every eye in the play, almost. I had to go elsewhere or show them all my bum.”

“Very well, then. You left the crossbow leaning against the table leg. Was the bolt in it?”

Christian nodded.

“Was it cocked?”

Christian shook his head.

“Thank you, Christian. You may go.”

The boy took off running, up the stage and through one of the doors.

Suzanne frowned into the middle distance as he went.

Then she looked up at the gallery from which William had fallen. He’d been directly across the stage from her. If only she’d been looking across instead of down at the stage, she might have seen him and prevented his death. Or at least she might have seen who killed him.

D
AYS
later, before rehearsal Suzanne took Horatio with her for a shopping trip in Cheapside across the river. She wanted to replenish the paper and ink she’d been using so much of lately in her newly found passion for writing, and Horatio was a comfortable companion on such walks, as well as a handy bodyguard for a moderately well-dressed woman out and
about by herself. They stopped in at a shop and she asked for a ream of writing paper and a bottle of the darkest ink available.

As the shopkeeper wrapped her order in brown paper and twine, he noticed Horatio idling by the door. His eyes narrowed, and he said, “I’ve seen you somewhere before, I think.”

Horatio spoke up in his strong stage voice, “I imagine a successful merchant such as yourself might see a great many people in his shop over the course of time.”

“No,” said the shopkeeper, remembering now. “Not here. ’Twas in the theatre. You’re that actor fellow, used to have a troupe that performed about town.”

“I am that fellow, indeed.” Horatio beamed with pleasure at being recognized. “You’ve attended our street performances?”

“I certainly have.”

“You frequent the playhouses, then?”

“As often as I can. I love a good drama. Did you hear of the great excitement over to the Globe, then? A murder, it was.”

Suzanne cut Horatio a sharp glance that he should keep quiet, and Horatio made a slight gesture with his hand to let her know he understood, though his expression never changed. To the shopkeeper he said with just the right measure of regret in his voice at an unfortunate event, “Right. Bad business, that. Poor fellow was shot with a crossbow. Entirely an accident, from what I’ve heard.”

The shopkeeper shook his head. “Ahhh, but it wasn’t. Not by the lights of the constable.”

Suzanne’s attention sharpened, though she never showed it, as she examined a bottle of ink in her hand.

“A friend of Constable Pepper, are you?” said Horatio. “How did you hear of this?”

“A good friend of the constable likes a bit of gossip.”

“Don’t they all?”

“Indeed. I don’t rightly understand nosy folk who can’t mind their own business, but there you are. He comes here often to swap stories. There’s not much worth knowing that doesn’t come through this shop.”

“So tell me all that’s worth knowing about the murder of William Wainwright.”

The shopkeeper leaned forward and lowered his voice, as if he were protecting his secret from others in the shop and this information was strictly between himself and Horatio. “Word is, he’s decided ’twas not an accident, but rather a murder. By all accounts, ’tis believed the woman who lives there done it.”

Suzanne paled, but did not flinch. She took interest in some quills standing in tall glasses on a nearby shelf. Horatio asked the question she could not without giving herself away. “And why does the right honorable constable happen to think that?”

The shopkeeper shrugged. “Not entirely certain, I’m afraid. It appears, though, that she was caught covering up evidence of some sort.”

What evidence?
It was what Suzanne wanted to shout, but she let Horatio say it.

“What evidence?” said Horatio.

Again the merchant shrugged. “They say she hid the fact that she was the victim’s lover. They say it was a triangle, and she killed him out of jealousy.”

Suzanne could barely hold in her astonishment. Calmly she fingered the feathers, while inside she seethed. Her chest rose and fell in even, controlled breaths though her body craved air and wanted to gulp it in panicky gasps.

Horatio questioned further. “Who was the theoretical third party?”

“I couldn’t tell you. Couldn’t even tell you the name of the woman who done it. I just know she lives at the theatre, and that she was the man’s mistress until she left him for it. Left him high and dry, by all accounts. I expect she’s one of those new actresses they’ve got now. The king, it seems, has taken a fancy to seeing women on the stage and is encouraging the practice.” The shopkeeper’s tone was dark with disgust. “Women on the stage; it can only lead to evil and the decay of mankind, I say.”

He finished wrapping the package for Suzanne, offered it to her, and bade her good day. She thanked him as gracefully as she could and gestured to Horatio they should leave. On their way out, the shopkeeper called after him, “Keep a sharp eye out for that woman at the Globe, if you’re in the theatre, my friend. I hear she’s handy with a crossbow.”

Horatio nodded acknowledgment, and they hurried from the shop.

Once outside, Suzanne allowed herself several deep breaths that might have been taken for gasps. “Horatio! Pepper thinks I did it!”

“No, my niece. If he thought that, you’d be arrested already. Pepper is known to be a lazy man. Were there an easy way to make a convincing case against you, and had he any interest in you, he’d have detained you yesterday. What we heard was rumor, nothing more, and most likely corrupted a great deal on its route to you from Pepper.”

“But how did it start? What was said that germinated and blossomed into this?”

“I’ faith, I cannot say. But let us hurry home, and there we might gain some insight as well as a modicum of safety.”

“No, I must go to Daniel. I must go to Whitehall where I will be safe.”

Horatio held her arm against any attempt to see Daniel. “Oh no! Anywhere but Whitehall. Once in, you might never leave except as cargo to Tyburn.”

In a weak attempt at humor, she said with a wry smile, “Not the Tower?”

“Don’t be silly. You could only wish to go to the Tower.”

Suzanne had to grin, though her stomach flopped horribly. She continued as Horatio hustled her through the crowds on the street, urging her toward the bridge and home, “I must alert Daniel of my predicament.”

“Then send him a message. Send that little fellow, Christian, with your plea for help.”

“And if the note is intercepted?”

“Well, after all, you needn’t unburden your heart in the letter. You are clever enough to communicate subtly, without giving yourself away. Simply let him know you require his assistance, and he will come. He cares about you, I can see it.”

Suzanne glanced sharply at him and wondered at the truth of it. Could Daniel have a care for her? If so, he certainly didn’t wear the sentiment on his sleeve. There was no telling whether Daniel would come to her aid if she were accused by the constabulary. She took a deep, settling breath and returned with Horatio to the Globe, hoping her friend was right.

Her message to Daniel, scribbled quickly on the paper she’d just bought, read simply: “Need assistance immediately. Urgent.” She folded the page into an envelope packet, wrote Daniel’s name on the outside, and handed it off to Christian, who ran away with it as if in a race.