The Opening Night Murder (29 page)

This day was cloudy, and so she was able to see into the dim gallery without any trouble. She observed how well she was able to see inside the gallery today, but on the day of the murder the sun would have made deep shadows. Nobody outside it would have been able to see in. Today it was full of people who had paid dearly for the “murder seats,” some of whom leaned over the rail to gaze at the stage below. Some were still there to see the bloodstain, which remained though several attempts had been made to clean it. Now she considered leaving it, at least as long as people were willing to pay extra to see it. Once the novelty wore off, then she would consider replacing the boards.

The play progressed, and she found herself moving her lips along with the lines in French spoken by Katharine. How difficult that had been to memorize, since she spoke so very little French, and now she rattled it off without thinking. She’d thought Katharine a silly girl, and had played her as such, which quite amused her street audience. Today Liza cavorted across the stage in that role, having memorized even
the French with no effort at all. Suzanne envied that perfect memory, and might have hated her if the girl hadn’t also been so free of problems common in performers and therefore a treasure to have in the troupe. She drank, but not to excess, and could stay sober as a minister. She maintained her former clientele, but never brought them to the theatre. She was smart, funny, pretty, and popular with the audience. Suzanne couldn’t help liking her.

Further into the play, when Suzanne had nearly let slip from her mind her fear and had become absorbed in the story, a line leapt out at her.
“Go with my brothers to my lords of England: I and my bosom must debate awhile, and then I would no other company.”

At first she didn’t know why the line struck her. It was King Henry, speaking to Sir Thomas Erpingham, one of his officers. The king wore a cloak borrowed from his subordinate and was about to go incognito amongst the men of his army on the night before the battle of Agincourt. It touched something in the back of Suzanne’s mind, but just then she couldn’t tell what. She looked to her left, at the bench on which had sat Daniel and his Cavalier friends the day of the murder, and the feeling grew stronger. The play went on below as she cast about for a reason that the scene of King Henry incognito should excite her so.

Then she remembered it. In her mind’s eye she saw the man sitting next to Daniel that night, and now she recognized him. It had been Charles. The king, dressed as one of his own Cavaliers, had gone unnoticed among the street rabble and other commoners in that night’s audience. And the third with them had been among those she’d seen in the presence chamber several months before. He had been the one who liked cows.

Her heart leapt, but she didn’t know exactly what her realization could mean. Daniel had said that anonymous others had been involved the night of the murder. Was this what he’d meant? That Charles had been in the audience that night was an enormous thing, but the implications were unknowable. The only sure thing she could be reasonably certain of was that it might be the reason Daniel couldn’t help Piers. But why? Was the king so afraid of anyone learning he’d attended their modest production of a very old play that he would allow Piers to hang for a murder he didn’t commit? Surely that couldn’t be the thing that kept Daniel silent. It made no sense. But many things men did made no sense. Particularly ruling-class men, who in her experience were often barking mad.

For now she tucked the information into the back of her mind to chew on it for a while, then bring it out to look at it some more. The coincidence of William and the king both being in the theatre on the same night seemed more significant than it might ordinarily.

The next morning at breakfast, Suzanne found herself thinking hard about Anne. If not for the fact that Daniel wished to keep the secret of his illegitimate son, he could acknowledge Piers, who then would be Daniel’s heir. Then Pepper wouldn’t have dared arrest him on such flimsy evidence. Piers would be a noble, and his word would mean something. If not for the countess, Piers might become the next Earl of Throckmorton rather than a dead convict dangling at the end of a rope.

The injustice of Pepper’s actions and Piers’s circumstance shocked her, and would have shocked her even had Piers not been her son. It simply was not right that any man’s life should end this way. Anger hardened her heart, and she stopped caring about what Daniel needed or wanted. It was time to stand
up for herself. It was time to have it all thrashed out and the stink aired. She dressed and hired a cab to take her to Pall Mall. There she exited the carriage, marched to the front door, and knocked on it, fully prepared to tell the countess all about Piers and remove Daniel’s reason for not going to the king.

The footman came to the door, and by the disdaining look on his face Suzanne suddenly felt foolish. Like a beggar asking for alms at the front instead of the back. Her gown was the best she had, but it appeared a rag on this magnificent property. It made her know she was a retired tart, hopelessly worn, aged and…“handsome.” It was a struggle to hold up her chin and boldly request a visit with the countess, but she pressed on with her mission.

The footman said, “I’ll see if she is in.” His tone told her the countess was in but would probably not want to visit with an uninvited commoner. He shut the door and left her waiting outside, an affront even to one of Suzanne’s status. Anger once more burned her cheeks, and her resolve to reveal Daniel’s secret to his wife returned. Whatever this might or might not accomplish for Piers, she was going to take away Daniel’s easy excuse for his behavior and perhaps know the real reason.

The minutes felt like hours, but in reality it wasn’t very long before the footman came to the door once more to invite her in. He escorted her through an entry from which a stairway rose, to a small back room where Anne Stockton sat with a book in her hand. She appeared comfortable, wearing an unadorned robe of dark brown silk, and matching silk slippers. The morning was yet early, and it appeared her habit was to relax with a book before dressing for the day. Suzanne didn’t know whether to be offended that Anne hadn’t dressed to receive her, or flattered she’d received her at all during this private time of her day. Anne did not rise to greet her, but set
the book aside and folded her hands in her lap. Neither did she invite Suzanne to sit, but that was not expected.

“Good morning, Suzanne. You look well today.”

Suzanne curtsied, in deference to Anne’s rank. She glanced at a nearby chair, but soldiered on while standing like a servant. “Good morning, my lady, and thank you. You are radiant today, I must say.”

Anne was. So early in the day, and so obviously not prepared for visitors, she nevertheless shone with pleasant good cheer. Her dimples enhanced a slight smile, and her bright eyes evinced a genuine interest in whatever Suzanne might need or want from her. She said, “How may I help you this fine day? I hope nothing is the matter.”

Suzanne was momentarily at a loss to know how to approach her subject, whether to circle it carefully to avoid misunderstanding, or to get straight to the point and have the upper hand as in an ambush. Finally she said, “I know your husband, Daniel.”

A puzzled light came into Anne’s eyes, but no anger. No distrust. Only curiosity. “Do you? Well, it’s a small world, then, isn’t it?”

It was, and to Suzanne it was shrinking fast. Closing in. Daniel was going to be apoplectic when he heard she’d been here. “Yes, it is. Obviously I knew who you were when we met in the shop the other day, and I should have mentioned it then. It was thoughtless of me not to; I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Anne waved away her concern. “It’s nothing. In fact, I can’t imagine that is why you’ve come here today.”

Suzanne opened her mouth to say the thing, but was interrupted by a man’s voice from the doorway.

“Where in bloody hell are my gloves, Anne?”

The countess turned her attention to someone behind
Suzanne, who turned around to see. “I’m afraid I’ve not seen them, James.”

“It’s that slut of a maid you’ve got upstairs. I’ll lay odds she’s stolen them.” James something or other, Duke of someplace. Suzanne couldn’t remember his surname or title, but knew he was Anne’s brother. He looked a bit like her, but younger. Slender and handsome, as blond as she, with a full, self-indulgent mouth and an ungenerous cast to his eye. Suzanne knew his lands were on the outskirts of London, and guessed he was staying with his sister and brother-in-law as a guest today.

Anne’s reaction to her brother’s insult was mild. “I can’t imagine what Floria might want with your enormous black gloves.”

“Why, to sell them, of course. Those people are all thieves; you can’t trust a one of them.”

The brightness of Anne’s eyes waned some, and she said, “If you say so, James.”

“I think you should fire her.”

“I’ll take it under advisement. Meanwhile, why don’t you ask her where they are? Perhaps she put them somewhere they might be safe after finding them lying about on the floor. I see them there more often than I see them on your hands.”

He laughed. “Somewhere safe, all right. Safe in her quarters.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

“Very well. I’ll ask.” He then left the room and Anne and Suzanne to their conversation.

Anne seemed to deflate as soon as he was gone. For a moment she stared at the middle distance, looking at nothing. Her shoulders slumped, and Suzanne could see pain in her eyes.

“Are you all right, my lady?”

Anne nodded, then looked over at Suzanne. “Do you have brothers or sisters?”

Suzanne nodded. “Both. Older and younger. There are five of us, but I haven’t seen my family in a great many years.”

“Do you miss them?”

That was difficult to answer, and in the end Suzanne had to shake her head. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Then you know how difficult it can be. Having close family ties is a two-edged sword. They can be a magnificent support, but the more one depends on them the more vulnerable one becomes to hurt. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“It’s quite all right, my lady.” Suzanne gave a slight dip of a curtsey, more as emphasis than protocol.

“I hope you’ll keep it to yourself. It would mean a great deal to me to not have it bandied about that my upstairs maid is thought a thief. Particularly since she isn’t, and doesn’t deserve to be so ill-treated.”

“Of course, my lady.”

“Thank you.” She now focused on Suzanne’s face. “Now, you were saying about my husband?”

“Well, my lady, as I was saying, I know him and have known him for many years.” Here Suzanne faltered as she realized that what she was about to say would be devastating to the woman before her. She didn’t know Anne well, but the little she’d seen in these two encounters gave no indication that she was the hateful, vindictive harridan Daniel had painted her to be.

“Indeed,” said Anne. Still nothing but curiosity, encouraging Suzanne to proceed.

“Yes. In fact, I knew him before he left with the Cavaliers.” The revelation she’d come to make danced on the tip of her
tongue. The words to tell Anne her husband had a grown son were right there for the saying. She opened her mouth, then found she had no voice for it. She couldn’t utter the thing that would be so hurtful to someone she didn’t know, who didn’t deserve the heartache. She closed her mouth, at a loss for something to say.

Anne said, “That’s quite a long time ago. You’ve known him for twenty years?”

Suzanne nodded.

Now a slight edge came to Anne’s voice as she struggled to cobble some sense out of what Suzanne was getting at. “And what is it I can help you with today?”

Besides that Anne didn’t deserve to be hurt, there was also that telling her Daniel had a third child, here in London, would not solve Piers’s problem. It certainly would not move Daniel to go to the king to help Piers; he would only deny the relationship, then never speak to her or Piers again. The only thing Suzanne had hope of accomplishing today was revenge. It would hurt Daniel, who deserved it, but it would also hurt his wife, who did not. At the heart of it, she would be wrong to tell Daniel’s secret.

Finally Suzanne found words she could say. “I’m not here for help, my lady. Your husband did me a good turn those many years ago, and I wish to return the favor.”

A blink of pleased surprise, and Anne’s face lit up with a smile.

Suzanne took a deep breath, her mind scrambling for something likely to tell her. She said, “My son has a theatre in Southwark he’s renovated. He’s installed an excellent theatre troupe to perform there.”

Anne nodded. “The Globe. ’Tis a wondrous thing your son
has done; so much wonderful English tradition is there and he’s preserved it. You should be proud.”

Suzanne’s heart lifted. “Yes, I am. And so, I would like to invite your husband and yourself to come see the plays at any time, without charge. Come early or send a messenger, and we can reserve a stage gallery for your exclusive use.”

The countess’s face lit up with a sunny smile. “How very lovely! I adore the theatre! What a thoughtful offer! I thank you for the invitation.” She held out her hand for Suzanne to take it. “Daniel and I will be pleased to take you up on this, and soon. What play are you performing this week?”

“Shakespeare’s
The Winter’s Tale,
my lady.”

“Not his best, but I’m certain your troupe will put a shine on it. What a joy! Well, then, I expect we’ll be seeing you before very long.”

“I look forward to it, my lady. And now I must take my leave, for there is always much to do at the theatre. Good day.” Not that she expected to be invited to stay for breakfast, but she wished to be on her way and away from Daniel’s home.

“Very well, Suzanne. It was lovely to see you this morning. Have a pleasant ride home, and I look forward to seeing
The Winter’s Tale
. My man will see you out.” She called for her footman, who appeared too quickly not to have been listening.

Suzanne curtsied once more, then followed the footman in silence to the exit. She hurried to the waiting cab and settled into the seat, and as the carriage lurched forward she burst into tears. Piers would certainly be convicted, and there was nothing she could do about it.