The Scottish Play Murder (7 page)

A thrill rose in her. The sound of voices in the anteroom told her Pepper’s drinking companions had arrived, but suddenly she didn’t want to leave. Instead she drew a chair nearer to the desk and sat in it. She leaned forward and said in an intense whisper, “Promise me, then, Pepper, that when I find the murderer you’ll arrest him.”

“Only if I can be assured of a conviction. The magistrate hates to bring people to trial and then have the culprit go free.”

“I would never present a proof that wasn’t sound.”

“Done.” He held out a hand for her to shake on the agreement, then waved her off. “Go now. I have other business to attend to.”

Suzanne complied, and her mind leapt to what questions she would ask and of whom. She barely noticed the two men she passed on the way out of Pepper’s office.

S
uzanne went directly to the theatre, seeking Arturo to interrogate him again, this time more directly and with greater purpose. She needed to know more about the altercation between Ramsay and the Spaniard. It was so unlucky Arturo hadn’t been there the night of the murder, for he would surely have been able to tell her the name of the culprit, without room for doubt. As it was, she was reluctant to jump to the same conclusion Arturo had, that Ramsay had killed the pirate just because he’d threatened to.

However, she never found him. Instead, on arrival she was accosted by Piers and Daniel in the green room. Having glanced around the room for Arturo, when she turned to make her way out she found they’d followed her in. “Mother,” said Piers, “we need a word with you, please.”

Daniel stood behind Piers, and nodded. She said, “Daniel. I didn’t see your carriage out front.”

“That would be because it isn’t out front. My driver expects to return when tonight’s performance starts at three o’clock. Last time I was here it took some damage from boys throwing rocks. Far safer to have my driver remove it than to allow the neighborhood boys to have at it as they please.”

And far safer than letting his carriage be seen in front of Suzanne’s home too often or for too long.

Odd to see father and son in the same room, and even more strange that they were plainly in agreement over something. More often than not they were at odds, sniping at each other or complaining to her about each other. But today Suzanne found herself facing a unified front, made even more unified by the close resemblance between the two. Like bookends, one merely grayer than the other. She replied, “Of course, Piers. What seems to be the matter?”

“It’s that Ramsay fellow.”

“Yes, I understand you dislike him.”

“Nobody likes him.”

“I doubt that, but you think he’s a murderer.”

Piers blinked, and only then did Suzanne remember that the only complaint he had against Ramsay was that the Scot appeared a “weasel.” Even Daniel only suspected Ramsay of swindling jewels from Scottish nobility. Until now they hadn’t known Arturo thought he’d killed the Spanish pirate. “A murderer, you say?”

“Arturo thinks so. Ramsay had a fight with the Spanish pirate, and threatened his life the night before the man was killed.”

Daniel stepped forward, asserting his authority as earl and a former King’s Cavalier. “Suzanne, you must send him away at the very least. Or have him arrested. Yes, I believe arresting him would be far better. Then you would have the gratitude of Scottish nobility.”

Suzanne peered at him, wondering whether he really thought this stern approach would move her to obey. They’d been apart for many years, but surely he knew her better than that. Bitter sarcasm rose. “Well, that should be worth quite a lot to a former tart living in Southwark, particularly since my only connection to any sort of nobility wishes to deny that connection, and God forbid anyone should ever notice the resemblance between you and Piers.”

Daniel and Piers shot each other glances as if they’d both just realized they looked like each other, then returned their attention to her.

Suzanne seated herself in a chair next to a table laden with pots of paint, scatterings of crayons and pins, and boxes of powder. Some ostrich and peacock feathers lay about, wafting in the air with her movement. “In any case, how would I arrest him?” she said. “Unlike yourself I have very little authority or influence to detain anyone, particularly a man. And most particularly a man who is larger than myself. I would need support in that. Ordering people about has never been a terribly successful tactic for me.”

“Very well, then, I’ll have him arrested.”

“You certainly will not, Daniel. You will never mind Ramsay, and keep away from him until I tell Pepper I want him arrested. Which may not happen, because in fact I hope to prove him innocent of the crime. The troupe needs him for
Mac . . .
the Scottish play.” She glanced at the ceiling, for a moment unsure whether it might collapse at her utterance, then shook the thought away. She wagged a finger at Daniel to drive home her point. “I will not tolerate any talk of that Gordon fellow from the Highlands, and none about that Spanish pirate.” She was deeply sorry she’d mentioned Arturo’s theory to Daniel and Piers.

“Very well, Suzanne,” said Daniel. “And what was that nonsense that you don’t order people about?”

She made an exasperated noise, then waved them both off as if shooing a sheep. “Go. Leave me in peace.” They turned to leave, and she said, “Has either of you seen Arturo?”

Piers gestured in the general direction of the stage. “I’m sure he’s in rehearsal somewhere about the place. He’s rarely absent.” He and Daniel left, muttering to each other about keeping an eye on Ramsay themselves if she wouldn’t.

It was nearly time to eat, and Suzanne could smell her dinner cooking downstairs. The savory smells made her mouth water, and she headed in that direction. She went down the spiral stairs to her quarters, to find Ramsay waiting for her outside the door. A shiver of alarm skittered through her, and she glanced up the stairs to know whether he could have overheard the conversation in the green room. Perhaps not, but she regarded Ramsay’s expression by the candlelight in the windowless room and was only satisfied when she saw no hint of emotion other than good cheer. “Good day, Diarmid,” she said. “What brings you here?”

“Naught but your beauty,
mo banacharaid
.”

“That’s Gaelic, yes? What does it mean?”

“My dear female friend. Or slightly better than friend, as in a cousin.”

She laughed, and it was a laugh that loosened the habitual tension in her heart. He was joking, but she was willing to play along because it amused her. “Rather like the way Horatio calls me ‘niece,’ though I’m not.”

“Rather,” said Ramsay.

“Come,” she said. “Have dinner with me. It appears my usual company has forsaken me.”

“’Tis my pleasure to amuse the woman who has taken me in and given me gainful employment.” He followed her into the apartment of rooms tucked into the basement of the ’tiring house, directly behind the stage. One side of each room had a window that opened onto the cellarage below the slanted stage, and on the other side near the ceiling were slightly larger windows paned in thick, diamond-shaped glass, which looked out over the street behind the theatre. An iron fence outside stood a few feet from those windows, in order to protect them from damage by the residents of Southwark. Though the glass was heavily rippled, colored shapes of the legs and skirts of passersby could be discerned moving past them, and there was much light on this sunny day. The sitting room, with its white walls and pale stone floor, was nearly as bright as the stage outside. No fire burned in the hearth today, and though there was a bit of a nip in the air the room was comfortable enough.

“Sheila, please bring dinner,” Suzanne called to the back. “I’ve one guest today; we’ll eat at this table.” More often than not, when Daniel was present for a meal they ate there; Sheila would have been surprised to have been asked to set any other table. Then to Ramsay, Suzanne said, “Please, have a seat.” She gestured to Daniel’s customary chair.

Ramsay sat, and she joined him. Dinner was ham left from the night before, warmed in a pan with gravy, served with baked garlic, and fresh bread baked that morning. Suzanne welcomed the substantial repast, for she was hungry from her trip to the constable’s office. Breakfast had been light, only a slice of buttered bread from yesterday and a cup of ale, and that had been hours ago.

Ramsay’s appetite was also good, and he tucked away a hefty portion of the ham and bread. As he ate, he spoke to her in a tone of utmost sincerity. Strange, for his topic seemed to her a tall tale and perhaps the product of wishful thinking.

“I thank you for inviting me to share your dinner today.”

“I enjoy the company. I’ve never been able to understand how anyone could eat alone.”

“Sure, a bit of conversation helps the digestion, I think. Particularly if the company is as enjoyable as yourself.”

“You flatter me.”

“Not at all. I mean it with all my heart. Since I first had sight of you, I’ve hoped to enjoy your company as often as you might have time for me. For I notice you’re a busy woman, accomplishing great things all on your own.”

Another woman might have taken the compliment as sarcastic criticism, but to Suzanne it was acknowledgment of the advantages she’d given to Piers and the work she’d put into the theatre. She had reason to believe he didn’t mean it as criticism. She had no cause for modesty, but her childhood training forced her to say, “I only do those things because nobody else will.”

“Don’t take me mistakenly,
mo banacharaid
.” Ramsay held up his palms to ward off a misunderstanding. “Where I come from, a strong woman is to be admired. My mother is the most stubborn and straightforward creature who ever lived, and her mother before her nearly so. I proudly come from a long line of women who could charge into battle had they a mind or need to, right beside the men who sired their children who were my ancestors. ’Tis that very strength that draws me to you.”

“You’re drawn to me? Seriously? And if I were to tell you I have no need of suitors?” Now she was skeptical. She’d heard that very statement too many times from clients who would flatter her into not charging them. In all her years as a whore, the ploy had never worked on her.

“Then I would press my case. I would tell you in return that every woman needs a suitor, and sometimes even when already spoken for.” He put a finger to his mouth to suck grease from it, a gesture that for a moment had Suzanne’s entire attention. Then she blinked herself back into the conversation. There was just something about Ramsay that naturally drew one’s attention.

Suzanne opened her mouth to protest that she was neither married nor engaged, and he held up another palm to keep her from it. “Aye,” he said. “I ken you have no man at present. But I tell you in all seriousness that my heart is yours for the taking and I would be pleased to pursue you were you to allow it.”

Suzanne had taken yesterday’s remarks about wanting her as nothing more than idle banter, but now he seemed serious, even sincere, and that made her more than a little uncomfortable, for she’d once been so very wrong about a man’s sincerity and had never made that mistake since. She regarded him, her head unconsciously tilting to the side, and considered her reply.

He said, “I willnae take no for an answer.”

“All that stubbornness in your heritage.”

“Aye. ’Tis in my blood.”

It would have been lovely to succumb to his charm, to believe that after a lifetime of fending for herself, here was a man who would buffer her from the world. But she was far too old and battered both emotionally and physically to think there existed a mortal, imperfect savior. She chose to sidestep the entire issue. “You’re a Highlander, by your costume and your speech, but Ramsay is a Lowland name, is it not?”

“The bulk of Ramsays live in the south, for a certainty. But my grandfather raised cattle and came with the herds to Moray one year. There he met my grandmother, who begged him to stay, and he did.”

“Just like that?”

“Her father was wealthy, and my grandfather was not. I cannae say as it must have been a difficult decision. Certainly it was a wise one, for he did well and prospered under the guidance of his father-in-law.”

“And that is why you walk around with a ruby necklace on your person?”

With a pleased smile he reached into the pocket in his doublet and drew out the ruby and gold necklace. “’Tis all I have in the world.” He handed it to her. Seen in its entirety and at leisure, the necklace was not as stunning as she’d thought at first. Her imagination had produced a heavy chain and pendulous settings bearing many large rubies, but in reality the piece turned out to be a small string of smallish red stones set in gold that was finely wrought filigree but not particularly heavy with metal. Worth a fortune, but a much smaller one than she’d at first imagined.

“You could sell it and be comfortable for the rest of your life. You don’t need this engagement with the Players.” She turned it over in her fingers.

“All the more reason for you to trust in my sincerity, wouldn’t you say?”

Suzanne, ever reluctant to trust anyone, wondered whether that was the very reason he’d shown her the necklace. She handed it back and he returned it to his pocket.

Through the high, small window that let air in from beneath the stage came voices of actors returning from their dinner break, and thuds of shoes on the stage boards above. They were Arturo, Big Willie, and Tucker, in character. Since yesterday they’d been in the habit of going about ordinary business using high, witchy voices and moving like crazed, interlinked women. Suzanne had taken it as an actor’s exercise in characterization and improvisation, the better to present a strong character and smooth interaction onstage, but at the moment the words she heard seemed extraordinary.

“Double, double, we’re in trouble,” said one who sounded like First Witch, Arturo. “The future wears us to the nubble.”