Much Ado About Murder (16 page)

"Well, I am relieved to hear you are not angry with me," Smythe told her. "And you have repaid my kindness with kindness of your own. But I still cannot help but wonder… What in the world have you to do with the likes of Moll Cutpurse?"

Molly glanced down at the floor. " 'Tis a private matter, Tuck, and I wish you would not ask me."

"Well, I know 'tis no concern of mine, but—"

"Just so, Tuck. 'Tis no concern of yours. And I would be grateful if you did not press me on the matter."

"But you do know who she is, Molly?"

"I know," she replied. "And I know you ask from motives that are good and well intended. But I promise you that I am in no danger, Tuck. I have nothing to fear from Moll Cutpurse. Truly. What we have between us is a private matter, as I said. And I do not wish to discuss it further. As you are my friend, I ask your word that you shall not pursue it or discuss it with any of the others."

"Molly, I merely-"

"Your
word,
Tuck."

He sighed. "Very well. You have my word."

She smiled. "Thank you. And now you should try and get some sleep. Granny Meg said that you would need your rest to heal. And for that matter, I should get some sleep, myself. Master Stackpole has been kind enough to let me have a bed for the night. If you feel poorly and need anything tonight, call out. I am a light sleeper and shall hear." She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. "You can barely keep your eyes open. Go to sleep now. I shall look in on you tomorrow."

It was true. It was all that he could do to keep his eyes open. His head ached terribly, he felt dizzy and queasy, but most of all, he felt so tired that all he wanted to do was close his eyes and sleep. It seemed like a most excellent suggestion. He could not recall for certain later if he even said good night to her. He could not even recall seeing her leave. He seemed to recall hearing the door to his room close softly and that was the last thing he remembered. He slept a long, deep, and dreamless sleep. In fact, he slept all through the next day and the next night. And when he finally awoke, it was to discover that while he had slept, Master Leonardo had been murdered.

Chapter 7

TUCK FOUND OUT WHAT HAD happened over breakfast downstairs in the tavern. Or at least, once he got past all the speculation, he found out as much as anybody knew, which was not a very great deal. When he came down in the morning, after sleeping fitfully through most of an entire day, everyone solicitously asked him how he felt. He replied with gratitude that he still hurt in at least a dozen places, yet in the main, he was very much improved. But despite their genuine concern about his welfare, it was nevertheless obvious that what had happened to him was no longer the primary topic of interest. Everyone seemed anxious to move on quickly past the question of how he felt in order to discuss the news of Master Leonardo's murder.

It did not take Smythe very long to piece together the details. From the general conversation in the tavern, he learned that sometime during the previous afternoon or evening, Master Leonardo, the wealthy Genoan merchant whom they had all met briefly only a day earlier, had been viciously murdered at his residence. His young and beautiful daughter, Hera, had not been at home, fortunately, but was away visiting her new friend, Elizabeth Darcie, who had taken the shy foreign girl under her wing and was helping her become acclimated to her new life in London. Regrettably, it had been Hera who had discovered her own father's body when she arrived back home that night.

"Dear God! The poor girl!" Smythe said. "How terrible for her!"

"Terrible is not the word," George Bryan replied. "Horrible would be more like. They say the man was sliced to ribbons. Slashed more deeply than a fop's silk shirt."

"Aye, there was blood everywhere," added Tom Pope, one of the newest members of their company, as he busily ladled porridge into his mouth.

"There is going to be porridge everywhere if you persist in trying to speak and gorge at the same time, you odiferous hog," said Kemp with contempt. "S'trewth, watching you eat is enough to put a starving beggar off his food. I know it puts me off mine."

"Well then, since I have put you off your food, 'tis only meet that I should put some food on you," retorted Pope, and with that, he flipped a generous ladleful of hot porridge right into Will Kemp's face.

"Aaarghh!
You misbegotten Philistine!" roared Kemp, leaping to his feet as he wiped the porridge from his eyes. "How
dare
you!"

"Never say I gave you naught, Kemp," Pope replied with a grin, "for I daresay you have just had breakfast on me."

"Well then, allow me to return the kindness!" Kemp said through gritted teeth, and with that, he picked up his own bowl of steaming porridge and upended it over Pope's head.

"Gentlemen! Gentlemen! We were speaking of murder, for God's sake!" said Smythe.

"Aye, and that is just what I am going to do to that miserable, mincing old goat!" snarled Pope, wiping the dripping gobs of porridge from his face and shaking his hands off. The flung-off gobs of porridge made wet, smacking sounds as they landed on the wood-planked floor. Pope reached for the clay pitcher in the center of the table.

"Oh, no, Tom!" Speed cried out. "Not the beer!"

Too late.

Pope dashed the beer into Kemp's face, neatly rinsing off the porridge Kemp had not fully succeeded in wiping away.

Smythe rolled his eyes and gave up on them. He turned to Phillips. "The devil with those two. Tell me, what happened after Hera found her father?"

"Well, from what I hear, she very nearly lost her mind," Gus Phillips replied, as Kemp grabbed his ladle and launched himself at Pope, knocking him off his bench. They both fell backwards in a tangled, flailing heap. "I mean," continued Phillips, "can you imagine, walking into your own home and finding your own father sliced up like an Easter ham and lying on the floor in a spreading pool of his own blood?"

"You need not be quite so lurid," Smythe replied dryly, as Kemp shrieked and hammered away at Pope with his wooden ladle, while the latter desperately tried to dislodge the smaller man, who had clamped his legs around him like an octopus and hung on like grim death. "What about the servants?" Smythe continued.

"What about them?" Speed asked. "You do not think they did it, do you? You think they did the foreigner in for all his gold?"

"I honestly do not know," Smythe said, as Pope finally succeeded in dislodging Kemp, throwing him off, and then rolling over on top of him with his not inconsiderable bulk, squeezing the wind right out of him. "But I very much doubt that a canny merchant would have been careless enough to keep all of his gold inside his house," Smythe went on, ignoring the combatants. " 'Twas not what I intended to suggest, though I suppose 'tis possible. I meant to ask if Master Leonardo's servents had not heard anything amiss? After all, does it not seem odd to have a man killed in his own house, and in so violent a manner as you describe, and yet none of the servents knew of it, so that the body was not even found until the daughter arrived home that night?"

Phillips frowned. "Hmm. I must admit that thought never even occurred to me. An excellent question, Tuck. However, I must confess 'tis one I cannot answer."

"There were servants in the house, surely?" Smythe said.

"I assume so," Phillips replied, with a shrug, as Kemp tried in vain to escape from underneath Pope's bulk. He squirmed and yelped as the larger man took hold of his nose and began twisting it painfully.

"You mean you do not know for certain?" Smythe asked.

"How am I know a thing like that for certain?" Phillips asked. "I have never been in the man's house, now have I?"

"And yet you know that he was found all cut to ribbons, with blood spilled everywhere?" Smythe asked.

"Well, that was how I heard it," Phillips said.

"From
whom
did you hear this?"

"S'trewth, I cannot say for certain," replied Phillips, with a shrug. "Everyone has been talking about it, it seems."

"Amazing," Smythe said. "The man was only killed last night, and this morning, everyone in London seems to know all the details of the crime. If Sir Francis Walsingham had intelligence this good, then the Armada would have been destroyed before it ever even sailed from Spain."

"What are you picking on me for?" Phillips asked, with an aggrieved air. "I was merely telling you what I had heard. You
asked
me, after all!"

"Aamaahhhhh! Let me go, you stinking pile of offal!"
Kemp wailed.

" 'Allo, 'allo, what's all this then?" Stackpole demanded, as he came out from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. "Get
off
him, you great, slobbering dungheap!" He gave Pope a kick that sent him sprawling with a yelp.

"Thank heavens, Stackpole!" Kemp said, clutching at his chest. "The big oaf nearly crushed me! You are a godsend!"

"You'll not think so when I start mopping up all this mess with your face," said Stackpole, grabbing him by the shirtfront and glowering at him as he pulled him to his feet. "Who is going to clean this up then?"

"He started it!" cried Kemp, pointing an accusatory finger at Pope.

"I never did, you lying pustule!" protested Pope. "You berated me!"

"Enough!" Stackpole thundered. "I have had my fill of you both! Now clean up this mess or so help me I shall hang you both from the rafters and have Molly beat you with a stick!"

"Have a care now, Stackpole, Kemp might like that," Bryan said.

"And
you
be quiet, else I shall have you helping them!" said Stackpole, glaring at him. "I shall have peace in my own house or I shall have you all in pieces!
Players!
I would have done better to open up my inn to a gang of wandering gypsies!"

The door opened at that moment and Shakespeare came bustling in. "They have taken Corwin!" he announced. "He has been arrested for the murder of Master Leonardo!"

"What?"
said Smythe.

Immediately, everyone surrounded Shakespeare and began peppering him with questions. "Patience! Patience!" Will cried out, holding up his hands. "I shall answer one and all, to the fullest extent of my knowledge, but I pray you, my friends, give me room to breathe!"

They backed off and Stackpole pulled out a bench for him. Molly came out, too, along with the cook and the scullery maid, as everyone gathered around Shakespeare to hear the latest news. But before he spoke to that, Shakespeare turned to Smythe.

" Tis good to see you up and about, Tuck. How does your head feel?" he asked with concern.

"A bit sore, still, and the poultice itches, but otherwise, I am feeling better," Smythe replied. "Never mind about me, however. Tell us what happened, Will, and begin at the beginning. But first of all, does Ben know about what has transpired?"

"Aye," said Shakespeare, nodding. "I have just left him with Master Peters, where I had gone upon an errand. The gentleman who has been good enough to buy my sonnets and then have them bound for distribution to his friends has been a boon not only to me, but his generosity has helped us all in these difficult times, and so I had thought, what with Ben now being one of us and Corwin being his friend and ours, perhaps I might presume on that acquaintaince to have Corwin craft some small piece of jewelry at a price I could afford, as a token of my appreciation to our patron, as it were. I had arranged with Ben to meet at Master Peters's shop and Ben was to ask him the favor for me, but even as we arrived, the sheriffs men were talking Corwin away."

"Do you mean to say 'twas Corwin who killed Master Leon-ado?" Molly asked, wide-eyed.

"He was crying out, protesting his innocence as they took him away," Shakespeare replied, "but then 'tis said that killers oft' protest their innocence, even to the gallows."

"But why would he kill the father of the girl he wished to marry?" Molly asked.

"Perhaps because the father would not give his consent," ventured Gus Phillips. "Think you 'twas the reason for the crime, Will?"

"Nay, the consent to wed was given freely," Shakespeare said. "Stay your questions for a while, my friends, and I shall tell you all the tale as I know it. As most of you must surely know by now, Cupid's arrow did strike Corwin from the moment that he first laid eyes on Hera, Master Leonardo's daughter, whereupon he had resolved to end his bachelor days and marry. To this end, he asked his friend and ours, Ben Dickens, to speak on his behalf to Master Leonardo, whom Ben knew well from having traveled aboard ship with him to England. Ben did speak with Master Leonardo, and the latter did readily consent to the proposed match, as Ben's word bore weight with him and, quite aside from that, he perceived the advantages to both his daughter and himself in Hera's marriage to a successful young journeyman well on his way to becoming a prosperous master goldsmith."

"I wonder if anyone troubled to ask Hera what she thought of the idea," Molly said.

"One assumes that in Genoa, dutiful daughters obey their fathers' wishes in such things," Shakespeare replied. "However, as to what Hera herself thought of this, 'twould seem that she was not averse to Corwin, for he had started paying court to her and it appeared she was receptive to him. Yesterday afternoon, however, whilst you Tuck, slept, and recovered from your injuries, Corwin came to the Theatre, seeking Ben. And he was in a most agitated state."

"Aye, he seemed very troubled," Bryan said. "And he did not long remain. He left before Ben arrived, as I recall."

"Indeed," said Kemp, his contretemps with Pope forgotten for the moment as he became caught up in the news. "He rushed off right after he spoke with you, Will. But you would not tell us what the matter was."

Shakespeare shook his head. "I saw no need to dwell upon it," he replied. " 'Twas the sort of matter that could bring an innocent young girl to grief if it became bruited about and was made the subject of malicious gossip. Already, trouble was afoot, and I had no wish to add to it."

"What was this troubling matter, Will?" Smythe asked with a frown. "Whatever it may be, a greater trouble has now befallen Corwin, and it may have a bearing on his fate."