The Slaying Of The Shrew

by Simon Hawke

  “Why, indeed?” said Shakespeare. “Save only that it does not seem to have been truly necessary. Everyone already believed Catherine was dead. That her death had been intended as a ruse was known only to Catherine, Elizabeth, John Mason and Granny Meg, if I am not mistaken. There was not anyone else who knew about the planned deception, was there? At least, not until I had returned from London and revealed it?”

  “No, there was not,” Elizabeth said. “Catherine was most adamant that the secret be kept strictly between ourselves. John disliked the plan, but he loved Catherine and would never have told anyone about it. Indeed, if he had told anyone, he would have revealed the truth about their love, which he knew he could not do. And as for Granny Meg, I find it difficult to believe that she could have betrayed us.”

  “As do I,” said Shakespeare. “She told me the truth of it only when she learned everyone believed that Catherine had been poisoned. And in so doing, she placed herself at considerable risk, I might add. Godfrey Middleton is a very wealthy and influential man. He could make things quite unpleasant for her if he wished to. She most certainly did not have to tell me that she was the one who had mixed the potion. She could easily have pretended to examine the contents of the flask and then revealed her findings to me without ever revealing the part that she had played in the deception. She could have kept the secret, save that she knew if everyone believed it to be murder, then a murderer would be sought. Tis one thing to concoct a potion that would enable a girl to escape a loveless marriage and run off with the man she truly loved, and ‘tis yet another thing entirely to keep silent about a murder that was not a murder.”

  “I agree,” said Smythe. “Granny Meg is not a woman without scruples, whatever anyone else may say of her. I know there are many who fear witches and believe them to be evil, but the truth is that a witch will not knowingly do harm, for she believes that ‘twill return to her thricefold.”

  “Well, then, we are agreed upon that score,” said Shakespeare. “Yet there is still something that gnaws at me about all this, some small detail, something that it seems we are overlooking…”

  “The carpenter!” said Smythe, snapping his fingers.

  “Odd’s blood! Of course!” said Shakespeare. “ Elizabeth, you had forgotten all about the carpenter!”

  She bit her lower lip. “Indeed, I had. But then he was richly paid to keep his silence.”

  “Aye, which only goes to prove he could be bribed,” said Shakespeare.

  “An excellent point,” said Smythe. “And if the man could be bribed once, then why not twice?”

  “But then his own part in the deception would have been revealed,” said Elizabeth. “He could not betray us without leaving himself vulnerable, too. ‘Twas why Catherine and I felt certain that we had securely bought his silence.”

  “Ah, but suppose that he betrayed you to someone who did not care about his part in it and could profit from the information, thus posing no threat to him?” asked Shakespeare.

  “Who?” Elizabeth asked, frowning.

  “What say we go and ask him?” Smythe suggested.

  “You mean… right now?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Why not?” asked Shakespeare. “ ‘Tis a capital idea! We shall all three go and confront him and find out what he has to say for himself. I think we should go at once.”

  Suddenly, Smythe pulled them both off the garden path and back into the wet shrubbery. Elizabeth gasped and started to cry out, but Smythe quickly clapped his hand over her mouth.

  “What in-”

  “Hush, Will! Be still!” said Smythe, softly, but with urgency. “Look over there, by the maze!”

  Their eyes, by now, had grown accustomed to the darkness, but at a distance, it was still difficult to make anything out. However, after a moment, they could perceive some movement near the entrance to the maze. A dark figure became evident as it moved away from the hedges and came out into the open, on the path, moving quickly and furtively.

  “Do you think he saw us?” Shakespeare whispered, as they watched from their hiding place in the shrubs.

  Smythe shook his head. “I do not believe so,” he replied, very softly.

  “Who is it?” whispered Elizabeth.

  “I cannot tell,” said Smythe. “Be very still. We shall find out in a moment. He is coming this way…”

  10

  AS THE DARK FIGURE CAME closer, they all crouched behind the shrubbery and kept very still. Clearly, whoever it was had not seen them, for he kept coming directly towards them on the path, moving briskly. As he came closer, they still could not see who it was, for the figure was wearing a dark cloak and a hat and his face was in shadow. As he drew even with them, and they still could not discern his features, Smythe surprised both Shakespeare and Elizabeth by suddenly lunging out from their hiding place and throwing himself upon the dark figure, seizing him around the waist and bringing him down upon the ground.

  The man grunted as Smythe brought him down, but otherwise did not cry out. However, he fought back fiercely, struggling in Smythe’s powerful grasp as they rolled around on the ground.

  “Hold him, Tuck!” said Shakespeare, rushing to his aid.

  At the same time, Smythe’s antagonist brought up his knee sharply and Smythe wheezed with pain as the blow struck his groin. He let go and the stranger rolled away, but Shakespeare leaped upon him before he could rise back to his feet.

  “Aha! I have you now!”

  “Shakespeare, let go of me, you damned fool!” “What… Good Lord! Sir William?”

  Worley pushed him off and got to his feet. He was dressed all in dark clothing, a stark contrast to the resplendent suit he had worn earlier. He bent over Smythe, solicitously. “Tuck… are you injured?”

  Smythe made a gasping, wheezing sort of sound and nodded weakly.

  “Hell and damnation. Come on, then, shake it off. Give me your hand… Help me, Will, he weighs more than a bloody ox.”

  Together, they helped Smythe to his feet.

  “Forgive me, Tuck,” Sir William said. “Are you badly hurt?”

  “I… I shall live… I think,” Smythe managed, his voice strained and constricted.

  “Sir William, we had not realized ‘twas you,” said Shakespeare. “We thought you might have been the killer! Whatever were you doing out here at this time of night?”

  “I might well ask you lot the same thing,” Worley replied.

  “We were attempting to deduce who murdered Catherine tonight,” said Shakespeare.

  “You mean this morning,” Worley said.

  “No, I mean tonight,” said Shakespeare. “She was stabbed to death sometime this evening in her tomb.”

  “A moment,” Worley said, frowning. “I could have sworn that you just said she was stabbed to death this evening in her tomb.”

  “Aye, she was slain within her tomb, milord,” said Smythe.

  “Presumably, one must already be dead before one is laid to rest within a tomb,” said Worley. “I mean, ‘tis customary, is it not?”

  “Under ordinary circumstances, ‘twould indeed be so,” Smythe replied, “but in this case, things were far from ordinary. Catherine was not dead when she was laid to rest within her tomb, you see, but merely drugged with a potion so as to feign death.”

  “You see, milord, ‘twas all a plot conceived by Catherine and Elizabeth,” Shakespeare added, “to enable Catherine to escape the marriage to Sir Percival and instead run off with John Mason.”

  “John Mason? It so happens I have a young groom by that name.”

  “And it so happens Catherine had a young lover by that name,” said Shakespeare.

  “ ‘Twas the very same man, milord,” said Smythe.

  “My groom was Catherine’s lover?” Worley glanced from Smythe to Shakespeare to Elizabeth. “Can this be true?”

  “Aye, Sir William,” she replied. “ ‘Tis true.”

  “Zounds! Where is he now?”

  “Middleton has him locked away somewhere, p
resumably,” said Shakespeare. He quickly brought Sir William up to date on what had happened.

  “Astonishing!” said Worley, when the poet had finished. He shook his head. “What a terrible and tragic twist of fate. The poor, unfortunate girl.”

  Smythe had, by now, largely recovered from the effects of the blow, though he still stood a bit bent over. “We were going to question the carpenter, Sir William. We think the killer might have been young Holland. No one has seen him since the funeral, it seems.”

  Worley shook his head. “Not so. Holland was surely not the killer,” he said. “I, for one, have seen him.”

  “When, milord? And where?” asked Smythe.

  “Just now, back there,” said Worley, jerking a thumb back toward the maze.

  “In the maze?” Elizabeth said, with surprise. “Why, whatever would he be doing in there?”

  “Blanche Middleton,” said Worley, dryly, “with apologies for my indelicacy, milady. But within moments after I returned, I saw young Holland skulking about suspiciously and so decided to follow him. The two of them met within the maze, in an arbor at its center, and were still… actively engaged… when I departed. Needless to say, they did not see me. They were quite preoccupied.”

  “Well, thus is my report of Blanche’s character borne out, as you can see,” Elizabeth said, with distaste. “And by no less impeccable a witness than Sir William. That she could so disgracefully disport herself on the very day of her own sister’s funeral… Heavens, need any more be said?”

  “I take it, then, that her behavior in this instance does not come as a complete surprise to you?” said Worley.

  “I fear not, milord,” Elizabeth replied. “Whoever barters for that baggage will be getting goods well used.”

  “I see,” said Worley. “I would assume, then, that her father would be unaware of her proclivities in this regard.”

  “We are informed that she plays upon him like the virginals… while being not quite virginal herself,” said Shakespeare.

  “How very unfortunate,” said Worley.

  “Forgive me, milord.”

  “I meant the circumstances, Shakespeare, not the pun,” said Worley. “However, your apology remains no less deserved, thus I accept it. But this failing in the young lady’s character is a fortunate thing for Holland in more ways than one, as things turn out, for it now provides him with an alibi. He could not have murdered Catherine while deflowering her sister.”

  “Those petals dropped quite some time ago, I fear,” Elizabeth said, wryly.

  “Well, could he not have murdered Catherine and then still had time to get back here and meet with Blanche?” asked Smythe.

  “What, you mean kill one sister and within the very hour make love to the other? Egad, that would be cold-blooded, indeed,” said Worley. “Such a man would be the very devil, and I do not believe that Daniel Holland answers to that description. What is more, I have ascertained that he is no imposter, but exactly who he claims to be. His father, Sir Roger Holland, whilst not a regular at court, is nevertheless well known to the queen. Thus, while young Holland may lack in judgement and discretion, he does not lack in pedigree, at least.”

  “So then Holland is not our man,” said Smythe. “That still leaves us with the other three.”

  “And of those three, Hughe Camden, our young inner barrister, is also who he claims to be,” said Worley. “The Earl of Oxford recalled him from the Inns of Court, where he once saw him performing in a play by Greene and thus made his acquaintance. Edward described the young man to me in some detail and I am satisified that Hughe Camden is the man whom he had met. Likewise, his father, Sir Richard, was known to several of the heralds.”

  “So then they are not imposters, either,” Shakespeare said. He frowned. “Well, that brings us down to Braithwaite and the Frenchman. Everyone else seems to have been accounted for.”

  “And we have already agreed that ‘tis quite unlikely for the imposter to be Dubois,” said Smythe.

  Shakespeare sighed. “I know. It just seems hard to credit,” he said. “Braithwaite truly seemed like a good fellow.”

  “Perhaps he is, for all we know,” said Worley, “for as it happens, I have been unable to establish anything about our friend Dubois. No one at court seems to know a thing about him… or his self-effacing, silent father. I have arranged for the heralds to investigate his claims, but then that will take some time, I fear.”

  “What of Andrew Braithwaite?” Smythe asked.

  “I have had no luck there, either,” Worley replied. “I have men investigating his claims, as well, but I was unable to immediately confirm his identity with anyone at court. A number of people said they might recall his father, but that was hardly reliable evidence and no one could give any stronger testimony. Once again, it will take some time to establish whether or not he is an imposter.”

  “Time is a commodity we may only have in short supply,” said Smythe.

  “Not necessarily,” Worley replied. “Consider what has already been accomplished. We know that we are seeking two men, one of whom seems to be the principal motivating force behind this deviltry, whilst the other works as his confederate. Both may already be upon the scene as imposters, or else one is here amongst us openly whilst the other waits somewhere nearby, perhaps among the merchants at the fair, held in reserve. We have already managed to eliminate most of the guests from consideration as suspects. We appear to be down to only two.”

  “Only the fair is drawing to a close,” said Shakespeare.

  “True, but ‘tis no cause for alarm,” said Worley. “Remember that in order for the plot to succeed, the prize must be secured. And the prize, in this instance, is Blanche Middleton. More specifically, her dowry. And once that prize is secured, Blanche then becomes disposable.”

  “Goodness!” said Elizabeth, shivering involuntarily.

  “Forgive me, milady,” Worley said, “but the truth of the matter is that we are dealing with desperate and evil men, or at the very least, with one man who is the evil genius of this plot and another who merely allows himself to be led. Either way, the sort of character who would hatch a devilish plot like this is not a man who would be squeamish or would frighten easily. He knows that you, Tuck, have overheard something of his plan, but he cannot know for certain how much you may have overheard. Thus, methinks that he will likely be disposed to gamble.”

  “How so, milord?” asked Smythe.

  “Well, it takes an old corsair to know how another pirate thinks,” said Worley. “And whilst our man may be a landlubber, he is nevertheless quite the buccaneer in the way he sails straight into danger with every inch of canvas up. He knows that at least in part, his plan has been exposed, and yet he also knows that if his true identity were known, he would have been in chains by now. Since he is not, he has made the logical assumption that his masquerade still remains intact. We do not know who he is. Therefore, he perseveres. There is still considerable risk involved, but then he knew that from the very start. The risk has now increased, of course, but to such a man, ‘twould only add spice to the adventure.”

  “As with one who plays at dice or cards, the thrill is in the risk,” said Shakespeare.

  “Verily,” Worley said, nodding in agreement. “And our man knows that the greatest risk to him at present is our friend, Tuck, here. He is the one who overheard the plot, or at the very least a part of it, and thus he is the one who may yet recognize one or both of the voices he had heard. Thus, Tuck is the obvious risk to be eliminated.”

  “And our man has tried that twice already,” Smythe said, grimly.

  “Doubtless, he shall try again,” Worley replied. “You may depend on it, so watch your back. However, here is what our quarry does not know. He does not know about me. He assumes that because the queen has left the city with her court, that anyone of consequence among the nobility will be traveling with her, as indeed, most of them are. He has also assumed that because Middleton is not, himself, a peer or a prominent f
ixture in court society, though he has ambitions in that regard, that the guests at his daughter’s wedding celebration will not be among the upper crust, but rather the topmost layer beneath it, if you will. In other words, primarily the wealthy new men of the middle class and, perhaps, a few rather minor members of the nobility. He knows that there is still a chance his masquerade might be exposed, but the risk of that is not so great as ‘twould have been were any courtiers present, for they have little else to do but keep track of one another and their respective standing in the pecking order. Thus, our man puts on a bold face and proceeds as planned. But he does not know that I am here, or that I have been alerted to his villainy and have already made inquiries which have enabled us to narrow down our list of suspects to just two. As a result, the degree of risk for him has now become quite high… only he does not yet know that.”

  “But he shall surely know it as soon as he becomes aware of your presence here, milord,” Elizabeth said.

  “Which is precisely why he shall not become aware of it,” said Worley. “Save for the three of you, no one else knows I have returned. Therefore, let us keep it that way. Do not mention my return to anyone, and if anyone should ask, feign ignorance.”

  “But… where shall you be, milord?” Elizabeth asked. “Even if you intend to conceal yourself in the upstairs rooms, the servants will become aware of you and they will surely spread the word.”

  Worley smiled. “Never fear. Not even Godfrey Middleton will know I have returned. I have already made preparations in anticipation of this.”

  “But… where will you be, milord?” asked Shakespeare.

  “Hiding in plain sight,” said Worley, with a smile. But before he could continue, a sharp cry echoed suddenly across the grounds.

  “Goodness! What was that?” Elizabeth said, clutching at Smythe instinctively.

  “I think it came from over there,” said Shakespeare, pointing. “The maze!” said Worley. He started running towards the entrance.

  “ Elizabeth, get back to the house,” said Smythe. “No, I am going with you.” “ Elizabeth, for God’s sake!”