The Scottish Play Murder (16 page)

That brought a chuckle, and she knew her attempt to put a casual face on her request wasn’t going to work.
Damn
. Daniel said, “And why would I give you such a thing? Furthermore, why do you think a letter from me would do you any good with her? I’ve only met the woman once, and that a year ago. I’m sure she barely knows my name. And even more to the point, what in God’s creation would you do with such a letter if you had it?”

Keeping her tone level and casual, she said, “Well, to reply in order of your inquiry, you would give me the letter because I asked and you should trust me to not ask for something I didn’t require. The letter would help me accomplish my goal, because I desire nothing more than to have a brief chat with the countess. It isn’t as if I wish to become her bosom friend and have her invite me to parties.”

“You might wish it. She puts on very nice parties.”

“I think I should find them dull, for I would know nobody she might have at them and I rather enjoy the company of my real friends. To continue my replies to your questions, lastly I would present it to her when I requested the aforementioned interview. Nothing earth-shattering, I assure you. Just a chat between women.”

“Regarding what, if I might pry?”

Suzanne rested her spoon at the side of her plate and took up her cup of wine to sip. It gave her a moment to consider her reply, then she said, “I wish to ask about her husband’s business dealings.”

“You won’t get an honest response from her. She would be mortified to have anyone know her husband was a merchant at heart.”

Even more, she would be mortified to have anyone know her husband was a pirate at heart. But Suzanne thought that line of argument would lead down a useless byway, so she said, “Nevertheless, I would like to feel her out on the subject.”

“To what purpose?”

She thought hard for a way to answer his question truthfully without letting him know she was hoping to prove Larchford had killed the pirate. But all she could think of was, “I believe there may be a connection between Larchford and the dead Spaniard.”

Daniel’s eyebrows went up. “Indeed? Of what sort?”

“I believe they did business together. I wish to ask the countess a few questions that might help us learn who murdered her husband.” True enough, though she had no theory as to who that fourth man could be.

Daniel gazed at Suzanne for a long moment while she resumed eating. Then he said, “Well, I suppose I can help you with a brief and serviceable letter to gain you a few moments of her time. Assuming she succumbs to your claim of wanting to find Larchford’s murderer. Do take care not to wander very far from your original intent. I don’t wish to be embarrassed.”

She lifted her chin and gave him raised eyebrows in all innocence. “Daniel! Would I ever embarrass you?”

“Of course you would, if it suited you.” He gestured “come” with a couple of fingers. “So bring me a paper and pen, and I’ll set my neck on the chopping block for you.”

*

T
HE
letter was as brief and simple as Daniel had promised. That afternoon Suzanne carried it to the enormous estate Larchford was building to the west of Whitehall. The house appeared more like a castle than a residence. Even unfinished it rivaled Whitehall for its imposing stone façade. Stacks of stone waiting to be placed stood before it. The landscaping of the grounds had not yet begun, and work had quit for the winter. Wagon-rutted mud stood in cold ridges dotted with puddles tinged with frost. Some old trees stood nearby, spared from the clearing of the land, that would be incorporated into whatever plan had been made for the garden. Suzanne wondered whether this place would be finished, now that Larchford was gone and his business with him.

Today she wore a dress, to be as unassuming and ordinary as possible, exuding propriety from every pore. Usually Suzanne felt well situated when riding in a hired coach, but as she approached the massive façade of Larchford’s manor, she felt as shabby as she had wearing rags and sleeping in the streets. The driver helped her down from the cab, and she approached the steps that led to a double door carved elaborately in oak. Whitehall, in its Tudor tradition, seemed plain compared to this house.

She handed her letter to the liveried footman who emerged from the house to apprehend her on the drive, lest she turn out to be someone he would need to send around back to the service entrance. He unfolded it, read a moment, then said in a voice thick with doubt, “Lord Throckmorton?”

“I know him well. I only wish for a few moments of her ladyship’s time, if she’s at home and receiving.”

Without further comment or query, the bewigged manservant gave a curt bow, folded the letter, and said, “Follow me, if you please.” His tone now held a note of genteel respect rare in her experience. Most people she knew of her own status were habitually rude to everyone, no matter how well they knew or liked them, and those among polite society were only ever polite to each other. To hear a servant address her as if she were a respectable guest in a great house was quite a novelty.

Suzanne followed him inside, struggling not to gape at everything around her, but failing terribly. Marble staircases rose from a marble floor, with a curved banister of mahogany so highly polished she could see her face in the spiral at the bottom. Its wrought iron balustrade was of black grape vines entwined in a black trellis that disappeared into the upper floor. Statuary stood about, and the walls were hung with enormous portraits in elaborately carved gilt frames. Suzanne had no idea who any of those people were, but she suspected they were Larchford’s ancestors, and by their clothing they appeared to be Tudor or earlier. And like everyone in this century, they appeared to be looking down their noses at her. The help here might be fooled by her fashionable dress and letter of introduction, but the spirits of this house were not. She followed the footman to a sitting room, where he took her cloak and left her to find the countess.

This room was as richly decorated as the other. Gilt shone everywhere, and a tapestry lay on the floor to be walked on. She’d never seen such a thing, even during her visit to the king’s presence chamber the year before. It was a delight to the eye, a brightly colored pattern that drew her attention here and there across the floor. As she stood waiting, she lifted her feet over and over, not entirely comfortable with the idea of treading on the woolen artwork. She thought about moving off the thing, but the only bare floor was a narrow strip over by the wall, and she could hardly huddle against that. So she stilled her feet and made herself stop fidgeting.

Before long the door opened again and Mary, Dowager Countess of Larchford, entered in a graceful sweep of rustling silk skirts. Her neckline revealed her bosom nearly to the areola, and she wore more jewelry than Suzanne had ever seen on anyone, ever, never mind at home during daytime. Either the countess was extraordinarily formal at home, or else she was about to leave the house for a public engagement of some sort. In either case, the jewels and her bright, violet dress seemed less than appropriate attire for a woman whose husband had recently been murdered. The look on her face was one of polite curiosity but no particular interest.

“Good afternoon, Mistress Thornton.”

Suzanne offered a smile, and gave her most nimble curtsy. “Your ladyship.”

The countess continued. “I’m pleased to meet you. How is Daniel? We haven’t seen him in a number of months.”

“He’s well, your ladyship.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Please give him my regards when you see him. So . . . how may I help you today?” Polite, at least, a rarity among noblewomen when speaking to commoners. Her tone had a single note of irritation, but Suzanne thought she might have interrupted while the countess was preparing to leave for the evening and so reserved judgment.

“I apologize for the intrusion. I hope you might have time to have a word with me.”

“What about?” Lady Larchford’s tone took on a bit more tension.

“First let me express my most sincere regret for your loss.”

Lady Larchford nodded her thanks, then waited with strained patience for Suzanne to continue.

“My lady, I hope to ask some questions that might clear up some things regarding your husband’s death, and perhaps even lead to the discovery of his killer.”

The countess’s expression softened to one of surprised hope. “Indeed? You know who killed him?” She gestured that Suzanne take a seat on a nearby chair, and they both sat. The chair was upholstered. Narrow and armless, yet strangely uncomfortable.

“We—that is, Constable Pepper and myself—think we may eventually be able to ascertain who the murderer was. But first we need to know some things about your husband’s business affairs.”

A hardness came into the countess’s eyes. She stood, and in a voice that would brook no argument, she said, “I must ask you to leave, Mistress Thornton.”

Suzanne kept her seat, though she was taken aback by the vehemence of this reaction. “Your ladyship, I’m terribly sorry to have to ask these questions, but—”

“Leave now, or I will have you ejected forcibly.”

Suzanne stood, but continued to make her case. “If you would tell us where he was—”

“Charles!” Lady Larchford called out to be heard from outside the room.

In an instant the footman came through the door, plainly from a post he’d taken up just outside of it. He held Suzanne’s cloak draped over one arm, ready to return it to her on her way out.

“Charles, please see Mistress Thornton out.” To Suzanne she said, “Good day.” With that, she swept from the room as quickly as a woman could move without breaking into a run. Her jewels clicked and clattered as she went.

The manservant, his eye hard on Suzanne, held out her cloak for her to don it. She let him settle it over her shoulders, then he gestured to the door and gave a slight bow. His expression was blank. There was no telling what he was thinking, and for that she was glad. She hurried from the house with the footman close behind. Her cheeks blazed with embarrassment, and she grabbed her skirts as she hurried down the steps outside. Her driver held the coach door for her. As she settled into her seat she pulled down the window shade and sighed. Now she was going to have to ask Piers to give her a guinea to pay off her bet to Pepper.

T
he following morning Suzanne brought a bag about the size of a large cheese to the constable’s office and set it down on his desk with a thud and a definite chink of coins. Pepper looked at it, set aside his brandy, and felt of it. “I take it the dowager countess was uncooperative.”

“I learned nothing.”

He opened the woolen bag and felt of the coppers inside. “All farthings?”

She folded her hands in front of her. “Our entire audience pays in small change. ’Tis all they’ve ever got.”

He picked up a pinch of coins and let them fall back into the bag. Then he drew the string closed again and set the money aside. “So, now we approach Larchford’s wife again, this time from a higher ground. I’ll have my boy run a request to the palace for a contingent of guards.”

“We don’t need the information that badly.”

“Of course, we do. You said yourself we need to know what Larchford was up to the night Santiago was killed.”

“I won’t have anything to do with harassing a recently widowed woman.”

“Which, of course, she is counting on most heavily. But you needn’t be so very concerned with the welfare of the dowager countess. Our search will be conducted with all grace, and none of the household will be harmed. But we will have our interview, and whatever evidence we may discover.”

Suzanne protested no further, and hoped he was right.

She did have that interview, that very afternoon. Once again Suzanne arrived at Larchford’s estate, this time accompanied by Pepper and five palace guards. It seemed a paltry number to search such a large house and command so many servants. The entire household was assembled in the grand dining room, kept under guard by a few men with pikes. The staff stood three rows deep at one end of the huge room, near the windows. They glanced about at each other, all wanting to ask questions but none daring to make a sound. The head cook kept looking over his shoulder at the door through which he’d come, and seemed quite agitated until Charles the footman bade him to stop worrying about his kitchen; that allowances would be made if anything were ruined.

The countess was livid, standing before Pepper as if she might throw herself in front of him to keep him from moving farther into the house. Suzanne knew that Larchford’s widow, though not powerless, was considerably weakened by her husband’s death. The new earl, her son, was yet a minor and wouldn’t reach his majority for nearly another decade. Larchford’s lack of close friendships among his fellow courtiers put her at even greater disadvantage. Had she a grown son or a living father, this search might never have happened. But in her current position as widow of an unpopular peer, the woman had no choice but to accept the invasion of her home.

Dark red patches blotched her face, neck, and bosom in her anger. Her gaze flitted from one guard to the next, then to Pepper, and she glared special hatred at Suzanne.

Suzanne looked away. She wanted nothing to do with this, but a tiny voice deep inside spoke of hope they would find something worthwhile in this search.

“’Tis a large house,” said Pepper, gazing about him. “This will take a very long time.” He addressed the staff. “Nobody is to leave this room until we’ve finished.” Then he said to the soldiers, “We’ll begin with his lordship’s bedchamber and wardrobe.” He gestured to the footman Charles to take him there. The servant looked to his mistress for leave, and when she nodded he led the way for Pepper and three of the guards.

There was a dark silence in the room, then one of the maids stepped forward to speak. “My lady, how will we get our work done?”

The countess threw an evil look at Suzanne. “I’ve no idea.”

The bewildered maid stepped back into line, and everyone looked miserable. Suzanne looked off in the direction Pepper and the others had taken, and wished she had gone with them. She considered leaving the room to search for them, but when the countess moved to the other end of the dining table to have a seat, Suzanne followed to sit near her. Not too near, but close enough that she could keep her voice at a low murmur so others couldn’t hear.

The countess sat ramrod-straight in the chair, looking straight ahead and not glancing at Suzanne. This wasn’t going to be easy, but Suzanne plunged ahead, hoping for a tidbit. Anything that might lead to further discoveries, much like the guesses that had revealed Larchford’s code.

She folded her hands in her lap and said, “I’m sorry to have to ask these questions, my lady, but the more we learn about the comings and goings of your husband, the better chance we’ll have to find out who killed him.”

The countess gave Suzanne an evil, sideways glance, then returned her gaze to the middle distance. Her lips pressed together, as if she were afraid that a single word would lead to more and she might say too much.

“You understand that his death took place outside a tavern, yes?”

There was a long silence, and Suzanne waited. The silence spun out, until Suzanne gave up and said, “My lady, someone is bound to find out these things sooner or later. Perhaps it would be better if you spoke to me rather than let someone . . .” She looked off in the direction Pepper and the soldiers had gone. “To let someone like the constable discover them without guidance.”

The countess finally looked Suzanne in the eye and spoke. “Why ever should I trust you?”

“We’re both women.”

“That’s hardly a recommendation.”

Suzanne blinked, flustered for a moment, then said, “Very well, let me put it this way: I understand what it is to be at the mercy of men who are more interested in themselves than in their responsibilities to others. Though we may love these men, their self-interest puts us at risk and we are often hard put to defend ourselves.” She watched that sink in for a moment, then added, “And our children.” The countess finally looked at her, and she continued. “I can present your story to the constable in a way that will put things in a favorable light, and I would do so because I enjoy putting men such as he in their places.”

There was another long silence, but Suzanne could tell her words had found their mark and the countess’s resistance was breaking down. The shoulders weren’t quite so stiff, her chin lowered just a little. Finally, the countess opened her mouth to speak. “He was having a drink with friends in that tavern. Nothing more.”

“Of course. Did he do that often?”

“No more often than any other man, I would say. He spent an evening with friends and they drank. Nothing more.” Suzanne wondered whether the countess was trying to tell her he never bought whores, or that he never did business with pirates. Both of which would have been a lie in any case, she was sure. She let go of that question and asked one that was more likely to be answered truthfully. “I wonder, my lady, where the earl might have been on the night of November third?”

The countess frowned, and Suzanne was hard put to know whether she was trying to remember, or was thinking up a lie. The countess said, “I’m sure I don’t remember.”

“He spent a great many evenings away, did he not?”

“He did.”

“Is it likely he was not at home that night?”

The countess nodded.

“Are you certain you don’t know where he was?”

Another long silence. This time it was apparent the countess would not reply. Suzanne said, “We know your husband had truck with a certain . . . merchant.”

The countess looked over at her, and an understanding rose between them. “A merchant.”

“Is it possible on that night he had a meeting with this merchant?”

The countess’s voice lowered until it was barely audible. “My husband had many interests, and a genius for filling the household coffers. He was a good man, a good father, and brilliant at making his way in the world.”

“What was he like? What sort of man was he?” Suzanne would expect the countess to be kind to the memory of her husband, who she obviously respected, but she thought she might glean something useful from whatever memories there were.

The countess looked away to the middle distance and replied, “Well, he was often harsh. Henry had a diabolical temper, and it was as quick as it was evil. Painful, really.”

“How did you get along with him, then?” Because Suzanne had never been married, she had only the most vague idea of how other women were able to live with husbands who were rude, inconsiderate, or even violent. With William, whose worst fault was his critical nature and unwillingness to part with a farthing, Suzanne had been able to smile and nod and know that he would be going home soon.

“Henry’s anger never turned on myself or the children. To the boys he was as charming as ever he could be, no matter what thing might arise at home. And he never involved me in his business affairs. If an associate annoyed him, I only knew it by hearing him in the next room. On those occasions he could be quite loud and distressing, but after a certain amount of ranting, cursing, and breaking things, he would come to me with a nearly beatific smile on his face. I learned to keep out of his reach so long as he was discomfited. The maid would clean up whatever damage had been done to our belongings, and it would be as if the thing had never happened.”

“So he cared enough about you to not let his temper enter into your lives?”

“He was considerate that way. We had no control over what went on outside the household, so he never expected us to have to suffer the consequences of his life at court.”

“What was it like for him at court?”

The countess sighed. “I’m not entirely certain, I’m afraid. He was terribly closed about that, and we entertain so rarely compared to the other courtiers. I’ve only been to the palace once, and on that occasion I felt invisible. Try as I do to fit in, I have been treated rather rudely by our peers. I vow, I don’t understand it.”

Suzanne understood quite clearly, but didn’t share with the countess her knowledge of the opinions of others. That sort of gossip only ever resulted in a stirred pot and no happiness for anyone. Perhaps with Larchford gone, she could now make a life for herself and her sons, without the unlikeable personality of her husband to hinder her.

The countess continued, as if in explanation for Larchford’s unpopularity. “Sometimes his ventures required him to associate with men of lower character than those of our own rank. It’s possible Henry did meet with one such man on or near the third.”

“Do you know his name?”

“Only his given name. Henry mentioned a Spaniard named Diego.”

Suzanne held her breath so as not to gasp. With much effort she kept her voice level. “Diego Santiago?”

The countess sighed, defeated. “In all honesty, I do not know his last name. Just ‘Diego.’ And that only because I overheard him say it to a messenger near that date. He said to the boy, ‘Go to the Goat and Boar near Bank Side in Southwark. Find a Spaniard named Diego.’ He described the man, and I knew this Diego fellow was not our kind, Spaniard or not. I hated that he associated with such as that, but a man will do what he will and I can have nothing to say about it.”

Suzanne knew the truth of that. “Where did you think he was the night he was killed?”

The countess’s face finally crumpled in grief and she put a hand over her mouth to hold in a sob. After a moment she collected herself and was able to continue. “I knew where he was. He said he was to meet a friend at that tavern in Southwark.”

“Did he say the friend’s name?”

“No. I assumed it was that same Diego fellow, or he would have told me.” Suzanne knew it wasn’t Santiago, because by that time the pirate was dead. The “friend” that night had to be the fourth man. But she refrained from correcting the countess, who continued. “Were it someone of the peerage, he would have proclaimed loudly the fellow’s name, and they certainly wouldn’t have met at a filthy little place in Southwark.”

Suzanne felt a tinge of offense, the Goat and Boar being her favorite filthy little place to drink, but she chose not to argue that point. She said, “Is there any more information you can give me about this Diego Santiago? Bearing in mind that even the smallest, seemingly insignificant thing could be the key to finding out who did this terrible thing to your husband. I expect you’ll want to see him hang.”

The fire of anger in the countess’s eyes was ample reply. She said, “There is one thing you could do. You should find them before the constable does.”

“Find what?”

“Some notes. In Henry’s effects after he died I found some notes. I couldn’t read them; I don’t read well, and I think they were in a foreign language. It appeared to be Greek.”

“You couldn’t read them, so you don’t know what they said? Why do you want me to find them and not the constable?”

“I’m afraid of what they might say. They could be love letters from a mistress, or treason against the king . . . I’m afraid of what would happen if they were translated.”

Suzanne put a reassuring hand on the countess’s shoulder. “Surely it wouldn’t be treason.” She couldn’t know that, and in any case murder was almost as frowned upon by the crown. “You know your husband, and you know whether he would betray the king. Would he?”

The countess thought about that for a moment, then shook her head. She seemed relieved to have that pointed out to her.