The Scottish Play Murder (21 page)

B
y the time Suzanne returned to her quarters at the theatre, she was deep in thought and insensible to most everything around her as she arrived through the large entrance doors. What she’d learned that day had raised as many questions as had been answered. That day’s performance was nearly finished as she made her way through the ground-floor gallery toward the ’tiring house. She might have come in through the bolt-hole at the back, but that would have involved a long walk around some neighboring buildings to get there. It was far shorter to duck quickly through the gallery. Today’s audience was engrossed in
Romeo and Juliet
, but she had no interest. Her mind was on the scenario of the three murders, according to the information given by Larchford’s remaining pirate.

Lady Larchford had worried about scandal over her husband’s disgraceful buying and selling of merchandise, which was unseemly labor for a nobleman. How appalled would she be to learn the goods he’d been trafficking had been stolen on the high seas? How humiliating to learn the money that had built the house she and her children lived in had come from treasonous acts? And what would Charles do to her if he found out? Anger rose at Larchford, for him to have put his family in this position. Regardless of the damage done to the crown, the dowager and the new earl had done nothing to deserve this legacy of shame.

Just as Suzanne approached the small, but heavy, iron-bound door that led inside the ’tiring house, there was a crash from the stage and a general shout of alarm from the groundlings in the pit. People in the galleries rose to their feet, some to see and some perhaps to help. Suzanne wended between them to see what had happened, but by the time she was close enough to see, those around her were already returning to their seats. Suzanne was only in time to see Louis climb back onstage from whence he’d fallen, red in the face but otherwise none the worse for wear. Shouts of encouragement from the audience, particularly the groundlings who were always especially amused to be part of the show, followed Louis to the place he needed to be but wasn’t. He resumed his place and continued his speech.

Suzanne, relieved it was only a small, harmless accident, went on her way to the ’tiring house and the play returned to its conclusion. But the tension in the audience had been broken and she could hear that the heartrending deaths of the title characters would not have the usual impact on this evening’s audience. The groundlings were shouting jokes to the embarrassed Romeo, who surely would be glad for this performance to be over. Today, dying onstage took on an entirely new meaning for Louis.

As she passed by the green room, Suzanne could hear Horatio in a hoarse backstage whisper that would have been a trumpeting shout had there not been an audience outside. Once again he carried on hysterically about the terrible luck brought on by the Scottish play. She wanted to smile as if it were a joke, but found she couldn’t, for the rain of bad luck was beginning to seem like a curse. She glanced toward the upstage entrance doors and wondered. All her life she had not considered herself particularly superstitious, though she did believe in ghosts and knew there must be such a thing as bad luck because she’d experienced so very much of it. Now she wondered whether it might have been a mistake for The New Globe Players to have put on
Macbeth
with its chanting witches. Could there be something truly evil about the chant of the three weird sisters? Could her decision have led to Angus’s death? Might he still have been with them, had she told Ramsay to leave that day of the audition? Horatio had begged her not to do the play. Any bad luck from it was all on her. What if she’d caused Angus to be murdered?

Her throat closed almost entirely, and she stood in the darkness at the foot of the stairs before her apartment door. Poor Angus. Whatever involvement he’d had with Larchford and his pirates, he’d certainly not deserved to die. She said a quick prayer that it not have been her fault, then wondered whether that amounted to wishing he would have died anyway. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and told herself there was nothing she could have done to save Angus, and his death had not been caused by the chanting of characters in this play.

She stepped through the door to her apartment, and her mind slipped away once more to the knotty problem of who killed Larchford.

Sheila greeted her and took her cloak and gloves for her. It would be some time before supper, so Suzanne went to her bedchamber and sat at her desk.

A knock came at the outer door, and Suzanne listened as Sheila answered it. Ramsay’s voice asked after her.

“Sheila!” Suzanne called out. “Show Diarmid in, if you would.”

“Yes, mistress.”

A moment later Ramsay stood at the door, looking around at the scant furnishings of bed with no curtains, armoire, and desk tucked into its raised alcove. “Rather reckless of you to invite a man to your bedchamber without chaperone.” His tone carried a humor she could not feel at the moment, but she bluffed.

She sat back in her chair and crossed her legs casually. “There’s precious little damage left to be done to my reputation, I’m afraid. Anyone who cares to whisper dark things about me to their friends is welcome to it, for they’d more than likely be right whether they knew it or not. In fact, these days a bit of notoriety might do some good for the reputation of our theatre. Every audience loves a bit of scandal, and I’m afraid my life has been far too boring for that lately. Alas, there is little excitement to be had from such an ordinary rumor that one of my actors was known to enter my bedchamber. The king, perhaps, or maybe the pope might elicit a gasp or two, but a story about you would only be met with the exclamation, ‘Well, of course she’s banging the cast!’ That would hardly even be interesting, let alone shocking.”

Ramsay grinned. “Which, of course, you are not banging anyone.”

“No. I’m not. I’ve far better things to do with my time and energy than to manage the jealousies of men who naturally are entirely filled with self-interest. Carrying on with any of you would be asking for fistfights and arguments. Nothing would ever get done.”

“So you would limit yourself to only one of us?”

“If any.” She took a deep breath, and said, “So, what brings you to my bedchamber so early in the evening? I’m surprised you care to spend your free time at the theatre. You could have had an entire day away from here.”

His look was crestfallen, but he persevered. “I couldn’t stay away, and was disappointed this morning to learn you’d left for the day. I wonder what you’ve thought, if anything, about what I said to you several days ago. Though now I can see you must have.”

“What you said?”

“About my suit.”

“Oh.” She pressed a palm to her forehead in an effort to focus on a memory. “Your suit. You wish to marry me.”

“If you’ll have me.”

Suzanne was not certain what to tell him. The last proposal she’d had was when she was seventeen and her father had urged upon her a young man of merchant class respectability. His family had been well off but commoners, a fair match for her, for her father was also well off but common and of the merchant class. However, it had ended quite badly. At the time she’d been pregnant by Daniel Stockton, who was married and the heir to his father’s title, and she’d ended up in a whorehouse on Bank Side, destitute and disowned by her father. Life for her ever since had been a struggle until this year.

For two decades she’d thoroughly regretted rejecting a stable home for a man who couldn’t marry her. Daniel hadn’t wanted to marry her in any case. Nor had he wanted to marry his wife, but had spent half his life in France with the king’s court in exile. Now that he was back in England, he was proving himself a poor husband to Anne as well as an indifferent father to Piers and no lover at all to Suzanne. Suitors, in her experience, were of little use.

Now this. She gazed at Ramsay, whose smile was so confident she couldn’t believe it was real. With his talent for performance, it more than likely was not.

Well, he was handsome at least. A few years younger than Daniel and more rugged, but with a joie de vivre that made his company interesting. Even exciting. She found very few men attractive, for most of them were interested only in themselves and in what they could get from her at whatever might be the smallest cost. Even now they played a game she found tedious, and so many of them played that game as if she were still a silly, stupid girl. Or else as if maturity should make her desperate for attention. In either case she was insulted by it and these days was entirely done with tolerating it.

What none of them realized was that her age had forced her to find something other than her beauty to trade in. Whatever Daniel had meant to her before, and however poor a father he had been to Piers, there was no denying that in his patronage of this theatre he’d freed her from ever having to give herself to anyone for the sake of survival. Ramsay’s suit, unlike every other prospect she’d had, would have to rest on her feelings for him and nothing else. If he were to succeed, it was he who would have to sell himself.

She found the prospect intriguing, and a tiny smile curled the corners of her mouth. So she gestured to the foot of her bed and said, “Have a seat. I wish to chat.”

The smile turned genuine. “Gladly, mistress. Your wish is my command; I live to serve.” He sat as requested, and leaned toward her, all attention. Her smile was equally genuine, for she knew he thought he was seducing her, and also knew he would have to do more than grace her with a winning smile to succeed.

She said, “Tell me about Angus’s involvement with Santiago and the Earl of Larchford.”

Ramsay blinked. The smile left his face as he realized she wasn’t going to reply to his offer. “I’ve already told you.”

“But you haven’t told me how much he knew about Larchford’s ship.”

“Larchford’s ship?”

“
Maiden
.”

“Oh, that.” He waved away the subject as if it weren’t important. “I’d no idea he owned it. I’d thought it belonged to Santiago, and that Larchford had nothing to do with it other than buying cargo from it. Not that I had the least concern over who claimed the thing, so long as I got my whisky and for a fair price. So I’ve naught to say about Larchford and that ship, for I cannae tell you what I don’t know.”

“You’re insisting you know nothing about the business between Larchford, Santiago, and Angus?”

He pretended to think that over for a moment, then nodded. “Aye. That appears to be what I’m insisting. I know naught, and can tell you nothing whatever about any of it. Particularly anything regarding the earl. I have no interest in what goes on with nobility, and had he marched through the Goat and Boar carrying a banner declaring his ownership of
Maiden
, I more than likely would have missed it.”

Suzanne gazed at him a moment, wondering whether to believe him. In the end, she decided nothing would be gained by challenging his statement. In fact, when she tried to think of anything more to discuss with him, she realized he wasn’t much of a suspect in the murders. All in all, Ramsay wasn’t shaping up as the fourth man. She said, “Very well. I believe you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some work to do here before I retire.”

“Shall I keep you company while you work?” So he would still be in the room when it came time for bed? Tempting, but not enough to invite him to stay.

“I could hardly concentrate on my work with your pleasant company distracting me all the while.”

“Perhaps I could be enough of a distraction to keep you from your work entirely.” It was an attempt at wit, and though she might have had a chuckle at another time, tonight she wasn’t in such a mood for banter.

“It would be better if you went home for tonight.” Blunt, even for her, but he wasn’t taking “excuse me” for an answer.

Even the hopeful smile died, and his eyes darkened with what might have been anger. Ramsay stood, and for one teetering moment it seemed he might reach out and strike her. It was a struggle not to cringe in anticipation, for she’d been raised to it by her father, who had beaten her regularly.

But Ramsay did not raise his hand and the moment passed. He relaxed, and it was as if it had never happened. Then she wondered whether she’d simply imagined it by her expectation. In the past she’d been beaten enough times she might see it coming when perhaps it was not. The thing she’d always loved best about Daniel was that he never gave even the appearance of wanting to hurt her. Daniel rarely showed anger, and never at her.

“Very well,” Ramsay said with a smile that appeared genuine. “I’ll leave you to your work and hope that one day soon I’ll be invited to stay.”

“The hope would not be unreasonable.”

That brightened him some. “Then that’s enough for me at the moment.” With that, he gave a polite bow and made his exit with dignity.

Once he’d gone, she went to the chamber door and closed it softly. For a moment she stood by it, thinking hard about what had just happened and wondering whether she might be playing with fire.

She returned to her desk and prepared a quill for some work on the play she was writing. The thing was comedic, or at least it was supposed to be funny, though she wasn’t sure anyone would laugh. The Molière she’d seen the other day stuck in her mind, and set beside that play hers appeared weak and clumsy. She couldn’t compass the idea of setting an entire story in one or two places. If she couldn’t do that, then she would have to accept that only The New Globe Players would ever perform it, for everyone else in London was using the new stagecraft. For the first time since going to Daniel with her plan to renovate the Globe, she had doubts about keeping with the old style of theatre. Limiting herself to Shakespeare and mummeries. She wasn’t even certain performing her own plays wouldn’t be a violation of her patent from the king. She stared at the stack of pages she’d written, and sighed.