The Scottish Play Murder (29 page)

“Were the other two still there when you killed Larchford?”

Tucker shook his head. “They both ran out of money and staggered home to sleep. Right away I put my head down on the table and pretended to have passed out, all the while watching Larchford through my eyelashes. He kept glancing over to me, looking a mite like he would come and ask me if I’d seen Angus. But he kept his seat, waiting all patient-like.”

Suzanne realized that Larchford’s cool demeanor was in spite of the fact that he was there to kill someone. He’d done it twice before, and it was apparent he thought it no important thing. Tucker plainly had no idea how close he’d come to being murdered himself that night. “So fortunate for you he didn’t recognize you.”

Tucker winked and pointed to his forehead. “I got some tricks up my sleeve, I do.”

Just enough to get himself hung,
thought Suzanne. “Then what happened?”

“Well, he got up and left once he’d paid for his ale, and I got up and followed him. I slipped out behind him just as he was a-yanking up his breeches for having sat so long. I stepped into the shadow at the end of the alley, and called to him like a Scotsman. I tried to sound like Angus.
‘Larrrrchforrrrd,
’ I said. He jumped about a foot in the air, he did, thinking it was Angus back from the dead. I near laughed for his discomfiture. He turned to peer into the shadows under the eave of the warehouse at my back, but though I could see him by the light of the half-moon overhead, he couldn’t see me. His eyes were so wide, he might have been searching for a ghost. Or even the corporeal body all with its bowels hanging out and blood running from it. It was all I could do to keep my laughter to myself.”

Suzanne had a bad moment, thinking how equal the two men had been, each coldly stalking the other. And both would end up dead for it. “Then what did you do?”

“Well, he couldn’t see me, and so decided he’d heard mistakenly. He turned to leave the alley, and that was when I lifted my staff and ran up behind him. I . . .” Just then Tucker appeared to comprehend the enormity of what he’d done, and his voice failed him. “I . . .” He coughed. “I hit him with the end of my staff. He staggered a bit, turned to see me behind him, and felt of the back of his head. His hand came away bloody, and he just looked at it, all stupid and surprised. I hit him again, this time on his forehead. He collapsed to his knees, and said something all garbled-like.

“Then a fit came over me. I went blind with the anger of how he’d killed the best friend I had in the world, who I loved more than anyone ever in my life. He’d stole Angus from me and from all of us, and we’ll never hear his pipes again, and Larchford deserved to be sent to hell for it. So I hit him some more. And more once he was all the way to the ground and not moving. I don’t know how many times I hit him; I just kept swinging the staff until I was all out. I couldn’t breathe, and was just a-gasping.” Even then Tucker was gasping at the memory. “Then I ran away. I went to Bank Side, and down some steps to the river. There I washed myself and my staff. You can see there are some stains on my dress.” He indicated a good-sized brown spot that was nearly invisible among the other stains and purposely placed discoloration on the witch’s costume. “But you’re right. Blood is hard to wash off. Lady Macbeth knows it well.”

Suzanne shivered, having played the
Out, damn spot
scene several times lately. She wondered if Tucker had made as many futile attempts to clean his costume. “Then you went home and have acted since as if nothing had happened.” She tried to think of anything he’d done or said that might have indicated a guilty conscience, but there was nothing. Plainly he felt justified in killing Angus’s killer. She wasn’t certain she couldn’t agree with him.

“Aye. I never thought the constable would ask you to hunt for me; he would never have made the effort himself. I regret you had to find out.”

“You should be glad he did come to me. I can present the evidence to him in as advantageous a way as possible. Perhaps all is not lost.” Though Tucker deserved to die, part of Suzanne also felt he’d been justified. She missed Angus, and now was going to miss her lute player.

Tucker burst into tears. Suzanne resisted doing the same.

S
uzanne sent young Christian to summon Constable Pepper, and Daniel took Tucker downstairs to Suzanne’s quarters, where all the windows were high on the wall and most were barred with iron, to wait.

The green room began to fill with actors who had been waiting to use the paint table and prepare for the performance of
Macbeth
, which was already nearly an hour late going onstage. Suzanne and Ramsay hurried to prepare themselves to play the two conspirators.

Ramsay, as usual, sat next to her at the table as he drew his eyebrows even larger and blacker than they already were. “Good work, Suzanne.”

“Thank you. Your performance was excellent as well.”

“Thank you, but I mean your work unraveling all that was behind those murders. You’ve a talent for reconstructing a story and filling in the missing bits. You’re of better intelligence than I think you admit to yourself.”

Suzanne paused in painting her face, and thought about that for a moment. She’d never thought herself stupid, but it occurred to her he might have a point that she did not think herself brilliant by any means. She replied, “You think I don’t know how smart I am? Or how smart I am not?”

“Unless it’s false modesty that makes you act as if you don’t know you’ve a sharp mind.”

“I rather think I’m straightforward in most things.” She’d never thought herself as having much modesty at all, false or otherwise. It was an odd surprise to learn Ramsay even noticed how she saw herself. Nobody else ever had.

“Then you could have more confidence in yourself, I think.”

That gave her another pause. “You think me shy and timid?”

“I think you’re an Englishwoman, and are therefore more mild than even a woman should be. Not that anyone in London would agree with me in that, but to my mind you’re too polite for your own good.”

She chuckled. Polite? She’d never been described as that. She replied to him, “I’ll take your comment for what it’s worth. It’s something to think about, at least.”

“Indeed. I hope you will.”

The play went onstage an hour late, but that day’s performance was exceptional. The energy was high, and the very special nature of the late afternoon show, most of it taking place by the light of braziers and torches in the near-solstice nightfall, made it all more novel to the audience. Suzanne “broke a leg” with many bows in the long and enthusiastic applause at the end, then came off stage with a smile at the corners of her mouth and a glow of well-being very unlike Lady Macbeth. She went to the green room to remove her makeup and settle her excited nerves.

Pepper arrived with his contingent of guards to arrest Tucker, and she escorted the men downstairs where they found the prisoner and the earl playing at cards in her sitting room.

Pepper said to the guards, “Take him.” Of course he meant the man in rags, so the guards took Tucker by the arms. Before they could restrain him, he scooped his winnings into a threadbare purse and slipped it down the neck of his dress into the bodice. Then he said to Suzanne as he passed, “Please, Suze, let them spare my life.”

“I have no control over that, I’m afraid, Tucker.”

“I know you can do anything. Make them let me live. You know I don’t deserve to die.”

“I’ll do what I can. I make no promises.”

“That’s enough for me.” And with that vote of confidence she did not feel for herself, he went quietly with the guards.

Pepper watched them go, then turned to Suzanne and Daniel.

“Well,” he said, “there’s one more criminal removed from the streets of London. The king will be pleased with me.”

“He’ll be pleased with Suzanne, I vow,” said Daniel.

Pepper gave him a blank look, as if he couldn’t possibly guess what had been meant by that. “Suzanne?”

“She’s the one who caught the criminal and solved the question of who killed Larchford.” Daniel was so matter-of-fact, Suzanne had to wonder whether he meant it ironically. But though she examined his face, there wasn’t a hint of it.

Pepper insisted. “I was the one who directed Mistress Thornton to pursue the question. It was my ability to discern the talent in her that eventually led to the apprehension of the villain. ’Tis the hallmark of a good leader to be able to delegate work to those best suited to it.”

Daniel opened his mouth to argue, but Suzanne interrupted him. “Well, be that as it may, Tucker has been apprehended and will pay for his crime.” There was something to be said for Pepper having had faith in her ability to solve the crime, but that wasn’t a discussion she wanted to witness between Daniel and Pepper. Besides, it was just as well that Pepper take credit for the work. The sort of notoriety that would come from this situation wouldn’t sit well on her, given the sorts of people who made up her troupe and her audience. It wouldn’t be good for her reputation to be seen by the public as allied with the authorities.

Nevertheless, because she’d promised and because she would not care to see Tucker on the gallows, she said to Pepper, “I do hope you’ll do what you can to save the poor man from hanging.” Then she remembered her promise to Lady Larchford and added, “In fact, there are a great many aspects of this case that might be downplayed for the sakes of certain other people who are innocent of wrongdoing.”

“Such as?”

With perfect patience, Suzanne pointed out what she’d thought was patently obvious. “Lady Larchford and her son. Neither had anything to do with the earl’s treasonous acts—nor did they even have knowledge of them—but if the truth were to be revealed, their property and the young earl’s title could be forfeit. Prosecuting Tucker will necessarily bring out why he killed Larchford, and that would likewise bring out that the earl had murdered Angus and Santiago. From there it would be inevitable that all of England would learn of his treasonous involvement with the pirate ship. As it stands, I believe the ship is still at the docks and is unlikely to continue its past business.”

“The king will want the ship.”

“Charles will have the ship, as it will go unclaimed by its rightful owner. Surely Lady Larchford would not want her son to claim a pirate ship. So, Constable, I wonder if there might be a way to put off the trial? I’m certain Tucker would much rather languish in Newgate than to have a speedy trial for the sake of being hung in a timely manner.”

“That would hardly be justice. Your musician deserves to hang.”

“He does.” Suzanne could hardly disagree with that. Arguments came to mind, but they were all useless in the face of the reality that Tucker had committed murder. She said, “But I can’t help but understand why he did it. Angus was a very dear friend to all of us, and Tucker knew Larchford would get away with the murder. You know that’s true, Constable. Even had I come to you with the evidence I’d found, you would never have tried to arrest him.”

Pepper fumfered a bit, blinking and shrugging, but in the end said, “I suppose I would have hesitated.”

“Further, Larchford was likely to do it again. He killed two men because of his nefarious business dealings. Who knows how many other times he would have solved problems by cutting people open with a dagger, had Tucker not stopped him?”

“I suppose you have a point.”

“So perhaps now you might encourage the magistrate to put off trying Tucker’s case for a while. A few years, perhaps? Let witnesses forget details. Allow emotions to die down. Perhaps let Larchford’s young son come to his majority and establish himself among his peers before making public that his father was a murderer and a traitor to the crown?”

Pepper grunted. “I can only accomplish so much. Word is bound to get out.”

“We all do what we can, Constable. And a man such as yourself surely has enough influence to keep a guilty man in prison. Newgate being what it is, he might even be misplaced in there?”

“Yes. Well, then, I suppose I’ll have a chat with the magistrate and see what might be done. Or go undone, whichever might make things right.”

“I knew I could count on you, Constable.”

“Certainly, Mistress Thornton.” He gave a quick, casual bow that took in everyone in the room. “I bid you both good day.”

When Pepper was gone, Suzanne turned to Daniel to greet him as if he’d just walked in. He smiled in good humor as he shuffled the card deck from force of habit before putting it away. She sat at the table, in the seat Tucker had occupied, and said, “You let him win some money from you so he wouldn’t starve in gaol.”

“Nonsense. He beat me most fairly. Had he enough time, he most likely would have had my sword.”

“The sale of that would have kept him well situated in the prison for a long time.”

Daniel chuckled and nodded in strong agreement. “Oh, yes. He’ll do well for himself in Newgate.”

Suzanne watched him fiddle with the cards far more than was necessary to have them well scrambled. Finally he said, “Have you read that book yet?”

“I’ve read some of it. I love to read, but I do it slowly. I would hate to miss so much as a syllable.” She was embarrassed to admit she was a slow reader who sometimes had to stop and think hard to understand what she was reading.

“I couldn’t slog through the Aristotle, myself. Give me an old fable or a French romance. Something quick and lively, and filled with adventure. Aristotle requires too much thinking. That’s for people like you, I say.”

Suzanne had to smile, surprised. “Like me? How do you mean that?”

He shrugged and shuffled cards some more. “Oh, you know. You’re ever off in a dreamland, thinking about things that have no business occupying a woman’s head. And you arrive at odd conclusions when you do. Ever a surprise. Half the time I don’t know where your mind has gone off to, and I don’t know how to bring you back from wherever you’ve gone.”

“That’s preposterous. I’m always here. You may address me any time you please, and I’ll reply.”

Daniel only grunted at that, and continued fiddling with the cards. After another long silence as she waited for him to speak, he said, “That Ramsay fellow wishes to marry you.”

“As I understand it.”

“Are you going to do it?”

“I haven’t given him an answer.”

“How long do you figure he’ll wait?”

“As long as it takes me to reply, I suppose. Or else as long as he continues to want to marry me. Then he’ll find another prospect and stop annoying me with it.”

“You don’t care if he does?”

“Not at all. I wouldn’t care to leap upon a proposal while I was yet unready to be married to anyone.”

“I thought marriage was what you wanted in life. You’re always at me for ruining you for it.”

“True.” She eyed him closely and thought back over the years when she’d have given anything to have married him. This past year she’d realized how little value that would have been to her, and so now she was certain she did not want to marry for the sake of simply having a husband. She would take her time in replying to Ramsay, for she enjoyed being courted. It was a position of power she’d never experienced as a cheap tart and a mistress kept by an embarrassed Puritan. It would take more than just kind words and a ride in the park to make her surrender to a suitor at this late date. She said to Daniel, “I no longer feel ruined.”

He made a humming noise in reply, and he seemed relieved. He said, “Very well. Ramsay is not the man for you, in any case.”

Her eyes narrowed at him. “And you think you know who is the man for me?”

One quick glance sideways at her, then he said, “Perhaps not. But definitely Ramsay would be bad for you.”

“If you say so.” Which, of course, meant,
I couldn’t disagree more
. They would all have to wait and see what happened next.