The Opening Night Murder (6 page)

She was to meet Daniel at the bank at sunset, and she
twitched to be let go so she could sneak away. Poor Mr. Farthingworth would have to find a girl more desperate than she to marry.

When her attention came back around, Father was saying, “Mr. Farthingworth has made an offer, and we should be well pleased with it.” It was unseemly groveling. Shameful, and it made Suzanne cringe. If only he’d held her worth a little better, she might have had a better offer than this. But Father had always made it clear she was a burden to him and he resented having to pay a dowry at all. Plainly he didn’t care if her future were secure; he wanted only to be rid of her and her sisters, so her brothers wouldn’t be burdened by them when they would one day inherit what there was. The paltry money he’d set aside for her wasn’t enough to attract a man of character, never mind one of rank. She knew she was pretty enough, but even great beauty would be no help if the dowry was inadequate. Farthingworth was the best she could ask for, and he wasn’t enough. She could never love him. She didn’t intend to marry him.

Poor Farthingworth stood straighter at Thornton’s words. Father wasn’t nearly as wealthy as Farthingworth’s father, but was well respected in London and held minor office, so Suzanne knew Farthingworth was getting some social advantage to make up for the tiny dowry. In addition, Suzanne had a realistic assessment of her looks. She was the prettiest of her sisters, and at her age understood the attentions of men and what that meant to her future. Particularly her future with Daniel Stockton, who would one day be the Earl of Throckmorton and, more important, who loved her as Farthingworth did not.

Stephen Farthingworth had only met her once before, knew her not well at all, and certainly hadn’t made his offer of marriage out of love. Nor out of regard of any kind. He was a pleasant enough fellow in polite company, but certainly was not the
most intelligent creature she’d ever met and seemed a little more interested in the whores on Bank Side than in Suzanne during his visits to London. Though on this visit at least, while requesting her hand, he didn’t stink of French perfume.

“You’re to know, Suzanne, that I’ve accepted his offer on your behalf.” He might have at least made a pretense of inviting her opinion of this offer. Most girls at least had veto power; Suzanne was offered nothing.

Father continued, “He’s accepted a very reasonable dowry.” Ever the miser her father. He fancied himself a loving and responsible parent, but she knew in this family her brothers were the important ones. He might even be happy to learn the truth about her and Daniel, for it would save him the dowry entirely. As Daniel’s mistress, she would be the responsibility of the future earl and Father needn’t be bothered with her anymore. There would be both love and security, and she’d had little of either in her life before Daniel. It seemed to her the best thing for everyone involved.

She drew a deep breath, steeled herself, and said, “Father, I’m afraid I can’t accept Mr. Farthingworth’s eminently generous offer, and you cannot accept for me.”

“Why not?” Father’s voice carried the edge it always did when he sensed she was about to embarrass him. And he was right. This time the news would be devastating.

Another deep breath, and she plunged into her confession. “Father, I could hardly give myself in marriage to a man when I’m already with child by another. Particularly, given that my dowry is so ‘reasonable,’ I expect Mr. Farthingworth will want to withdraw his offer.” The last she said in a voice rather thick with sarcasm, and she lowered her gaze to the floor for it. Bluntness was her worst fault, and she wished she could be more tactful because her straightforward nature was never helpful
and always made Father harsher toward her when her impatience with dull people showed through.

One glance at him, and by the look on his face she saw she’d severely overestimated his willingness to accept the situation. She wished she could reel in the words she’d just spoken. His eyes went wide, and his jaw dropped. The silence in the room lengthened, and tension grew until she thought the very air would snap to pieces. She glanced at Mr. Farthingworth, who stared a hole in the wood floor, his lips pressed hard together. Father said in a trembling voice, “What did you say?”

“I said I’m pregnant, Father. By the time I could be married to Farthingworth here, it would be apparent to all that you had sold him devalued property. He would be embarrassed, you would be scandalized, and I would be trapped in a marriage to a man I don’t love.” She addressed Farthingworth, “I’m so sorry, but it’s true. And neither do you love me, so I think we’re both better off not being married to each other, don’t you agree?”

Farthingworth opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. She returned her attention to her father and said, “Don’t you think, Father? Isn’t it better to marry someone you love than to make a purely financial arrangement without regard to feelings or personality? Particularly since my dowry is so very…
reasonable
?”

She waited in silence for a reply. Saying more would not be helpful, so she knitted her fingers together to the point of pain to keep her mouth from uttering another word. Nobody spoke.

Finally Farthingworth cleared his throat and drew in his chin. He looked at Suzanne, and she saw some pain in his eyes. No anger, but real pain. Even more she regretted having blurted in front of him, for she had never wished to be unkind. He said, “Thank you for your honesty, Miss Thornton. So rare in a woman, and I should have liked that in a wife.” Suzanne opened her
mouth to reply, but he spoke over her. “Well…I expect there is much to be said here that doesn’t involve me. I’ll take my leave now. A pleasant evening to you both, and I hope all turns out well.” With that, he bowed to Father. “I’ll find the door myself, thank you.” And he departed with alacrity uncharacteristic of him.

Father waited until he was certain Farthingworth was out of earshot, then he reached out and smacked Suzanne on the cheek. She staggered sideways, but from long experience was able to make a quick recovery. Her cheek burned red and it took a moment for her vision to clear as she resumed her stance before her father. Her hands remained at the small of her back, and she faced him in defiant silence. Her thoughts were on Daniel, and she hoped he would wait for her at the stairs. When this beating was over, she would hurry to him. If he came, all would be right with the world and he would help her to know what to do.

Father raised his cane and proceeded to beat her. He pulled none of his strokes. He never did. She protected her baby with her arms and presented the parts of her she knew could withstand the punishment with only bruises. It seemed to go on forever, and soon there seemed never to have been a time when she wasn’t being beaten with Father’s cane.

When it finally stopped, it was as if she’d begun a whole new life filled with pain that would never end. She lay huddled on the floor, her arms swollen and possibly broken, blood running from her lacerated scalp and down her neck. Her nose was intact, but one side of her upper lip had risen to the size of an egg. Her father ordered her to her bedchamber, there to await supper, and he left her on the ’tiring room floor. On his way out he ordered the downstairs maid to leave her alone. Suzanne was to make her way upstairs and clean up by herself.

Slowly she struggled to her feet and climbed the stairs to the room she shared with her sisters. There she wet a towel in the washbowl and dabbed at her face. Her hair was hopeless, matted with blood. Taking it down and trying to comb it out would take all night, and there wasn’t enough time for that, so she tied it up with a kerchief. The cloth soaked through immediately, but there was nothing for it. Time was of the essence, and being caught just now might bring another, worse beating. This bleeding would stop when it would. The swollen lip would go down, the cuts would heal, the bruises would fade. They always had. And these would be the last of them, she swore.

None of the family were present at the moment, so she was unhindered as she packed a small satchel with clothes. Then she drew on her cloak and pulled the hood over her head as far as it would go to hide the kerchief. Quietly she made her way down the stairs and out to the street. She didn’t know what she would say if she were apprehended, but luck was with her to the extent that nobody saw her and she strode purposefully to the corner as if on an important errand. And in a way she was.

It was a fair walk across the bridge to Bank Side, and full dark when she arrived at the stairs. Only the full moon and a torch near the bank’s edge lit the area. Daniel was waiting for her, sitting on the top step of the stairs to the river. When he saw her, he leapt to his feet and hurried to her. “Suzanne!”

She burst into tears and let him fold her into his arms.

“What happened?” One finger touched her swollen upper lip.

She pressed her face against his cloak, and it muffled her voice. “Father accepted a proposal from a man named Farthingworth. I told them about the baby.”

Daniel grunted. “So you’ve packed up and left, I see.”

She looked up into his shadowy face. “I had no choice. He
might kill me next time; this time I believe he tried.” One arm wouldn’t take the weight of her bag, and the other was also in terrible pain.

“You know I can’t take you in.”

She nodded. Daniel was married, and had been for a year, to a girl not quite sixteen. She was the daughter of a duke, so Suzanne knew it was not a love match. He loved Suzanne; it was so certain she never thought to question it. He was wealthy, and so would establish her and her child in a house somewhere. She would be his mistress, and she could live the rest of her life knowing she was the one he really cared for. Far better than to be the wife of someone who didn’t love her.

“In fact,” he continued, “I won’t even be in London much longer.”

That was unexpected. She stepped back, and he had to catch her arm to keep her from accidentally stepping over the edge of the cobbles into the river. A cry of pain escaped her as the jolt shot up to her shoulder. Now in his eyes she saw he meant to tell her good-bye. She sank to her knees next to her bag, gasping and searching for something to say. Finally she choked out, “Why?”

He knelt beside her. “The king needs me. He’s already off to York, and I need to catch up with them immediately. I only came tonight to tell you farewell.”

She sat on her heels. Her head swam with the revelation and the realization of what she’d just done to herself. And even then she deluded herself about the enormity of it, for it was too horrible to grasp.

Had she known fully what the following years would bring for herself and her child, she might have fainted. Or thrown herself into the river. Even at that moment she didn’t realize
that tonight was the last she would see of Daniel for eighteen years. In that time there were only three letters from him while he fought with the King’s Cavaliers, then fled with young Charles II. He never saw Piers, and had no contact with either of them while on the Continent. From that moment forward, Suzanne was entirely on her own in the world.

“H
ow have you been, Suzanne? Are you well?” Daniel’s voice held the too-casual tone of someone who had just met her on the street after an absence of only days.

“I’m a whore, Daniel, but you always knew that.” As much as she struggled to keep the bitterness from her voice, there was no hiding it entirely.

Hearing it, his reply was nearly as tart. “Well, then I expect you’ve had a far greater income than I’ve had these past few years. Loyalty to the crown is well and good, but it does tie one to the fortunes of another, for good or for bad, and I can hardly say the past eighteen years have been particularly good.”

Without pause except for breath, he changed the subject with a wide, friendly grin and his finest charm. “Shall we retire to a public room for some refreshment? Is the Goat and Boar still in business or has London forsaken it, as it has every other earthly pleasure?”

“The public room survives. Men will have their indulgences no matter what they profess to the world. In fact it thrived beneath the notice of Cromwell and with the patronage of many in Parliament.” She looked toward the pub, for it was just up the bank from where they stood. “Old Dent has died and his son has taken over, but it’s the same old place.”

“Then by all means, let us claim the table in the back and have a chat. Like old times.” Suzanne remembered the old times as less chatting than other pastimes.

She hated to spend this bright, lovely day in a dark, stuffy pub, but she was terribly curious what had moved Daniel to ask to see her today. She clung to a hope that was thin as a wisp of fog, and wanted to grasp it closer in to see if it might turn out to be more substantial. She took his offered arm under her hand and strolled with him to the Goat and Boar up the street.

The pub lay tucked into an alleyway so small it had no name, and it had no sign besides. The attitude of the proprietor—and anyone else in the neighborhood—had always been that anyone who didn’t already know where the Goat and Boar was didn’t need to be there and therefore wasn’t welcome. Though its upper floor could be seen from the river, it had no window on that side. No view. Nobody could see out, and nobody could see in, and most of its patrons liked it that way.