The Twelfth Night Murder (7 page)

The pieman turned his attention to other prospective customers, but attended to her again when she spoke. “This is an excellent pie, good man, and well worth the price. But for another farthing I would have some information.”

“Information I got, mistress. Ain’t nothing I don’t know about this bridge. ’Tis a small community, the folks who live in this here street. I know them all.”

“Very good, then. I’m told you’re knowledgeable of the murder that happened at the south end of this bridge some days ago.”

“Oh, I know all about that. They found a boy down there, just downstream. They think he was thrown. Just was heaved over the wall upstream, and landed in the water. It’s the mill wheel what got him. Caught him under, and drowned him, it did.”

“Did you see who threw him in?”

The pieman shook his head. “I were at home asleep then.”

“Not making pies?”

Now he laughed. “No, my wife does that. Gets up and bakes them all up so’s I can bring them here and sell them.”

“And then she sleeps while you’re here?”

“No, she works for a weaver during the day.” His brow furrowed at this strange line of questioning, and he seemed to think her questions a bit silly. Her next question was aimed at clarifying why she would want to know so much about his wife’s sleeping habits.

“Do you live nearby? Did your wife see who threw the boy into the river?”

Again the pieman shook his head. “We live up thataway.” He pointed with a thumb over his shoulder toward the north end of the bridge. “Neither of us saw anything.”

“Do you know anyone who saw anything? Who told you about what had happened?”

He thought hard for a moment, then said, “I don’t recall exactly who first told me of it. It seemed everyone was talking about it all at once. Some folks buying pies, mostly. I couldn’t tell you their names.”

“I see.” All rumor and conjecture. No real facts, other than that a boy in a dress had been found dead along the south bank of the Thames. Facts known by everyone who had witnessed the discovery, and nobody to be found who might have seen the crime itself. “Have you, perhaps, seen anyone lurking about the dark corners of the south end of the bridge?”

“No.”

“Have you ever seen a boy near here wearing a blue dress decorated with lace?”

The pieman shook his head. “Nothing like that around here. I would have chased him off if I had. Don’t want nothing like that around my cart. Bad for business.”

Suzanne was sure it would have been, but her sympathy was strained. His “information” was worthless, though she gave him his farthing regardless. He’d at least been generous with his time and as forthcoming as possible.

So the bridge was entirely a loss, and the only information she’d garnered was that the likelihood of the murder having taken place there was extremely slim. The area was not suitable for the scenario of the violence evidenced by the body she’d seen, and nobody seemed to know anyone who had seen anything. Since she couldn’t place the boy on the bridge at all, she needed to look elsewhere for witnesses.

Next she went to the stairs along Bank Side, upstream of the bridge, for that was the place most likely for the body to have entered the water, between the bridge and the bend in the river. There were fifteen of them, from the Old Barge House Stairs by the bend to the Pepper Alley Stairs just above the bridge. She began there, because the farther upstream the body had entered the water, the less chance there would have been for it to reach the bridge unnoticed. Somewhere along that bank someone might have noticed it or it might have snagged on an obstruction as it did when it reached the bridge.

Everyone she found at the Pepper Alley Stairs knew exactly what everyone on the bridge knew, which was the common knowledge disseminated by those who had found the dead boy. There was nothing new to be learned there, so Suzanne moved on. All afternoon she chatted with boatmen and bargemen. Some were happy to stop and chat, while others evaded her questions and forced her to follow them up or down the steps that led from the top of the bank to the edge of the water. As the afternoon wore on, her feet grew sore and her legs stiffened with cold and exertion. She wanted to give up, and told herself she would find nothing, especially since the farther upstream she went, the fewer people she found who had even heard about the murder. But each time her thoughts wandered in that direction she told herself this was the only way to find any tidbit of information that might give her a direction in which to look. Just then she had nothing but a vague indication of rich and powerful people, and no way to know what had happened, let alone who had done it. So she pressed onward in search of someone who may have glimpsed something. Anything.

The Bank End Stairs were the closest to the Goat and Boar, and they were her best hope for a witness. Here was where her intuition niggled her, where she thought the murder might have happened. This was where a witness, if there were one, might be found. The four previous access stairs had produced nothing, but she had high hopes for this one.

Bank End were the stairs at the very downstream end of Bank Side, and downstream of them were clusters of buildings that overlooked the river directly. No street ran along the bank below Bank End. It was dark, having no brazier or torch sconce, and anyone using the stairs after dark would need to bring a torch themselves or depend on dim, distant bits of illumination from barges, moon, or stars. It was the main reason these stairs had been a favorite place for clandestine rendezvous with Daniel back when she’d believed he loved her, the other reason being its proximity to the Goat and Boar. Since there had been no moon or stars the night of the murder, Suzanne knew the stairs must have been quite dark without a torch or candle.

Now, in the waning, overcast afternoon light, Suzanne descended the stairs carefully, looking about for anything amiss. A barge was readying to dock, carrying only a few passengers and some few crates of cargo. The bargeman called out their location, and one of the men on board was gathering his satchel and a small box in preparation to disembark. The barge touched the quay just as Suzanne reached it herself.

A man in rags sat propped against the bank wall, holding a stoneware jug between his knees and singing drunkenly to the winter wind that raced down the riverbed at a fair clip. His lips were bluish, and his fingers red with cold, though he wore several layers of filthy clothing. She addressed the drinking man.

“Good afternoon, good fellow. May I have a word with you?”

He peered at her a moment, apparently decided she was a friend, and graced her with an enormous, toothless grin. Not one tooth in sight, and his gums were a patchy white and dark purple. “Right,” he mouthed more or less. It came out something like
whie.

“I wonder, do you spend much time here?” She’d never seen him before, but often men with no homes drifted here and there all over London in search of somewhere to sleep where they might not freeze to death during the winter. Clearly this man did not feel the cold so much as a more sober man might, and was a fine candidate for falling asleep and never waking up. Since it had only been a few days since the murder, she thought it might be possible this man had been here that night.

He replied, “I come here to watch the boatses race. I loves to watch the boatses.” With one finger he pointed out toward the water, and ran it horizontally as if indicating a very fast boat racing downstream.

“Were you watching those
boatses
here three nights ago?”

He frowned in concentration and sucked in his lips as he calculated three nights. His mouth became a thin, lipless line over which his nose hung and nearly touched his chin. Then he garbled, “Dunno. Can’t remember.”
Dunnocanmemer.

“Might you have seen a boy in a blue dress come down here one night?”

He shook his head. Then he remembered his jug and took a drink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his already soaked sleeve. Then he took another drink and stared at an anonymous spot on the stone quay in front of him.

Suzanne realized she wasn’t going to have anything useful from him, and turned her attention to the barge, where the passenger was just disembarking.

“Good man!”

The passenger looked to her, but didn’t stop.

“Good man, may I have a word with you, please?”

“I don’t care for any company today, thank you.” He continued walking.

She walked with him, keeping just ahead of his pace, and graced him with a disgusted twist of her mouth, then said, “The truth of it is, neither do I, and I’ll thank you to have some respect for a woman looking only for information.”

“You’ve no vizier. I thought you were a whore.” The curl of his lip told her he still thought she was one, but now he thought her a stupid one for not being a professional.

“Be that as it may, I am charged by the office of the constable to find a murderer, and I wish to ask you some questions if I may.”

Just short of the stairs, he stopped walking, set down his satchel, and turned to face her. “Very well. What do you wish to know?”

“Do you come to these stairs often? Might you have been here three nights ago?”

“No. I don’t come here often, and the last time I was on these stairs was a fortnight ago. Is that all you wanted to know?”

“Where were you three nights ago?”

Now he frowned. “I think that is nobody’s business but my own.” He picked up his satchel and turned toward the stairs to proceed on his way, and she let him go. He irritated her enough for her to want to detain him and annoy him on principle, but that would be a monumental waste of time and energy. She watched him climb the stairs, then turned her attention to the barge at the quay.

The bargeman was watching her. “Bold of you to be out and about on your own, I say.”

“I’m an adult, and I carry a dagger.” The last was untrue, but she didn’t much like the look of this man. He had a dodgy air about him, and a constant habit of glancing sideways that made him appear shifty. Not unusual for those who worked on boats, but she’d never felt comfortable around men like this.

“You’re looking for someone who did a murder?”

“I’m in search of someone who may have seen it happen.”

“I may have seen it.”

“Do tell?” She had no faith in his honesty, but was prepared to listen just in case. “What did you see?”

“Got any money for this information?”

“Tell me what you saw, and I might be able to persuade the constable to provide you a reward.”

He sucked some air between his teeth, then said, “Awright, then. I saw a man down here three nights ago kill another man.”

“You witnessed the entire murder, but didn’t tell anyone?”

He shrugged. “Weren’t none of my business, were it? And besides, I weren’t coming here. I was passing these here stairs at speed, a-heading downstream, you know. And I looked over at the quay and saw a man killing another one.”

“Two men?”

“Oy, right. Two men a-going at it, then one grabs the other by the neck and throttles him.” The bargeman held up his hands to demonstrate, and he shook the imaginary neck of the victim. “Done him just like this, you see.”

Once more Suzanne’s heart sank as she realized this story was as faulty as all the others she’d heard that day. This one was probably intentionally false, as well. “What was the victim wearing?”

“Why, he was wearing breeches and coat, just like everyone else who comes out at night.”

“And the murderer?”

“Breeches and coat.”

“What color?”

“Couldn’t tell you. They were too far away, and it were dark.”

Dark, indeed. Dark enough that unless this man’s barge was about to dock he wouldn’t have been able to see much of what went on at the quay. She raised her chin and gave him a more gracious smile than he deserved. “Thank you, good man. I’ll relay this information to the constable, and he will be in touch with you regarding your reward.”

The bargeman grinned and returned to his work, pushing his barge into the current and proceeding along his way. It never occurred to him that she would need his name in order for the constable to find him with his reward. Suzanne watched him go and was glad she probably wouldn’t run into him again.

Then she turned back toward the stairs to leave, and slowed as she spotted a blackened torch lying on the quay, just where it met the wall behind the stairs. She went to take a closer look. It lay atop a bit of rubbish that had collected beside the stairs, hard to see in the pile of equally dark refuse. It was larger than an ordinary handheld torch. It looked more like the sort that belonged in a sconce outside a shop or tavern. She also saw that some of the rubbish in which it lay was burnt. A circle of char surrounded the head of it, and the wall beside it was also blackened by fire. It appeared the torch had been thrown aside and had landed where it lay, charring the things around it.

This niggled the back of her mind. Someone had brought a torch here, and recently. She gazed up at the Bank Side above, and began climbing the stairs to it. The niggling at the back of her head was growing into a full-sized hunch.

At the entrance to the alley in which stood the Goat and Boar, fewer than a hundred yards from the Bank End Stairs, she found the sconce that ordinarily lit it was empty. That torch was gone and had not been replaced.

She looked back at the stairs, and wondered whether it meant something, or meant nothing at all.

“I
’m told that I should look in the direction of the ruling class,” she said over a late supper that night. She’d quite recovered from her rather upsetting afternoon, and tucked away her conversation with the young woman in Bishopsgate Ward so that she would forget it quickly. Now she focused on Daniel and how to draw information from him.

He chewed thoughtfully on a piece of beef, ready to chase it with a nice bit of Sheila’s Irish bread. He lounged in his chair, entirely at home in Suzanne’s quarters in the rear basement of the Globe. He did, after all, own the building, and she was there by virtue of a business partnership between Daniel and her son. Though restoring the theatre had been her idea, and she had brought Daniel, Piers, and Horatio together to form the new troupe and its venue, by law she had no ownership or rights to anything. Piers was her legal guardian, and all her business was done through him and with his approval. Though her only power in this venture was her son’s regard for his mother, her relationship with Piers was good and that power was formidable.

Suzanne never let her lack of legal standing get in her way regarding Daniel. Nor did his social rank give her much pause, for it had always been a factor in their relationship and she was accustomed to it. She knew exactly how much influence she had on him, for she was the mother of his only son, and though he did not acknowledge Piers, he was vulnerable where the young man was concerned. Suzanne had spent the past year and a half exploring that soft spot, and was prepared to poke at it again today.

In reply to her comment, he said, “Were the boy ruling class, it would be a touchy thing indeed. No family of good standing would want it known they’d produced a sodomite. Particularly one who sold himself in Bank Side.” His tone expressed his extreme disgust, and she guessed he was still uncomfortable about his encounter with the boy several nights ago.

“I wonder whether you know of a family who’s had a young son go missing recently.”

“If I had, I might not say so to you.”

She pretended surprise, and paused in cutting her meat. “For what reason? What have I done to be used so ill?” Her tone was mildly chastising, with a slight shading of humor. It wouldn’t do to turn this into a battle of wills.

He shrugged. “You can be overly aggressive when on the scent in an investigation.”

“I have had my reasons.”

“In any case, you’ve never had the problem of being too discreet. You’ve an unfortunate knack for whacking away at a problem and letting chips fall where they may. For what reason are you investigating this? I think it would be best for all if it were simply tucked away with the rest of London’s assorted evils. The place is depraved, and there’s nothing for it.”

Suzanne chuckled. “Listen to you, talking about London and depravity! You, who spent all that time in France, and who brought much of French thought with him when he returned!” Her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “You, who were so ready to fall into bed with a stranger that you couldn’t even first determine the gender of your prospect!”

A deep, red blush crept up Daniel’s face from his neck, and Suzanne feared she might have gone too far. But he said, “I might not have had any interest in what I perceived as a perfectly natural and willing girl, had I thought I would have been welcomed by you later in the evening.”

“I’m certain your wife would have welcomed you.”

“My wife is beside the point.” Suzanne understood that his complaints about Anne were facile whining, and that he enjoyed her bed regularly. Certainly more regularly than he had while exiled in France. Now he reached across the small table and touched her free hand, which lay flat on it. “I would prefer you above all others, were you nearly as willing as that misguided boy.”

She knew that to be untrue. Though he would be perfectly happy to have a romp with her if the mood should ever strike her, she knew he preferred nobody. At least, he didn’t prefer her over anyone. Except, perhaps, a boy in a blue dress and blonde wig. She felt he was putting on a show for her. A demonstration of his manliness. She withdrew her hand. “Don’t worry, my lord, I understand that you prefer women over boys, and that your error that night was a fair mistake. Anyone might have been flattered into not noticing his hands. Or his extreme lack of bosom. There was, after all, a great deal of lace at his neck.”

He also withdrew his hand, once more embarrassed. She wished he would have enough maturity to not have to prove himself with every woman he encountered. She thought he would sulk now, but he said in a tone that was quite reasonable, “Why is anyone investigating the murder of a sodomite? Who would even think it a crime?”

“He was human, Daniel.” Anger bloomed in her breast, like a bloodstain across a bodice from a heart wound, and she swallowed hard. “One doesn’t need a special reason to want justice for a young boy. Why are you so hateful?”

“They are an abomination.”

“God’s creatures.”

Daniel fell silent, and took a bite from his bread. More silence filled the room as he chewed. Suzanne watched his face as he struggled with himself on this subject. Rather than speak and give him a chance to sidetrack her, she waited until he would speak next. Finally he said, “I don’t understand that sort.”

“Neither do I, but I do understand that there are things of God’s earth I can’t be expected to understand, which are therefore impossible for me to judge.”

“Of course not. You’re a woman.”

She fell silent and sat upright in her seat. Her eyes narrowed and hardened.

He said, sulking, “Very well. I don’t understand you, and therefore cannot judge you.” He waved her on to continue. “Go on.”

She said, “It is all right not to judge, and in fact Jesus tells us we shouldn’t. I can be bewildered by some behavior and still want justice for a boy who was stabbed, mutilated, and thrown into the river like so much rubbish. God made him what he was, and I am not to say why. But it was a man who made him dead.
That
much I can know is unjust. That much I am confident to judge.”

Daniel emitted an affirmative though grudging grunt, and sounded as if he could be coming around.

So she pressed. “I wonder whether there is someone among the peerage, or close to it, who has a son nobody has seen recently. Whom do you know might fit that description?”

“We don’t all know each other intimately, you know. And some are more private than others.”

“I realize that.”

“I certainly don’t know all their children, either.”

“Of course not.”

“Besides, nearly everyone has children who are off in various forms of fosterage or schooling.”

“Of course. But have you heard anything unusual?”

Daniel thought hard for some moments. Then he shook his head. “I don’t know. There are so many who send their children here and there, for education or to simply get them out of the way. To France, to the countryside . . . one never knows where the offspring are—or sometimes who the offspring are—even if one is friendly with the parents.”

“Someone terribly proper, Esmeralda said. Someone very high up.”

“I can’t—” Daniel stopped short, staring into the middle distance, remembering. “The Earl of Dandridge has a son about that age who was recently sent to France.”

“Good.” Suzanne nodded, pleased Daniel was now cooperating. “Any others?”

Daniel shook his head, then said, “Wait.” His head tilted, as if he were listening carefully to a dim memory. “Wait. There is another. It was months ago, though. Duke of Cawthorne.” He nodded. “Yes, Jacob Worthington, Duke of Cawthorne. He has a son that age, and by all accounts the boy has been in the country since last summer.”

“And you think our victim could be this boy? But if he’s been away for months, how was he killed in London?”

Daniel shrugged. “I wouldn’t hazard a guess. But you asked about absent sons of high-ranking gentlemen, particularly high-ranking gentlemen who are of extremely proper families. Cawthorne is a Puritan of the purest stripe. Never a word but in praise of God, and never a whisper of scandal about his entire family. Ever.”

“That strikes me as . . . unnatural.”

“Indeed.”

Suzanne determined to arrange visits to the families of the duke and the earl.

*   *   *

T
HE
next morning, as Suzanne set out to visit the western end of London, she was exiting her rooms when there came a shouting from the upstairs dressing room, two stories above the stage level. She knew it was the dressing room, because the voice was Liza and Suzanne couldn’t tell what she was saying. Were she in one of the rooms closer to the basement, Liza’s voice would have carried clearly enough for everyone in the ’tiring house to hear and understand every word.

Then came Wally’s voice, in full, manly tenor, and Suzanne realized they weren’t rehearsing. She sighed, and hoped Horatio was in the vicinity to calm them down. At the very least to keep them from scratching each other’s eyes out.

She fled through the rear exit, hoping not to be dragged into the actors’ conflict, and found Ramsay waiting for her in the alley outside the rear door of the theatre. He lounged against the wall of the building across the narrow way, facing the Globe entrance, and when he saw her he regained his feet and presented himself at attention. “Good morning, my dear Suzanne!” He was bundled inside a bulky sheepskin coat, and today he wore breeches and tights against the sharp January weather rather than the kilt he usually preferred. His hat was broad brimmed, but old and had lost its shape so that the brim drooped. Bad for fashion, but good for warmth. Even a true Scot such as himself must appreciate warm clothing when he could get it.

She stopped short, quite surprised to see him lurking here. “What are you doing here in the alley, Ramsay? Why did you not come inside and out of the cold? Have you been here long?”

He glanced at the theatre door, then back at her. “Not long. I’ve come to escort you through your day. I’m told you’re hot on the trail of a murderer, and I aim to make certain you don’t share the fate of the victim in question.”

She made a vague shrug, as if shaking off the silly thought. “I don’t see any danger ahead for me today. In fact, I am headed for some rather genteel neighborhoods. I need to speak to some folks in Pall Mall and Westminster. I must see the Earl of Dandridge, who has a new estate in Pall Mall, and I’m told the Duke of Cawthorne maintains his London residence in Orchard Street.”

Ramsay’s eyebrows went up, and a not-quite-stifled smile curled the corners of his mouth. “Westminster? Are you sure they’ll let you in? Or even walk down the street?”

“Not at all. I rather expect the moment my foot touches the ground there a wild pack of palace guards will rush at me with pikes and demand to know my business. And further it is my firm belief the presence of a large, loud Scot would only hinder my chances at going unnoticed.” She headed off up the alley toward Maid Lane, where she could flag down a carriage for the ride across the river and around the bend in the Thames to the wealthiest part of London.

“You injure me, my lady.” Ramsay pressed a palm to his chest as he fell into step beside her. The icy cobbles beneath their feet caused much slipping, and Suzanne was forced to take his arm to steady herself. He pressed his free hand to hold hers secure, and made certain she didn’t fall. He continued, “I would stand ready to do your bidding. I wish only your safety.”

“Nonsense. You wish to occupy my bed.”

“That as well, but it can wait for a more suitable moment. And speaking of that, have you considered my offer?”

“I’ve been considering it, but cannot tell whether I am ready for marriage. You know I rather enjoy my new life, and already have too many men taking credit and money for my efforts.”

“I assure you, I wish no credit for anything I haven’t done myself. Were you my wife, I would laud your accomplishments to the heavens.”

“That’s very well, but marriage is a rather high price for praise I should have in any case. You could do that without having my lifelong commitment. I wonder what you could offer me I don’t already have on my own.”

“You did mention bed . . .”

“I have had all of that I care for, thank you very much, and also without the Lord’s blessing. With few exceptions, it’s pretty much all the same, once all is said and done. Since William left, I find I don’t miss it.” She was careful not to mention the one time with Daniel only a year ago, which at her age she’d found entirely too casual, and given his attitude she didn’t particularly miss being with him anymore, either.

“But you haven’t had me.”

“And what would be so special about a romp with you? Have you parts that are unlike other men? A secret knowledge of technique that has gone undiscovered by the rest of humanity since the beginning of the world?” She kept her tone light and humorous, lest she hurt his feelings. Her wish was to keep him at bay, not to chase him off with mean words, for she enjoyed his company and didn’t wish to lose it.

Ramsay chuckled, impervious. “Were I to reveal my parts to you, you might faint at the sight.” That brought a delighted guffaw from her, and she let him continue, which he did eagerly. “Why, my member is so large, and so vigorous, you could hardly contain it.”