“That would be a reasonable assumption,” agreed Burbage. “Men are killed on the streets of London every night, but they are not often noblemen. The sheriff’s men will surely be asking questions.”
“But not necessarily of us,” said Speed.
“And why not?” asked Fleming.
“Well, Gresham was killed a considerable distance from here,” Speed replied. “And none of us had anything to do with it. We were all right here, in the tavern. All night long. So why, then, would the sheriff’s men want to question any of us about anything?”
“But the girl came here,” said Fleming. “She came here straight afterward.”
“And she was here before,” said Kemp.
“And the less said about that, the better,” Speed replied. “If she knows what’s good for her, then she will keep her mouth shut about the whole thing.”
Smythe frowned. “What are you saying?”
“Just this, my lad,” Speed replied, “that she should not have been here with you in the first place, and in the second place, if everything she told you about this Gresham chap was true, then this neatly solves her problem for her, does it not? Gresham ’s dead.” He shrugged. “His body will be found, if it has not been found already, and the sheriff’s men will ask their questions, and it shall turn out, as it always does, that no one has seen anything or heard anything. And even if anyone did, why then, they heard no more than a woman screaming and they saw no more than a woman running. It is highly unlikely that anyone will ever connect her with any of this.”
“You are forgetting the servant, Drummond,” Smythe said. “He was driving Gresham in the carriage. And he saw Elizabeth.”
“What of it?” Speed replied. “You said she told you that Gresham told him to drive off. So he was not there when it happened. Elizabeth will simply say they spoke on the street and then they parted and he must have been killed afterward. The point is, there is no reason to drag any of us into this. And if she does, then it shall only make things worse for her. If it comes out that she has been with you, then her reputation will be ruined and Henry Darcie will certainly hold you to blame, if not all of us. There is simply nothing to be served in her being honest here. ‘Twill certainly not bring Gresham back. ‘Twill only bring disaster down on one and all.”
For a moment, nobody spoke. Then Stackpole broke the silence. “He has a point, you know-”
“Aye, he does,” agreed Burbage, nodding. “I cannot say that I like it, but it does make sense.” “Makes sense to me,” said Kemp.
Smythe looked from one to the other of them. Finally, his gaze fell on Shakespeare. “Will?” he said.
The poet pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I hate to admit it,” he said, “but Speed does have a point. I cannot see where honesty in this case would be the best policy at all. Quite the contrary, ‘twould only hurt everyone concerned. Especially the two of you.”
“The question is,” said Burbage, gazing at Smythe intently, “can you make her see that?”
Smythe exhaled heavily. “I suppose that I shall have to try. For her sake, and for all of yours, if not for my own.”
“Then we are all agreed?” said Burbage, glancing around at his comrades. “Elizabeth Darcie was never here at all. Not tonight, not earlier today… not at all. We never saw her. None of us. We do not know anything about this. Is that quite clearly understood?”
Everyone agreed.
“But what shall she tell her parents she was doing tonight?” Shakespeare asked. “If she does not have a good story for them, one that they would easily accept, then if they pressed her for the truth, she would probably break down and tell them.”
“Is there not some friend she could say she was visiting?” asked Speed.
“Perhaps,” said Smythe. “But whereas a friend might lie for her, the others in the household probably would not. Parents, servants, any of them could give her away.”
“True,” said Shakespeare. “We would need a rather more convincing fiction, I should think.”
Burbage glanced at Stackpole. “Granny Meg?” he said.
The innkeeper grinned and nodded. “Granny Meg,” he agreed.
11
“WHO IS GRANNY MEG?” ASKED Elizabeth, as they rode through the nearly deserted streets together in the small carriage Burbage had arrived in.
“She is what some people call a ‘cunning woman,’ “ Burbage replied.
“In other words, she is what other people would call a witch,” Shakespeare said, wryly.
“A witch!“ Elizabeth ’s eyes grew wide. “You are not taking me to see a witch?”