“Well, be that as it may,” said Smythe, “I think we can probably agree that Dubois is not a very likely suspect. Still, one never knows. I should like to see what Sir William makes of him, but regretably, he has not returned. What about Camden?”
“I do not like him,” Shakespeare said.
“Excellent,” said Smythe. “We shall hang him on the strength of that. The crime is solved. We may now get on with our tour.”
“Spare me your sarcasm,” Shakespeare said. “There seems to be no pleasing you tonight. You criticize me for liking one man and then mock me for disliking another. What would you have of me? We know next to nothing of these people. Well, we know enough of Dubois, at least, to know that he can at least impress a lady with his manners and his erudition. But then, he is French, and a Frenchman learns to impress women from the time he learns his hornbook. Do you have any opinion of young Camden, Elizabeth, that you would like to share?”
“The barrister? He seems amiable, but rather full of himself,” she replied. “But then if that were a crime, they would doubtless have to arrest at least half the men in England. I know he was tutoring Blanche in poetry and literature. Beyond that, I have scarcely spoken with him. Blanche’s suitors, for the most part, seem to have had eyes only for Blanche, which should not be surprising.”
“That leaves Daniel Holland, then,” Smythe said.
“Which one is he?” asked Shakespeare.
“Sir Roger’s son, blond, bearded, stocky, handsome, but a bit of a dullard-talks of little else save breeding horses.” “I have not seen him tonight.”
“Nor have I, come to think of it. I have not laid eyes upon him since the funeral,” said Smythe.
?
?Did he attend the funeral?” asked Shakespeare.
“Aye, he did,” said Smythe. “But he has been conspicuous by his absence since you have returned. I wonder why. It seemed as if almost everyone had gathered at the tomb tonight. And yet, I did not see him.”
“Nor did I,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head.
They had reached the stairs leading down to the garden and the maze. Elizabeth walked between them, holding onto their arms as they descended. Their torch had sputtered out by now and the stone steps were wet, so they went slowly in the darkness, watching where they walked.
“Are you thinking what I am thinking?” Smythe asked Shakespeare.
“He could have been the one who took a shot at you tonight,” said Shakespeare.
“And whilst everyone else was at the wake up at the house,” said Smythe, “he could easily have gone back to the tomb and murdered Catherine.”
They felt Elizabeth tense between them.
“Forgive us, Elizabeth,” Smythe said. “If this is upsetting to you, then we could escort you back to the house.”
“No, I would rather stay with you,” she said. “I wish to do anything I can to help.”
“You are quite certain?” Shakespeare said. “I can see how this could be difficult and painful for you.”
“Do not worry about me. Go on.”
“Well, that is just the point,” said Smythe. “Where do we go from here? The murderer could be any one of them.”
“Aye, it could, indeed, but the more I think on it, the more I am troubled by the motivation,” said Shakespeare.
Smythe frowned. “How so?”
“Well, ‘twould seem to me to be taking a significantly greater risk in order to divert attention from a much smaller one. Our impostor and his confederate, whoever they may be, are thoroughly unscrupulous men. That much, we already know. What you had overheard them planning was a brazen bit of cozenage, indeed, one that would require fortitude, quick-thinking, and an appalling lack of shame and conscience. Men such as that would easily be capable of murder, I suppose.”
“Indeed,” Smythe said. “They have already tried to kill me twice in order to safeguard their plan. So why should they hesitate to kill another?”
“Why, indeed?” said Shakespeare. “Save only that it does not seem to have been truly necessary. Everyone already believed Catherine was dead. That her death had been intended as a ruse was known only to Catherine, Elizabeth, John Mason and Granny Meg, if I am not mistaken. There was not anyone else who knew about the planned deception, was there? At least, not until I had returned from London and revealed it?”
“No, there was not,” Elizabeth said. “Catherine was most adamant that the secret be kept strictly between ourselves. John disliked the plan, but he loved Catherine and would never have told anyone about it. Indeed, if he had told anyone, he would have revealed the truth about their love, which he knew he could not do. And as for Granny Meg, I find it difficult to believe that she could have betrayed us.”
“As do I,” said Shakespeare. “She told me the truth of it only when she learned everyone believed that Catherine had been poisoned. And in so doing, she placed herself at considerable risk, I might add. Godfrey Middleton is a very wealthy and influential man. He could make things quite unpleasant for her if he wished to. She most certainly did not have to tell me that she was the one who had mixed the potion. She could easily have pretended to examine the contents of the flask and then revealed her findings to me without ever revealing the part that she had played in the deception. She could have kept the secret, save that she knew if everyone believed it to be murder, then a murderer would be sought. Tis one thing to concoct a potion that would enable a girl to escape a loveless marriage and run off with the man she truly loved, and ‘tis yet another thing entirely to keep silent about a murder that was not a murder.”