“Very well, then,” Smythe replied. “You look for the worst in people and I shall seek the best. That way, betwixt the two of us, we should cover all the ground.”
“You can be a wearisome bastard, you know that?” Shakespeare said. He clapped Smythe on the shoulder and they resumed walking. “Very well. Let us assume, for the sake of argument if naught else, that the fair Hera is as goodly and godly as her name implies. She was accused unjustly and maliciously. So… who is to profit from such an accusation?”
“I cannot see how there could be any profit in it,” Smythe replied, with a frown.
“A child lies for attention or amusement,” Shakespeare said. “A villain lies for profit, of one sort or another. There must be something in this to benefit someone.”
“But who could benefit from the ruin of Hera’s reputation?” Smythe asked. “She scarcely even knows anyone in London.”
“I do not think that the ruin of Hera’s reputation was in itself the object,” Shakespeare said. “And whilst I may play the Devil’s advocate in an attempt to keep us honest, like you, Tuck, I believe the girl to be an innocent. All this has the odious scent of malice hanging over it like a miasma. Hera has suffered very greatly from it, nevertheless, I do not think that she was the intended victim. We need to look elsewhere, I believe. Let us dissect this plot to make our augery. We must consider who else, save Hera, has been harmed by this.”
“Well, most immediately, her father, of course,” said Smythe. “And then, after him, Corwin. Assuming he is innocent.”
“Let us proceed on that assumption, for if he is not, then the guilty party is already apprehended and justice shall be done. But if he is innocent, then we must act swiftly to prevent a miscarriage of that justice. So…’tis entirely possible that Master Leonardo had made enemies and that one of them had followed him to England and then done away with him. If so, then perhaps vengeance is the profit that we seek. We must find out if anyone had compelling reason to wish Master Leonardo dead.”
“How would we discover that?” asked Smythe.
“At the moment, I have not the slightest clue,” said Shakespeare. “Even if she were in any state to speak with us, Hera might not know aught of her father’s business dealings and what enemies he might have made. Mayhap Ben could be of some assistance to us, since he knew Master Leonardo best.”
“Or perhaps one of the household servants?” Smythe said. “Surely, he must have had at least one servant, if not more, who had accompanied his daughter and himself from Genoa. Hera did not seem comfortable speaking English, though she seemed to speak it well. She must have had a maidservant, a governess, perhaps, who came to England with her.”
“Of course,” said Shakespeare. “That only stands to reason. So, once more then, we came back to the servants. Let us consider Corwin.”
“He could have enemies, I suppose,” said Smythe. “His rise from apprentice to successful journeyman was swift. He had already made something of a reputation for himself among the fashionable nobility. There may be someone who felt envious, another apprentice, perhaps, who believed that Corwin’s place was rightly his.”
“You are thinking of your friends, the Steady Boys, perhaps?” asked Shakespeare.
“I did not have to think too hard,” said Smythe, touching his bandage. “They have impressed themselves upon my memory.”
“Indeed,” Shakespeare replied. “And I do not for one moment think that murder would be beyond them. They very nearly murdered you. And that aside, there seemed to be little love betwixt Corwin and that Darnley fellow and his sneering friend.”
“Bruce McEnery,” said Smythe. “I’ll not forget either of those names anytime soon.”
“I did not expect you would. Nor shall I, for that matter. I do not have so many friends that I can afford to lose any of them. We both have a score to settle with those two and their misbegotten Steady Boys. But let us not allow our outrage to blind us to our course. They may not have been the culprits.”
“And yet, I could easily see them spreading vile rumors about Hera,” Smythe replied.
“As could I. But then, why would Corwin give any credence to them, considering their source?”
Smythe grimaced. “I am still not ready to dismiss them from our consideration.”
“Very well then, we shall not. But for the moment, let us put the Steady Boys aside, as well. Where does that leave us? Who else is affected by Master Leonardo’s death?”
“We are,” Smythe replied.
“We are?”
“I mean, the Queen’s Men,” Smythe said. “Master Burbage and his son, all of the shareholders and the hired men, even Henry Darcie, for that matter. He is a partner in the Theatre, in which Master Leonardo was going to invest.”
“Very true,” said Shakespeare, nodding. “ ‘Twould seem our list of suspects grows and grows.”
“Oh, you cannot suspect any of the Queen’s Men, surely!” Smythe said. “Or Henry Darcie, for that matter. He may be an insufferable old goat, but he is certainly no murderer.”
“Methinks I am in agreement with you there,” said Shakespeare, “else he would have had you murdered long since for making cow eyes at his daughter.”
“Very funny,” Smythe replied dryly, “but that still does not refute my point. Henry Darcie, for all that he is more full of himself than a baker’s dozen of courtiers and finds me utterly unsuitable to pay court to Elizabeth, is nevertheless a good and decent man, and only stood to lose from Master Leonardo’s death.”
“Did he?” Shakespeare asked.