Smythe frowned. “What do you mean? Of course he d
id! Had Master Leonardo lived, he would have invested in the Theatre, and necessary refurbishments would have been made with his money. As things stand, those refurbishments must still be made, but now, instead of being paid for out of Master Leonardo’s investment, the cost will fall upon Henry Darcie and the Burbages. His death was a great disadvantage to them.”
“Ah, but was it?” Shakespeare said. “Consider this, Tuck: thus far, we have only Henry Darcie’s word that Master Leonardo was eager to invest. ‘Tis quite possible that after seeing the Theatre and then meeting with the company and considering all his options, Master Leonardo had some reservations, or else changed his mind entirely.”
“But Burbage would have known that,” Smythe said.
“Perhaps,” Shakespeare replied. “Or perhaps not. Elizabeth had already taken Hera under her wing, as it were, and thus Henry Darcie had somewhat more to do with Leonardo than Burbage did. Most likely, they were spending more time together, especially since Leonardo had aspirations of advancing himself in London and Darcie would have been more helpful to him in that regard than the Burbages would be. So, if the late, lamented Master Leonardo had reservations about investing in the Theatre, or else had set his mind against it, ‘tis possible that he might only have told Darcie. If so, then Henry Darcie would have been the only one to know that Leonardo was not going to invest.”
“And so what then?” asked Smythe. “He killed him? Or else had him killed? How could he profit by that? Either way, there would be no investment money.”
“Nay, not necessarily so,” Shakespeare replied. “Leonardo had no male heirs, apparently. Hera was his only child. As such, she stands to inherit her father’s wealth. Alone in a strange country, to whom would she turn for guidance if not to the father of her only friend in London?”
“God’s mercy, Will! You cannot believe that, surely! Tis absolutely diabolical!”
“Aye, murder is diabolical, Tuck. I am not saying that I believe it came to pass that way, but I am saying that if we wish to find the truth, we must consider every possible alternative, else the truth, and the real murderer, may easily elude us. We must not allow our sympathies to blind us to any possibility. We must be crafty, canny hunters, you and I, carefully following each spoor that we find, else we shall lose the trail entirely.”
Smythe nodded. “Aye, your argument is sound. And much as I dislike to say so, Henry Darcie did seem somewhat callous in regard to both Master Leonardo’s death and Hera’s grief. His main concern, now that I think of it, was for us to convince her that we were her friends and to make her understand that her fortune was now tied to ours and ours to hers.”
“I thought you would remember that,” said Shakespeare.
“Aye, but still, that merely shows that he is selfish,” Smythe replied. “It does not mean he is a murderer.”
“True,” said Shakespeare, “it does not. Nor do I think he is. Yet I do see where he may nevertheless profit by the death. And that is the sort of thing that we must look for. So… who else profits by it?”
Smythe shook his head, puzzled. “I cannot imagine, unless he had unknown enemies in London and, if so, I do not now see how we may discover them. ‘Tis easier by far to see who stands to lose by his death rather than who stands to profit.”
“Very well. Let us try to view the situation from that vantage point,” said Shakespeare. “Who stands to lose?”
“Most obviously, Hera,” Smythe replied. “But I cannot believe that she had aught to do with it. Her misery is deep and clearly genuine.”
“I am inclined to agree,” Shakespeare said. “Who else?”
“Well… we stand to lose, that is, the company does if the investment is not made and the refurbishments cannot be done,” said Smythe. “Without Master Leonardo’s money, Darcie and the Burbages may find the cost too dear and the work may not be done.”
“And the result of that will be?” asked Shakespeare.
Smythe shrugged. “Audiences may well decide to attend productions at the Rose, instead. ‘Tis a much newer playhouse and they boast Chris Marlowe and Ned Alleyn. So I suppose that could make Henslowe a suspect, but that would mean he would have to have known about the planned investment. How likely would that be?”
“At this point, we cannot say,” Shakespeare replied. “My thought is that ‘twould be somewhat unlikely, but not impossible. Leonardo was interested in making an investment in a playhouse. For all we know, he could have approached Philip Henslowe first.”
“I suppose ‘tis possible,” said Smythe.
“Or else someone in our own company who plans to defect to the Lord Admiral’s Men, as Alleyn did, could have told Henslowe about it.”
“A long shot, even for an accomplished bowman, I would say,” Smythe replied. “We have at present far more to fear from Henslowe than Henslowe has to fear from us. He has already taken our best actor. He has a better playhouse and he has-”
“If you say he has a better poet, I shall kick your arse,” Shakespeare said.
“I was going to say he has more money” Smythe replied, with a grimace. “The Lord Admiral’s Men are in the ascendancy whilst we are in decline. Thus, I do not think ‘twould stand to reason that Henslowe would have aught to do with it. After all, why bother to lack a dying dog?”
“Well, we may be down, but we are not dead yet,” said Shakespeare. “But do you know who very nearly is? Young Corwin. Whether he is innocent or guilty of the crime, he now stands to lose his life in either case.”
“Aye, he does, indeed,” said Smythe. “There is no question that he was obsessed with Hera. But was he obsessed enough to kill?” He shook his head. “Those who knew him best do not believe it, nor do I.”
“Why not?” asked Shakespeare.
“I cannot give you a sound reason, Will,” Smythe replied, with a helpless shrug. “I simply feel that he could not have done it. He did not strike me as the sort. He struck me as the sort who might stand on his affronted dignity and break off his engagement if he felt that he would be dishonored by the marriage, but he did not strike me as the sort to fly into a rage and cut a man to ribbons. That phrase sticks in my mind, Will. ‘He was cut to ribbons.’ Master Leonardo was the captain of a merchant ship. That is not a life for a soft, indolent, and doughy shopkeeper. Seamen are a hardy lot and it takes a hardy man to lead them. He was lean and weathered, erect in his carriage, and with a spring in his step. He carried a fine sword and had the look of a man who knew how to use it. Italians are well known for their schools of fencing. And Corwin was no duelist. He was an apprentice who but recently became a journeyman. A sword was never a tool of his trade. I cannot recall that he even wore one, can you?”