Much Ado About Murder

The dark stranger and Molly acted as if they knew each other as they walked off together down the muddy, refuse-strewn street. Out of curiosity, Smythe followed. He liked Molly, as did all the players, with whom she was quite popular for her vivacity, ready smile, and quick, sharp wit. They all felt rather protective of her. On more than one occasion, he had seen patrons of the Toad and Badger try their luck with her, but all to no avail. Molly’s heart was spoken for. He had heard it said that Molly had loved a soldier who had gone away some time ago to fight in foreign lands. Now, after the events of earlier that day, it was evident to him who that soldier must have been. Anyone could clearly see that Molly and Ben Dickens had a strong mutual attraction. Anyone, apparently, except for Molly and Ben themselves. For some reason, they seemed either unable or unwilling to admit it to themselves or to one another. And to a point, Smythe could sympathize.

There were certain things that he and Elizabeth could not say or admit to one another, too. Of course, their situation was not really the same. Master Henry Darcie’s daughter could hardly be courted by a lowly player. Sometimes it seemed as if she might as well be one of the queen’s glories, for all the chance he had with her. Indeed, she often seemed as far above him as one of the queen’s ladies in waiting, though as a successful merchant guildsman’s daughter, Elizabeth was not quite as inaccessible. Pursuing one of the queen’s glories could get a gentleman at court accomodations in the Tower of London, for the queen preferred to keep her young ladies as virginal as herself. Paying court to Elizabeth Darcie was not going to land him in the Tower, but it could certainly bring him a great deal of trouble if her father’s permission were not secured. And the only thing that stood between Smythe and receiving that permission was his standing.

Smythe had no doubt that if he were a gentleman, then he would be welcomed as a suitor in Henry Darcie’s home. And if he had a tide, why then, the match would have been assured… provided that Elizabeth agreed. For though it was certainly not common practice for a father to seek his daughter’s approval before arranging a match for her, Henry Darcie had learned the hard way that disregarding his daughter’s wishes in that regard could only bring disaster. Nothing would have made him happier than to have his daughter married to a nobleman, and he had done his best to put her on display before them, but Elizabeth was a very forthright and willful young woman, for which reason she was still unmarried. However, there was a limit to how much willfulness Henry Darcie would put up with. He owed Smythe a debt of gratitude, and so did not object to him too strenuously, but then neither did he grant him his approval.

What Henry Darcie did not know, he could not object to, and so he was kept ignorant of their occasional meetings at the bookstalls in Paul’s Walk or at the Theatre while the players were rehearsing. Had he troubled to, Henry Darcie could have easily found out about their meetings. For a man of his means, having his daughter followed would have been a simple thing for Henry Darcie to arrange and after he had satisfied himself that she was having assignations with someone who was thoroughly unsuitable, it would have been equally as simple for him to have Smythe beaten senseless, whipped, or even killed. Smythe knew such things were known to happen to those who aspired to rise, so to speak, above their station. However, there was a curious sort of unspoken understanding between him and Henry Darcie.

Darcie understood that he was a well-intentioned and honorable young man who would never do anything to bring dishonor to Elizabeth, just as he had faith that, for all her stubborn willfulness, his daughter would never do anything to bring dishonor to herself or to her family. Thus, he tolerated their relationship, if not openly, then at least by pretending not to know about it. Henry Darcie still had hopes of making a good marriage for Elizabeth, one that would help advance him socially, and he firmly believed that in time, the right aristocratic suitor would come along and Elizabeth would come to her senses and forget all about her girlish infatuation with a lowly player. In the meantime, he chose to look the other way, because he knew that neither of them would go so far as to take their relationship past the point of impropriety. And in that, Smythe found both solace and frustration.

With Ben and Molly, on the other hand, there were no such impediments. There was nothing to prevent them from finding happiness with one another… if that was truly what they wanted. To Smythe, they seemed kindred spirits, an ideal couple, and he found it puzzling that they fenced the way they did. But if this dark stranger had replaced Dickens in Molly’s affections, then perhaps that would explain it.