Much Ado About Murder

Darnley compressed his lips tightly and gazed at him with cold rage in his eyes. Dickens returned that baleful look without regard for its intensity, meeting Darnley’s fury with his own insouciance. And although he tried, Darnley found that he could not stare him down.

“You players were always apt with pretty speeches,” he said contemptuously, “but try as you might, you still cannot muddy up the truth with mere words. We know who belongs here and who does not. We have eyes, and we can all see for ourselves how the foreigner prospers at the Englishman’s expense. The time has come for all good Englishmen to take a stand, and you are either with us, Ben, or else you are against us.”

“Take whatever stand you wish, Jack, for I am neither with you nor against you,” Dickens said. “What you and your friends do matters not to me, one way or another. So then, ‘twould seem that we have settled our discussion. Now Tuck and I have an appointment at the Theatre that we must keep.”

He started forward, but McEnery stood in his way defiantly, sneering at him, chin jutting forward in a challenge.

“Stand aside, Bruce,” Dickens said, softly.

“And if I should refuse? What then, eh?” McEnergy replied, finding courage in his fellow Steady Boys around him. “Do you think that you can best us all?”

Moving with smooth, deceptive speed, Dickens took Smythe’s knife, which he had held blade up, concealed alongside his inner forearm all the while, and before the startled apprentice could react, he flipped it around quickly and thrust it, edge upwards, high between McEnery’s legs. With his free hand, he seized McEnery by his belt and held him close, while pressing upwards with the knife, causing McEnery to emit a high-pitched squeak of alarm.

“You know, you may be right, Bruce. Doubtless, I would not prevail ‘gainst you all,” said Dickens, in an even tone, “but I could do for you right proper. If your lads so much as take one step toward either me or Tuck here, St. Paul ’s Boys will have themselves a new soprano for their choir.”

Darnley looked as if he were about to speak, but before he could say or do anything, Smythe reached out and spun him by the shoulder, then seized him from behind with his left arm around his neck and his right hand behind his head. When Darnley tried to struggle, he simply tightened his grip and, with a choking sound, the apprentice gave up all resistance. Smythe turned him around to face the other apprentices, who had been confident of their superiority and were now all taken by surprise at how quickly the tables had been turned.

“Be so good as to throw your clubs and dirks down in the street,” said Smythe. “And then walk away. You can return to pick them up again after we have gone.”

When the boys hesitated, Smythe once more tightened his grip.

“Do as he says!” croaked Darnley.

The clubs and knives fell to the cobbles with a clatter.

“Right. Off you go then,” Smythe said.

Slowly, truculently, the apprentices moved off.

Dickens then released McEnery. “You can go and join them, Bruce,” he said. “But mark me well now, for I give you fair warning… you come after us and I shall run you through ahead of all the others. Now run along, like a good lad.”

He waved him away and McEnery shot him a venemous look, then trotted off after his companions.

“You can go with him,” Smythe said, releasing Darnley and giving him a shove that almost sent him sprawling. Darnley stumbled, then regained his footing and turned back to gaze at Smythe with a look of intense hatred.

He inhaled raggedly and rubbed his throat. “I shan’t forget this,” he said, his voice rasping slightly. “We shall finish this another time, when you shall not have the advantage of surprise.”

“Indeed?” said Smythe. “S’trewth, I could have sworn ‘twas you who had the advantage of surprise… and numbers, come to think of it.”

Darnley spat on the street, then turned and walked away.

“I fear that you have made an enemy on my account,” said Dickens.

“ ‘Twasn’t on your account,” said Smythe. “I never liked him from the start. Not him nor his sneering shadow.”

“Well, you are a stout enough fellow, to be sure,” said Dickens, “but just the same… watch your back. Jack Darnley is not one to forget a slight, and you embarrassed him in front of all his boys. He shall do much more than merely look to even up the score. He shall want your guts for garters.”

“He shall have to come and try to take them, then,” said Smythe.

“Try he shall, you may count on it,” Dickens replied. He handed Smythe’s knife back to him. “My thanks. It served me well, as it turns out. Let us hope it serves you equally. Keep it close by.”

“I always do,” said Smythe.

“And if you do not scorn my counsel, I would consider strapping on a rapier,” Dickens added. “The Steady Boys were never great believers in fair fighting. Under Jack’s leadership, I should think they are much less so now.”