Much Ado About Murder

“Well, good Master Leonardo,” Shakespeare said, “we cannot disobey the council’s edicts, as you know. But while the council did close down the playhouses to prohibit our performing, fearing that the plague could breed among the crowds, they did not prohibit our explaining to a prospective investor in our theatre how a play is staged. And so, as we were in rehearsal for one of our productions when you arrived, you might find it both diverting and enlightening if we were to explain to you how such a production is prepared for a performance.”

“Methinks a Papist could not have split a hair more finely,” Kemp said wryly, and then grunted as Speed gave him an elbow in the ribs.

“The man’s a Roman, you bloody great buffoon,” he said, under his breath.

“Please, come this way,” said Smythe, beckoning to them. “We shall set up some benches on the stage for you so that you may see how our company prepares for the performance of a play.”

The guests climbed up upon the stage and took their seats at the side while the company resumed rehearsing. James Burbage explained the process to them as the Queen’s Men went through the play, stopping at intervals to correct or change a line, or else to adjust their movements on the stage and fine tune their entrances and exits.

While Master Peters played the part of genial host, asking questions or else calling out encouragement to the players, Master Leonardo watched with interest, and with a critical, discerning eye it seemed, as James Burbage explained what they were doing and Henry Darcie offered the occasional supplementary remark. Watching from the wings, Smythe could see that Hera was thoroughly enjoying it all, watching with bright eyes and laughing at their antics, for despite the fact that it was only a rehearsal, the players, being players, could not resist joking around and clowning for their audience. Elizabeth, who might have greeted Smythe more warmly were it not for the presence of her father, sat next to Hera and they spoke often to each other and laughed together like good friends. The two of them made a very comely sight. Smythe noticed that just as Hera scarcely took her eyes off what was happening before her on the stage, so Corwin scarcely took his eyes off her. But then he also noticed that just as Corwin scarcely took his eyes off Hera, so Elizabeth scarcely took her eyes off Ben.

A number of times during the rehearsal, Smythe sought to catch her gaze, but all to no avail. It was as if he wasn’t even there. When she was not speaking to her new friend, Hera, Elizabeth kept staring straight at Ben, and with what seemed to him more than a little interest.

“ ‘Twould seem you have yourself some competition,” Kemp said slyly, as he sidled up to Smythe backstage.

“Stuff it, Kemp,” Smythe replied in a surly tone, irritated both at Kemp’s remark and at the fact that Elizabeth ’s interest was obvious enough for him to have noticed.

“Oh, my, my,” said Kemp, with a soft, delighted chuckle. “We are prickly today! But then, ‘twould seem a simple enough thing to understand. After all, he is quite handsome, our young Ben, a veritable Greek god, the very personification of Mars! Aye, he would be Mars himself, since he has been to war and thus has the glamor of a warrior.”

“Mars was a Roman god, you ignorant poltroon,” replied Smythe, irritably. “The Greek god of war was Ares, which you might have known if you troubled to read a book once in a while. But then ‘twould be unreasonable to expect a man to read a book when he can scarcely even read his lines.”

Kemp’s nostrils flared and his eyes shot Smythe a look of pure venom, but his voice remained mellifluously smooth as he replied, “A touch, by God! And from a hired man, no less. One would not have thought you capable of so telling a riposte. Bravo, Smythe. Well done. Well done, indeed.”

Smythe sighed, regretting his words. “Forgive me, Kemp,” he said. “ ‘Twas rude and intemperate of me to make such a remark.”

“Oh, now, do not dilute the vinegar with oil,” Kemp said, with a grimace. “ ‘Tis most unseemly. If you are going to be a proper bitch, my dear, then ‘tis best not to lick after you bite.”

“Kemp…” But the older man had already turned smartly on his heel and walked away.

For Smythe, it was a thoroughly miserable afternoon. Everyone else seemed to have an absolutely splendid time and when their guests departed at the end of the rehearsal, just as the shadows were beginning to lengthen in the early evening, everyone seemed quite full of good cheer, almost as if they had actually given a successful performance to a packed house. Smythe alone felt glum, in part because he had allowed Kemp to get his goat, but mostly because Elizabeth had completely ignored him throughout the entire rehearsal.