Much Ado About Murder

“Aye,” said Shakespeare, nodding. “I have just left him with Master Peters, where I had gone upon an errand. The gentleman who has been good enough to buy my sonnets and then have them bound for distribution to his friends has been a boon not only to me, but his generosity has helped us all in these difficult times, and so I had thought, what with Ben now being one of us and Corwin being his friend and ours, perhaps I might presume on that acquaintaince to have Corwin craft some small piece of jewelry at a price I could afford, as a token of my appreciation to our patron, as it were. I had arranged with Ben to meet at Master Peters’s shop and Ben was to ask him the favor for me, but even as we arrived, the sheriffs men were talking Corwin away.”

“Do you mean to say ‘twas Corwin who killed Master Leon-ado?” Molly asked, wide-eyed.

“He was crying out, protesting his innocence as they took him away,” Shakespeare replied, “but then ‘tis said that killers oft’ protest their innocence, even to the gallows.”

“But why would he kill the father of the girl he wished to marry?” Molly asked.

“Perhaps because the father would not give his consent,” ventured Gus Phillips. “Think you ‘twas the reason for the crime, Will?”

“Nay, the consent to wed was given freely,” Shakespeare said. “Stay your questions for a while, my friends, and I shall tell you all the tale as I know it. As most of you must surely know by now, Cupid’s arrow did strike Corwin from the moment that he first laid eyes on Hera, Master Leonardo’s daughter, whereupon he had resolved to end his bachelor days and marry. To this end, he asked his friend and ours, Ben Dickens, to speak on his behalf to Master Leonardo, whom Ben knew well from having traveled aboard ship with him to England. Ben did speak with Master Leonardo, and the latter did readily consent to the proposed match, as Ben’s word bore weight with him and, quite aside from that, he perceived the advantages to both his daughter and himself in Hera’s marriage to a successful young journeyman well on his way to becoming a prosperous master goldsmith.”

“I wonder if anyone troubled to ask Hera what she thought of the idea,” Molly said.

“One assumes that in Genoa, dutiful daughters obey their fathers’ wishes in such things,” Shakespeare replied. “However, as to what Hera herself thought of this, ‘twould seem that she was not averse to Corwin, for he had started paying court to her and it appeared she was receptive to him. Yesterday afternoon, however, whilst you Tuck, slept, and recovered from your injuries, Corwin came to the Theatre, seeking Ben. And he was in a most agitated state.”

“Aye, he seemed very troubled,” Bryan said. “And he did not long remain. He left before Ben arrived, as I recall.”

“Indeed,” said Kemp, his contretemps with Pope forgotten for the moment as he became caught up in the news. “He rushed off right after he spoke with you, Will. But you would not tell us what the matter was.”

Shakespeare shook his head. “I saw no need to dwell upon it,” he replied. “ ‘Twas the sort of matter that could bring an innocent young girl to grief if it became bruited about and was made the subject of malicious gossip. Already, trouble was afoot, and I had no wish to add to it.”

“What was this troubling matter, Will?” Smythe asked with a frown. “Whatever it may be, a greater trouble has now befallen Corwin, and it may have a bearing on his fate.”

“I fear it shall,” said Shakespeare. “As I have told you, Corwin was in a most perturbed state, and so I did not have all the details of the matter from him, but ‘twould seem he had somehow discovered that Hera had deceived him and was not, in fact, a virtuous young woman.”

“How does he know this?” Molly asked. “Does he have proof?”

“I do not know,” Shakespeare replied. “As I have told you, he was hot and very agitated. He could not or else would not wait for Ben. He left word with me to tell Ben when he arrived that he was going to Master Leonardo’s house to break off the engagement.”

“Without even giving her a chance to speak in her own defense?” said Molly.

“Again,” said Shakespeare, shaking his head, “you are asking questions of me that I simply cannot answer. I do not know whether or not he intended to accuse her and hear her answer to the charge. Nor do I know what sort of proof he had, if any. In any event, he certainly seemed convinced. He was in quite a state, I tell you, and his words were tumbling over one another. Aside from that, ‘tis not as if the woman were my daughter, thus I did not truly feel entitled to press him on the matter.”

“What happened then?” asked Smythe.

“Well, Corwin departed, and then you all started to arrive, and there was talk of Tuck and how he fared after the cowardly attack upon him, and then Ben came and also asked after you, Tuck-”

“Never mind about me,” said Smythe, impatiently. “Go on. What about Corwin?”