Much Ado About Murder

Shakespeare immediately followed up, watching the man carefully. “Where did you dine?”

“Why… we all dined together at the nearby tavern,” Edward said, glancing at them nervously, his eyes darting back and forth. “The ordinaries are very reasonable there.”

“And the ale too, no doubt,” said Smythe.

Before the man could reply, Shakespeare quickly asked, “How long were you gone to supper the night Master Leonardo was killed?”

They noticed that the women had gone very still. They both looked pale and Mary’s lower lip had started trembling. They both looked frightened as they clutched each other’s hands tightly. Edward did not look much better.

“Why… why, not long at all,” stammered Edward. “No longer than usual, I am quite certain…”

“You were out drinking and carousing,” said Smythe, fixing him with a hard look.

“Nay, milord, we were not!” protested Edward, blinking. “We only went to supper! Honest!”

“You are lying, Edward,” Smythe said, stepping up close and looming over him. “You were out drinking.”

“Nay, ‘tisn’t true! We only went to supper!” Edward protested, but he swallowed hard and retreated back against the wall, looking panicked.

“You were in the tavern, drinking and carousing,” Shakespeare said, “all three of you.” He turned to the women, who were now both trembling and crying. “We shall go to the Devil Tavern and inquire of the tavernkeeper. I am quite certain that he will recall what transpired that night, as everyone has heard of it by now. No doubt he will remember you. And then you three shall all be going to the devil!”

“We didn’t kill him! We swear!” wailed Mary, sinking to her knees and clutching at Shakespeare’s doublet. Elaine simply started blubbering.

“Shut up, you fools!” shouted Edward.

Smythe grabbed him by the front of his doubtlet and slammed him back against the wall, hard enough to stun him momentarily and silence him.

“We didn’t do it! I swear we didn’t!” Mary sobbed. “I swear, so help me God!”

“Please, sir! Please!” was all that Elaine was able to manage.

“Bloody hell!” said Dickens. “ ‘Twas the servants murdered him! They murdered him to get his money!”

“We never did! I swear we never did!” cried Mary, desperately.

“Nay,” said Shakespeare, shaking his head as he looked down at Mary, “they did not kill him. He was already dead when they returned.”

She looked up at him with disbelief and awe, as if he were her guardian angel suddenly descended from on high. “Oh, God be praised, sir, ‘tis true! ‘Tis true! God bless you, sir, ‘tis true, I swear it on my life!”

“You are swearing it on your life, you slattern,” Dickens told her. “And ‘tis a life that will be forfeit!” He looked at Shakespeare. “Surely, you do not believe this lying wench?”

“Aye, I do believe her,” Shakespeare said, quietly, looking down at her with pity. “Think you that they would have remained within this house until Hera had returned, all the while knowing that their master was lying dead upstairs?”

Edward glanced from Smythe to Shakespeare and then back again. He had the look of a drowning man who had just been thrown a rope. “ ‘Twas just how it happened, milords, ‘tis true! Honest! We never knew that he was dead! We never did!”

“And you became convinced you would be blamed,” said Shakespeare, “unless you all swore to it that you were here when Corwin left the house.”

“What strange mystery is this?” demanded Dickens. He glanced at Smythe. “What the devil is he talking about?”

“I see it now,” said Smythe. “They have all lied out of fear to save themselves.”

“You believe that they have lied before and yet they are not lying now?” asked Dickens. “What, am I the only one here who has not taken leave of his senses? I understand none of this!”

“Season your admiration for a while with an attentive ear, Ben,” Shakespeare said, “and I shall deliver unto you the tale of what they did that night, and they shall stay my story and redirect me if I wander from the truth. Is that not right, Mary?”

She nodded several times as he gently helped her to her feet.

“Listen well and correct me if I stray,” he told her, and then he looked at Ben. “A week’s wages was what Master Leonardo paid them, by their own account,” he said. “And week by week, they would be paid thus until they had proved their suitability, at which point, arrangements more to their advantage would be made. Such was the promise.”

He glanced at Mary for confirmation and she nodded several times, emphatically. “Well,” he continued, “for the first few days, they did endeavor to be most suitable, indeed. ‘Tis not easy, after all, to get good work in London nowadays. But as the week drew near a close, and more wages looked to be forthcoming, they felt the need to celebrate. Their positions seemed secure and excellent. Their master did not seem to demand too much of them; likewise their mistress, who was land to them and asked nothing of them that she would not do herself. A servant could certainly do a great deal worse.