Seven for a Secret

Chapter Twenty-Five

Actresses apparently earned more than John would have guessed.

Petronia was well enough off to live outside the smoke and fumes of the Copper Market, on the edge of the ridge overlooking the Golden Horn, almost within sight of Michri’s glassworks where John had begun his investigations. From the windows of her third floor room it was possible to see the narrow inlet to the north as well as the wave-rippled waters to the east.

The actress invited John to sit upon an oversized wooden chair, painted in a manner which made it resemble a gem encrusted throne from a distance.

John remained standing beside a bed against the wall. Pieces of statuary-busts of philosophers and small gods and goddesses on pedestals-were perched on a table and on the floor by the brazier. They were used on stage, John supposed.

Petronia pulled shut the heavy curtain that divided the room and concealed from view the second bed John had glimpsed as he entered. The curtain must have been a discarded stage backdrop. Amid its folds could be discerned an assortment of Greek temples.

“I haven’t been back to the theater since you brought me the terrible news,” she said in answer to his question. Her face was as pale and perfect as it had been the day before. The thin tunic she wore hung loosely from her shoulders, revealing the clear demarcation where the white make-up ended at the base of her slender neck.

“Someone else will have to tell Troilus if he doesn’t already know. I couldn’t bear to see his reaction when he hears…” she faltered.

John asked her gently how well the pair had known each other.

“I fear I don’t pry into my friends’ affairs, Lord Chamberlain, although I know it’s the common belief that actresses have no discretion or shame.”

“Some may think that, Petronia. I can understand that you are upset by the death of your friend. Is that why you neglected to tell me that Troilus visited you here the morning of the day Agnes died?”

“Troilus? Visited me?”

“It was early in the morning, he said.”

Petronia turned toward the window facing the sea. John could not see her expression. “Oh, yes. I see. What I meant was that he wasn’t visiting me. A young fellow like that…why would he? It was Agnes he came to see.”

“Did he often visit her?”

“No. He was concerned about her, he said. He hadn’t seen her for a while, which explains why he arrived before dawn. Can I offer you some wine, Lord Chamberlain?”

Petronia took a cup and blue glass flask from a niche beside the brazier. “No?”

She poured herself wine, sat down on the edge of the bed, and gestured toward the large painted chair. “Please, please. Ascend the throne. You’re close enough to it, after all. It’s one we use on stage. We used it last in Agamemnon. Our version is always popular. Uproarious, you know.”

John declined. He fixed the actress in his gaze. She had leaned forward so that her tunic fell open, revealing an expanse of tawny skin below the white powder covering her neck. “It would be best for you to tell me everything that happened. I can see you may have wanted to protect Troilus but I can assure you, if he is responsible for the murder neither you, nor anyone else, will be able to save him from justice.”

Petronia emptied her cup, refilled it, and gave John a bleak smile. Her eyes glistened. “Troilus murder Agnes? I can’t imagine such a thing, Lord Chamberlain. They were…well…he would never have harmed her.” Her lower lip trembled as she raised the cup to her mouth again.

“You said Troilus arrived here before dawn?”

“I can’t say exactly when but it was still dark when Agnes left. The sky was beginning to lighten. I don’t know what they talked about. She has her own place.” Petronia nodded toward the painted backdrop partitioning the room. “I’ve trained myself not to hear what I’m not meant to hear.”

“Praiseworthy, indeed, but you must have heard something of their conversation since they exchanged angry words.”

Petronia stared at John in horror. “Who said so?”

“It was obvious, since you seemed so reluctant to tell me.”

Petronia shook her head. “How foolish I am. An old actress trying to deceive the Lord Chamberlain. But you are correct, for they did indeed argue. I didn’t hear precisely what was said but I could tell from their tone.”

“And then Agnes left?”

“Yes, although it was not on account of the argument. Agnes and I were already up when Troilus came pounding on the door. Agnes had to meet someone, you see. That wasn’t so unusual. She often had early appointments but she would never say what they were or who was involved.”

“And Troilus?”

Petronia dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. She looked at John pensively. Her jaw clenched. She was silent for what seemed like a long time and then her chest moved as she took a breath. “Troilus stayed here afterward. He needed someone to talk to. He thought Agnes had an assignation.”

John nodded his understanding.

“She did,” Petronia continued, “but not the sort he had in mind. She often spent time with disgruntled exiles from court. They were always meeting at odd hours, most likely to avoid being noticed. A wise thing considering the kind of loose talk they engaged in. It was all play.”

The actress sighed. “She always dressed as if she had been summoned to an audience with the emperor. Well, as near as she could given our circumstances. That’s why she was accepted in those circles. She acted her part so well, you see.”

John wondered whether that was the only service Agnes rendered. He kept the thought to himself. “When did Troilus leave?”

“He stayed for a long time, Lord Chamberlain. When you’re young you can agonize over affairs of the heart for hours. Sometimes it’s good to be able to discuss these matters with someone who is older and, sadly, wiser.”

“I trust you are wise enough to be telling me the truth. If you are not, I will soon find out.”