Revenger

Chapter 26

Shakespeare could not sleep. He lay in his bed, eyes open, staring into the darkness. Two rooms away, Cordelia Le Neve lay in the single bed usually occupied by Andrew Woode. He wondered whether she, too, was awake.

He thought back to what she had said.

“It was a matter of honor, Mr. Shakespeare. Sir Toby felt she had brought shame on his great name.”

“You think he planned it, the murder?”

“No. On the night of the feast, Winterberry got wind of the state of things and refused to pay the bride price for soiled goods. And so my husband destroyed those goods-his own daughter. He had been angry a long while, but I believe the deed itself was an impulse. He followed them with his mace and bludgeoned them when he saw them naked in the wood. He must have returned later with the poison, thinking to cover his tracks.”

“And why have you not mentioned this before?”

She had finished her wine. Slowly, she put down the goblet. “Fear, Mr. Shakespeare. I feared losing my wealth and standing-and being cast out once again into this bleak land where the nobility and gentry live in splendor, while others sleep in the ice and mud and must forage, starve, and die unmourned. But most of all I feared McGunn. I know he will take vengeance for the death of Joe. If he knows my husband is the killer, he will kill us both. I thought at first that that was what you were sent for.”

Shakespeare thought back to his last meeting with McGunn. “Find Joe’s killer and I will reward you,” he had said.

“And why have you now come to me?”

“I could not live with myself,” she whispered. “Inside I was raging, for Amy, for Matilda, for every murdered soul whose death goes unheeded, unmourned, unavenged.”

“Where is this mace, the murder weapon?”

“Still among his armaments. Still stained with gore.”

There had been no more to discuss; this was no time for small talk. “We will go there at first light,” he said. “Let me show you to your room.”

He had led the way. At the doorway to Andrew’s room, he handed her a lighted candle. For a moment, their fingers touched as the candle passed between them, then he withdrew.

“Good-night, Lady Le Neve,” he said, and bowed. Time hung between them like that indefinable moment when you chance upon a turning tide and are not quite sure whether it is about to ebb or flow.

She had reached out and touched his hand, held it, as if she would pull him in. But then she withdrew and smiled. “Good-night, John.”

As he turned and left her, he thought he heard her say, “Come to me if you wish.” But he carried on walking to his own room, without looking back.

In the morning, he would have to go with her to Wanstead to bring in Sir Toby for some hard questioning, but now, here, naked in his solitary bed, he was wide awake and doubted he would ever sleep this night. Soundlessly, he rose and padded across toward the door of his chamber. The candle was snuffed, but he knew this room so well that he did not need light. A loose floorboard creaked beneath his bare foot as he reached the fine oak door. He stood there, listening. He fancied he could hear breathing on the other side. His hand went to the latch and hesitated, as if he would lift it. But he pulled back and reached, instead, for the bolt. Gently he slid the bolt into its slot, sealing the door. He stood there a few moments longer, before returning to the cheerless comfort of his bed. “Come to me,” she had said. He would not. But what if she were to come to him?

They said few words as they broke fast together on ale, three-day-old bread, and some cold hard-boiled eggs. The air was charged between them, like the sky before a dry summer storm.

As they rode out from the stables, he spotted a watcher on horseback a little way along Dowgate. Well, he would just have to follow them, for it would be impossible to evade detection while riding with Cordelia Le Neve at his side. Anyway, such matters were the least of his concerns. What worried him most was what he was going to do about Sir Toby. He had to be arrested and arraigned for murder, of course, but how was that to be effected while maintaining his relationship with Essex? McGunn, too, would have his own ideas about how justice should be dispensed on Joe’s killer.

In the event, the problem of Sir Toby was taken out of his hands, for he was not at home when they arrived at Le Neve Manor.

“I am afraid I do not know where he has gone, my lady,” said Dodsley. “He asked for his horse to be saddled up and rode off an hour since. He had a sumpter with his court attire and other accoutrements. He was riding with a purpose, as if he had a journey to make. I am certain it was not a morning’s hunting.”

“Well, Mr. Shakespeare,” Cordelia said. “What will you do now?”

“Show me the mace.”

A hundred or so yards away, the horseman who had followed them sat impassively on his horse. Shakespeare stood watching him a moment and then turned to follow Lady Le Neve into the house.

They went to Sir Toby’s private office, where Shakespeare had already seen his clutter of weapons. “Many of these armaments have been in the Le Neve family for generations.” She pointed to a cabinet against a side wall. “It is in there.”

Shakespeare opened the cabinet. Inside, it was dark and dusty. It was packed with old iron-chainmail, a helmet covered in dents, the rusting heads of old halberds and pikes and poleaxes. To the left, barely visible, was a mace. He picked it up by the handle. It was heavy and deadly. The wooden haft was long and ornately carved, the sort used by cavalrymen, who needed longer-handled weapons than the infantry. The head was round and decorated with knobs.

“My husband has told me in the past that a Le Neve man-at-arms used that at Agincourt.”

“It seems old enough. How did you discover it?”

“I looked for it. I had my suspicions after what you had told me of the manner of their deaths.”

The iron head of the mace was coated with dried blood and strands of hair. There was an eerie silence in the room and a sense of unreality.

“I will need to take this with me. I want the Searcher of the Dead to look at it. He should be able to tell me whether this could have been the weapon that killed your daughter.”

“Take it. I cannot bear to have it in the house.”

“And your husband?”

“I do not know where he has gone or when he will be back. He goes off for days, weeks, even months at a time. Much of his time is spent with Essex or at court, where wives are not welcome. No one must eclipse the Sun Queen.”

“Well, get word to me if he appears. If the searcher tells me the mace is the weapon, your husband will be apprehended. I must take my leave. There is much to do.” He looked away from her as he spoke.

“You might have come to me last night,” she said in a low voice. “I wanted you.”

Yes, he thought, he might well have gone to her. Any man would have done. He said nothing.

“You are a rare man, Mr. Shakespeare. I see the passions within you, yet you hold back where other men would not. You lead a mysterious life which I do not understand, for I am certain you are no schoolmaster.”

Shakespeare laughed, breaking the frost between them. “But you have seen my school.”

“The school is closed down. Your family is gone. Why are you still here?”

“You ask too many questions.”

“And you give too few answers. God speed, Mr. Shakespeare.” She looked at him wistfully for a fleeting moment.

Outside, his mare was watered and ready and the mace wrapped in jute sacking, bound with string. Shakespeare tied it securely at the side of his saddlebag and then mounted. Dodsley handed him the reins. Cordelia Le Neve stood on her doorstep. Shakespeare bowed his head to her, then spurred his mount forward. Further along the path, the watching horseman still sat motionless in the saddle. It was of no significance, for he had learned nothing new by watching them; Shakespeare knew, too, that he would soon lose the watcher on the way back into London.

Shakespeare kicked his mare into a gallop. He would get the mace to Peace without delay and turn his attention to the whereabouts of Boltfoot and Jack. Both were well able to take care of themselves, but it was troubling that they had not yet reported back.