Edward Marston - The Princess of Denmark

‘I wish that I did not have to leave Denmark,’ she said.

‘You will return. Lord Westfield has promised that. We will visit you next spring then you and your husband can come back here in the summer. You will love England, Sigbrit. I’ve been there.’

‘What is it like?’

‘London is the most exciting city in the world. It is so big and full of life. It makes Elsinore look like a village. I envy you so much,’ she said, embracing her sister. ‘And I have the comfort of knowing that this marriage will not only make my sister happy, it will be good for our country as well. Denmark will gain from it.’

‘That’s what Uncle Bror told me.’

‘Then pay heed to what he says. Left to yourself, you would simply mourn your first husband and spend your days in lonely isolation. In England, you will have a new life. It will be such an adventure for you, Sigbrit. And the person you have to thank for it all is Uncle Bror.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Sigbrit, smiling. ‘He has been my salvation.’

Nicholas Bracewell needed proof. It was one thing to expose an act of duplicity and rescue Lord Westfield from marrying the wrong person, but it would be far more difficult to establish the purpose that lay behind the deception. In doing that, he believed, he would also solve the murder of Rolfe Harling. Looking back, Nicholas saw that Bror Langberg had been altogether too helpful. He had discussed the crime at length with the book holder then taken him to Harling’s room and allowed him to search it. The only reason he had done that, Nicholas now realised, was that he knew there would be nothing to find. Anything that might suggest a motive for his death had already been removed. If anywhere, it would be hidden in Langberg’s apartment.

A decoy was required and Lawrence Firethorn was the ideal choice. Instructed by Nicholas, he called on Langberg and took him off to the ballroom, claiming that certain practical problems had come to light during the afternoon’s rehearsal and asking for advice. As soon as the two men vanished around a corner, Nicholas came out of his hiding place behind a large, ornate, oak cupboard that stood in the corridor. He entered the apartment quickly and closed the door behind him. He had no doubt where anything of value was kept.

Pulling out his dagger, he went across to the chest he had seen on his earlier visit. Reinforced with strips of iron, it had two large padlocks to keep out intruders. By deft use of the point of his dagger, Nicholas managed to prise open one of the locks but the other would not budge. He resorted to violence. Kicking hard with his heel several times, he loosened the clasp attached to the padlock then he inserted his weapon at the weakest point and used it as a lever. By applying steady pressure, he made the lock twist, squeak in protest then fall to the ground as the clasp was finally forced out of the wood.

The chest was open. He stood a candle on the shelf above it so that he could see more clearly. Lifting the lid, he was confronted by a mass of papers, some bags of money and an ornamental sword. On top of the papers was a small leather satchel that he recognised as having belonged to Rolfe Harling. He took it out. Inside was a mass of letters and documents. Nicholas went through them with painstaking thoroughness. Some were in Danish, even more in German, but the ones that interested him were in English.

When he saw the name of Bror Langberg at the bottom of the first missive, he read it eagerly but its contents disappointed him. The letter simply expressed thanks that Harling had taken the trouble to visit Denmark in order to discuss a possible marriage and told him that preparations would soon be in hand at Kronborg. The writer’s command of English was good but his grammar was rather strange at times. Nicholas found that surprising. Having spoken to Langberg a number of times, he knew what a mastery of the language the man possessed.

When he read the second letter, the same pattern was repeated. Beyond the grammatical errors, there was nothing that could arouse the slightest suspicion. The truth then dawned with the force of a blow. Nicholas was not looking at one letter but at two. The trick that Langberg had used with his nieces was repeated in epistolary form. One thing was shown, quite another intended. From his pocket, Nicholas took out the tiny strip of paper that had been found in the chess set. It was the secret code. With its help, he saw that he was reading something entirely different. He also understood why the code had been concealed inside the black king. It represented James VI of Scotland, a name that recurred three times in the letter when it was translated.

Nicholas was excited. He had not only found clear proof that Langberg had been involved in the murder of Rolfe Harling, he knew exactly why such trouble had been taken to marry Lord Westfield to a Danish wife. It was disturbing. Langberg had ambitions that went far beyond arranging a match for his niece. Nicholas picked up another letter and discovered, when he deciphered it with the code, that it was even more explicit. He was at once shocked and fascinated by his discovery. So keen was he to look at another letter that he lost all track of time. He was barely halfway through it when the door opened and Bror Langberg came in.

‘What’s this?’ cried Langberg, pulsing with anger. ‘I should have known that something was up when Master Firethorn asked me all those unnecessary questions.’

‘I’ve a few more pertinent ones to put to you,’ said Nicholas.

‘I’ll not bandy words with a thief.’

‘A thief is a higher vocation than a murderer.’ He held up the slip of paper. ‘We found the code in Master Harling’s chess set. It helped me to see the monster that you are.’

‘Be quiet!’

‘There’ll be no wedding now. Lord Westfield has been told the truth. You showed him one niece so that you could marry him off to her sister. Like everything else that bears your name,’ said Nicholas, ‘the marriage is fraudulent.’

‘I’ll hear no more of this,’ shouted Langberg, pushing past him to reach into the chest. He pulled out the ornamental sword. ‘Do you know what this is?’ he asked, taking it from its jewelled sheath. ‘It’s the highest honour that Denmark can bestow. It was given to me by the late King Frederick for outstanding services to the state.’

‘Did they include your plan to assassinate our queen?’

‘Silence!’

‘I cannot believe that Rolfe Harling would condone such a plot,’ said Nicholas, backing away. ‘Is that why you had him killed?’

Langberg bristled. ‘You know far too much for your own good, Master Bracewell.’

‘I know that he was not murdered by two cooks from your kitchens. That was another case of deception. Tell me, sir, have you ever done anything honest in your life?’

Langberg was enraged. Leaping forward he swung the sword in a vicious arc, intending to slice off Nicholas’s head. The latter ducked just in time, letting the blade pass harmlessly above him. He then pulled out his dagger and parried the wild slashes and thrusts that followed. But he could not do that indefinitely. Langberg was a powerful man with a superior weapon. He was bent on murder. Nicholas had to escape quickly. As he dodged and weaved around the room, he suddenly dived for the chest and picked up a handful of documents, flinging them hard into Langberg’s face confuse him for an instant.

Nicholas seized his chance. He opened the door and ran into the corridor but Langberg had not come alone. Two armed guards were stationed outside the door and they grabbed Nicholas between them, pinning him against the wall. He fought back to no avail. They had too strong a grip on his arms. Still holding the sword, Langberg sauntered into the corridor with a malevolent grin. He was not going to be bested by a hired man from a theatre company. He held the point of the sword against Nicholas’s throat and was about to jab it hard when a woman’s voice cried out.