Simon Hawke - The Slaying Of The Shrew

“But that is all mere supposition!” cried Elizabeth. “No one has been blamed for Catherine’s death because no one has killed her! So what if they shall seek a murderer? They shall never find him, because he does not exist! How can someone who has done no wrong be found guilty of a crime that has never been committed?”

Smythe sighed. “Oh, Elizabeth, how little you know of the inequities of life! There are men who are thrown into prison every day for offenses no greater than stealing a mere loaf of bread. When the daughter of a rich man with powerful friends is killed-or falsely believed to have been lolled-then they shall never stop looking for a killer til they find one.”

“He is right, Elizabeth,” said Mason, who had listened to their conversation with a look of utter helplessness. “When no murderer is found, then they will find instead some hapless wretch and beat a confession out of him rather than admit that they have failed. ‘Twould not be the first time a man was hanged for a crime that he did not commit. The plan had risks enough when it entailed merely the pretense that Catherine had died. Now that they believe it to be murder, how could we ever live in peace, knowing that our happiness may have been bought at the price of an innocent man’s life?” He shook his head emphatically. “Even the possibility of that would be enough to ruin any chance of happiness that we could ever have. ‘Twould destroy us in the end.”

Elizabeth looked desperate. “So what would you have us do instead, John? Confess the fraud and have all the pains that we have gone to be for naught? And do you suppose that there would be no consequences for what we have done?”

“Your part in it need never be revealed,” John replied. “No purpose would be served in that. I cannot believe that Catherine’s father would be too severe with her. After all, a daughter he thought dead would be suddenly restored. Surely, ‘twould be welcome news that would mitigate his anger. For my own part, I would endeavor to bear whatever consequences should be meted out with manly fortitude.”

“A brave speech and well spoken,” Smythe said. “And I can find no flaw in your character for it save a slight lack of practical consideration. For a certainty, you shall be made the scapegoat for this entire melancholy situation, and to use your own words, no purpose would be served in that, either.”

“What would you have me do, run off like some craven coward?”

“You have already proven that you are no coward,” Smythe said. “You know that, and now I know it, Elizabeth knows it, and I am certain Catherine knew it from the start. Others may not, but does their opinion truly matter?”

“And what of my family?” Mason asked. “Would you have me run away and leave them in disgrace?”

Smythe sighed. “I see your point, and have no counter to it. But there must be some other solution to this unfortunate dilemma. Perhaps if I spoke with Sir William-”

“Wait,” Elizabeth said, suddenly. “What if it turned out that Catherine had killed herself?”

“What?” said Mason.

“Hear me out,” Elizabeth said, intently. “I have just had an idea that could provide us with the solution that we seek! What if Catherine had obtained the so-called poison knowingly, and drank it so that she might end her life rather than condemn herself to living with a man she did not love?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Elizabeth!” said Mason. “Why would anyone believe that?”

“Why would they not believe it, if a note were found, written in Catherine’s own hand, explaining all? She could write it herself, as soon as she awoke!”

“Again, you have forgotten about Will,” said Smythe. “He shall return from London with a very different tale.”

“But if you were to intercept him afore he spoke to anyone,” Elizabeth persisted, “and told him to say it had been poison, then could it not still work?”

Smythe frowned. “What of the flask?”

“What of it? He could say that the contents had to be poured out and subjected to some sort of arcane, alchemical procedure to determine the ingredients. We could make something up. Or else we could simply say that no exact determination could be made, though it was proven to be deadly…”

“And what of Granny Meg?” asked Smythe.

“What reason would anyone have to question her about the matter?” said Elizabeth. “Will would already have brought back her report!”

“Another mad notion born of desperation!” Mason said.

“Perhaps,” said Smythe, frowning as he looked for flaws in the idea. “But on the face of it, at least, it does sound plausible.”

“It could work, could it not?” Elizabeth asked, hopefully.

They all stood there in the rain, which was thankfully starting to let up, but they were still dripping wet. Smythe could feel the cold chilling him through as he considered Elizabeth ’s idea. They looked more like three drowned cats than desperate plotters, but the situation seemed to call for desperate measures. Smythe wondered how he had become caught up in it. It was Elizabeth, of course. Once more, Elizabeth had found herself squarely in the midst of an intrigue, and she had been drawn into it because she cared about her friend. Now he had become involved because he cared about Elizabeth and it seemed that Will would be pulled into it as well… assuming he agreed to do it out of friendship for him.

However, he could scarcely blame Will if he were to refuse. From any reasonable standpoint, refusing to go along with such a byzantine deception seemed the only rational thing to do. Shakespeare had nothing at all to gain by going along with it and everything to lose. His career in the theatre was only just beginning and he had already made a very promising start. He also had a family back in Stratford to consider. He did not seem to care much for his wife, but he took his obligations seriously.

“I do not know,” Smythe said. “It all seems to depend on Will. ‘Tis getting late, and if he has not returned by now, then doubtless he has chosen to remain in the city rather than risk the road at night, which means that he shall surely start out first thing in the morning. If I can get to him and convince him to go along with this before he speaks to anyone, then ‘tis possible it just might work.”

“Why should your friend wish to help us?” Mason asked.

“I do not know that he shall,” replied Smythe. “ ‘Tis asking a great deal. But if he does, then he shall do it for friendship’s sake.”

“As you do it for Elizabeth ’s sake,” said Mason, as if echoing Smythe’s earlier thoughts. “Already, too many people are involved in this. Too many share the risk. It has gone beyond the pale.”

“Yet now there is no stopping it,” Elizabeth said. “Win or lose, we must be strong and see it through, John. We must do it for Catherine.”

“Aye,” said Mason, “I have had no peace these past two nights, thinking of her in London with that witch’s potion, mustering up the courage to drink it down and dance with death. I have been at my wit’s end with worry. God, Elizabeth, what if she does not awake? I could not live with that!”

“She shall awake,” Elizabeth insisted. “I have complete faith in Granny Meg.”

“Would that I shared your confidence,” said Mason. The strain was obviously telling on him. His last reserves of energy seemed to be draining out of him even as he spoke. “I must know how she fares. You promised that she was to awake tonight.”

“Granny Meg said that there was no way of determining the time for certain. She had measured everything with great exactitude, but she warned us there were risks.”

“We must get inside,” said Mason, moving towards the door. “I must see her! I cannot bear the uncertainty. I shall not stray from her side til she awakes!”