Simon Hawke - The Merchant of Vengeance

“‘Strewth!” said Smythe softly. “They are going to hold a trial for him! And we must have been brought here to testify!”

Shakespeare shook his head. “They cannot do this,” he murmured. “This is not a trial, but a mockery! There is no justice in this!”

“‘Tis their justice,” Smythe said, “according to their law.”

“And ‘twould seem they have already reached their verdict.”

Shakespeare said. “The poor sod. He shall have no chance, no chance at all.”

Locke hammered upon the table once again to restore order.

“‘What say you to the charge?” he demanded.

“So you are Thomas’s father?” replied Mayhew. “How ironic we should meet like this. I must say, you look remarkably well for a man who was supposed to have been dead.”

Locke frowned. “Dead? What nonsense is this? ‘What do you mean? Who told you I was dead?”

“Your son,” Mayhew replied.

Locke leaned forward. “What? You expect me to believe that my own son told you I was dead?”

“Believe what you like,” Mayhew replied derisively. “It makes no difference to me, one way or the other. I have nothing to gain here, and nothing left to lose. ‘Tis dear to me that you have already determined my fate. But your son, when I first met him, told me that he was an orphan, that both his parents had died when he was very young. Considering that his father was a criminal and his mother was a Jew, then I suppose that would explain why he chose to lie.”

Mayhew’s remarks provoked an immediate outburst among the crowd. Locke simply stared at him with cold fury, his hands balled into fists upon the table.

“He is sealing his own fate,” said Smythe.

“Nay, his fate is already sealed,” said Shakespeare. “He was right about that. But he is acquitting himself bravely.”

“There is a difference between arrogance and bravery,” said Smythe. “The man is acting like a fool”

“Perhaps,” said Shakespeare. “But an innocent fool, methinks.” Smythe frowned and glanced at him. “Innocent?”

“Aye,” Shakespeare replied. “He may be an arrogant fool, and he may have refused to let his daughter marry Thomas Locke, but I do not believe he is a murderer. I do not think he did it.”

The coach wheels clattered loudly over the wet cobblestones as the driver whipped up the horses to a canter, giving Elizabeth and Winifred a jarring ride over the streets of London. Although the horses were not going at a full gallop, it was nevertheless a risky speed to be driving in the rain, with the slickness of the streets and the poor visibility from the mist and darkness. Fortunately, there was scarcely any traffic, due to the severe weather; otherwise they would almost surely have suffered an accident. Despite the relatively empty streets, however, Winifred was apprehensive.

“Should we not tell the driver to go a little slower?” she asked nervously.

“I am quite sure he would be happy to,” Elizabeth replied.

“But I would not forgive myself if we arrived too late.”

“I suppose you are right,” Winifred replied, holding on to the seat grimly.

“Perhaps ‘twould have been best had you not come,” Elizabeth said to her apologetically.

Winifred shook her head. “Nay, I had to come,” she said. “I could not have borne simply sitting there all alone, wondering what would become of Henry, to say naught of worrying about poor Portia.”

“How long do you suppose it has been since they took him?”

Winifred shook her head. “‘Twould be difficult for me to say for certain. It felt as if I had been lying there tied up for hours and hours, but I do not think it could have truly been that long.”

“What would you guess?”

“An hour, perhaps? I cannot say. I do not think it could have been much longer, although ‘tis possible, I suppose,” Winifred replied.

“An hour,” Elizabeth repeated. “Well, if so, then that is somewhat encouraging. They would have needed to take Master Mayhew to wherever they were taking him, and then they would have needed to have time to question him some more…” She stopped when she saw Winifred close her eyes and shudder. “Forgive me. But we must set aside our delicate natures and screw our courage to the sticking point if we are to be of any use to Portia and her father.”

Winifred nodded. “Of course, you are quite right, Elizabeth. Please, go on. Continue. I shall bear up as best I can.”

“Very well, then. ‘Twould have taken them time to make whatever arrangements they were going to make regarding Portia’s father, and then…” She took a deep breath. “Well, then ’twould depend upon whether or not he could convince them that he truly did not know where Portia was. If he could do that, well, then I am not sure what they would do. On the other hand, if they did not believe him… then I fear ‘twould be a matter of how long he could hold out before he told them that she was staying at my house.”

Winifred bit her lower lip and clasped her hands together tightly, but said nothing.

“Either way,” Elizabeth continued, “we should still have some time to reach Portia, if we hurry.” She frowned, recalling something. “I remember that of late I wrote to Master Mayhew concerning Portia staying at my house. Do you suppose he may have left that letter where they could have found it?”

Winifred shook her head. “I do not know. However, I do recall that letter. He had read it to me. But I do not know what he did with it.”

“Was he in the habit of saving such things?”

Again, Winifred shook her head. “I cannot say. In truth, it strikes me now that I had never paid very much attention to those things. He has a room in the house where he keeps his business papers, and he often works in there. I had never gone in to disturb him. A man needs to have his privacy. But on the other hand, I have never discussed any of his business matters with him and so know nothing of them, really. If something were to happen to him…” She paused, swallowed hard, and then went on. “Well, I would not know how to sort out any of his business matters. I would not know what to do.”

Elizabeth grimaced. “My mother is just the same,” she said. “That is to say, her circumstances are the same. Father takes care of everything. The house, the property, the business, all the money matters-Mother has naught to do with any of those things. She would say ‘twas not a woman’s province to concern herself with such matters, but to keep the house well and see to it that meals are on the table and servants do what they are told and that her husband is free from having to worry about those things. And yet, ’tis clear to me that she would not know what to do if anything were to happen to that husband. She would require some man to come and tell her. And that man could take advantage of her, and what is more, she would never be the wiser.”

“Perhaps,” said Winifred, nodding in agreement. “Yet, that is the way of things.”

“Nay, that is the way things are allowed to be,” Elizabeth replied vehemently. “And things are allowed to be that way because we tolerate them. You are fortunate, Winifred, because your late husband left you well taken care of. Before he died, Lord rest his soul, he had made arrangements for you, no doubt with trusted friends, so that you would be provided for and so there would be someone, a man, to take care of his estate and see to it that you were free from such mundane concerns, at least until you had found another husband. And now it seems you have. And if all goes well, Lord help us, and Henry Mayhew is returned to you unharmed, then you shall marry him, and your late husband’s estate shall become his estate, passed on to him, as it were, along with you. Then he shall take it over, and thus shall you continue to be kept free from those concerns. Well, I do not wish to be ‘kept free’ from concern. I wish to be concerned with my own welfare, to make my own choices, and to do what I choose to do, and not what some man, be it a husband or a father or a lover, tells me I should do!”