Simon Hawke: The Merchant of Vengeance

“I should say not!”

“After they left, however, I should imagine that you went to her at once, out of concern?”

“I did, indeed.”

“And did she say anything to you about Thomas’s murder?” Elizabeth moistened her lips and nodded.

“She told you, did she not, that she believed her father was responsible?”.

“She did.”

“And did you believe her?”

Elizabeth hesitated.

“Elizabeth… did you believe her when she said she thought her father was the one responsible?”

“I did,” Elizabeth replied.

“You are doing a bloody marvelous job,” said Mayhew, with a disgusted look at Shakespeare. “Keep it up!”

Locke slammed down his hammer. “Silence!”

“Did you have any knowledge, other than what Portia told you, that led you to believe that Henry Mayhew murdered Thomas Locke, or else paid to have it done?” asked Shakespeare.

Elizabeth moistened her lips again. “Nay, I did not.”

“But you believed it just the same?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Aye. I did believe it.”

“Might I ask why?”

Elizabeth frowned. “Well… who else could have done it?”

“The fact is, anyone in London could have done it,” Shakespeare replied. “What you mean to ask is ‘Who would have done it?’

Is that not so?“

“Aye. What is the difference?”

“Oh, there is a very great difference,” Shakespeare said. “A very great difference, indeed. There could have been any number of people who could have killed him. The question is, who would have had a reason to do so? Aside from Henry Mayhew, that is.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I am sure I do not know.”

“Well, that is what we must endeavor to find out,” said Shakespeare. “I am finished with this witness. I would next like to call Master Leffingwell, the tailor.”

Elizabeth stepped down, and Master Leffingwell was brought out, dressed in his nightclothes. He looked very frightened and disheveled. As soon as he was sworn, Shakespeare tried to reassure him. ‘

“Do not be afraid,” he said. “All you need to do is tell the truth, and you should be home in bed within the hour. Now, please tell the court your name and occupation.”

“M-M-Master William Leffingwell,” he stammered. “I am a’t-tailor.”

“No need to be afraid,” Shakespeare told him once more. “No one shall harm you. All you need do is answer a few questions. ”What was your relationship with Thomas Locke?“

Leffingwell looked terrified, but he managed to compose himself enough to answer. “He… he worked for me. He was my apprentice.”

“And you had known him for the entire seven years of his apprenticeship, of course, is that not so?”

Leffingwell nodded. “Aye, I did.”

“You were generally satisfied with his work, were you not?”

“I was, indeed, aye.”

“So much so that when he completed his apprenticeship, you offered him a position as a journeyman tailor in your shop, is that not so?”

“Indeed, ‘twas so, indeed. He was an excellent tailor. I was pleased to have him in my shop.”

“And in all the time you knew him, did you know him to have any enemies who may have wished him dead?” asked Shakespeare.

“Nay, not Thomas!” Leffingwell replied emphatically, shaking his head. “He was a fine lad, a fine lad, indeed, well loved by everyone!”

“Would it be fair to say that you never knew him to have any enemies at all?”

“Nay, none at all. None at all. He was an excellent young man.

He got on well with everyone.“

“So then you were surprised when you learned that he was murdered?”

“Oh, I was astonished! ‘Twas a horrible thing, a horrible thing, indeed! I could not imagine who would have done such a ching!”

“You knew he was betrothed?”

“I knew that, aye. He often spoke of it.”

“And did you know the young woman to whom he was betrothed?”

Leffingwell shook his head. “Nay, I cannot say I did. He had mentioned her name a munber of times, and I… I think. she may have come to the shop once, but in truth, I cannot say I recall, other than the day she came with those two other women, seeking him. And that must have been the very day he…”

“The day he was killed,” said Shakespeare. Leffingwell looked down and nodded.

“You told the young ladies on that day that Thomas had not come in to work and was not at home,” said Shakespeare. “Just as you told us the very same thing. How did you know that he was not at home?”

“I had sent one of my apprentices over to his room to see if perhaps he had fallen ill, and the lad returned and said he was not at home.”

“But in fact, he was there,” Shakespeare said. “The boy you sent merely knocked upon the door, did he not, and when there was no answer, he returned to say that Thomas was not at home. But had he actually tried the door, as we did when we went there ourselves shortly thereafter, he would have found it open, and he would have found that Thomas was already dead. Thank you, Master Leffingwell. I am sorry to have disturbed your rest and troubled you. You may go home now.”

A a much relieved Leffingwell was escorted out of the chamber, Shakespeare went over to where Smythe sat and whispered in his ear. Smythe glanced up at him sharply, then nodded and left the room, accompanied by one of Moll’s men.

“You have not made much of an argument for the innocence of the accused,” said Locke. “Have you any other witnesses to call?”

“I have, if it please the court,” said Shakespeare.

“Get on with it, then.”

“I call Mistress Antonia Morrison,” Shakespeare said. Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide, and she spun around in her seat as Antonia was escorted in. Until that moment, she had not known that Antonia had been brought here, as well. Like Leffingwell, she looked frightened as they brought her in, but unlike him, she was fully dressed. When she saw Elizabeth, she looked a bit relieved, though still apprehensive.

“Please tell this court your name,” said Shakespeare.

“My name is Antonia Morrison,” she replied.

“Do you know where you are?” asked Shakespeare. “I do not mean exacty where, for I know that you were brought here blindfolded. I mean do you know what this place is?”

She nodded, gravely. “The meeting hall of the Thieves Guild.”

“And you have been told why you have been brought here?”

“To testify at the trial of Henry Mayhew for the murder of Thomas Locke,” she replied.

“So then you understand the import of all this, and that you must, above all, tell the truth?”

She nodded. “Aye, I do.”

Shakespeare looked up and saw that Smythe had returned, together with the man he had left with, as well as several others. He nodded.

“Very well, then. What is your relationship with Portia Mayhew?”

“She is my friend.”

“A close friend?”

“Well, she is more Elizabeth Darcie’s friend than mine. ‘Tis through Elizabeth that we had met.”

“Did you know her father?”

“Nay, I did not.”

“So then would it be correct co say that you have not known Portia Mayhew for very long?”

“Aye, ‘twould be correct.”

“And did you know Thomas Locke?”

“Nay, I did not. I knew of him, for Portia had spoken of him often, but we had never met. And now, I fear, we never will.”

“Indeed,” said Shakespeare, nodding sympathetically. “Where were you when you first learned that Portia’s father had withdrawn his consent for her marriage?”

“I was with Elizabeth Darcie at her home.”

“And Portia was there with you?”

“She arrived afterwards.”

“After you did?”

“Aye, that is so.”