Read Online The Opening Night Murder by Anne Rutherford - Free Book Online

unhappiness at Betsy’s death was plain on his face as she led him up the stairs. She would have to do something to take his mind off Betsy, or spend the entire afternoon urging him to finish his business, so she encouraged him to talk about himself. All men loved to talk about themselves, and most were accustomed to being allowed to do so frequently.
    “What’s your name?” She shut the door behind them and began to undress. All she wore was a frayed silk robe, so stripping was accomplished in but a second. She draped the robe over a chair, draped herself over the blanket on her bed, and spread her knees. All the girls did their business atop the blanket, for it helped keep vermin from the mattresses. Coyness was not Suzanne’s style, and her customers appreciated that with her there was no fuss and no folderol.
    “I’m called Horatio, for I am a friend of Hamlet. I’m an actor, you know. My troupe…”
    That was all it took, and he was off and running. In his big, booming voice, probably heard as far as downstairs, he told her all about the troupe he directed, and his history as an interpreter of Shakespeare’s work. As he dropped his breeches and climbed onto her, he continued on about his talented performers and how they all understood The Bard, Shakespeare. Once finished with his business, he buttoned himself and sat on the edge of the bed to explain some of the finer points of Shakespeare’s work.
    Oddly, as Suzanne rose from the bed, cleaned herself at the washstand, and drew her robe back on, she found herself listening to him. Not the way she did with clients, but as if he were her friend and she cared about what he was saying. The way Betsy probably never had. Any other client might have gone on for hours and she would never hear a word. But this theatre talk interested her. It sounded like fun, and though she’d never heard of a woman acting on a stage, she thought she might like to do it if she could talk someone into letting her try.
    When he wound down some and she could get a word in, she said, “Have you ever had a girl actor?”
    Horatio clapped his mouth shut, thinking for a moment.Then he said, thoughtfully, “Of course we have not. But now that you mention it, I can’t think of why we shouldn’t, other than that no woman has ever asked me before. I’m not certain whether any woman would want to be on the stage.”
    “I think perhaps you should have them onstage.”
    “Of course, only a whorish sort would be interested.”
    “That would be me, I expect.”
    He looked at her now, as if seeing her for the first time. “You?”
    She sat on the bed next to him and leaned toward him, insistent. “Of course me. I think I’d be perfect for your Shakespeare plays, don’t you?” She had no idea whether she would even be adequate, but there was no harm in encouraging him in this train of thought.
    He now peered hard at her, and she let him do so without interruption. He was the one paying for the time, so it was certainly no skin off her nose if he spent it thinking. Finally he said, “Yes. I think possibly yes. A Juliet whose voice won’t crack. A Viola one can suspect is female. A Lady Macbeth played as an ambitious woman rather than a weak man.” As he warmed to the idea, his voice rose to a trumpet sound. “Yes. You might do very well.”
    “Then when can we leave?”
    “Leave?” That startled him.
    “I can pack my bags in a trice. My son and I—”
    “Son?” Even more surprised, he laid a hand over his heart.
    “Piers. He’s nine years old and a hard worker. He’ll be no trouble at all.”
    Horatio’s mouth worked, but nothing came out.
    Suzanne rose from the bed, threw off the robe once more, and began to dress in street clothes as she continued, speakingrapidly in order to not be interrupted and told no. “You said it yourself. Juliet. Viola. Lady Macbeth. You need me.”
    He shut his mouth and appeared to warm to the idea. “Have you acted before?”
    “Every day of