Read Online The Scottish Play Murder by Anne Rutherford - Free Book Online
Authors: Anne Rutherford
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“As I said, I sleep where I like and in general prefer my own company and keep my own counsel while dreaming.”
“Surely you’ve enjoyed the intimate company of some of your good friends from time to time.” He looked around at the men at the table, all of whom shook their heads somewhat ruefully. Ramsay reacted with exaggerated shock. “You don’t say! None of you? Horatio, then?”
Suzanne wagged her head in reluctant admission, and took another sip of ale. “Horatio was a client once or twice many years ago when we first met. But never since.”
“Lucky sod. Had I discovered you before you changed professions, I would have given you gold and jewels for an evening of your time and attention.” With that he reached into a pocket in his doublet and discreetly showed her the end of a necklace that appeared to be of rubies set in gold. Rubies large enough to please a duchess or countess. Then he dropped it back into the pocket as if he’d never touched it.
Suzanne stared, agape, then looked around at the others, who laughed at the joke and didn’t seem to have noticed the astonishingly rich piece in Ramsay’s possession. She realized she was the only one who had seen it. She also realized Ramsay did not need the paltry wages offered by The New Globe Players.
Suzanne covered her look of astonishment by taking a long draught from her cup, emptying it with her head thrown back. As if out of nowhere, Young Dent appeared at her side to fill it again, and had with him a bottle of wine and a tankard for Ramsay. Then he disappeared again to attend to other guests.
The Scot said to her, beneath the further chatter of others at the table and unheard by them, “You’re a treasure and should be treated as such.”
“And likewise kept in your pocket?”
He grinned. “You should be kept safe. Secure and warm. ’Tis plain nobody has ever kept you safe from harm. That is a shame that should be rectified.”
A place deep inside her felt dug into, like an oyster gouged from its shell. She wondered how he knew that about her. “I am currently in good hands, friend Ramsay. Mine own.”
“There are bigger and stronger hands, to be sure. Throckmorton doesnae deserve you.”
“Throckmorton does not have me.”
He shrugged and didn’t argue that point. “I’d like to show you better.”
Suzanne had no reply for that, and wasn’t certain whether or not she was glad she’d already heard so much about him. Nor could she guess whether any of it was true.
*
T HE rumors circulating about Ramsay didn’t sit well with Suzanne. Rumors that went unaddressed always grew out of control, and more often solidified into accepted truth, and perception was everything. If enough people believed something false, then fact became irrelevant. The troupe could have a liability on their hands in Ramsay. All the talk about the murder of the Spanish pirate made Suzanne think someone should investigate that murder and at least determine who did
not
do the crime. Namely Ramsay. Since the constable was paid to investigate, she thought it was only right he turn a hand to that job.
So in the morning she hired her favorite chair, carried by two strong young men named Thomas and Samuel, and requested they take her to Constable Pepper’s office. It would be a little like walking into the lion’s den, where the constable might rush to an arrest on a whim or strictly for annoyance value, and it made her glad that Thomas and Samuel were available that morning. They were large, strong men and they liked her, many times functioning as bodyguards. Today when they set the chair down in the street outside Pepper’s office, she handed the carriers each an extra penny and asked them to listen at the door for her call. It was understood they should break in if they felt it necessary.
Constable Samuel Pepper was a lazy, roly-poly man with poor grooming habits and more concern for creature comforts than social responsibility. Or even personal
“Surely you’ve enjoyed the intimate company of some of your good friends from time to time.” He looked around at the men at the table, all of whom shook their heads somewhat ruefully. Ramsay reacted with exaggerated shock. “You don’t say! None of you? Horatio, then?”
Suzanne wagged her head in reluctant admission, and took another sip of ale. “Horatio was a client once or twice many years ago when we first met. But never since.”
“Lucky sod. Had I discovered you before you changed professions, I would have given you gold and jewels for an evening of your time and attention.” With that he reached into a pocket in his doublet and discreetly showed her the end of a necklace that appeared to be of rubies set in gold. Rubies large enough to please a duchess or countess. Then he dropped it back into the pocket as if he’d never touched it.
Suzanne stared, agape, then looked around at the others, who laughed at the joke and didn’t seem to have noticed the astonishingly rich piece in Ramsay’s possession. She realized she was the only one who had seen it. She also realized Ramsay did not need the paltry wages offered by The New Globe Players.
Suzanne covered her look of astonishment by taking a long draught from her cup, emptying it with her head thrown back. As if out of nowhere, Young Dent appeared at her side to fill it again, and had with him a bottle of wine and a tankard for Ramsay. Then he disappeared again to attend to other guests.
The Scot said to her, beneath the further chatter of others at the table and unheard by them, “You’re a treasure and should be treated as such.”
“And likewise kept in your pocket?”
He grinned. “You should be kept safe. Secure and warm. ’Tis plain nobody has ever kept you safe from harm. That is a shame that should be rectified.”
A place deep inside her felt dug into, like an oyster gouged from its shell. She wondered how he knew that about her. “I am currently in good hands, friend Ramsay. Mine own.”
“There are bigger and stronger hands, to be sure. Throckmorton doesnae deserve you.”
“Throckmorton does not have me.”
He shrugged and didn’t argue that point. “I’d like to show you better.”
Suzanne had no reply for that, and wasn’t certain whether or not she was glad she’d already heard so much about him. Nor could she guess whether any of it was true.
*
T HE rumors circulating about Ramsay didn’t sit well with Suzanne. Rumors that went unaddressed always grew out of control, and more often solidified into accepted truth, and perception was everything. If enough people believed something false, then fact became irrelevant. The troupe could have a liability on their hands in Ramsay. All the talk about the murder of the Spanish pirate made Suzanne think someone should investigate that murder and at least determine who did
not
do the crime. Namely Ramsay. Since the constable was paid to investigate, she thought it was only right he turn a hand to that job.
So in the morning she hired her favorite chair, carried by two strong young men named Thomas and Samuel, and requested they take her to Constable Pepper’s office. It would be a little like walking into the lion’s den, where the constable might rush to an arrest on a whim or strictly for annoyance value, and it made her glad that Thomas and Samuel were available that morning. They were large, strong men and they liked her, many times functioning as bodyguards. Today when they set the chair down in the street outside Pepper’s office, she handed the carriers each an extra penny and asked them to listen at the door for her call. It was understood they should break in if they felt it necessary.
Constable Samuel Pepper was a lazy, roly-poly man with poor grooming habits and more concern for creature comforts than social responsibility. Or even personal
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