Read Online The Twelfth Night Murder by Anne Rutherford - Free Book Online Page B

room as she painted herself for her role as Olivia in
Twelfth Night
, the sense of pressure and lack of preparation to go onstage made her think hard about what she was attempting in helping Constable Pepper, and whether she could accomplish it. It annoyed her that he expected her to do his work for him, and the more she thought about it, the more annoyed she became. She was afraid that if he kept this up she wouldn’t be able to continue performing, in order to make Pepper happy and keep him from harassing the Players.
    The performance that night confirmed her fear. All through it she found herself distracted, not concentrating on her lines and her character. Her very mouth didn’t seem to want to form even the simplest words, and she fumbled so many of her lines she could hear tension in Liza’s voice as the young girl struggled to cope. Liza herself had a perfect memory and never had to put forth any effort to remember lines, and thought everyone should be able to do it. She was unable to understand those who weren’t similarly talented. Every aspect of her character was printed indelibly on her mind, and her every performance was utterly smooth and flawless. But she had a temper, and as they all came offstage at the end of that night’s performance, it was plain Liza would have had many sharp things to say if Suzanne had not been, in effect, the owner of the troupe and her de facto employer. Liza quickly cleaned her face and left the building with her mouth a hard line. Suzanne watched her go, and fell into deep thought about what she must do.
    That evening at the Goat and Boar the crowd was a bit less than it had been the night before. Tonight the only patrons were the one table surrounded by Globe actors, and so they had the entire public room to themselves. Even the tarts had taken the night off and none were in evidence. Suzanne ate a supper of mutton and Irish bread that was not nearly as good as what Sheila would have served at home, but the company here was far more mixed and lively than it could have been in her private apartments. Here in such a public place she enjoyed the presence of Daniel, Ramsay, and her son at once, something that rarely happened in the basement of the Globe, and when it did the room always became entirely too small for comfort.
    Suzanne sat back while chewing on a chunk of meat and sipping on a clean glass of Young Dent’s most expensive French wine. It happened that today’s costliest wine was worth the price. She said, “I must tell Horatio tomorrow we’ll need to recast all my roles for at least three weeks. Particularly Olivia and Calpurnia. I’m going to be quite preoccupied with this favor I’m doing for Constable Pepper.”
    “What favor?” asked Ramsay.
    “I’ve been requested to solve the murder of that boy tart who was in here last night.”
    Ramsay sat up, surprised. “That boy was murdered?”
    Piers said, “What boy?”
    Ramsay replied, “There was a wee lad in here last night, looking to sell himself. He thought the earl might have a taste for his wares and would trade some silver for them.”
    Daniel’s expression was sour. “He looked enough like a
wee
girl I might very well have. I still have my doubts he was a boy.”
    “He was. I saw his willie,” said Suzanne.
    “You looked?”
    “I could hardly miss it. It was severed and stuffed in his own mouth.”
    A moment of dark, shocked silence fell over the table. Then Ramsay said, “He was exceeding-comely.”
    Everyone nodded, but nobody spoke further on it.
    Suzanne retreated to the issue she’d raised originally. “I won’t be able to solve this case for the constable and continue in the plays. Even were I able to spend the time, there is that my mind simply cannot compass both tasks at once.”
    Daniel said, “Be kind to yourself. Perhaps it would be best to not take on too much.”
    Ramsay said, “Och, you’re bright enough to do both. Don’t let anyone suggest you’re not capable.” He