‘Why?’
‘He believes I know where she is. He interrogated me and made dire threats against me. He said my faith would be held against me, that I would be accused of harbouring priests and face the scaffold for treason. No London jury would believe me for I was a papist and therefore untrustworthy, he said. He threatened my stepson, too.’
‘Why do you think he came to you? He must know something. Have you been speaking to anyone?’
‘Only you, sir.’
The unspoken accusation was not lost on Shakespeare, but he let it pass without rebuttal. ‘Could someone at the Curtain know something, someone other than Oswald Redd?’
‘Only if Redd has told them. But I cannot see why he would do such a thing.’
‘No, Mr Tort, that will not do. Kat lived with Redd. Everyone at the playhouse must have known that they were living together. It would not be beyond the wit of the most doltish player to consider that his house would be an obvious place for her to hide. This tale of murder must be as much a sensation in Shoreditch as it is in London. Perhaps a player went to Young with his suspicions, hoping for a coin in his hand.’
Tort tapped his fingertips together so that his hands formed a half-globe. It was a habit Shakespeare had noted among other lawyers during his days at Gray’s Inn; they seemed to do it while thinking through a complex matter. ‘I don’t think so,’ Tort said, his face a blank. ‘If a player had told Justice Young about Oswald Redd, then his house would surely have been raided.’
He was right, of course. But it could only be a matter of time before Young discovered this part of Kat’s past for himself. Which meant that Redd had done the right thing to hide her elsewhere. But where was she?
‘I went to her again,’ he told Tort. ‘But she was gone. Do you know where she is now hidden, for I would very much like to talk with her again? There are matters to which I must have clear answers if I am to investigate further.’
The lawyer’s eyes widened and he shook his head as though surprised by the revelation that she was not at Redd’s abode. Was his surprise feigned, Shakespeare wondered, or was he somehow in league with Oswald Redd, keeping vital information from Shakespeare?
‘How did you know that she would be at Redd’s house when you took me there? What is your connection to Redd and how did Kat first ask you for assistance? Be straight with me.’
‘Why, it is simple enough. Redd approached me and I went with him to her; then again with you. Those are the only times I have seen Katherine and he is the only line of contact I have had with her.’
‘And did you know Redd before this tragical sequence of events?’
‘No, I had neither met him nor heard of him. Kat sent him to me.’
Shakespeare was thinking hard. If Young’s men suspected Severin Tort, then they would undoubtedly be watching him and his house – and they would have followed him to Shoreditch, in which case Kat would by now be under arrest. But that hadn’t happened, so Young’s interest in the lawyer must be more recent. Why?
‘Mr Tort, I have two more pieces of information that I would like to bring to your attention. Let us sit down.’ He was irritated to see the lawyer shifting uneasily as though desperate for him to leave. ‘God’s death, Mr Tort, hear me out. Whatever matters of importance you have to deal with, they will wait.’
Shakespeare slumped down on the settle and stretched out his booted legs; he felt an urge to sprawl himself as an antidote to Tort’s impatience and the cloying tidiness of this room.
Reluctantly, Tort took the chair at his desk, his knees clenched primly, as though he wore skirts. He listened in silence as Shakespeare regaled him with the revelation that the assassin, Will Cane, had been close to death when he murdered Nicholas Giltspur. If he was shocked or surprised, it did not show on his impassive lawyerly face. Nor did he speak as he heard of Boltfoot Cooper’s experiences to the east of the city. The only visible reaction was a slight tensing of the shoulder and neck at the name of Cutting Ball.
‘And so you see, nothing is as it seems. The reason I am here this evening, Mr Tort, is to ask you to help me make the acquaintance of Arthur Giltspur, the dead man’s nephew. For if Kat did not do it, then we must find someone else who would have benefited from Nick Giltspur’s death and the execution of his widow. So far the only name I have is Arthur’s, which I heard from Oswald Redd.’
‘I cannot believe Arthur would do such a thing. He is a fine young man.’
‘Then you know him?’
‘Well, yes, for he was often at Aldermanbury when I had dealings with his uncle.’
‘Then arrange a meeting for me as soon as possible. The steward of the house has been most obstructive.’
‘Sorbus? Yes, he can be a little too protective of his domain. I will do what I can. And Mr Shakespeare, there is one other thing I should tell you.’
‘Yes?’
‘When Justice Young was questioning me, he mentioned your name.’
Somehow Shakespeare was not surprised, and yet he was angry. ‘Indeed? You think to tell me this now? Why did you not say aught when I arrived?’
‘I was unsure how you would react.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He asked me if I knew you. I could not think what to reply, so I confessed that I did.’
‘Confessed ? As yet, it is not a crime to know me. What more did Young say? Did he mention why he was interested in me?’
‘He said that you and Katherine had . . . lived together. He did not express it in quite such decorous terms. He said that you must know where the murderous trug – his words – was hiding.’
Shakespeare snorted. Of course, it had been common knowledge among his neighbours and those he worked with in Walsingham’s employment that he had lived with Kat as man and wife for two years or more. But how had that information come to Richard Young’s attention? Shakespeare went through all those with whom he worked and wondered whether any of them might have informed Young. Mills? Gregory? Scudamore? Would any of them have gone out of their way to proffer such information? And if so, why?
What was certain was that he must now assume he was being followed wherever he went. He had probably been trailed here to Fetter Lane. In which case, if he could arrange a further meeting with Kat he would have to go to great lengths to ensure he lost his pursuers.
He stood up and strode towards the door. ‘As soon as possible, Mr Tort. I rather think Mr Arthur Giltspur might offer some insights to this wretched tale.’
‘I doubt it, but I will do what I can.’
He pushed open the front door and was about to step out into the night but stopped. He was face to face with Dominic de Warre . . .
Chapter 16
De Warre took a step backwards and, without thinking, affected an insincere smile, the sort men and women produce as a courtesy when confronted close up with a stranger. But then he must have realised that he recognised the face of the man opening the door, for his brow furrowed in surprise and puzzlement. Shakespeare rather imagined that his own expressions must be going through the same rapid alterations.
Why would Dominic de Warre, the young companion of Goodfellow Savage, be here at the home of Severin Tort?
‘Mr de Warre, what an extraordinary surprise.’
‘Likewise, Mr Shakespeare. Well met, sir. But why, pray, are you here?’
‘I might ask the same question of you. I was visiting my friend Mr Tort. He is helping me with a legal difficulty.’
‘Indeed? I had no idea you were acquainted. Severin Tort is the man I must call my stepfather, though it pains me so to do.’
Shakespeare was gathering his recollections of this young man from their meeting at Mane’s; fervent, indiscreet, dangerous were the three words that first came to mind. But he merely spoke a platitude. ‘Ah, so he is the man who advised you against a career in the law.’ And the man so concerned by your wild and untamed mouth.