“Where is Ben?”
“He has gone to escort Granny Meg back home,” Shakespeare replied.
“Granny Meg was here?”
“Aye. Ben and I went to fetch her while Molly stayed here to look after you. Granny Meg removed the bandage Ben tore from his shirt and replaced it with one of her own that she brought with her. She placed a poultice underneath it to draw out the bad humors and left very strict instructions that ‘twas not to be removed until she herself removed it and once more looked at your wound. She assured us that your head was more or less intact, although she did caution us that you might not remember things if the blow was strong enough.” Shakespeare shrugged. “I asked her how we might possibly be able to tell the difference, since you could not seem to remember things before the blow was struck.”
“Very amusing.”
“She seemed to think so. In any event, she said that if you could not recall your name, then it could be a bad sign.”
“But you did not ask me my name when I awoke.”
“I was going to see if your remembered. If not, then I was going to tell you ‘twas Ned Alleyn, just to see if ‘twould have any improvement upon your acting abilities. But… you remembered who you were, worse luck.”
Despite the pain, Smythe smiled. “ Twould seem that I owe Ben a debt of gratitude,” he said. “Not to mention a new shirt.” He frowned. “Wait a moment. You said that Molly stayed with me while you and Ben went for Granny Meg?”
“Aye, she did. And she was most concerned about you.”
“And she is here still?”
“Aye. She would not go home until she knew that you were going to be all right. As Courtney said, she awaits downstairs, to see you and satisfy herself that you are in no grave danger.”
Smythe felt a pang of guilt at her concern. “Please send her up, Will.”
“I shall.”
“Oh, and Will?”
“Aye?”
“Thanks.”
Shakespeare smiled. “No need. You would have done no less for me. In fact, as I recall, you did save my life once.” “Then consider the score even.”
Shakespeare held up his index finger. “Not quite yet. But I shall be sure to let you know.”
A few moments later, Molly knocked and then looked in anxiously. “Will said that you were awake and feeling better.”
“Well, I am not so sure that I feel better, but at least I am awake. Please come in, Molly.”
“I am so very sorry, Tuck,” she said, as she came in and sat down on a stool beside the bed. “Does it hurt very much?”
“Like the very Devil. But your broth helped. Thank you.”
“You are most welcome. Did you see who did it?”
Smythe shook his head and at once regretted it. The room spun and he closed his eyes a moment, hoping that he would not retch. “Nay, I did not,” he said, after a moment. “But Ben did. He said ‘twas the Steady Boys. It appears that I shall have a score to settle with Jack Darnley and his lot.”
“Granny Meg said ‘twas likely that you would recover fully before long.”
“I believe I shall,” said Smythe. “For the most part, ‘tis just my head that aches as if ‘twill burst. From now on, methinks I shall be more careful about walking through the streets alone after it grows dark. Which reminds me, Molly… I have a confession I must make to you. And I fear that it may make you angry with me.”
“You are going to say you followed me?”
Smythe grimaced. “You already knew. She told you.”
Molly nodded. “I am not angry with you, Tuck. I know you thought ‘twas a man that I was with and you only followed me out of concern for my safety and welfare.”
“She told you that?”
Molly smiled. “She did not need to. I know you, Tuck. You are not a scoundrel. There is no meanness in you. You have always been land to me. You and all the other players have always treated me as if I were part of the family, and I have always been very grateful for that. You are all very nearly the only family I know.”
“Well, I am relieved to hear you are not angry with me,” Smythe told her. “And you have repaid my kindness with kindness of your own. But I still cannot help but wonder… What in the world have you to do with the likes of Moll Cutpurse?”
Molly glanced down at the floor. “ ‘Tis a private matter, Tuck, and I wish you would not ask me.”
“Well, I know ‘tis no concern of mine, but-”
“Just so, Tuck. ‘Tis no concern of yours. And I would be grateful if you did not press me on the matter.”
“But you do know who she is, Molly?”
“I know,” she replied. “And I know you ask from motives that are good and well intended. But I promise you that I am in no danger, Tuck. I have nothing to fear from Moll Cutpurse. Truly. What we have between us is a private matter, as I said. And I do not wish to discuss it further. As you are my friend, I ask your word that you shall not pursue it or discuss it with any of the others.”
“Molly, I merely-”
“Your word, Tuck.”
He sighed. “Very well. You have my word.”
She smiled. “Thank you. And now you should try and get some sleep. Granny Meg said that you would need your rest to heal. And for that matter, I should get some sleep, myself. Master Stackpole has been kind enough to let me have a bed for the night. If you feel poorly and need anything tonight, call out. I am a light sleeper and shall hear.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. “You can barely keep your eyes open. Go to sleep now. I shall look in on you tomorrow.”
It was true. It was all that he could do to keep his eyes open. His head ached terribly, he felt dizzy and queasy, but most of all, he felt so tired that all he wanted to do was close his eyes and sleep. It seemed like a most excellent suggestion. He could not recall for certain later if he even said good night to her. He could not even recall seeing her leave. He seemed to recall hearing the door to his room close softly and that was the last thing he remembered. He slept a long, deep, and dreamless sleep. In fact, he slept all through the next day and the next night. And when he finally awoke, it was to discover that while he had slept, Master Leonardo had been murdered.
7
Tuck found out what had happened over breakfast downstairs in the tavern. Or at least, once he got past all the speculation, he found out as much as anybody knew, which was not a very great deal. When he came down in the morning, after sleeping fitfully through most of an entire day, everyone solicitously asked him how he felt. He replied with gratitude that he still hurt in at least a dozen places, yet in the main, he was very much improved. But despite their genuine concern about his welfare, it was nevertheless obvious that what had happened to him was no longer the primary topic of interest. Everyone seemed anxious to move on quickly past the question of how he felt in order to discuss the news of Master Leonardo’s murder.
It did not take Smythe very long to piece together the details. From the general conversation in the tavern, he learned that sometime during the previous afternoon or evening, Master Leonardo, the wealthy Genoan merchant whom they had all met briefly only a day earlier, had been viciously murdered at his residence. His young and beautiful daughter, Hera, had not been at home, fortunately, but was away visiting her new friend, Elizabeth Darcie, who had taken the shy foreign girl under her wing and was helping her become acclimated to her new life in London. Regrettably, it had been Hera who had discovered her own father’s body when she arrived back home that night.
“Dear God! The poor girl!” Smythe said. “How terrible for her!”
“Terrible is not the word,” George Bryan replied. “Horrible would be more like. They say the man was sliced to ribbons. Slashed more deeply than a fop’s silk shirt.”