“Well, most immediately, her father, of course,” said Smythe. “And then, after him, Corwin. Assuming he is innocent.”
“Let us proceed on that assumption, for if he is not, then the guilty party is already apprehended and justice shall be done. But if he is innocent, then we must act swiftly to prevent a miscarriage of that justice. So…’tis entirely possible that Master Leonardo had made enemies and that one of them had followed him to England and then done away with him. If so, then perhaps vengeance is the profit that we seek. We must find out if anyone had compelling reason to wish Master Leonardo dead.”
“How would we discover that?” asked Smythe.
“At the moment, I have not the slightest clue,” said Shakespeare. “Even if she were in any state to speak with us, Hera might not know aught of her father’s business dealings and what enemies he might have made. Mayhap Ben could be of some assistance to us, since he knew Master Leonardo best.”
“Or perhaps one of the household servants?” Smythe said. “Surely, he must have had at least one servant, if not more, who had accompanied his daughter and himself from Genoa. Hera did not seem comfortable speaking English, though she seemed to speak it well. She must have had a maidservant, a governess, perhaps, who came to England with her.”
“Of course,” said Shakespeare. “That only stands to reason. So, once more then, we came back to the servants. Let us consider Corwin.”
“He could have enemies, I suppose,” said Smythe. “His rise from apprentice to successful journeyman was swift. He had already made something of a reputation for himself among the fashionable nobility. There may be someone who felt envious, another apprentice, perhaps, who believed that Corwin’s place was rightly his.”
“You are thinking of your friends, the Steady Boys, perhaps?” asked Shakespeare.
“I did not have to think too hard,” said Smythe, touching his bandage. “They have impressed themselves upon my memory.”
“Indeed,” Shakespeare replied. “And I do not for one moment think that murder would be beyond them. They very nearly murdered you. And that aside, there seemed to be little love betwixt Corwin and that Darnley fellow and his sneering friend.”
“Bruce McEnery,” said Smythe. “I’ll not forget either of those names anytime soon.”
“I did not expect you would. Nor shall I, for that matter. I do not have so many friends that I can afford to lose any of them. We both have a score to settle with those two and their misbegotten Steady Boys. But let us not allow our outrage to blind us to our course. They may not have been the culprits.”
“And yet, I could easily see them spreading vile rumors about Hera,” Smythe replied.
“As could I. But then, why would Corwin give any credence to them, considering their source?”
Smythe grimaced. “I am still not ready to dismiss them from our consideration.”
“Very well then, we shall not. But for the moment, let us put the Steady Boys aside, as well. Where does that leave us? Who else is affected by Master Leonardo’s death?”
“We are,” Smythe replied.
“We are?”
“I mean, the Queen’s Men,” Smythe said. “Master Burbage and his son, all of the shareholders and the hired men, even Henry Darcie, for that matter. He is a partner in the Theatre, in which Master Leonardo was going to invest.”
“Very true,” said Shakespeare, nodding. “ ‘Twould seem our list of suspects grows and grows.”
“Oh, you cannot suspect any of the Queen’s Men, surely!” Smythe said. “Or Henry Darcie, for that matter. He may be an insufferable old goat, but he is certainly no murderer.”
“Methinks I am in agreement with you there,” said Shakespeare, “else he would have had you murdered long since for making cow eyes at his daughter.”
“Very funny,” Smythe replied dryly, “but that still does not refute my point. Henry Darcie, for all that he is more full of himself than a baker’s dozen of courtiers and finds me utterly unsuitable to pay court to Elizabeth, is nevertheless a good and decent man, and only stood to lose from Master Leonardo’s death.”
“Did he?” Shakespeare asked.
Smythe frowned. “What do you mean? Of course he did! Had Master Leonardo lived, he would have invested in the Theatre, and necessary refurbishments would have been made with his money. As things stand, those refurbishments must still be made, but now, instead of being paid for out of Master Leonardo’s investment, the cost will fall upon Henry Darcie and the Burbages. His death was a great disadvantage to them.”
“Ah, but was it?” Shakespeare said. “Consider this, Tuck: thus far, we have only Henry Darcie’s word that Master Leonardo was eager to invest. ‘Tis quite possible that after seeing the Theatre and then meeting with the company and considering all his options, Master Leonardo had some reservations, or else changed his mind entirely.”
“But Burbage would have known that,” Smythe said.
“Perhaps,” Shakespeare replied. “Or perhaps not. Elizabeth had already taken Hera under her wing, as it were, and thus Henry Darcie had somewhat more to do with Leonardo than Burbage did. Most likely, they were spending more time together, especially since Leonardo had aspirations of advancing himself in London and Darcie would have been more helpful to him in that regard than the Burbages would be. So, if the late, lamented Master Leonardo had reservations about investing in the Theatre, or else had set his mind against it, ‘tis possible that he might only have told Darcie. If so, then Henry Darcie would have been the only one to know that Leonardo was not going to invest.”
“And so what then?” asked Smythe. “He killed him? Or else had him killed? How could he profit by that? Either way, there would be no investment money.”
“Nay, not necessarily so,” Shakespeare replied. “Leonardo had no male heirs, apparently. Hera was his only child. As such, she stands to inherit her father’s wealth. Alone in a strange country, to whom would she turn for guidance if not to the father of her only friend in London?”
“God’s mercy, Will! You cannot believe that, surely! Tis absolutely diabolical!”
“Aye, murder is diabolical, Tuck. I am not saying that I believe it came to pass that way, but I am saying that if we wish to find the truth, we must consider every possible alternative, else the truth, and the real murderer, may easily elude us. We must not allow our sympathies to blind us to any possibility. We must be crafty, canny hunters, you and I, carefully following each spoor that we find, else we shall lose the trail entirely.”
Smythe nodded. “Aye, your argument is sound. And much as I dislike to say so, Henry Darcie did seem somewhat callous in regard to both Master Leonardo’s death and Hera’s grief. His main concern, now that I think of it, was for us to convince her that we were her friends and to make her understand that her fortune was now tied to ours and ours to hers.”
“I thought you would remember that,” said Shakespeare.
“Aye, but still, that merely shows that he is selfish,” Smythe replied. “It does not mean he is a murderer.”
“True,” said Shakespeare, “it does not. Nor do I think he is. Yet I do see where he may nevertheless profit by the death. And that is the sort of thing that we must look for. So… who else profits by it?”
Smythe shook his head, puzzled. “I cannot imagine, unless he had unknown enemies in London and, if so, I do not now see how we may discover them. ‘Tis easier by far to see who stands to lose by his death rather than who stands to profit.”
“Very well. Let us try to view the situation from that vantage point,” said Shakespeare. “Who stands to lose?”
“Most obviously, Hera,” Smythe replied. “But I cannot believe that she had aught to do with it. Her misery is deep and clearly genuine.”
“I am inclined to agree,” Shakespeare said. “Who else?”