“I cannot say for certain what transpired between Corwin and Leonardo,” Shakespeare continued, “but I daresay that Leonardo was alarmed at this turn of events, vehemently protested Hera’s innocence, and doubtless let it go at that. There was no danger of them fighting any duel, as Ben knew perfectly well. Leonardo was, in all likelihood, no duelist nor did he wish to see their plans or his daughter’s future jeopardized. He needed to confer with Ben, so that Ben could repair the breach with Corwin. And for that very reason, when I told Ben what had happened, he needed an excuse not to follow Corwin on the instant, for he needed first to go see Leonardo and find out precisely what occurred. ‘Twould be best in any event to let Corwin’s temper cool and speak with him upon the morrow. Thus, he went straight from the rehearsal to Leonardo’s house, only he arrived too late and found him dead. Was that not how it happened, Ben?”
Dickens nodded, his lips compressed into a tight grimace. “Aye,” he said. “It all went just as you said. I found Leonardo dead and I believed that in his rage, Corwin must have taken leave of his senses and killed him.” He shook his head. “I did not know what to do. I nearly lost my mind. I could not think. I could not reason it out. No one was at home, so no one saw me come there. In a panic, I fled. I needed time to think, time to decide what I should do.”
“You still felt loyalty to your best friend,” said Shakespeare, “but you also believed him to be a murderer, and at least in part, you believed yourself to be responsible. But once you had some time to think, you realized that with Leonardo dead, your cony-catching scheme was finished. The only thing to do was get back whatever money there was left. And that was what you were doing at the house when Tuck and I came there. In truth, Ben, when Tuck and I found you there that night, I had suspected you of being the murderer. But I soon realized you were not. You were not searching for something to exonerate your friend; you were desperately searching for the money. Your money, that you had given Leonardo to help carry off the scheme. Only it was nowhere to be found, because someone else had been there first.”
Dickens nodded, grimly. “Aye. And I know who now.”
“Indeed, you do,” said Shakespeare. “Oh, the comings and the goings at that house that night! The first to leave was Hera, off to visit her friend, Elizabeth Darcie. Then the servants left to have their supper and their celebration at the Devil Tavern. As they were leaving, Corwin had arrived, doubtless in a state of temper. Soon thereafter, Corwin left, after confronting Leonardo and breaking off his engagement. Leonardo was thus left at home alone, wondering what to do. Doubtless, he hoped that Ben would soon arrive. Perhaps Corwin had mentioned to him that he had left word for Ben at the theatre. Only sadly, Ben was not the next to arrive. The killers were.”
“Poor Leonardo!” Dickens said. “If only I had not tarried at the Theatre!”
“The Steady Boys must have followed Corwin from the moment he was told of Hera’s infidelity,” Shakespeare continued, “for surely ‘twas they who had arranged it all. They must have followed him to the Theatre and from there to Leonardo’s house. They saw the servants leave and Corwin go inside. Most likely, Corwin did not stay very long, merely long enough to vent his outrage and announce that he was breaking off the engagement for having been deceived. Perhaps the Steady Boys listened at the window, laughing at how easily Corwin had been duped. Then, when he left, they went off to the nearby tavern to have a drink and celebrate. And there they found Leonardo’s servants, having a celebration of their own. Now a devilish new idea dawned upon them.
“Darnley must have formed the plan right there in the tavern. Or perhaps they had already conceived of it and merely awaited the proper opportunity. Two of them stayed to keep watch on Leonardo’s servants in the tavern. The other three went back to Leonardo’s house. The plan was to rob and murder the wealthy Genoan merchant and have the blame fall upon Corwin, for he was the last one seen coming to the house, and the word had already been spread about how he had been deceived. Thus would two birds be killed neatly with one stone. Corwin, a rival to their master and themselves, would be eliminated, and Ben would suffer as his closest friend went to the gallows, the very same friend who had once persuaded him to quit the Steady Boys. And so the deed was done. They lolled Leonardo, ransacked the house, stole whatever they could find, and made good their escape before the servants could return. Then Ben arrived, found Leonardo dead, and assumed that Corwin must have flown into a rage and killed him. Frantic with despair and guilt, he fled the house.”
“And then the servants returned,” said Smythe.
“Aye,” said Shakespeare, “but they had been drinking, and so they failed to realize that their master had been slain. They never ventured upstairs, never saw the body, never realized the house had been ransacked. They knew that Hera would be coming home soon and most likely awaited her return in the kitchen. And when she came home, she doubtless went straight upstairs to say good night to her father and found him slain. Her cries brought the servants running, then in a madness of grief, she fled the house, running out into the night. Budge, fearing for her safety, gave chase as best he could, growing more sober by the moment, until he saw that Hera had reached the safety of the Darcie house, whereupon he reported to Henry Darcie what had happened. Or, more to the point, what he believed had happened. And the very next day, poor Corwin was arrested for the murder of Master Leonardo.”
“One moment, I could not believe that he had done it,” Dickens said, “but the next moment, it seemed certain that he had. What other explanation could there be?”
“And so you gave up on him and went looking for your money?” Molly asked, bitterly.
“I went looking for the money, aye, but I never gave up on Corwin,” Dickens said. “Without the money, I would be able to do nothing for him. With it, I could hire a lawyer to plead on his behalf, find witnesses to swear he had been elsewhere in their company that night.” He sighed. “But whatever money had been left was gone. Those miserable, murdering bastards took it all.”
“Which brings us to this sorry pass,” said Shakespeare. “We know what must have happened, and how it must have happened, for we have used reason to deduce it. The trouble is, we cannot prove any of it. And without proof, poor Corwin swings.”
“Surely, there must be something we can do!” said Molly.
“Methinks there is,” said Smythe, thoughtfully. “Ben is not the only one who knows something of the art of cony-catching. As it happens, I have been reading up on it myself, of late. And I believe a trap set for a cony may catch a rat, as well. I have in mind a new production, Will, one eminently suited to your craft. And yours, too, Ben, and yours, my friends,” he added, glancing round at all the players. “That is, if you are game for it?”
“We are!” said Burbage.
“Tell us, Tuck!” said Fleming.
“Aye, tell us!” Speed said. “What have you in mind?”
“If I, too, may help, I shall,” said Liam Bailey.