Her mouth opened as if she were about to reply, but no sound issued forth. It was as if she had lost the power of speech. She could simply find no words.
“We came in and found her thus,” said Smythe, indicating Catherine’s body, which now lay sprawled at an awkward angle, her head hanging down, the dagger protruding starkly. “ ‘Twas Elizabeth who screamed. Catherine was already dead.”
“Is this some ill-conceived notion of a joke?” asked Middleton, his face pale and drawn. “My God, man, what else should she be but dead in her own tomb?”
“That dagger was not there when she was laid to rest earlier this day,” said Smythe.
“Of course that dagger was not there, you imbecile!” said Middleton, his voice trembling with fury. “Because this… this… foul, perfidious, evil fiend has violated both her tomb and body and thus desecrated my poor dead girl by plunging it within! Oh, horrors! Horrors! What manner of vile beast would mutilate the dead?”
“Methinks that was not what happened here,” said Braithwaite slowly, gazing at the body curiously. He put away his rapier and approached Catherine’s corpse. “I truly mean no disrespect by what I am about to say, Master Middleton, but as any hunter would readily attest, blood does not gush forth from a carcass as ‘twould from a body freshly slain. And what we have here, I would hazard from my experience at tracking, is blood that seems but freshly spilled within the hour. ‘Twould seem Will Shakespeare spoke the truth in what he told us all tonight. Without a doubt, your daughter was still alive when she was stabbed.”
“Can this be possible?” said Middleton, his voice strained. “Am I to bury the same daughter twice within the same day? Oh, Heaven! Oh, monstrous spite! Then this foul villain has slain her!”
“No!” Elizabeth shouted. “No, ‘tis not true! He loved her!”
“Then from whence came that dagger buried in her breast?” Middleteon demanded.
“ Tis mine,” Mason said, dully.
“John, no!” Elizabeth shouted.
“There! You see? Convicted out of his own mouth!” cried Middleton, pointing at him. “Venomous wretch! Who are you, that you would visit such vile treachery upon me? What is your name, villain? Speak!”
“My name is John Mason,” he replied, emptily. “I am… or I have been a groom at Green Oaks. Now… now I am nothing.”
“A groom! A groom, by God! And at good Sir William’s estate! Incredible! And you…” He turned his wrathful gaze on Elizabeth. “My best friend’s daughter, and I had treated you as if you were my own! Thus do you repay my kindness towards you, by conspiring with this deceitful rogue to seduce my poor daughter and lead her to her ruin! You are as guilty of her death as he is!”
“Oh, that was base!” Elizabeth said, flushing red with anger. “In your spiteful eagerness to place the blame, you put it everywhere save where it belongs, squarely upon your own shoulders! Had you not tried to force her into a farcical and loveless marriage intended solely to advance your own ambitions, there would have been no need for Catherine to resort to the deception that has led to this sad end! John Mason is no murderer. Look at him! See his face! So utterly undone is he by Catherine’s death that he will not even speak out to defend himself! He did not do this awful thing! If you have him arrested for this crime, then the true criminal shall go free! And God Himself shall judge you for it!”
“Enough!” said Middleton. “You go too far! This is what comes of too much tolerance and too soft a hand with children! You have said quite enough, Elizabeth! Had you been born a man, so help me, I would seek my satisfaction, but as you are a woman, I will leave you to your father. Let him decide what is to be done with you. Henceforth, you are no longer welcome in my house. You may stay the night, until your father comes for you in the morning, but I shall suffer neither your impertinence nor your presence any longer. Now get out of my sight!”
“Tuck,” she said, trying hard to keep her voice from breaking, “would you be so kind as to escort me?”
“Of course,” said Smythe. He glanced at Shakespeare. “Will?”
Shakespeare nodded and started to walk out with them.
“Get out, all of you!” shouted Middleton to the others. “Jackals! Get out and let my poor daughter rest in peace!”
Elizabeth walked quickly with her head held high and Smythe hurried to catch up with her. Shakespeare paused to take a torch from one of the servants, then trotted after them. They quickly outdistanced all the others, who slowly made their way back up the path.
“ Elizabeth…” Smythe said.
“I am all right,” she replied, although her voice was strained. “I am more afraid for John. What shall they do to him?”
“I do not think they shall do anything, for the present,” Smythe replied. “Middleton will likely have him locked up somewhere, until he can be delivered to the authorities in London.”
“I would agree,” said Shakespeare. “ ‘Tis likely that he shall turn him over to Sir William, since he is his servant, and let Sir William make proper dispensation of his fate.”
“But John is innocent!” Elizabeth said. “You know he did not do it, Tuck.”
“In truth, Elizabeth, I do not know it for a certainty. And he did admit the dagger was his own. How else should it have gotten there?”
“Because he left it there for her! He was concerned that she might be defenseless in the tomb and so we arranged to leave it hidden there for her in case she should awake and feel frightened, or in the event that robbers should come to steal her jewelry.”
“Then why did he not say so?” Shakespeare asked.
“Because he no longer cares what may become of him!” Elizabeth replied. “He loved Catherine with all his heart! He hated the whole idea of this plan, despised it and said ‘twas much too dangerous. He wanted simply to run away with her, instead. And now he blames himself. You saw him! A part of him died along with her! But you know he did not do this, Tuck! You were there with us!”
“Aye, for a time,” said Smythe. “Because I had followed you, I know when you met him at the vault, but I cannot say when he got there. ‘Tis possible that he had come there earlier, which means that he could have found Catherine when she awoke, and then slain her for some reason that we do not know.”
“You cannot believe that, surely!”
“ Elizabeth, I do not know John Mason. I have never before laid eyes on him until this night. But while I admit ‘tis possible he may have killed her, I do not believe he did.”
“What reasons have you for thinking so?” asked Shakespeare.
“Several,” Smythe replied. “For one thing, I am inclined to believe Elizabeth. While I did not have much speech with Mason, he struck me as a decent sort. I do not think he is a killer. And I have no doubt that he loved Catherine.”
“ ‘Twould not be the first time a love had led to murder,” Shakespeare said.
“Perhaps not,” said Smythe, “but there would have to be some reason for it and there is none here that I can see. The whole plan was designed so that Catherine and he could safely go away together and never be pursued. If his love were so intense and feverish that he might have gone mad if she were to change her mind at the last moment, then I suppose ‘tis possible he might have killed her. Yet, if Catherine were to change her mind, for whatever reason, the time to do so would have been before she took the potion. Otherwise, why take the risk?”