The Play's the Thing (The Chronicles of Christoval Alvarez Book 7) Page 10

  Burbage and I both sprang to our feet.

  ‘Master Burbage,’ she cried, ‘and Dr Alvarez! Why have they put you in here? How long have you been waiting?’

  Burbage murmured something about it being of no consequence, but she shook her head impatiently.

  ‘It is monstrously rude. You should have been conducted to my lord at once. Follow me.’

  With that she swept us out, along the corridor, past the door to the stairs, to the other end of the south wing, and flung open a door.

  ‘Henry, my love, here are two gentlemen come to see you and left kicking their heels in that miserable little chamber.’ She waved her hand back in the direction we had come. ‘I have only just heard of it. They have been kept waiting for more than an hour.’

  Lord Hunsdon rose from behind a desk and bowed politely. We returned it, rather more deeply, and I retreated behind Burbage.

  ‘Burbage, my dear man,’ his lordship said, ‘how may I be of service? I must apologise for the negligence of my servants. They shall be reprimanded. Aemilia, ring for some refreshment for our guests.’

  Burbage made a deprecating gesture, ‘My lord, there is no need. This should not take long, although it is a serious matter.’

  Lord Hunsdon emerged from behind his desk and motioned us to chairs, while Aemilia strolled over to the window, as if to admire the same prospect as I had seen from the other room, but I was certain that she was listening attentively. Lord Hunsdon paid no more attention to her than to a pretty ornament adorning the room. Perhaps he was one of those men who believe women cannot comprehend the serious affairs of the sterner sex.

  ‘It concerns the death the night before last at the Green Dragon,’ Burbage began awkwardly.

  His lordship shook his head, but did not appear deeply concerned. ‘Alas, a sad affair. Your copyist, I understand? Not one of the players.’

  ‘That is correct. Our copyist, Master Wandesford.’ Burbage hesitated, as if unsure how to continue.

  ‘It comes to us all, in the end, Death’s sickle may cut us down without warning in the midst of life. A heart attack, I believe?’

  Burbage cleared his throat. ‘That was what I believed at the time. It seems that was not the case.’

  He glanced sideways at me. I suddenly realised that Lord Hunsdon had no idea who I was, and so, equally, could have no idea why I was there. Aemilia had talked to me throughout the meal, and so might have told him, but I doubted whether I was of sufficient importance to have been mentioned. He might have seen me rush to attend to Wandesford, but it had been dark at the far end of the table and Master Burbage had hurried him away almost at once. It seemed Burbage now realised that he needed to explain my presence.

  ‘This is Dr Alvarez, my lord, a licensed physician of the Royal College. As a friend of the company, he was present at the dinner in the Green Dragon.’

  I stood up and bowed. Lord Hunsdon inclined his head.

  ‘Dr Alvarez observed a number of things about Master Wandesford’s appearance – um – symptoms of . . . signs which suggested that the man did not die of natural causes.’

  Lord Hunsdon had been sitting relaxed in his chair, but now he leaned forward, his hands on his knees and fixed me with a sharp look. I realised that he was not, after all, quite so unconcerned about the sudden death as he had tried to appear.

  ‘Perhaps, doctor, you had better tell me what you think you saw.’

  I did not care for the implications of that condescending ‘you think’, but it would do no good to allow it to annoy me. Clearly and dispassionately, I described the symptoms Wandesford had shown before the dinner, the violent signs of poison before he died, my own experience of belladonna poisoning, and my testing of the wine left in the glass. I took out the phial and held it up. He looked at it, but made no move to take it.

  He said nothing for a time, then gave a brisk nod. ‘Your deduction seems valid. I have no such medical training myself, but I will take your word for it that the man appears to have died from belladonna poisoning, however administered.’

  He turned to Burbage. ‘But why have you come to me?’

  Burbage shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  ‘It is a matter, my lord, of the coroner. In a case of suspected foul play, one is required by law to inform the coroner. Dr Alvarez is convinced there was foul play.’

  ‘The man might have taken it himself.’

  They both looked at me, as though they expected me to have the answer.

  ‘Very unlikely,’ I said. ‘Indeed, I believe, impossible. I’m no lawyer, but even if he had taken it himself, would that not still count as an unlawful killing, wilful self-murder? And require a coroner’s inquest?’

  His lordship nodded. I noticed that Aemilia had turned a little away from the window and looked from one to the other of us. She was regarding me speculatively.

  Lord Hunsdon tapped his teeth with his thumbnail.

  ‘You will understand, my lord,’ Burbage said, ‘that we would not wish you to be caused any distress or inconvenience over this matter . . .’

  ‘The truth is, Burbage, if there is a coroner’s inquest, it must come out that I was present. There is no way it can be concealed.’

  Master Burbage looked even more uncomfortable, but could clearly find nothing to say.

  Lord Hunsdon fixed me again with that sharp stare. ‘You are quite sure of your facts, young sir?’

  I meet his eyes firmly. I would not be patronised. ‘I am quite prepared to testify on oath that in my opinion. Master Wandesford was poisoned with belladonna.’

  His lordship sighed, then he got up and rubbed his hands briskly together. ‘Very well, then there is nothing for it. We must abide by the law. Burbage, you had better report the matter to the coroner at once.’

  It took us a considerable time to return to the playhouse. There were, of course, no wherries at the water gate of Somerset Place, and while a passing wherry could have been hailed with a cry of ‘Eastward Ho!’, there were also no wherries passing along the river as the sun rose to the zenith and the very mud at our feet dried and cracked until it took on the appearance of shards of terracotta.

  Lord Hunsdon’s private barge was moored just off shore, but neither of us wished to trouble him further, so in the end we scrambled along the shore to Strand Lane which led up to the Strand itself.

  ‘I think it is too hot to walk,’ Master Burbage said.

  ‘I agree.’ I was beginning to feel faint beneath the unrelenting sun, but was reluctant to remove my gown until we were well away from Somerset Place. ‘If we go through Temple Bar and down Middle Temple Lane, we should be able to pick up a wherry at Temple Stairs.’

  This was what we did, although it meant trudging along a street thick with dust, kicked up by passing feet in a choking cloud, then another precarious walk over boards, during which Master Burbage accidentally stepped off the side and sank one foot up to the ankle in the mud. The curses he showered down on the weather, the Thames, and the careless placement of the boards were enough to burn the ears of a more sensitive companion, but I have spent time in the company of soldiers. I have heard worse.

  By the time we eventually reached the Theatre, the afternoon performance was already underway. While we were being rowed down the Thames, we had discussed how best to proceed. Master Burbage would report to the coroner at the Guildhall as quickly as possible, for he would most likely wish to hold the inquest the very next day, in view of the probable deterioration of the body. I would go to St Botolph’s to warn the rector that the body would need to be removed for the inquest.

  ‘It will probably be held at the Green Dragon,’ Burbage said. ‘I have only once attended an inquest, and I know that coroners prefer to hold their enquiries as near as possible to where the incident occurred.’

  ‘It seems somewhat unpleasant,’ I said. ‘Were I the innkeeper, I should not like an inquest involving a dead body to be held on the premises where I serve food and drink. It will surely harm his busine
ss.’

  ‘His business will be harmed anyway,’ Burbage said grimly, ‘once word gets out that a man died of poison at the Green Dragon, however innocent the inn may be of any involvement.’

  ‘I am sorry for it,’ I said, feeling somewhat guilty. The innkeeper was a cheerful, obliging soul, and I did not like to think of him taking harm for something which was no fault of his. ‘But will word get out?’

  ‘You do not know how these matters are arranged, Kit?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘The jurors will be made up of respectable men from the neighbourhood, so they will soon be apprised of all the details. And any citizen may attend the inquest. Londoners are ghouls when it comes to hangings. They are no different when it is an enquiry into murder. The room will be packed with as many people as can force their way in.’

  ‘Poor Master Wandesford,’ I said. ‘He would have hated to end like this.’

  At the playhouse, we stopped just long enough to explain to Cuthbert what had been decided with Lord Hunsdon, then went to carry out our separate errands. Master Burbage accompanied me, retracing our steps as far as St Botolph’s, which lies just past the madhouse, then he continued on into the City to find the coroner.

  The rector of St Botolph’s was setting out fresh candles in the church, ready for evensong, and I quickly explained that the coroner’s men would be coming to fetch Master Wandesford’s body for the inquest, and why an inquest must be held.

  ‘It is likely to be tomorrow,’ I said. ‘To avoid any more delay.’

  He looked distressed. ‘Poisoned! That anyone could do such a thing, to a gentle soul like Master Wandesford! He was a good man. It seems so disrespectful of the dead, to be laid out on public view. Is it really necessary?’

  ‘I believe it is the law.’

  He shook his head. ‘Not a humane law, then.’

  ‘It is important that justice should be done. Master Wandesford was murdered. The murderer must be caught. He might attack someone else.’

  At the word ‘murdered’, he shuddered. ‘The poor man is already in his coffin, ready for the funeral the day after tomorrow. Master Burbage has paid for a coffin, so that he should not be buried like a pauper, merely in a winding sheet.’

  ‘Perhaps they will simply take him in his coffin,’ I said. The conversation was becoming macabre. Everything about this business was. ‘Is it fastened down?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Then I am sure they will carry him in his coffin. He may be viewed, then covered again.’

  I left the rector on his knees at the altar, praying, I supposed, for Master Wandesford’s soul. As soon as I was outside the church I dragged off my gown. It had been necessary to wear it when visiting Lord Hunsdon, for I wished to be taken seriously, and I had kept it on to go to St Botolph’s, out of respect for the dead copyist and the living rector, but I could dispense with it now. I loosened my small ruff and untied the strings of my shirt at the neck. In the street, labourers were going about stripped of their shirts, their pale English skin reddened under the sun.

  Before I returned to the Theatre, I decided I would stay the pangs of hunger that had begun to assail me. Hours had passed since my skimpy breakfast, and, although I would be enjoying a dinner which was to be part of my wages for copying, that would not be for some hours yet, after the read through of Will’s play.

  In this weather, it was wise to exercise caution in choosing what and where to eat. There was an ordinary just inside the city gate where Simon and I had often eaten. The food was plain, no fancy sugar confections there, but it was as clean as one could expect in such a place. Even so, I would avoid meat and fish, either of which might have turned putrid. I choose a bowl of pease pudding, some bread, and a little hard cheese, washed down with small ale, for my throat was as dry as the desert.

  By the time I had walked back to the playhouse, the performance was over and the players were relaxing briefly before starting their read-through. When Will saw me, he beckoned me over to join him where he sat playing a desultory game of cards with Simon and Guy.

  ‘We have heard the outcome of your visit to Lord Hunsdon,’ Simon said. He glanced aside at Guy. I wondered whether he had yet told Guy the details of my discoveries about Wandesford’s death.

  I pulled up a stool to the costume hamper they were using as a table. ‘I am sure Guy can help. Have you asked him about Master Wandesford’s friends, and any possible enemies?’

  ‘He has,’ Guy said, laying down his cards and resigning from the game. ‘I am afraid I can be of little help. Wandesford was a solitary fellow. In all the years we have both belonged to Master Burbage’s company, I never really came to know him. He never mentioned any family, or spoke of his life before he came to London. I am not even sure how we came by the notion that he had once been a clergyman. When he first came, he had something of the north in his speech. Possibly Yorkshire. I cannot rightly remember after so many years.’

  Simon and Will played out the last of their cards, and Will scooped up his winnings – four silver pennies, an apple and a sweet pasty.

  ‘From the north,’ Simon said thoughtfully. ‘Possibly Yorkshire. Perhaps a former clergyman. No family. You do not suppose he could have been a Catholic priest?’

  We looked at each other wildly. If he had been a Catholic priest, a violent death was not unlikely. In Walsingham’s day, he would have been arrested and questioned.

  ‘Nay.’ I shook my head. It was a tempting speculation, but unlikely. ‘Catholic priests who come to subvert the Queen’s peace do not remain quietly copying out play books for – how long did you say he was with the company, Guy?’

  ‘It must be fifteen years.’

  ‘Fifteen years,’ I said. ‘Nay. That is not their way. They come swiftly over, mostly from Rheims, and move about the country, never staying in one place for long. Their excuse is merely to minister to those of the old faith, but they support the Pope’s excommunication of Her Majesty, and they are agents of Spanish and French plots to invade England. Certainly they may take on many disguises – I knew one who pretended to be a flamboyant mercenary captain – but I am sure Master Wandesford was not one of them. Besides, the rector of St Botolph’s spoke warmly of him.’

  ‘Might he not be mistaken?’ Will said.

  ‘Not in matters of faith, I think.’

  He nodded.

  ‘Were you able to speak to Wandesford’s landlady?’ I asked.

  ‘Aye, on my way home last night. She said he was very quiet, never any trouble, never had any visitors. But she was upset – someone had been in the house while she was out, and she was sure Master Wandesford’s room had been searched.’

  I felt a tiny quiver of excitement. This was almost like the old days in Walsingham’s service. ‘Why did she think that?’

  ‘She showed me his room. Always very tidy, she said, not a thing out of place.’

  I nodded. That seemed in keeping with the man’s character.

  ‘It was pulled about. Nothing badly damaged, as far as I could see, but papers scattered everywhere, an inkpot overturned. His few books dropped open and careless on the floor, as though someone had riffled through their pages. And one curious thing. The goodwife said there were usually crushed sheets where he had blotted or spoiled his writing. Every one of them was gone.’

  Chapter Six

  The inquest was called for seven o’ the clock the next morning, to be held in the main parlour of the Green Dragon inn, situate in Bishopsgate Street. So we were told by one of the city officials, who arrived at the Theatre on Master Burbage’s heels, just as the players had begun the read through of Will’s new play. I had been looking forward to this, but was sorely disappointed, for the players were so disturbed at the thought of an inquest that they hardly gave their attention to the reading.

  Apart from Simon, Guy, and Will, this was the first moment that the players realised Master Wandesford had been murdered. Unless, of course, the killer was there amongst the crowd of agi
tated men and boys, some of them distressed, some – mostly the boys – excited. All who had been present at the meal given by Lord Hunsdon were to appear at the inquest. There was a written summons for me, requiring me to provide evidence as to the unlawful killing of the deceased. A similar written summons was handed to Cuthbert Burbage, as the person sitting nearest to the victim, who had first called attention to the man’s sudden illness.

  ‘Except,’ I said to Simon later, ‘that someone else was sitting between them. Could it have been the killer?’

  ‘Surely Cuthbert will remember who sat next to him.’

  ‘If he does, there is a good chance that was the killer.’

  ‘Unless the killer was sitting on Wandesford’s other side,’ Simon said.

  ‘Or opposite.’ I closed my eyes, trying to visualise the scene at the table. I opened them again. ‘People were milling about when I got there. But I think it would have been possible to reach across the table and drop something in his glass. The table was not very wide.’

  We were sitting in my room at our lodgings that evening, unable to forget what was to happen the following morning. We had eaten a subdued supper at the Cross Keys before returning to Southwark, but we were too restless to retire, even though we must rise at dawn, something Simon was not used to. I would be obliged to leave Rikki with Tom again. I could not continue to make a habit of it, and this was troubling me too.

  ‘Does it worry you,’ Simon said, ‘being required to give evidence as to the cause of death? It was you who started this hare running. Without your discovery of poisoning, there would have been no inquest.’