Shakespeare No More Read online

Aspinall straightened, at least as much as he could. “Oh, Master Saddler, Master Shakespeare, I am faced with a conundrum.” He fingered the finely tanned gloves as though they were a priceless treasure.

  “I see you have been shopping at my father’s,” Will said coolly.

  “What? Oh, yes, Master Shakespeare.” His mind was obviously elsewhere.

  “Master Aspinall, tell us your problem,” I began. “Perhaps we can help. Stratford needs a schoolmaster untouched by troubles.”

  He grimaced. He groaned. He rolled his head back and forth. “Oh, young masters. If you could but help me, I would forever be in your debt.” Aspinall paused. “I have made the acquaintance of a lady at Shottery. She is quite pretty, and,” he paused again, “I am quite smitten.”

  “That is wonderful!” I said encouragingly. “Then what’s the problem?”

  “I wish to give her these gloves, but I wish to give also a message that relates my intent.”

  At that, Will perked up. “A message,” he began, “that speaks to her without boldly stating the nature of your purpose?”

  Aspinall’s eyes opened wide at that. “Yes! Yes! Exactly! I know little of words of love. Latin, yes. Greek, yes. But love?”

  I knew, without being told, that an appropriate message was already in Will’s mind.

  “I could, perhaps, offer something that might serve,” Will began.

  Aspinall rushed forward and gripped his hands like a man in a fever. “Oh, Master Will, if you could, I would…would…you could borrow any of my volumes you wished. I swear it!”

  “Simon,” Will called to me. “Get a scrap of paper from the Guild Hall. Let us see if we can help Master Aspinall win his lady love.”

  A few moments later, a simple three lines, and Alexander Aspinall was a happy man. And Will Shakespeare had a plenitude of new books to read.

  As I lay in my bed, it was difficult for me to reconcile the boy to the man. But even as my eyes grew heavy, I could not brush away the memory of that long-ago day, and I fell asleep, reciting silently, “The gift is small / The intent is all / Alexander Aspinall” knowing, somehow, that it was important.

  I had found the key to Will’s death.

  Chapter Ten

  Did you sleep well, master?” my newfound bodyguard asked as I left my chamber the next morning.

  “In truth, not much at all.” And I had not. I awoke about three hours into the night and lay thinking, evaluating what I had learned, judging what I knew. Certain, as the sky began to brighten, that I had arrived at the truth of it. “Tell me, Master Malcolm. If I were to ask you to accompany me on a chore that might not, strictly speaking, be within the law, would you?”

  The giant’s eyebrows came close together. “Would it put me at cross purposes to Sir Edward?”

  “Not exactly. And it would, I think, make his job a little easier.”

  He smiled. “Then I will gladly agree. Where are we going?”

  “First, the Tower.”

  “Then?”

  “I do not know.”

  ———

  With Malcolm at my side, my entry into the Tower was assured. And when I requested to see the countess of Somerset, eyebrows were raised, but the warder led us to the countess’s rooms without comment.

  I ducked my head and entered, with Malcolm fast on my heels.

  “Master Saddler, I do not remember sending for you.” Even as petite as she was, she filled any room she entered. It was easy to see how Robert Carr had fallen in love with her.

  “I invited myself.”

  “You are a presumptuous man.”

  I smiled and sat down unbidden, knowing what her reaction would be.

  But I was wrong.

  Rather than chastise me for sitting in her presence without her leave, she laughed. “I knew you were an unusual man the first time I met you. What errand brings you to me on this day? Has anyone else attempted to murder you?”

  She seemed very interested in that.

  “Sad that they failed yet again, my lady?”

  “No, I find men who so quickly attract so many powerful enemies fascinating. They seldom live long, but they make for delightful theatre while they last.”

  “Well, I trust I will offer you such entertainment before my life takes wing.”

  “And what have you come for today?” she said, circling her chamber. “And why did you bring Coke’s man? Alone, we might have had an interesting morning. But alas, I do not share my treasures with groups.”

  “I came to ask you a few questions, nothing more strenuous than that, I am afraid, my lady.”

  But I would be less than truthful if I did not admit that her easy talk of lovemaking stirred something in me. It was simple to see how she had successfully captivated so many men.

  She sat then, leaning forward and exposing her bosom that much more. “Ask your questions.”

  “Did your husband’s friendship with the king make you uncomfortable?”

  I had chosen my words carefully, and she did not miss that.

  “Why should I be uncomfortable? That is something to be wished for, not criticised.”

  “Even the special relationship between them?” Beside me, Malcolm grunted. I was nearing treason.

  At that, the countess did begin to look restless, indecisive. “Some questions are better left unasked, Master Saddler.”

  “Surely, a lady of your…sophistication would not mind such things.”

  “Surely, a lady of my…sophistication would not discuss such things.”

  “Perhaps not. But your husband intends to discuss these matters, at length, before the court.” I had no idea that Somerset would do this, but given his general disposition and the situation, it was conceivable that he might. “He believes that if he embarrasses James deeply enough that James will pardon the both of you.”

  At that her face turned a deep red and her eyes narrowed. “He can be a fool, but he is not that big a fool. Such a threat would serve only to bring his conviction more quickly and the axeman’s stroke more efficiently.”

  “Of course,” I agreed. “That is why he is holding back the letters.”

  She drew back from me as if struck. “You know about the letters?” But then the surprise on her face melted into understanding. “But of course, your friend Shakespeare told you. He was forever indiscreet. What else do you think got him killed?”

  My heartbeat quickened. “You admit that you had him killed?”

  “Ha! Have I not enough troubles as it is? No, I did not kill him, but I am sure that other of the king’s friends did. They could not chance him being called to testify at our trial. He knew too much, too much of the truth of my husband’s friendship with the king.” She stopped, glancing fearfully at Malcolm.

  I jerked my head towards the door. Malcolm looked uncomfortable. “ ’Twill be fine. The countess will not harm me.”

  He growled at her warningly, like a great mastiff, and then heeded my request.

  With the door closed, ’twas just me and the countess within. “Let us be frank. When your husband decided to marry you, the king was, shall we say, upset. He was desperately seeking some way to keep the earl close. He turned to Shakespeare to write the sort of note that might persuade Carr to remain in the king’s ‘personal’ service.”

  “You are not being frank; you couch your words. Of course, my husband and the king are two of the world’s greatest sodomites. James is even now bedding George Villiers. And the king was most jealous of me when I took Robin’s fancy. Yes, he did turn to Shakespeare to use his special talents to persuade Robin of the folly of this move. And the poet was paid handsomely.”

  “Was your marriage one of alliance more than romance?”

  “Oh, no, Master Saddler. My husband is as skilled in pleasing a woman as he is in pleasing a man.” The smile on her face was of such a nature as to ready my manhood for action. She was an entrancing woman, but I knew what lay beneath, the coldness of her heart. Still, I could see how Will had fallen to
her charms.

  “So Shakespeare crafted many of the notes that King James sent your husband?”

  “I am not certain how many of them Shakespeare wrote, but I know simply from reading them that he penned a good number of those sent to Robert when he first showed them to me. Without the poet’s touch, they would have simply been childish drivel, but he conveyed the king’s message most convincingly, and in a most detailed manner.”

  “But not convincingly enough to bring Somerset back to the king’s bedchamber,” I concluded for her.

  “My talents in that regard,” she said, slowly running her tongue across her upper lip, “are many, and much better than the king’s.”

  The countess stood then at that. “But despite my husband’s skills in such things, his abilities in other areas are woefully lacking. He believes that threatening the king with his testimony in court will cause the king to end this charade.”

  “The death of Thomas Overbury was a charade?”

  She turned. “The death of Thomas Overbury was something that everyone at court desired. He was a most disagreeable man. No one liked him.”

  “But he was your husband’s dearest friend,” I protested.

  “Who do you think introduced Robert to sodomy? Robert has no head for state affairs. Overbury was his brain. Robert passed all state papers to Sir Thomas, who decided what action, if any, needed to be taken. But then Thomas made a drastic error. He opposed Robert’s intimacy with the king, but more fatally, he opposed our marriage. That set him on a deadly path with the Howards. For if the king could not have Robert, he saw value in strengthening his ties with the Howards.”

  “Your family.”

  “My family. I admit nothing. But Thomas Overbury’s horrid personality brought about his death as surely as if he had stabbed himself with a dagger. It really matters little who wielded the weapon.”

  “On the contrary, Countess, the law cares both who wields the weapon and who directs the killer’s aim. If it did not, you and your husband would not be imprisoned here in the Tower.”

  “Granted.” She paused and looked at me. “So you think that I had a hand in Overbury’s death?”

  “Quite frankly, my lady, I believe that you had both hands in Overbury’s murder. I believe that it was most likely your idea. And I believe that Sir Francis and Sir Edward will not hesitate to hang the entire affair around your neck. I admit that it is a pretty neck, but it will soon be broken. There are but two weeks, a little more, left until your trial. Were I you, I would be seeking some advantage, some leverage, to avoid the axeman’s stroke.”

  At that, she narrowed her eyes. “What sort of leverage?”

  And now I was shooting my arrow blind, or, at the very least, with only a glimmer of light. “What else, the letters.”

  She huffed and turned away. “That would have been very foolish of my husband, to have kept those letters.” But she could have fooled no one.

  “You have already admitted that in most matters your husband is inordinately foolish. And you have already admitted that he held back the letters. Enough of this silliness. Here is what I believe. The reason the king is so worried about your husband’s testimony is how affairs stood between them. What may be common knowledge at court plays out differently when sworn to at trial. And the reason that someone had Shakespeare killed was because he could verify at least some of Somerset’s testimony. And, if the letters were still available, he could testify that he wrote them for the king at the king’s direction.

  “No matter what James’s true role in the death of Overbury, he would be in danger of losing his crown at a public accusation of sodomy. The entire nation would be thrown into turmoil. Aye, it could even mean civil war.” My words might sound extreme, but they were true. The king and Parliament were always at odds. Parliament thought the king spent far too lavishly and did not approve of his behaviour. The king thought Parliament was inconsequential.

  “The man who controls those letters can control your fate and that of your husband.”

  “If that were true, I have plenty of friends who could retrieve them for me,” she said, narrowing her eyes further.

  “Ahh, but you are imprisoned. And stand accused of murder. None of your friends are likely to involve themselves in this. And if the king dreamt for one moment that they were here, he would have seized them already. I think that you need a third party, someone to negotiate a reasonable outcome.”

  “And you would be that man?”

  I stood then and turned my back to her.

  She leapt to her feet and advanced on me as if she intended to strike me. “What would you gain from this? No one does anything without gain.”

  I pivoted and looked at her. A thought crossed my mind, a sinful thought, but I put voice to it anyway. “Perhaps I wanted to taste the nectar that Shakespeare found so seductive.”

  In truth, I did not mean it. Why should I go where hundreds had been before me? I wanted only Peg; I could not have Peg again, not in the same manner as before. And I did not want any other woman either, noble or common.

  “But I had rather know who ordered Will Shakespeare’s death. With those letters in my possession, I can use them to force an admission, at the same time as I negotiate an arrangement for you and your husband.”

  She grimaced at me. “You are a fool. If it were so simple, I would not be sitting here in the Tower. As soon as you have those letters your life will not be worth a penny.”

  “You underestimate me, my lady. I have a certain amount of protection from Coke and Bacon. Besides, what choice do you really have?”

  “You truly are a fool. Do you not realize that Bacon and Coke will throw you to the wolves if you become a liability to them? And there will be no comfortable chamber in the Tower for you. No, for you there will only be a nasty cell for a night or two before you go to Tower Hill. No matter how debauched he is, James is still the king, and you are a nobody.”

  I smiled at her, and I think that enraged her even more. “Yes, my lady, I am a nobody. But James is happy now with George Villiers. Your own family, particularly your very powerful father, has come under the cloud of suspicion. The earl of Suffolk is believed in some circles to be making illegal use of the treasury.”

  “That is a lie!”

  “Perhaps it is. But under the present circumstances, James is not inclined to be supportive of the Howards. Before Overbury’s death, yes, he sought to build an alliance. But now, with you in the Tower, and Suffolk reeling from accusations, the king probably wishes he never heard of the lot of you. The page is beginning to turn on your family’s fortunes.”

  “How would you know aught of these matters?” Her words were a challenge, but a challenge without the force of her earlier words.

  “Everyone in London speaks of it. I heard talk of it two days ago at a tavern near Gray’s Inn.”

  Her pretty eyes flitted about nervously.

  “My husband is reckless about many things. He will not accept any sort of arrangement that requires him to admit guilt.”

  “Is he guilty?”

  The countess did not respond, merely smiled in her beguiling way.

  “Will Lord Somerset give testimony against James if he knows that he does not have the letters any longer?”

  She shook her head quickly. “He is not that big a fool. What sort of arrangement do you have in mind?”

  Quickly, I explained my scheme. She listened, intently. This was a formidable lady, of that there was no doubt. As I finished, she nodded curtly. “That is acceptable. With the added bonus of saving my husband from himself. Very well. The letters are secreted in three locations—my father’s house at Audley End, the manor house at Chesterford Park, and Greys Court near Henley.”

  Perhaps this would be easier than I thought, at least obtaining the letters. “You will give me specific directions to where they are hidden.” A statement, not a question.

  The countess turned from me. “For Audley End and Chesterford, yes. For Greys Court
, I cannot.”

  “Why?”

  “My friend Anne Turner secreted them there. And she was hanged at Tyburn in November past.” Lady Frances walked away from me then, and I sensed that she had more to say. “They crowded the gallows as if it were the king himself being hanged, you know,” she said, almost in a whisper. “She was the finest friend a woman could have. And she faced her death with great bravery.”

  “But she never told you where in the house that she hid them?”

  “There was not a chance. We were all arrested just after. I barely got them out of our Whitehall apartments before the king’s men descended on us.”

  “Was that your principal residence? Whitehall?”

  “In the city, yes. And the king’s men ripped our belongings to pieces looking for the letters. Then your precious Coke and Bacon sent their minions and they did their worst.” She turned back to me then and straightened herself. “The house at Audley End is my father’s. He will give you no trouble. At Chesterford Park, we still hold the lease, so you should have no trouble there either.”

  And then she told me where I could find the letters in the two houses. “At Greys Court I would suggest that you look in Anne’s chamber first. If they are not there, I do not know what to tell you.”

  “Who else knows where they are?”

  She shook her head sharply. “Many know that they exist; no one but me knows where they are hidden.”

  “Not even your husband?”

  The countess smiled knowingly at me. “He would be the last one that I would tell. Robert is horribly indiscreet.…” She paused for a moment as if searching for the right words. “He is prone to overreaction and such is deadly when dealing with a king. The game cannot be played that way, not when the stakes are so high.”

  “But the letters were his, not yours.”

  “Constable Saddler, just as Sir Thomas made Robert’s decisions in regard to state papers, I must make his decisions in almost all others. Robert would have burnt the letters. He had no understanding of the leverage they gave us.”

  “Pardon me, my lady, but if this is all true, why would the king find him of the least interest?”