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  “Why indeed?” John echoed.

  No matter how much I would have wished another time and place for this, I had to answer her, and Henry Smythe too. “The evidence indicates that John participated in Will’s death. While I believe that he was not the only one involved, he is the one that I have the most evidence against. Given enough time, I believe he will lead us to his fellow conspirators.”

  “What evidence?” But it was not Henry who challenged me; rather it was Peg.

  “It is best that I not talk about it now. There will be time enough when he appears before the justice of the peace.”

  “Which is me,” Henry reminded me. “So, stop this nonsense and tell me.”

  I certainly did not want to explain my actions in Susanna’s presence. I took Henry by the elbow and led, or rather dragged him from the room.

  “Simon, I have sent for Sir Walter. If you are going to continue this nonsense, he will have to be involved. Now, tell me why you think John Hall killed his father-in-law.”

  I began to outline the basic elements that I had drawn together. I could not tell him all. But I was willing to tell him as much as possible.

  But then the door burst open and Susanna Hall strode into the room, sparks flashing from her eyes. She walked right up to me and struck me with her open hand.

  “How dare you!” she screamed as I reeled back, the sting of her hand radiating throughout my face. “John Hall is your friend, and he loved my father. Your bitterness has finally stolen your common sense. No wonder Peg took up with my father,” she spat at me. “You are a madman.”

  I took a step towards her, for what purpose I do not know. I do not think that I would have struck her.

  Whatever my purpose, what happened next surprised all of us. Peg moved like lightning and planted herself between Susanna and me.

  “Do not speak about what you do not know,” Peg retorted. “Simon Saddler is a good man. Even you, Susanna Hall, should know that Simon has excellent reason to suspect John or he would not make such an accusation.” She stopped and swallowed hard. “I cannot see that John would have done this thing, but I know my husband.”

  For a moment, it seemed that Peg was going to strike Susanna, but then an even more amazing thing happened.

  Henry Smythe bounded into our midst. “Stop this right now!” Our bailiff was finally taking charge. “Susanna, you will desist. Simon was duly approved in this investigation. He even sought the approval of Sir Walter Devereux, which was given. While his enquiry has been somewhat unorthodox, he has been successful in these matters far more often than he has failed. If he believes that he has reason to suspect John, then I have no choice but to bow to his wishes.” I smiled at his reversal.

  “But Master Smythe,” Susanna began.

  “No, Susanna,” John ventured. “Henry is correct. The only way that my name can be truly cleared is through an official hearing.” He turned to me. “You realize, Simon, that having my name connected to such a deed could end my work as a physician.”

  I nodded. “I do not do this lightly, John.” Every word he spoke went to the logic of his position. But the casebook told the tale. Still, if John did not kill Shakespeare, I truly had failed.

  Henry stopped Susanna’s coming protest with a raised hand. “I am sorry, Susanna. Coming so soon after your father’s death, I know that this is difficult for you. But Simon brings with him a man, Malcolm Gray, in the service of Sir Edward Coke, the Lord Chief Justice. I just asked Master Gray if he concurred with Simon’s actions. He said that he had seen the evidence and that he did, in fact, concur. I cannot overrule Simon, despite the fact that I believe he is completely wrong. As much as I regret it, we must wait until Sir Walter arrives to resolve this.”

  Susanna’s mouth flattened into a straight, angry line. “He had best resolve this. My husband is a good man, who would never participate in such a plot.” And with that, she stormed from Hamnet’s house.

  Henry left as well, and John returned to caring for Mary.

  My cousin stood, stunned, in the middle of his own house. “Simon, if you are wrong, you will have done great damage to our families.”

  “Hamnet, if I am wrong, I will be all the happier. The roots to Will’s death are underneath a tree far greater than any we have in Warwickshire. Much of it can never be told, but the evidence against John is persuasive. I was astonished, but when I considered all that I knew, the way pointed clearly. I care not about my reputation, only justice for Will.”

  Hamnet opened his mouth to speak, closed it, then spoke. “A fortnight ago, you would have been the obvious suspect in Will’s murder. And now you cry of justice for him? What did you learn in London, Simon?”

  I did not answer right away. I walked to a window and looked out into Henley Street. “I learned how the laws that I have spent most of my life enforcing are but words on parchment, how they only apply to those without money, preferment, or titles. I learned how Will became who he was. I learned finally that he was not totally to blame for his actions. The court, dear cousin, operates with its own set of rules, rules that bear little resemblance to those that we commoners must follow.”

  Hamnet shook his head. “And this surprises you? Come, ­Simon, you are no freshling just out of the nest. You fought in the Low Countries. You have dealt with nobles throughout your life.”

  “We harbour within each of us a need to believe that those who lead our country do so with the best motives,” I said. “I can tell you this, without hesitation, the one nobleman who treated me with respect and honesty was King James. The rest lied at every turn.”

  My cousin’s eyes grew wide. “You dealt with the king?”

  “It was a necessity, and at his request.”

  And those same eyes narrowed with doubt. “At his request? Please, Simon. This is too much. Why should the king wish to speak with a simple constable from Stratford?”

  “It is true,” came a booming voice from the chamber door. “And I will deal with any man that disputes it.” Malcolm Gray.

  “And who is this, Simon?” Hamnet asked.

  “This is Malcolm Gray, and he answers to only one man in England.”

  “So, tell me, Malcolm Gray, what services do you provide the king?” A taunting tone colored Hamnet’s voice, unusual for him, but this entire affair was unusual.

  But Malcolm just smiled. “The sort of services that he does not advertise. But be at ease, Master Saddler. I have been privy to the same information as Simon, and I agree with him that John Hall must have done this thing. The evidence only allows for one conclusion.”

  I nodded, though doubt still rang in my head like a church bell.

  Hamnet just shook his head. “I am not learned in these things. Simon has a good record of sorting out such affairs. But I would have wagered my house that John Hall does not have murder in him.”

  Malcolm turned to me then. “Come, I will see you home. You will not be very popular in Stratford once word of this spreads.”

  “No, I will stay here with my daughter. I could not sleep if I tried.”

  “Then I will stay with you.”

  Before I could protest, Malcolm snatched a chair and set it outside the chamber where Mary lay.

  Hamnet grimaced, but made no comment.

  I went back in and joined Peg, Margaret and John. Peg and I did not speak, but we held hands and watched our youngest daughter. Margaret sat on the floor before us, and occasionally would look up at us with a brief smile.

  At one point she took the time to pat us on our shoulders. “She will be fine, Father. Just wait and see.” She squeezed my hand and Peg’s, still enmeshed. “You do not know how I have hoped for you to settle your differences.”

  I wanted to be as certain as Margaret, but little Mary lay there, so pale, so ill, I could scarce give her sister credence.

  We talked again, Peg and I, and Margaret, as we once had, as a family. There were yet things bothering me in this affair. Something nagged at me that I could not name. I rea
ched into my leather bag and removed John’s casebook, that which had been stolen from him.

  I heard a laugh behind me. Turning, I saw a bemused smile on John’s face.

  “You have a good memory, Simon,” he said. “I am surprised that you remembered how to read my notes.”

  And that was all it took. John’s words snatched me from a half-slumber and jerked me upright. I considered it from all perspectives. Suddenly, it all made sense. “Listen,” I said to Peg, Margaret and John. “There are things that I must tell you.”

  They listened and I spoke, far into the night.

  ———

  Later, after the midnight, I wondered idly if Malcolm had found sleep. But once I heard a booming laugh that could only have been him. Perhaps he and Hamnet had struck up a friendship. And before I realized it, dawn appeared.

  “Simon?”

  My cousin Hamnet.

  I stretched, hoping to rid my bones of the stiffness gained from sleepless nights and long rides. “Yes?”

  “A word with you.”

  I cocked my head and looked at him with a question in my eye, but I squeezed Peg’s hand and went to see what Hamnet needed.

  He wasted no time in telling me. “Your man, Matthew, just sent word. Some rogues from London are trying to enter your wool shop. He has held them off so far, and Malcolm went immediately to his aid. You should go. I will keep vigil with Peg, and if there is any change, we will send for you straightaway.”

  Rogues from London? Only one name sprang to mind.

  ———

  And I was correct. The gang of four men was headed by George Wilkins. Matthew stood before the door to our shop, his sword drawn, daring them to move against him. I glanced around quickly, and just as quickly found what I was seeking. Malcolm’s great bulk was in a doorway, in the shadows. I had no doubt that were Wilkins to charge at Matthew, Malcolm would make short work of them.

  “George Wilkins!” I shouted as I appeared in the street. “What business have you here?”

  Wilkins turned, saw me, and sneered. “The earl of Southampton sends his regards. He sent us to collect damages for the harm you did him.”

  “He should have come himself. I would have added yet more to my account.”

  “Get this hired boy out of our way. We have no quarrel with him.”

  Matthew bristled at the description. “Any quarrel you have with Simon includes me as well.”

  “And me,” came a surprising voice.

  Ben Jonson.

  I could not be certain, but I suspected that Ben had ridden in with Wilkins. To this day, I do not know why I immediately thought the worst of Ben. But he cured me of that with his next action.

  “George Wilkins, leave this town and take your scum with you. Southampton deserved what Simon gave him.”

  Wilkins backed up a step, uncertain suddenly of the odds. I was fairly sure that he had not yet detected Malcolm in the shadows. With the sun nearly up, people were beginning to venture into the streets. We were attracting an audience, and I was confident that that was not to Wilkins’s liking.

  Ben moved to join me. “I stand with you, Simon. In this and in everything.” He faced Wilkins, now with a dagger in his hand.

  “You are a fool, Jonson. Southampton will withdraw his support of your pension.”

  “Let Southampton do what he wishes, George. If he was so brave, he would be here himself instead of sending a scoundrel like you. Come, it is four to three now. When we finish with your companions, we will draw and quarter you. Simon and I know exactly how to do it.”

  I winced. We did indeed, in the Low Countries, and it was not a memory that I wished revived.

  “Step aside,” came a voice I was coming to know well. “I will deal with them by myself.” Malcolm Gray emerged from the shadows onto Henley Street.

  Malcolm dwarfed even Ben Jonson. Wilkins’s companions looked to each other, then threw down their swords and ran.

  “Cowards!” Wilkins spat after them. He turned back to Malcolm. “Another time,” he said. “Keep looking over your shoulder, Saddler. If not me, then someone else will be on your trail. Nobles have long memories.” With that, he was gone.

  Ben turned to me then. “He’s right, Simon. Southampton will not forget.”

  “Am I to be arrested when I am next in London?”

  “No. I am told that the king laughed heartily when he heard how you had dealt with Southampton. Of all of his courtiers, Wriothesley is one that fawns perhaps too much. Even the king’s patience has limits.”

  “Why did you come to Stratford?”

  Ben shrugged. “Wilkins, who thinks that I’m merely one of Southampton’s minions, told me that he had been instructed to settle scores with you. I decided that I needed some fresh country air.”

  “Ben, I still believe that you played a role in Will’s death.”

  He brushed my comment aside. “You should look elsewhere for Will’s murderer.”

  “I have,” I answered. “But I hesitate to speak of it yet. Sir Walter Devereux, sheriff of Warwickshire, is on his way here to assist our justice of the peace in sorting through this affair.”

  Ben’s eyebrows nearly jumped from his face. “You have discovered the murderer? Who? Who is it?”

  Firmly, I shook my head. “I will say nothing more until Sir Walter arrives.”

  “Still as stubborn as always,” Ben said, sardonically.

  “But not for much longer.” I knew that if Ben stayed in Stratford, he would hear about John Hall virtually within minutes. I just chose not to be the man to enlighten him.

  Matthew appeared at my elbow. “Should you ever need me, Simon, I will be there.”

  “Of that,” I replied, “I have no doubt. Now go see to our shop. Hopefully, we have seen all the trouble we are going to on this day.”

  But such was a forlorn thought.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sir Walter Devereux was not a happy man. It took but one look to see that. We were alone in the Guild Hall, and I had sent Jack Addenbrooke to fetch John.

  “Simon, I told you not to involve the nobles,” he chastised me, as we met in private.

  “They involved me. I did not have any choice.”

  “Hmmph. I am told that you brokered a deal between the king and Somerset. And Suffolk has complained that you invaded his house and stole some property.”

  “What property?” I was curious as to how much Suffolk knew.

  Devereux turned away, with a half smile growing on his face. “He did not say. Indeed, I doubt that he even knows. ’Twas but a guess.” He looked back to me again. “Look, Simon. I do not care for Suffolk, and I have never cared for Somerset or his wife. Whatever role you played in their affairs, I do not wish to know about. But, quite frankly, the only thing that has kept me from slapping you into the gaol is a note that I received from the king.”

  So that was how he knew of my dealings with Somerset. His Majesty was a complex man, but it would seem that he was, in most ways, an honourable one as well.

  “Now, tell me of this evidence against John Hall. I would hear it from you before we bring him in here.”

  “Gladly, Sir Walter. I think, since there are yet some questions to be answered, that we should not make a public spectacle of this.”

  And Sir Walter did flash a smile at that. “It is already a public spectacle, Simon. But I agree that nothing official should be done until I have both heard from you and questioned Hall. If he proves innocent, then we can concoct some story to explain all of this. If your evidence proves out, there will be a trial.”

  With that, I explained everything to him, the examination of Will’s body, the casebooks, the assault on John, all of it. Sir Walter did not speak, just nodded his head as he listened.

  “You have been constable long enough to understand these things, Simon. I trust you, but I think you are risking much.”

  Devereux was right.

  “Then let us find out what John has to say.”

 
———

  Ten minutes later, our little group had convened in Henry Smythe’s chamber. John’s face held a sad smile. Beyond myself and Sir Walter, we were joined only by Malcolm Gray and Henry himself. ’Twas a fitting council. Both Sir Walter and Malcolm represented the Crown’s interest. Henry was the justice of the peace. I was the constable.

  “John, this is unofficial,” Sir Walter began. “We hope that your answers to a few questions will remove the cloud of suspicion hanging over you. So, I urge you to feel free to answer our questions honestly.”

  I thought he was going a little far, but he and John knew each other well.

  For the benefit of all present, I repeated what I had said to John the night before, the possibility that the murder had been committed to ensure Susanna’s inheritance earlier rather than later. And I mentioned also my suspicion that he had been added to the conspiracy after initial efforts to poison Will failed.

  John shook his head and chuckled. “Simon, please settle on one theory. Either I killed Will for my own profit, or I did it at the behest of some unnamed schemers who then tried to kill me as well. But both of your theories are sadly lacking in proof. Let me also assure you that your story is also sadly lacking. While it was my finding that Will had died of poison, I do not think it was the purgative.”

  “Well, of course you would say that,” I answered, hesitantly.

  “Why do you not think it was the purgative?” Sir Walter queried.

  “Because I would never have done that.”

  Sir Walter shook his head. “John, that is not much of a defence.” He looked to me and then back again at John. “I see no other recourse but that you be held. I am sorry. But until this is properly investigated, that is all that I can do.”

  John hung his head. “As you order, but I did not do this thing, no matter what Simon says.”

  And Malcolm led him back to the chamber where he would be kept.

  ———

  After taking my leather bag to my house, I had returned to Hamnet’s and sat throughout the day. Malcolm and Ben Jonson (much to my surprise) stayed with us. Mary was feeling better; John’s efforts had succeeded for her where they had failed Will. Jack Addenbrooke stopped by and told me that George Wilkins was yet in Stratford.