An Ensuing Evil and Others (10 page)

“Did you go near the dressing room?”

“Not 1.1 went off to seek a flagon of ale in the Globe Tavern opposite, and there I remained until I heard the sound of disturbance. Master Fulke will tell you that I departed as he arrived, for he brushed past me as I quit the theater, although he didn’t greet me.”

“Master Fulke? And who is Master Fulke?”

“You have not heard of Raif Fulke, who plays the part of Parolles in our play?”

“Parolles?” mused Master Drew. “Let me stick with Master Fulke and not be confused by such a choice of names. You say that Master Fulke brushed past you?”

“I did.”

“Did he go to speak with Bertrando or Hester?”

“I did not stay to see, but I think not. He is at enmity with them, for Hester once lived with Master Fulke and he bears no fondness for Bertrando. It is well known that Fulke is jealous of Bertrando and his success both on stage and with women.”

“Well, Master Painter, do you go to call this Hester here, but do not go beyond the confines of the theater until we tell you.”

The girl Hester came almost immediately.

Old Master Topcliff and his assistant, aware of the niceties and refinements, had stopped her from entering the dressing room with the dead body and proceeded to question her outside. She was an attractive woman whose silk gown may have seen better days but which still enhanced the contours of her figure, leaving little to the imagination. That she had taken the news of the death of her lover badly was written on her tearstained features. Her skin was pale and her eyes red with sobbing.

“I hear you were Bertrandos lover?” began Master Drew without preamble.

The girl sobbed and raised a square of muslin to the corner of her eye and dabbed it. “Lover? I am Mistress Herbert Eldred,” she announced, raising her chin slightly. “So have I been these past two years. I have a paper to prove it.”

Master Drew blinked, but it was the only expression that he gave of surprise.

Master Topcliff sighed as if totally puzzled. “Faith! Who is Herbert Eldred?” he demanded in bewilderment.

Master Drew glanced swiftly at him. “The actor, sir, Bertrando Emillio. Herbert Eldred is his real name.”

“Ah, I had forgotten. Why these people cannot stick to one name, I have no understanding.” He looked hard at the girl. “I am of the impression that no one in this company of players knows that you were married?”

“Herbert—Bertrando as was—felt it better that we keep our marriage a secret lest it impede his career. If you want proof of our marriage, then I have—”

Master Topcliff made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “No need for proof at this stage. So, if you are the dead man’s wife, you, therefore, had no cause to kill him?”

The girl stared at him in indignation. “Of course I had no cause to kill him! But there be others….” She hesitated as if regretting what she had said.

Hardy Drew was swift to follow her words. “Others?”

Her eyes were now narrowed in suspicion. “But why speak of that when I understood that a thief had attacked him and killed him?”

“Who told you that?”

“It is common talk among the players.”

“Were you in this part of the theater while the others were gathering on stage for the rehearsal?” pressed Drew without answering her previous question.

“For a moment, no more.”

“When did you last see Bertrando?”

“I came with him from our lodgings to the theater. I left him to change for the rehearsal while I did the same, and then I went to the stage, but Bertrando was not there. When he did not come, Master Burbage went to fetch him.”

“You left him well?”

The girl pursed her lips in a grimace. “Bertrando was always well. I left him entering that room behind you. Is that—?”

Master Drew nodded in answer to the unfinished question. “Please wait for us in the theater and send us who plays the part of Violenta.”

A tall fair-haired young girl appeared shortly after Hester Eldred had left them. From a distance, she looked the picture of maidenly virtue and innocence. Only when she grew near did Hardy Drew see the hard lines around the mouth, the coldness of the blue eyes, and the smoldering resentment in her features. Her body was too fleshy and would grow to fat in middle age, and the pouting mouth would turn to an ugly form.

“I am Nelly Porter,” she announced, her voice betraying signs of the West Country. “What is your need of me?”

“I understand that you play the part of Violenta in this new drama?”

“A joyous ‘comedy,’” she sneered. “And what of it? I have played many parts in the French theater.”

“How well did you know Bertrando?”

She gave a raucous laugh. “As well as any maid who trod the boards of this theater, aye, and who came within the grasp of the Pig!”

“There is hatred in your voice, mistress,” intervened Master Topcliff mildly.

“Hatred enough,” affirmed the girl, indifferent to his censure.

“Hatred enough to kill him?” demanded Hardy Drew.

“Aye, I’ll not deny it. I could have killed the pig who ravished girls and left them to bear his children and fend for themselves.”

“He did that to you?”

“So he did. Two years ago. But my child died.”

“And did you kill him for vengeance’ sake?”

“No, that’s Gods truth. But I do not grieve nor do I condemn his killer. If that is a crime, I am ready to be punished.”

“You are honest enough with your dislikes. Where were you just before the rehearsal?”

“I was late getting to the theater from my lodgings, that’s all.”

“Did anyone see you arrive at the theater?”

“None that I know of. I went straight to the stage on my arrival, so only the people there saw me.”

“I see. Wait for us now on stage and send us the actor who plays Parolles. I believe his name is Master Fulke.”

She walked away without another word, and they watched her go before exchanging glances.

“She is not exactly grieving over her former lover’s death,” Master Topcliff observed, stating the obvious.

Master Fulke was poised, could pass as a gentleman, but was not exactly handsome. He was too round of the face, and too smooth of skin and too ready with an ingratiating smile.

“Well, Master Fulke…”

“You want to know where I was before I joined the gathering on the stage?” Fulke greeted a little breathlessly.

“You seem to know my mind,” replied Drew gravely.

The genial actor shrugged. “It is hard to keep a secret among so small a company. I was delayed, if you wish to know. I arrived late at the theater—”

“Late from where?”

“From my lodgings in Potters Fields. I have a room in the Bell Tavern overlooking the river.”

“That is but ten minutes’ walk from here.”

“Indeed so.”

“Why were you delayed?”

The man rolled his eyes expressively. “A rendezvous.” He smiled complacently.

“And this, this
rendezvous
, it made you late arriving? Did anyone see you arrive?”

“I brushed by that young upstart, Will Painter.”

“But you did not see Bertrando?”

Master Fulke sneered. “Bertrando! Yes, I saw
Master Herbert Eldred
. He, too, had a rendezvous…. I saw him go to his dressing room. Then I saw someone enter after him. It was not my concern. So I went on my way to join those on stage for the rehearsal.” He sniffed. “We were fifteen minutes into the rehearsal when Master Burbage began to worry that Eldred had not appeared. I told Burbage where he might be found.”

Master Topcliff tried to suppress his excitement. “God’s wounds, man! Do you tell me that you actually saw his murderer?”

“No, I do not, sir. I said I saw someone enter his dressing room after Eldred had gone in. I have no way of saying this was the murderer. I did not stay longer, as I said, but passed on to the rehearsal.”

“Describe the person,” Topcliff ordered sharply. “Who else would it be but the murderer?”

“A man, short of stature, of wiry appearance, I would say. He wore his hair long and dark, underneath a feathered hat. There was a short cloak. He wore boots. The colors were dark and tailored in the latest fashion. I could see no more in the gloom of the passage. In truth, though, there was something familiar about him, though I cannot quite place it. It may come to me later.”

Master Topcliff was pleased. He dismissed Master Fulke and turned to Hardy Drew with grim satisfaction on his face. “Well, at least we know our killer was a man, and that he was no common cutthroat but someone who could afford to dress well.”

Drew looked at his mentor blankly. “Yet this does not lead us any closer to apprehending the man.”

“There are too many of this description on the streets of this city for us to single one out and charge him,” agreed the old constable.

“Do you plan to leave it so?”

“For the time being. Come, Master Drew. I will have a word with this Burbage and his players before they are dismissed.”

The company was standing or sitting on stage in gloomy groups. A tall balding man, well dressed, was engaged in earnest conversation with Burbage.

“Ah.” Burbage turned. “This is the constable, Will. Master Topcliff, this is Master Shakespeare.”

The balding man inclined his head to the constable. “What news? Can you say who engineered the death of our player, sir?”

“Master Fulke saw the murderer enter your actors dressing room and has given a full description—”

There was a gasp from several members of the group, and all eyes turned to Master Fulke, who momentarily stood with flushed surprise. He had not expected the constable to reveal his attestation.

“So you mean to arrest the culprit?” queried the playwright.

“Not immediately, Master Shakespeare. We will consider our move for a while. Master Fulke here has given a good description, but he has not, so far, recalled where he has seen the person before, though he is sure he recognized him. We will wait to see if his memory improves.”

Fulke made a move forward as if to deny the constable s interpretation, but Master Topcliff turned and glared at the man, so that Fulke lowered his head and hurried off.

The old constable turned to the assembly and bowed low, flourishing his hat.

As he left the theater, Master Drew came trotting in his wake. “I do not understand,” he ventured as he hurried to keep up with the long strides of the constable.

Master Topcliff paused in the street and turned to him. “Are you city bred or country bred, young man?”

“City bred, Master Constable.”

“I thought so. I am country bred and raised in the fields of Kent. When the quarry goes to ground, what does the huntsman do? You know not? Of course, you know not. What is done is that you prepare a lure.”

Hardy Drew frowned. “Then you have prepared Fulke as a bait in a trap?”

“If our murderer is one of the gentlemen of Master Burbage’s company, he will come this night to make sure that Master Fulke’s memory does not return.”

“A harsh judgment on Fulke if we are not there when the murderer visits him.”

“Indeed, but be there we will. We will go to the lodgings of Master Fulke and prepare our snare with Fulke as the unknowing decoy.”

Master Drew looked at the old constable with a new respect. “And I thought…”

Master Topcliff smiled. “You must learn the ways of the gamekeeper, young man, and learn that it is always best to tell the poacher where you have set your traps for him.”

They took themselves to the Bell Tavern in Potters Field. A few coins pressed in willing hands were able to secure a booth with curtains from which they could view the front entrance of the tavern. This station fell to Master Topcliff, while Hardy Drew, being the younger and hardier, took up his position at the rear entrance of the tavern, so that either entrance to Fulke’s rooms might be observed.

A little the worse for drink, Raif Fulke entered the tavern toward ten o’clock and made his way immediately up to his room.

It was well after midnight that there was a scream, and the innkeeper’s wife came running to Master Topcliff, her eyes wide and frightened. “ ‘E s dead. Master Fulke is killed!”

Master Topcliff called to a young man hefting barrels to run around the back of the inn and inform Master Drew. Master Topcliff tried to make for the stairs but found the innkeeper s wife clinging to his sleeve and expanding in detail on her fright.

No one had entered from the back door; of that Hardy Drew was certain. He hurried into the inn and up the back stairs to the bedchambers. He saw one of the doors open at the end of a corridor and ran in.

Master Raif Fulke lay on the floor. A candle burned nearby, but it scarcely needed the light to see that there was dark blood oozing from several wounds on the man’s chest. Miraculously, Fulke’s chest still rose and fell. He was not yet dead.

Drew knelt by him and raised his head. “Who did it, Fulke, who did it?”

The actor opened his eyes. Even in his condition, he smiled, though grimly. “I would not have known him…,” he wheezed painfully. “Like Rousillon, I knew him not…. Why? Why, young sir? Jealousy is a fierce foe. That was the reason.”

He coughed suddenly, and blood spurted from his mouth.

“Take it easy, Fulke. Name the man.”

“Name? Ah… for, indeed, he was mad for her, and talked of Satan, and of Limbo, and of Furies, and I know not what….”

He coughed again and then smiled, as if apologetically.

“The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together; our virtues would be proud if our faults whispered this not; and our crimes would despair, if they were not cherished by our virtues.”

“The name, man, quick, give me the name.”

Fulke s breathing was hard and fast. “I am a’feared the life of Helena… was foully snatched…”

“Helena?” demanded Drew. “Do you say that Helena, Hester Eldred, that is, is now in danger from this man?”

Fulke forced a smile.

“Helena? Methought you saw a serpent…” he began.

Drew compressed his lips in irritation.

“Concentrate, Fulke, name your assailant.”

Fulke coughed again. He was growing weaker and had not long.

“The play… the play’s the thing…”