The Twelfth Night Murder (23 page)

Then she shook the thought away, for she didn’t want to be that sort of person.

R
amsay’s action in killing the duke was determined on the face of it to be self-defense and defense of another. There could be no question of it, for dozens of witnesses—all neighbors of Suzanne and the Globe—stated exactly what had happened, and the stories were consistent. Ramsay spent only one night in the neighborhood lockup, and was released the following morning with a gracious “good day” from the turnkey, who had won more than a pound from him at poker in those few hours.

Suzanne went to his rooms when she learned he had been released. Like most single men who were neither indigent nor wealthy, and neither servants nor apprentices, he lived in a flat of rooms that were more or less clean, and free of vermin. They were on the third floor, just below the servants’ garret and just above a noisy couple enjoying a late-afternoon rendezvous. As Suzanne knocked on Diarmid’s door, a bedstead banged and thudded against a wall downstairs, and a male voice was taking the Lord’s name in vain loudly and in imaginative fashion.

Ramsay’s door opened, and she found him caught by surprise with no shirt. Then a wide grin crossed his face. “Och, I thought you were the boy to deliver my dinner!” He ducked back inside for his shirt. “Come in! Come in and have a seat!”

“I hope you’re not disappointed.”

“I hardly could be. Come, sit.” He indicated a carved wooden chair that would accommodate her skirts, and she sat. He drew on a linen shirt with slightly foppish ruffles at the wrists, and tucked the tail into his breeches without fastening its ties. Most of it hung out in any case, and he let that go while he hunted down a jacket to put over it. He wore no stockings, but did find a pair of shoes to make himself barely presentable.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have sent Christian before me to announce my impending visit.”

“Nonsense. I’m happy to see you at any time of day or night.” He leaned forward for a closer look at her. “How is your arm? Were the cuts deep?”

She held out the bandaged arm and rucked back her sleeve to show him the linen strips wrapped about it. It had taken a very long time for the bleeding to stop, and even now some pink seeped through the dressing in little spots. But she said, “No. They hardly bled at all. His was a long knife, but the blade went to the side too much for it to even hit the bone. It doesn’t hurt much.”

“That’s excellent.” Then he sat back in his chair and his expression darkened. “But I must tell you it was extraordinarily stupid to walk about the streets like that without an escort. He would have killed you.”

“I couldn’t take you with me for the interviews I sought.”

He leaned forward once more to speak directly into her face.
“He would have killed you.”

“He didn’t.”

“Only because I was there. Had I been escorting you and not had to go searching for you once I discovered you’d gone without me, he never would have approached you. So tell me you’ll never do anything so foolish again.”

She wanted to tell him that, and it was her first impulse to obey. But she stopped herself and thought over her reply. Slowly she said, “I very much appreciate what you did for me.”

“I saved your life.”

“Yes, you did. And I can never repay that.”

“I don’t expect payment. I did it for your sake only.”

She gazed into his face, and saw there was no irony or mischief in it. He was sincere in what he said. But she knew it was nevertheless untrue. “Diarmid, I know in your heart you think that, but I still cannot believe it.”

“Why not?” His expression darkened with puzzlement.

“I think you wish to control me.”

“I wish you to be safe.”

“And you think the only place I can be safe is under your control. Under your direction. I’m to do what I’m told, because I’m incompetent to decide for myself what is best for me. To you, I’m a danger to myself.”

Anger gathered, and Ramsay shifted in his seat. “You certainly showed no sense in deciding to go wandering off through Southwark alone and after dark.”

“I had a need.”

“He nearly killed you.”

“And now I carry a very sharp dagger with me.” She reached into her muff and produced the small knife she’d installed in it that morning. The knife grinder on Maid Lane had sold it to her, with a plain scabbard to protect her hands, and had sharpened it well so it resembled the
sgian dubh
Ramsay carried.

In a flash Ramsay reached out and grabbed the knife. She made a swipe for it, but he held it up and away from her. When she rose to chase it, he avoided her, moving it from hand to hand as she attempted to grab it back. “See? Now you’ve armed your assailant. You’re a woman, and do not have the strength or agility to use this.”

“I can learn.”

“You can get yourself killed.”

She finally gave up pursuing the knife, and returned to her chair, flushed, exerted, and angry. “I need to be able to move freely in the world. There are things I must do by myself.”

“Give me an example.”

“How would it be for you if you were required to wait for someone to be available to escort you everywhere you went? Would you want your entire life to revolve around the schedule and willingness of another person?”

“I have spent more than a week arranging my life to suit your needs.”

“One week. A generous thing, but you can hardly continue that way. You have business to attend to, and cannot follow me about every day.”

“I wouldn’t need to, were you to marry me.”

Exasperation made her roll her eyes, though she knew it would only irritate him. “That is exactly what I’m talking about. If I married you, I would be nothing but a prisoner. I would be under your control at all times and you would tell me when and where to go. I could not live my life as I pleased.”

“But I would please you. You would have everything you needed and would never need to go traipsing off in the night to question suspected criminals.”

“Or spend time with my friends, or shop at the exchanges, or anything else that might interest me. For that, I might as well be in the lockup for the rest of my life. How can I possibly continue this life, which I enjoy very much, if I’m limited to these walls?” She held up her palms and looked about the room to indicate the living space she expected would be hers if she accepted his proposal. Then she returned them to her lap, leaned toward him, and in a lowered voice said, “Tell me, Diarmid, when you first put forth your suit, did you care a fig about me?”

At first he looked as if he might not answer. He glowered at her from beneath his eyebrows, appearing to sulk. But apparently he was thinking. He said, “I was attracted to you. Anymore, I’m not so very certain.”

That stabbed at her heart, for she had become very fond of him and wanted him to like her. But she said, “You cannot say your attraction was based on love. You could not love me, because you did not know me.”

“Nor you me, but I could have accepted that.”

She sighed, exasperated again. “But I could not. I could never marry someone I didn’t love. Not after twenty years of struggling on my own. Not after having raised Piers by myself and having earned my place in the world by myself.”

“Are you saying you don’t care about me?”

“Of course not.” The words came out without thought, and she caught herself, but then she continued, “I do care about you. I find you entertaining and exciting. I admire your intelligence and the protection you have provided me.” His scowl smoothed out some. “But I don’t want to tie myself to anyone. Especially I don’t wish to imprison myself with someone who wants to shield me from the world.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to be shielded from the world? I find it little charming, myself. My greatest wish is to become wealthy enough for my money to shield me from the worst of it.”

“But you would never wish to be required to stay within these rooms every day for the rest of your life.”

“I would allow you to accompany me to the Goat and Boar.”

She closed her eyes and took a long pause to avoid a cry of frustration at his lack of understanding. Then she opened them and said in a calm, level voice, “I do not care to ask permission. I am currently quite able to decide for myself whether to go to the Goat and Boar, or across the river, or to bloody Whitehall Palace if I please. You offer me nothing more than a modicum of safety, which I have never before had and therefore cannot miss or appreciate.”

He apparently had no reply for that, for he sat and gazed at her for what seemed minutes. Finally he said, “Very well. I withdraw my suit. I no longer wish to marry you. But I do not withdraw my offer to keep you safe within my abilities to do so.”

She nodded. “That suits me. May I have my dagger back?”

He looked at the knife in his hand, then handed it to her handle first. “’Tis a good weapon. Learn to use it against an opponent, and perhaps I’ll become a mite more sanguine about your wanderings through London.”

She accepted the weapon and returned it to its scabbard in her muff. “I think I can agree to that without misgiving.” She rose to leave, and he stood also. “I must go now.”

His expression said he wondered why, and she couldn’t reply with the truth. The truth was that she didn’t trust herself to stay longer, lest she succumb to the urge to let him seduce her. He said, “I have food coming.” A glance at the door indicated how late the boy was in delivering it. “There should be enough to share, if you would like to stay for a while.”

“Thank you most kindly, but I have things to attend to and must leave.”

He nodded, clearly unhappy she was running away. He followed her to the door more than escorted. For her it was an escape. But he caught up with her when she reached it, and held it closed for a moment. He stood close. She felt the warmth of his body at her back, and liked it very much. It was difficult to refrain from leaning her head against his chest, but she didn’t do it. She only turned her head a little to hear him speak in a low voice.

“I wish you all good luck in your dealings with the world. And I hope it treats you better than it does most souls.” Then he leaned down to kiss her, and she raised her face to let him. The kiss was warm and soft, and in that moment she wondered what it might be like to be married to a man like that. She wondered what it might really be like to be married at all, the way she’d wished for it when she’d been young.

Before releasing the door and opening it for her, he said, “I’ll come to the theatre tomorrow, to see how your arm is healing.”

She smiled. “I’d like that.”

*   *   *

O
VER
the next week the death of Cawthorne felt to Suzanne as if a canker had been removed from the city of London by the wave of a healing hand. A murderer had been eliminated, and the lives of everyone who knew Jacob Worthington had been freed of palpable evil. The Duchess of Cawthorne had justice for the death of her beloved son, and without damage to her own reputation. The truth of Lord Paul’s proclivities was quashed well enough for it to never become rumor among the upper classes, even though it was rampant among the workers, beggars, and thieves of Bank Side. Nobody of importance ever attended to that sort of scurrilous, unfounded talk among the lower classes. Since the duke had died without trial and the crown was not interested in trying him posthumously, the duchess’s other beloved son succeeded to his father’s title and their lives proceeded without the ruination that would have resulted from a conviction.

Suzanne no longer feared repercussion. Daniel no longer was pressured to influence the magistrate. Constable Pepper had credit for solving the murder of a son of nobility, regardless that the murderer had been nobility himself, and in spite of the fact he’d done nothing at all in aid of learning that fact. Even the duke’s memory suffered little, for nobody at court wanted to admit in any public way that one of their own had the capacity for the sort of brutality Cawthorne had owned.

It was as if the entire existence of Jacob Worthington had gone up in smoke, and the hole he left in the surrounding society closed over instantly without a scar. The privileged were exceptionally deft at smoothing over problems in public, and so the plastering was expected and accepted.

*   *   *

A week after the case was settled, Suzanne thought about that as she walked to the rooms of the astrologer who had set her on the course of finding Lord Paul’s killer. She’d thought of the duke as an encompassing evil, so large and influential that to let him go without punishment would have brought sickness upon everyone and everything in his vicinity. It was heartening to see the world around him heal itself so quickly and so well. Life went on, and there seemed little damage to those still living.

But then when she thought of the little boy who had died, her heart clenched and tears rose to her eyes. She shoved her hands deeper into her muff, hugged it to her belly, and lowered her chin into the collar of her cloak as she made her way across the bridge. She remembered Paul’s bright, joyful eyes. His wide smile and outgoing ways. She’d only seen him once, and that for only a few minutes, but for that brief time she’d seen a bright, graceful soul that should not have been taken from the earth so soon.