The Slaying of the Shrew (Shakespeare & Smythe 2)

Accustomed as he was to seeing Sir William attired in subdued and somber colors, Smythe almost failed to recognize him resplendent in a gold embroidered, burgundy velvet doublet with generously puffed shoulders and gold buttons, with the wide sleeves slashed to reveal the crimson silk shirt he wore beneath it. His breeches matched his doublet and were tightly gartered and tucked into high, cuffed brown leather riding boots that made him look like one of the privateering captains who commanded his ships. His shoulder-length black hair hung loose, framing his chisled, cleanshaven features.

He looked up at the sound of Smythe’s approach. “Tuck!” he said. “Elizabeth and Will were just telling me the dreadful news. ‘Tis a sad, sad day, indeed.”

Smythe came the rest of the way down the stairs and nodded. “Aye, milord. I have just carried Mistress Middleton upstairs to her room, where I have left her with her sister and her father.”

Worley shook his head. “Poor Godfrey. I came to attend his daughter’s wedding, and now it appears that I shall be attending her funeral, instead.”

“And ‘twould probably be best if ‘twere attended to as soon as possible,” Elizabeth said. “What with all the guests still here, their presence would doubtless be a comfort to Master Middleton in his time of grief. I should think ‘twould be unbearable if he were to delay in laying her to rest til everybody left and then have to face malting arrangements all over again.”

“I quite agree,” said Worley, nodding. “ ‘Tis a compassionate suggestion, and a very sensible one, as well. The sooner after death a body is interred, the better. Not only does it aid the bereaved in coming to grips with grief, but it lays the dead to rest before corruption can set in. I shall take the liberty of making certain his steward makes immediate arrangements to place Catherine in the family vault. It may be presumptuous, but under the circumstances, I suspect that I may be forgiven the presumption. Godfrey is doubtless devastated by what has happened. He shall need to have some help.”

“I should go and see how he is bearing up,” Elizabeth said. “And I should look to poor Blanche, as well.”

“Indeed, you should,” Worley agreed.

“ Elizabeth…” Smythe began, but she interrupted him.

“We shall speak later, Tuck. For the present, I must go and try to comfort the Middletons.”

“Of course. I understand.”

As she hurried away up the stairs, Smythe turned to Shakespeare. “Have you told Sir William everything?”

“Not yet,” Shakespeare replied. “ Elizabeth was here. ‘Twould have been a trifle awkward.”

“What do you mean?” asked Worley. “What is awkward? What more is there to tell?”

“A great deal more, Sir William,” Shakespeare said. “It has been a most unfortunate and trying day, a beastly trial for all concerned. And I, for one, could certainly use a drink.”

He took out a small flask and unstoppered it, then started to raise it to his lips. In that instant, Smythe recognized the flask.

“Will!” He reached out and snatched it from him just before he drank. “For God’s sake, man! The poison!”

Shakespeare paled. “Oh, sweet, merciful heavens! What in God’s name was I thinking?”

“Poison?” said Sir William, with a frown. “What poison?”

“You had not told him?” Smythe said.

“I had not,” Shakespeare replied, shaken by what he had almost done. He ran his fingers through his thinning hair distractedly. “ Elizabeth did not seem to know and I did not wish to upset her any further, though it shall not be long before she hears about it, I am sure. The rumors are already flying among the guests. ‘Tis entirely my fault, I fear. I should have been more discreet down at the barge, rather than blurt it out as I did.” He put a hand up to his brow, as if he suddenly felt faint. “Odd’s blood, I cannot believe I nearly drank the vile stuff!”

“Right,” said Worley, grimly. “Come with me.” He led them to the library in a brisk manner that made it clear he knew his way around the house. Once there, he closed the door behind them firmly and looked around to make sure they were alone. “Now… what is all this about poison?” he asked, frowning.

“Catherine Middleton was apparently drinking from this flask during her journey on the wedding barge,” said Smythe, holding it up for Sir William to see. “Will found it lying stoppered at her feet.”

“I opened it and sniffed to see what it contained,” said Shakespeare. “And I knew at once that there was something wrong.”

“Let me see it,” Worley said.

Smythe handed it over. Worley unstoppered it and took a tentative sniff. He frowned. “Brand,” he pronounced at once, identifying it correctly. “But for a surety, ‘tis mixed with something else. There is a curious, uncommon, musty sort of odor.” “I thought so, too,” said Shakespeare.

Worley sniffed the flask once more, frowned, then shook his head. “I cannot put a name to it. And you say Catherine was drinking from this?”

“ ‘Twould appear so,” Smythe replied, “although we did not see it for ourselves.”

“But Will found it lying stoppered at her feet, you said. If she were drinking from it, and ‘twere poisoned, then would she not have dropped it while it was still open?”

“Perhaps,” said Shakespeare. “But like one who has already had too much to drink and falls insensible in the act of raising the cup once more, if she had already drunk from it earlier and the poison was not very quick, then she may have been preparing to open the flask to take another drink when it finally took effect, causing her to drop the flask unopened.”