The Slaying of the Shrew (Shakespeare & Smythe 2)

Braithwaite smiled. “I fear, then, that you are doomed to disappointment. I doubt I can be much more interesting, for I am neither a great wit nor a learned scholar.”

“Then you at least appear to be an honest man, which in itself makes you more interesting. A plain bird would stand out ‘mongst all this plummage.”

Braithwaite chuckled. “You do not care much for this company, I see. And yet, here where each man competes with every other, you have seized everyone’s attention. You stand centerstage, and yet seem to regard it as an imposition.”

“It amuses you?” asked Shakespeare, glancing at Braithwaite to see if he was being mocked. But it seemed that he was not.

“If I can say so without giving offense, aye, it does amuse me. But the amusement, I hasten to add, is not at your expense.”

“I am not offended then.”

“Good.”

Shakespeare glanced at him with interest. “Most people, especially in this vaunted company, would not concern themselves overmuch about giving offense to a mere player.”

“Well, I try not to be careless about whom I may offend,” Braithwaite replied. “That way, I can husband my offenses for those who most deserve them.”

“Well said.”

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome, sir. What would you have of me?”

“Why, nothing in particular,” Braithwaite replied.

“What, not even after my singular announcement at the wake?”

“ ‘Twas, indeed, singular,” Braithwaite said. “Quite astonishing, in fact.”

“And in light of it, you have nothing more you wish to ask?”

“Not at present. I suppose if what you said proves to be the truth… well, frankly, I have absolutely no idea what will occasion then. It should prove quite fascinating. But if what you said turns out to be false, I have a rather better idea of what will occur. Godfrey Middleton will have you whipped for your impertinence and then see you thrown off his estate. That is, assuming you survive the whipping.”

“Which would you prefer to see, I wonder, Catherine alive or me whipped?”

“Oh, I would much prefer to see Catherine alive. The ensuing scandal would be absolutely marvelous. And you seem much too fine a fellow to be whipped.”

“Odd’s blood, Master Braithwaite, ‘tis entirely too likeable for a knight’s son, you are. I may be in danger of aspiring to have a friend above my station.”

“Never fear, I have no shortage of friends below mine. And those friends call me Andrew.” He offered his hand and Shakespeare took it.

“Will Shakespeare is my name.”

“I heard you tell Camden that your name was Marlowe.” “I lied.”

“I knew that. Among those lowly friends of mine is a certain poet by the name of Marlowe. Camden ’s father has considerable influence. You may have caused Chris some annoyance.”

“Well… he deserves it.”

“Aye, he does, at that. He is a scoundrel. But then, I seem to like scoundrels. I generally find them much more entertaining than this lot. We are nearly there, I think. ‘Tis hard to tell. At night, things often neither look nor sound the same.”

“Indeed. I do not see young Master Holland.”

“I have not seen him myself since the funeral. But as we are all rivals for Blanche Middleton’s affections, we do not enjoy a particular camaraderie. Perhaps he had retired early and thus missed your dramatic entrance and your speech. If so, then he shall doubtless miss whatever happens next, for we have arrived.”

They were just behind Middleton and the torchbearers at the head of the procession, and ahead of them they could dimly make out the white stone structure in the clearing that was the Middleton family vault. As they approached it, however, a piercing scream sounded and, for a moment, froze everybody in their tracks. It had been, unmistakably, a woman’s voice.

“Good God!” Braithwaite exclaimed. “Did that issue from within the crypt?”