“Oh, that was base! Where is my rapier?” “You do not own one.”
“Right. I must make amends at once and buy one at the fair so that I can call you out.”
“You might buy some clothes first, so that you are fit to go out.”
Elizabeth laughed, and then brought her hands up to her head. “Oh, Heaven, that I should find myself able to laugh at such a time as this! How vile must I be?”
“Without laughter, Elizabeth, we have no saving grace at all and must perforce go mad,” said Shakespeare.
“Thank you, Will. You are a kind soul.”
“I am a damned weary soul. This has been a very long and very trying day.”
“And I have been sent packing, to leave upon the morrow,” said Elizabeth. “ ‘Tis a sad thing to be no longer welcome in this house, and yet, ‘tis a house that no longer holds any pleasant memories for me. What do you suppose will happen now?”
Smythe shook his head. “I am not sure, Elizabeth. A great deal will depend on Middleton and what he chooses to do. And then do not forget that we still have not heard from Sir William, who does not yet know the full story of all that has transpired.”
“The fair was to last three days,” said Shakespeare. “Under the circumstances, however, I do not think that anyone would blame our host if he were to cancel the remainder of it.”
“True,” Smythe said, “but at the same time, in a peculiar sort of way, nothing has really changed since we first spoke with Master Middleton, has it? I mean that at the time, we had all, except Elizabeth, of course, believed Catherine to be dead. Well, she was not, but now, she is. We also believed her to have been murdered. She was not, but now, she has been. Middleton was grieving for his daughter, yet wanted to see justice done. And now, he is still grieving for his daugher, so… what has changed?”
“Hmm, I see what you mean,” said Shakespeare. “ Tis a curious situation, indeed. Our expectations of the situation were unfounded, yet now, we have found them to be true. Most strange. I cannot imagine how I would respond in Middleton’s place. Would I wish to continue with my original plan to find the murderer and get justice, or would I fold under the weight of this new blow and wish to banish everybody from my sight?”
“Well, only Middleton can answer that,” said Smythe. “ Elizabeth, you know him best. What do you think he will do now?”
She shook her head. “Godfrey Middelton, for all his stout and doughy looks, is a strong-minded and most ambitious man. In many respects, Catherine took after him. Their similarity of character was the source of many of their clashes. They were both strong-willed and stubborn. Once she had made up her mind, Catherine would not easily be dissuaded. Her father is no different. He is not the sort of man who would forgive a slight. I cannot imagine that he could forgive the murder of his own daughter.”
“So you believe that he shall stay the course, then, and do everything possible to find the killer?” Smythe said.
“I cannot think he would do otherwise.”
They were approaching the house now. They glanced behind them and saw torches on the path not far away. The others were returning.
“There are still things we need to speak of before you must leave in the morning,” Smythe said to Elizabeth. “The rain has stopped. Will you walk with us awhile in the garden?”
“Of course. I am far from eager to retire. I do not think that I shall sleep at all tonight. And I do not really want to be alone right now.”
They reached the courtyard and turned to go around the house, to the opposite side where the garden was, with the maze, thought Smythe, where it all began for him.
“What of Blanche?” Smythe asked. “What can you tell us about her?”
Elizabeth sniffed with disapproval. “She is as strong-willed as Catherine, in her way. A very different way.” “What sort of way?” asked Shakespeare.
“Well, Blanche wants what she desires, and desires what she wants. And one way or another, she always contrives somehow to get it.”
“Spoiled, in other words,” said Shakespeare. “Her father indulges her?”
“Very much so,” Elizabeth replied. “And she plays upon him like the virginals. She is much more subtle than Catherine. At least, with him.”
“And not with other men?” asked Smythe, remembering his first impression of her.
“Not with any other men, so far as I have seen.”
“You disapprove of her?” said Shakespeare.
“ ‘Tis not for me to approve nor disapprove,” Elizabeth replied. “I simply do not like her.”
“She does not seem to want for suitors,” Smythe said.