“I agree,” said Smythe. “Granny Meg is not a woman without scruples, whatever anyone else may say of her. I know there are many who fear witches and believe them to be evil, but the truth is that a witch will not knowingly do harm, for she believes that ‘twill return to her thricefold.”
“Well, then, we are agreed upon that score,” said Shakespeare. “Yet there is still something that gnaws at me about all this, some small detail, something that it seems we are overlooking…”
“The carpenter!” said Smythe, snapping his fingers.
“Odd’s blood! Of course!” said Shakespeare. “ Elizabeth, you had forgotten all about the carpenter!”
She bit her lower lip. “Indeed, I had. But then he was richly paid to keep his silence.”
“Aye, which only goes to prove he could be bribed,” said Shakespeare.
“An excellent point,” said Smythe. “And if the man could be bribed once, then why not twice?”
“But then his own part in the deception would have been revealed,” said Elizabeth. “He could not betray us without leaving himself vulnerable, too. ‘Twas why Catherine and I felt certain that we had securely bought his silence.”
“Ah, but suppose that he betrayed you to someone who did not care about his part in it and could profit from the information, thus posing no threat to him?” asked Shakespeare.
“Who?” Elizabeth asked, frowning.
“What say we go and ask him?” Smythe suggested.
“You mean… right now?” Elizabeth asked.
“Why not?” asked Shakespeare. “ ‘Tis a capital idea! We shall all three go and confront him and find out what he has to say for himself. I think we should go at once.”
Suddenly, Smythe pulled them both off the garden path and back into the wet shrubbery. Elizabeth gasped and started to cry out, but Smythe quickly clapped his hand over her mouth.
“What in-”
“Hush, Will! Be still!” said Smythe, softly, but with urgency. “Look over there, by the maze!”
Their eyes, by now, had grown accustomed to the darkness, but at a distance, it was still difficult to make anything out. However, after a moment, they could perceive some movement near the entrance to the maze. A dark figure became evident as it moved away from the hedges and came out into the open, on the path, moving quickly and furtively.
“Do you think he saw us?” Shakespeare whispered, as they watched from their hiding place in the shrubs.
Smythe shook his head. “I do not believe so,” he replied, very softly.
“Who is it?” whispered Elizabeth.
“I cannot tell,” said Smythe. “Be very still. We shall find out in a moment. He is coming this way…”
10
AS THE DARK FIGURE CAME closer, they all crouched behind the shrubbery and kept very still. Clearly, whoever it was had not seen them, for he kept coming directly towards them on the path, moving briskly. As he came closer, they still could not see who it was, for the figure was wearing a dark cloak and a hat and his face was in shadow. As he drew even with them, and they still could not discern his features, Smythe surprised both Shakespeare and Elizabeth by suddenly lunging out from their hiding place and throwing himself upon the dark figure, seizing him around the waist and bringing him down upon the ground.
The man grunted as Smythe brought him down, but otherwise did not cry out. However, he fought back fiercely, struggling in Smythe’s powerful grasp as they rolled around on the ground.
“Hold him, Tuck!” said Shakespeare, rushing to his aid.
At the same time, Smythe’s antagonist brought up his knee sharply and Smythe wheezed with pain as the blow struck his groin. He let go and the stranger rolled away, but Shakespeare leaped upon him before he could rise back to his feet.
“Aha! I have you now!”
“Shakespeare, let go of me, you damned fool!” “What… Good Lord! Sir William?”
Worley pushed him off and got to his feet. He was dressed all in dark clothing, a stark contrast to the resplendent suit he had worn earlier. He bent over Smythe, solicitously. “Tuck… are you injured?”
Smythe made a gasping, wheezing sort of sound and nodded weakly.