The Opening Night Murder Read online

  At the north end of the alley a narrow passage let out onto the Bank Side, which ran along the Thames between the Skin Market and the Bank End Stairs. Whenever the wind came from the west, the tannery stench of the Skin Market overpowered even the sewage-filled Thames with a reek that only the most seasoned residents could ignore. Fortunately today was not such a day, and only the ordinary smells of street food, horses, garbage, and dank river were evident during Suzanne’s walk from Horse Shoe Alley.

  Children played in the street, ones belonging to families in the house next to hers named Andrews and Williams. They kicked around an inflated pig’s bladder in an enthusiastic though unskilled game of football involving goals known only to the players. Most of the children were barefoot, though a couple wore ill-fitting shoes and one boasted a rag tied around one foot, which had probably been injured, though no limp was evident as she tore this way and that after the ball. They dodged the occasional horse rider and the even more rare carriage, and their laughing and hollering echoed from the surrounding buildings.

  Other, more industrious children hawked wares of prepared foods, the odor of edibles mingling with the stench of filthy muck underfoot. Johnny Kirk and his sister Annie offered their usual pasties and sheep’s feet, but Suzanne declined today, having just eaten breakfast. The smells should have been unpleasant, but Suzanne had lived here so long it all now smelled of home to her.

  On Bank Side at the far end of the passage, Big Willie Waterman stood in his usual spot with his fiddle, dancing up a storm and playing the same lively tunes he’d been scratching at for the ten years she’d known him. Just as a large man might have been called “Tiny,” Big Willie was so named because he was very small and gaunt, even smaller than Suzanne, who weighed very little. Suzanne greeted him and dropped a farthing into his hat.

  “New stitches, I see,” she said. His remarkably white shirt had no discernible holes and sported all its ties, though few of them were actually tied. His breeches were old, but she could see they were fresher and less frayed than those he’d worn last she’d seen him.

  “Found ’em just this morning. Finders, keepers, say I, milady.” His grin was mostly toothless, but sincere, and his tune became just a little more lively for the cash. To him any woman who dropped money for him was “milady” and all the men “milord,” no matter how humble the actual circumstance. Children sometimes liked to toss him farthings just to hear him say “Thankee, little lord.”

  “Found them on a clothesline, did you?”

  Willie’s grin widened, and his eyebrows went up in feigned innocence. “I never steal, milady. Never! They was a-lying on the ground when I picked ’em up, they was! I swear it! And I’ll tell you for a fact, I was forever a-shaking that line. I thought they’d never fall. But I swear I never touched ’em on the line!”

  Suzanne laughed and turned eastward toward the bridge.

  Bank End Stairs had always been the meeting place for her and Daniel, as far back as when she had still lived in her father’s house. Back in the days before the war, when the world held bright color and hope. In the days before she’d learned how the world really worked. Today she went to meet Daniel once again, at the very spot where she’d seen him last more than half a lifetime ago, now to learn whether he’d changed as much as she had.

  At the top of the stairs, standing on the stone embankment, she gazed across the river at the jumble of old buildings and cobbled streets teeming with people. The spire of St. Paul’s Cathedral rose above the nearest structures, a tall, thin spire pointing the way to heaven. To the east the bridge squatted on the river, looking more like a spit of land than a bridge, so built up as it was with houses and offices. Crossing that bridge was little different from walking down any other street.

  From where she stood she couldn’t tell whether there were any new heads on the spikes at this end, but she assumed there would be a sufficiency before long, once the king caught up with those who had murdered his father. Oh yes, there were always executions whenever somebody new took the reins of power, and London would surely have public and bloody executions and rotting bits of nobility on display before the first day of summer. None of them would be William, to his disappointment, but for a brief moment she held a fantasy he could be among the dead. Then she shook off the evil thought and sought a more pleasant theme for her musing.

  It shifted from the king to the war, then to Daniel and the last time she’d seen him in this very spot, so that when his voice came to her it was nearly as if it had originated in her imagination. It gave her a start.

  “I’m surprised you came after all,” he said.

  Her heart leapt, and she had to restrain herself from spinning on her heel to greet him with a big, stupid grin. Her own excitement shocked her, for she’d convinced herself long ago his hold on her heart had failed. She’d thought the thing in her that made her pulse race at the sound of this man’s—or any man’s—voice was long dead, and there should have been no girlish smile nor excited greeting in a voice an entire octave too high. But today her body betrayed her and she forced herself to wait a beat, then turn slowly. Graceful. Self-possessed. Dignified, in spite of what she’d told Piers earlier. She held the edge of her vizard in one gloved hand so she could speak without the button between her teeth. “Daniel.”

  “I’m happy you came. We’ve much to say.”

  The sun was at his back, and she stepped aside so she could see him without his face in shadow. He turned with her, a tiny smile at the corners of his mouth as he realized what she was doing. He reached out and gently removed her vizard from her face to gaze at her. With one flick of the wrist he flung it, spinning, over the bank, where it floated down to the river like an autumn leaf. There it danced and bobbed on the glittering surface of the Thames, making its way toward the sea. She watched it go and thought of the shilling it would cost to replace the thing. Then she regarded Daniel thoughtfully.

  He’d changed more than she’d ever imagined he could. After so long, he seemed even older than he should. Too thin, too gray, too…weary. His long limbs and lanky body took an insouciant stance, hipshot, casual, in the eternal boyish pretense of superiority that had once impressed her as actual superiority. But now she saw it for the immature bluff it was, a posture cultivated by those on the defensive, and understood that the intervening years had not been kind to him.

  Nevertheless he wore a cheerful countenance that lifted her heart. Plainly he was happy to see her, and his smile appeared genuine. She wondered whether she should also be glad to see him, and she remembered the events leading up to the meeting on that terrible night eighteen years ago, when she was but seventeen and her life changed so horribly.

  SUZANNE stood before her father in the ’tiring room of his house, her heart thudding in her chest so hard it seemed her stays must bulge in time with it and her lace collar lift with each beat. Her fingers knotted together behind her at her waist, bloodless and slippery with perspiration. A suitor stood near the archway, who had that look of hope which sickened her for its weakness.

  Why her father wanted her to marry someone so needy and spineless was a dark mystery to her. One that put a crease in her brow such as her father could never quite beat out of her. This one was a coal merchant named Stephen Farthingworth, not terribly much older than herself, whose father mined and transported coal from Newcastle. His entire family for two generations had mined and sold coal to the London nobility and had become quite wealthy from it. Not overwhelmingly rich, but well off enough, considering their background involved nobody of significant rank even at a distance and their money did not come from land. Father was quite taken with him, and Suzanne knew where that must lead. She also knew she could never marry Farthingworth. Ever. Nor anyone else, for that. The baby within her had quickened, and she knew it was far too late to pass it off as his.

  She was to meet Daniel at the bank at sunset, and she twitched to be let go so she could sneak away. Poor Mr. Farthingworth would have to find a girl more desp
erate than she to marry.

  When her attention came back around, Father was saying, “Mr. Farthingworth has made an offer, and we should be well pleased with it.” It was unseemly groveling. Shameful, and it made Suzanne cringe. If only he’d held her worth a little better, she might have had a better offer than this. But Father had always made it clear she was a burden to him and he resented having to pay a dowry at all. Plainly he didn’t care if her future were secure; he wanted only to be rid of her and her sisters, so her brothers wouldn’t be burdened by them when they would one day inherit what there was. The paltry money he’d set aside for her wasn’t enough to attract a man of character, never mind one of rank. She knew she was pretty enough, but even great beauty would be no help if the dowry was inadequate. Farthingworth was the best she could ask for, and he wasn’t enough. She could never love him. She didn’t intend to marry him.

  Poor Farthingworth stood straighter at Thornton’s words. Father wasn’t nearly as wealthy as Farthingworth’s father, but was well respected in London and held minor office, so Suzanne knew Farthingworth was getting some social advantage to make up for the tiny dowry. In addition, Suzanne had a realistic assessment of her looks. She was the prettiest of her sisters, and at her age understood the attentions of men and what that meant to her future. Particularly her future with Daniel Stockton, who would one day be the Earl of Throckmorton and, more important, who loved her as Farthingworth did not.

  Stephen Farthingworth had only met her once before, knew her not well at all, and certainly hadn’t made his offer of marriage out of love. Nor out of regard of any kind. He was a pleasant enough fellow in polite company, but certainly was not the most intelligent creature she’d ever met and seemed a little more interested in the whores on Bank Side than in Suzanne during his visits to London. Though on this visit at least, while requesting her hand, he didn’t stink of French perfume.

  “You’re to know, Suzanne, that I’ve accepted his offer on your behalf.” He might have at least made a pretense of inviting her opinion of this offer. Most girls at least had veto power; Suzanne was offered nothing.

  Father continued, “He’s accepted a very reasonable dowry.” Ever the miser her father. He fancied himself a loving and responsible parent, but she knew in this family her brothers were the important ones. He might even be happy to learn the truth about her and Daniel, for it would save him the dowry entirely. As Daniel’s mistress, she would be the responsibility of the future earl and Father needn’t be bothered with her anymore. There would be both love and security, and she’d had little of either in her life before Daniel. It seemed to her the best thing for everyone involved.

  She drew a deep breath, steeled herself, and said, “Father, I’m afraid I can’t accept Mr. Farthingworth’s eminently generous offer, and you cannot accept for me.”

  “Why not?” Father’s voice carried the edge it always did when he sensed she was about to embarrass him. And he was right. This time the news would be devastating.

  Another deep breath, and she plunged into her confession. “Father, I could hardly give myself in marriage to a man when I’m already with child by another. Particularly, given that my dowry is so ‘reasonable,’ I expect Mr. Farthingworth will want to withdraw his offer.” The last she said in a voice rather thick with sarcasm, and she lowered her gaze to the floor for it. Bluntness was her worst fault, and she wished she could be more tactful because her straightforward nature was never helpful and always made Father harsher toward her when her impatience with dull people showed through.

  One glance at him, and by the look on his face she saw she’d severely overestimated his willingness to accept the situation. She wished she could reel in the words she’d just spoken. His eyes went wide, and his jaw dropped. The silence in the room lengthened, and tension grew until she thought the very air would snap to pieces. She glanced at Mr. Farthingworth, who stared a hole in the wood floor, his lips pressed hard together. Father said in a trembling voice, “What did you say?”

  “I said I’m pregnant, Father. By the time I could be married to Farthingworth here, it would be apparent to all that you had sold him devalued property. He would be embarrassed, you would be scandalized, and I would be trapped in a marriage to a man I don’t love.” She addressed Farthingworth, “I’m so sorry, but it’s true. And neither do you love me, so I think we’re both better off not being married to each other, don’t you agree?”

  Farthingworth opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. She returned her attention to her father and said, “Don’t you think, Father? Isn’t it better to marry someone you love than to make a purely financial arrangement without regard to feelings or personality? Particularly since my dowry is so very…reasonable?”

  She waited in silence for a reply. Saying more would not be helpful, so she knitted her fingers together to the point of pain to keep her mouth from uttering another word. Nobody spoke.

  Finally Farthingworth cleared his throat and drew in his chin. He looked at Suzanne, and she saw some pain in his eyes. No anger, but real pain. Even more she regretted having blurted in front of him, for she had never wished to be unkind. He said, “Thank you for your honesty, Miss Thornton. So rare in a woman, and I should have liked that in a wife.” Suzanne opened her mouth to reply, but he spoke over her. “Well…I expect there is much to be said here that doesn’t involve me. I’ll take my leave now. A pleasant evening to you both, and I hope all turns out well.” With that, he bowed to Father. “I’ll find the door myself, thank you.” And he departed with alacrity uncharacteristic of him.

  Father waited until he was certain Farthingworth was out of earshot, then he reached out and smacked Suzanne on the cheek. She staggered sideways, but from long experience was able to make a quick recovery. Her cheek burned red and it took a moment for her vision to clear as she resumed her stance before her father. Her hands remained at the small of her back, and she faced him in defiant silence. Her thoughts were on Daniel, and she hoped he would wait for her at the stairs. When this beating was over, she would hurry to him. If he came, all would be right with the world and he would help her to know what to do.

  Father raised his cane and proceeded to beat her. He pulled none of his strokes. He never did. She protected her baby with her arms and presented the parts of her she knew could withstand the punishment with only bruises. It seemed to go on forever, and soon there seemed never to have been a time when she wasn’t being beaten with Father’s cane.

  When it finally stopped, it was as if she’d begun a whole new life filled with pain that would never end. She lay huddled on the floor, her arms swollen and possibly broken, blood running from her lacerated scalp and down her neck. Her nose was intact, but one side of her upper lip had risen to the size of an egg. Her father ordered her to her bedchamber, there to await supper, and he left her on the ’tiring room floor. On his way out he ordered the downstairs maid to leave her alone. Suzanne was to make her way upstairs and clean up by herself.

  Slowly she struggled to her feet and climbed the stairs to the room she shared with her sisters. There she wet a towel in the washbowl and dabbed at her face. Her hair was hopeless, matted with blood. Taking it down and trying to comb it out would take all night, and there wasn’t enough time for that, so she tied it up with a kerchief. The cloth soaked through immediately, but there was nothing for it. Time was of the essence, and being caught just now might bring another, worse beating. This bleeding would stop when it would. The swollen lip would go down, the cuts would heal, the bruises would fade. They always had. And these would be the last of them, she swore.

  None of the family were present at the moment, so she was unhindered as she packed a small satchel with clothes. Then she drew on her cloak and pulled the hood over her head as far as it would go to hide the kerchief. Quietly she made her way down the stairs and out to the street. She didn’t know what she would say if she were apprehended, but luck was with her to the extent that nobody saw her and she strode purposefully to the cor
ner as if on an important errand. And in a way she was.

  It was a fair walk across the bridge to Bank Side, and full dark when she arrived at the stairs. Only the full moon and a torch near the bank’s edge lit the area. Daniel was waiting for her, sitting on the top step of the stairs to the river. When he saw her, he leapt to his feet and hurried to her. “Suzanne!”

  She burst into tears and let him fold her into his arms.

  “What happened?” One finger touched her swollen upper lip.

  She pressed her face against his cloak, and it muffled her voice. “Father accepted a proposal from a man named Farthingworth. I told them about the baby.”

  Daniel grunted. “So you’ve packed up and left, I see.”

  She looked up into his shadowy face. “I had no choice. He might kill me next time; this time I believe he tried.” One arm wouldn’t take the weight of her bag, and the other was also in terrible pain.

  “You know I can’t take you in.”

  She nodded. Daniel was married, and had been for a year, to a girl not quite sixteen. She was the daughter of a duke, so Suzanne knew it was not a love match. He loved Suzanne; it was so certain she never thought to question it. He was wealthy, and so would establish her and her child in a house somewhere. She would be his mistress, and she could live the rest of her life knowing she was the one he really cared for. Far better than to be the wife of someone who didn’t love her.

  “In fact,” he continued, “I won’t even be in London much longer.”

  That was unexpected. She stepped back, and he had to catch her arm to keep her from accidentally stepping over the edge of the cobbles into the river. A cry of pain escaped her as the jolt shot up to her shoulder. Now in his eyes she saw he meant to tell her good-bye. She sank to her knees next to her bag, gasping and searching for something to say. Finally she choked out, “Why?”