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Smythe had, by now, largely recovered from the effects of the blow, though he still stood a bit bent over. “We were going to question the carpenter, Sir William. We think the killer might have been young Holland. No one has seen him since the funeral, it seems.”

Worley shook his head. “Not so. Holland was surely not the killer,” he said. “I, for one, have seen him.”

“When, milord? And where?” asked Smythe.

“Just now, back there,” said Worley, jerking a thumb back toward the maze.

“In the maze?” Elizabeth said, with surprise. “Why, whatever would he be doing in there?”

“Blanche Middleton,” said Worley, dryly, “with apologies for my indelicacy, milady. But within moments after I returned, I saw young Holland skulking about suspiciously and so decided to follow him. The two of them met within the maze, in an arbor at its center, and were still… actively engaged… when I departed. Needless to say, they did not see me. They were quite preoccupied.”

“Well, thus is my report of Blanche’s character borne out, as you can see,” Elizabeth said, with distaste. “And by no less impeccable a witness than Sir William. That she could so disgracefully disport herself on the very day of her own sister’s funeral… Heavens, need any more be said?”

“I take it, then, that her behavior in this instance does not come as a complete surprise to you?” said Worley.

“I fear not, milord,” Elizabeth replied. “Whoever barters for that baggage will be getting goods well used.”

“I see,” said Worley. “I would assume, then, that her father would be unaware of her proclivities in this regard.”

“We are informed that she plays upon him like the virginals… while being not quite virginal herself,” said Shakespeare.

“How very unfortunate,” said Worley.

“Forgive me, milord.”

“I meant the circumstances, Shakespeare, not the pun,” said Worley. “However, your apology remains no less deserved, thus I accept it. But this failing in the young lady’s character is a fortunate thing for Holland in more ways than one, as things turn out, for it now provides him with an alibi. He could not have murdered Catherine while deflowering her sister.”

“Those petals dropped quite some time ago, I fear,” Elizabeth said, wryly.

“Well, could he not have murdered Catherine and then still had time to get back here and meet with Blanche?” asked Smythe.

“What, you mean kill one sister and within the very hour make love to the other? Egad, that would be cold-blooded, indeed,” said Worley. “Such a man would be the very devil, and I do not believe that Daniel Holland answers to that description. What is more, I have ascertained that he is no imposter, but exactly who he claims to be. His father, Sir Roger Holland, whilst not a regular at court, is nevertheless well known to the queen. Thus, while young Holland may lack in judgement and discretion, he does not lack in pedigree, at least.”

“So then Holland is not our man,” said Smythe. “That still leaves us with the other three.”

“And of those three, Hughe Camden, our young inner barrister, is also who he claims to be,” said Worley. “The Earl of Oxford recalled him from the Inns of Court, where he once saw him performing in a play by Greene and thus made his acquaintance. Edward described the young man to me in some detail and I am satisified that Hughe Camden is the man whom he had met. Likewise, his father, Sir Richard, was known to several of the heralds.”

“So then they are not imposters, either,” Shakespeare said. He frowned. “Well, that brings us down to Braithwaite and the Frenchman. Everyone else seems to have been accounted for.”

“And we have already agreed that ‘tis quite unlikely for the imposter to be Dubois,” said Smythe.

Shakespeare sighed. “I know. It just seems hard to credit,” he said. “Braithwaite truly seemed like a good fellow.”

“Perhaps he is, for all we know,” said Worley, “for as it happens, I have been unable to establish anything about our friend Dubois. No one at court seems to know a thing about him… or his self-effacing, silent father. I have arranged for the heralds to investigate his claims, but then that will take some time, I fear.”

“What of Andrew Braithwaite?” Smythe asked.

“I have had no luck there, either,” Worley replied. “I have men investigating his claims, as well, but I was unable to immediately confirm his identity with anyone at court. A number of people said they might recall his father, but that was hardly reliable evidence and no one could give any stronger testimony. Once again, it will take some time to establish whether or not he is an imposter.”

“Time is a commodity we may only have in short supply,” said Smythe.

“Not necessarily,” Worley replied. “Consider what has already been accomplished. We know that we are seeking two men, one of whom seems to be the principal motivating force behind this deviltry, whilst the other works as his confederate. Both may already be upon the scene as imposters, or else one is here amongst us openly whilst the other waits somewhere nearby, perhaps among the merchants at the fair, held in reserve. We have already managed to eliminate most of the guests from consideration as suspects. We appear to be down to only two.”

“Only the fair is drawing to a close,” said Shakespeare.

“True, but ‘tis no cause for alarm,” said Worley. “Remember that in order for the plot to succeed, the prize must be secured. And the prize, in this instance, is Blanche Middleton. More specifically, her dowry. And once that prize is secured, Blanche then becomes disposable.”

“Goodness!” said Elizabeth, shivering involuntarily.

“Forgive me, milady,” Worley said, “but the truth of the matter is that we are dealing with desperate and evil men, or at the very least, with one man who is the evil genius of this plot and another who merely allows himself to be led. Either way, the sort of character who would hatch a devilish plot like this is not a man who would be squeamish or would frighten easily. He knows that you, Tuck, have overheard something of his plan, but he cannot know for certain how much you may have overheard. Thus, methinks that he will likely be disposed to gamble.”

“How so, milord?” asked Smythe.

“Well, it takes an old corsair to know how another pirate thinks,” said Worley. “And whilst our man may be a landlubber, he is nevertheless quite the buccaneer in the way he sails straight into danger with every inch of canvas up. He knows that at least in part, his plan has been exposed, and yet he also knows that if his true identity were known, he would have been in chains by now. Since he is not, he has made the logical assumption that his masquerade still remains intact. We do not know who he is. Therefore, he perseveres. There is still considerable risk involved, but then he knew that from the very start. The risk has now increased, of course, but to such a man, ‘twould only add spice to the adventure.”

“As with one who plays at dice or cards, the thrill is in the risk,” said Shakespeare.

“Verily,” Worley said, nodding in agreement. “And our man knows that the greatest risk to him at present is our friend, Tuck, here. He is the one who overheard the plot, or at the very least a part of it, and thus he is the one who may yet recognize one or both of the voices he had heard. Thus, Tuck is the obvious risk to be eliminated.”

“And our man has tried that twice already,” Smythe said, grimly.

“Doubtless, he shall try again,” Worley replied. “You may depend on it, so watch your back. However, here is what our quarry does not know. He does not know about me. He assumes that because the queen has left the city with her court, that anyone of consequence among the nobility will be traveling with her, as indeed, most of them are. He has also assumed that because Middleton is not, himself, a peer or a prominent fixture in court society, though he has ambitions in that regard, that the guests at his daughter’s wedding celebration will not be among the upper crust, but rather the topmost layer beneath it, if you will. In other words, primarily the wealthy new men of the middle class and, perhaps, a few rather minor members of the nobility. He knows that there is still a chance his masquerade might be exposed, but the risk of that is not so great as ‘twould have been were any courtiers present, for they have little else to do but keep track of one another and their respective standing in the pecking order. Thus, our man puts on a bold face and proceeds as planned. But he does not know that I am here, or that I have been alerted to his villainy and have already made inquiries which have enabled us to narrow down our list of suspects to just two. As a result, the degree of risk for him has now become quite high… only he does not yet know that.”