“I suspect his madness came upon him long before.” said Worley, “if, indeed, ‘twas madness, for if it were, then he concealed it well. I think Tuck was closer to the truth when he said that it was rage. Godfrey Middleton was an ambitious, vain and selfish man. He wanted more than anything to be someone important, a gentleman, a courtier. Money alone was not enough. What he desired above all else was position. And it seemed that he would stop at nothing to achieve it. That was a sort of madness in itself, I suppose.”
“And it seemed that all his daughters had desired was love,” said Smythe. “Catherine had found it with a stable boy, and was willing to die for it. And poor Blanche kept looking for it everywhere, in vain.”
“What will become of young Mason now?” asked Shakespeare.
“I shall take him back to work for me,” said Worley. “Poor lad. He is quite undone with grief. I believe he shall get over it in time, but he is entirely blameless in the matter. I hold nothing against him. After all, all he did was fall in love above his station. He would not be the first to do that.”
“Nor the last,” said Smythe, softy, thinking of Elizabeth, who had left earlier with her father. She had never liked Blanche Middleton, but she had been deeply saddened by her death. For her, too, it would take time to recover from the tragic events that had occurred at Middleton Manor.
“Has there been any word about the Irishman?” asked Shakespeare.
Worley shook his head. “ ‘Twould appear that he has made good his escape. I have men out searching for him, but I suspect that coney will be quite difficult to catch. ‘Tis quite a shame, really, such talent and resourcefulness, put to such base use. I could use a man like that in the queen’s service.”
“Perhaps Black Billy would have better luck in finding him than any of the queen’s men,” Smythe suggested.
Worley smiled. “Perhaps. We shall see.”
“Will! Tuck!” called Burbage from the wagons. “Come on! We are ready to depart!”
“Well, your tour awaits,” said Worley.
Shakespeare grimaced. “ ‘Twill seem quite tame after all this.” Smythe sighed. “I could do with something tame, methinks. I have had quite enough excitement for a while.”
“ ‘Twas good of you to pay the players, Sir William,” Shakespeare said.
Worley shrugged. “ ‘Twas not their fault they never had a chance to act their play. Besides, I shall make it back and then some from handling Her Majesty’s disposal of the estate. There have already been several offers. Percival seems quite taken with the place. He said it has now attained a notorious reputation and no doubt the queen shall wish to come and see it.”
“Well, the estate shall survive,” said Shakespeare, dryly, “but I do not think I can say the same about my play. I do not regret not seeing it performed. ‘Twas never any good, I fear.”
“Oh, I would not say that, Will,” Smythe replied. “Now, the beginning was quite promising, I thought. Perhaps you can keep that and use it somewhere else.”
“Perhaps you can write a play about what happened here,” said Worley, with a smile. “ Twould be a tragedy, of course. Quite worthy of the Greeks, I should think. Murder, greed, imposture, lust and madness, dead bodies strewn everywhere about…”
“Been done,” said Smythe.
“Still,” said Shakespeare, scratching his chin thoughtfully, “ ‘tis an idea…”