The Murders of Richard III - Elizabeth Peters [37]
“He says the playacting is all to the good if it clears King Richard,” he said finally. “He says King Richard never done it. And he says they’ll all be watching, on Sunday, to see it proved that he never done it.”
Old Will was mumbling furiously, and Thomas knew the old man was off in some imaginary world of his own. He wondered if that world was the same one in which Weldon spent part of his time. How could anyone believe for a moment that the dead past was really dead? It animated this semiliterate octogenarian as well as a group of supposedly sophisticated worldings. The thought was a little frightening.
Doakes ushered them out the back door into the street. He seemed embarrassed at Will’s outburst; before closing the door he said under his breath, “You’ll excuse old Will, sir and madam. He wanders a bit…. But then they’re all strange on the subject of King Richard in these parts. I tell you, it isn’t ’olesome!”
4
JACQUELINE WAS PREOCCUPIED AND SILENT ON the way back. When they reached the house, she went to change. The return trip over the fence proved that while her physical condition was excellent, white slacks were impractical for climbing rusty iron fences.
Thomas wandered into the gardens. He was full of bread and cheese and disinclined to face a horde of contentious Ricardians. Passing through the rose garden, he headed for an area he remembered from an earlier visit—a secluded paved courtyard whose mellow brick walls supported swags of ivy and trellised vines. There were stone benches, if he remembered correctly, and a fountain.
His memory was accurate, and the glory of late-summer flowers rewarded the effort it took to find the place. Seated on one of the benches were Liz and Frank.
Thomas hesitated in the gateway. It was an appropriate spot for a pair of lovers, but he had the impression that his arrival had interrupted a spat rather than a fond tête-à-tête. The warmth of Liz’s greeting and Frank’s brusque “hello” confirmed the impression. Thomas sat down between them—they were at opposite ends of the bench—and tried to think of something to say. He was remembering the innkeeper’s gossip about Weldon and the girl. It made him self-conscious.
“Any luck?” Liz asked.
“No Strangways.” Thomas told them what he had found out.
“Hell and damnation,” Frank said gloomily. “I didn’t really expect you’d come up with anything, but I hoped…”
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Thomas said, with an optimism he did not feel. “No one has been hurt. In fact, the comedian, as Jacqueline calls him, has been rather considerate.”
“Hah,” said Frank, fingering his scratches.
“Superficial,” Liz said, looking at him contemptuously. “You’re right, Thomas. Rawdon is on his feet again.”
“What was in his food?”
Liz giggled. She looked absolutely delightful.
“An emetic of some kind, apparently. Rawdon won’t say which one. The names that come to mind create amusement rather than sympathy.”
“So he, too, was more humiliated than hurt,” Thomas said. “As for me—”
“I think that was frightfully dangerous,” Liz said. Thomas thought what a charming, sympathetic girl she was. “Surely you’d have been in bad shape if you hadn’t been found right away.”
“But I was found right away. Everyone knew we were going to the village, and Jacqueline is not the patient type. When I didn’t appear on schedule, the joker could assume she would go looking for me.”
“And how did she know where to look?” Liz inquired.
“Wilkes saw me heading for the nether regions,” Thomas said, remembering the explanation Jacqueline had given as they returned from the cellars. “But it was partly intuition, I suppose. After Frank’s encounter…” He broke off with a gasp. “Oh, now, you can’t suspect Jacqueline. She’s a stranger—”
“Precisely. She’s the only newcomer in our midst and the only one who isn’t dedicated to the cause. And I imagine she has a rather weird sense of humor.”
Thomas sputtered. Frank burst out laughing.
“Come off