The Murders of Richard III - Elizabeth Peters [38]
Liz glared at him. Frank evidently felt he had gone too far. He added quickly, “Jacqueline isn’t the only stranger.”
“O’Hagan,” Thomas said thoughtfully. “Hadn’t any of you met him before?”
“No,” Liz said. “I must admit he’s odd. Maybe he has a few screws loose.”
“It seems to me,” Frank said, “that the most important thing is to forestall any further accidents. If we can’t identify the comedian, perhaps we can anticipate his next move.”
“Good,” Thomas said approvingly. “So far he seems to be following the Tudor legend. So the next victim should be—”
“Lord Hastings,” said Frank. “Who is, of course, our popular idol of stage and screen.”
Liz had been inspecting the foxgloves with what seemed to Thomas sinister interest. Now she turned. “And you are looking forward to that, aren’t you?”
“Why not?” Frank looked defiant. “I’ve been made a fool of; allow me to enjoy watching someone else deflated. If anybody asked for deflation—”
They glowered at one another, and Thomas felt a sentimental amusement. It had been many years since he had engaged in a battle of words with a pretty girl…. His debates with Jacqueline were hardly in the same category.
“The point is not to enjoy Philip’s humiliation but to catch the miscreant,” he said mildly. “If you are right, then all we have to do is guard Philip.”
“Right,” Frank said reluctantly. “Don’t worry, Thomas; I’m not foolish enough to neglect my obvious duty simply because—”
“You’re jealous,” Liz said. “You accuse me of jealousy; why, you’re livid with it! Phil is handsome and famous and talented and confident—”
“And I’m not.” Frank stood up. His face was red but there was dignity in his anger, and in his control of it. “All right, Liz, that’s all I’m going to take today. Find yourself another whipping boy.” He stalked out of the garden.
When he had gone, Liz seemed to droop. She gave Thomas a glance in which defiance and misery were equally mixed, and turned back to the foxgloves. “You think I’m frightful, don’t you?”
“Of course not. I think you’re worried. But you ladies don’t have any cause for concern. Not even his enemies accused Richard of murdering women.”
“Except his wife.” Liz turned. She was smiling faintly. “And that is my darling mum. How do you suppose your comedian plans to counterfeit consumption?”
“It will be poison, if our boy is following the Tudor myth,” Thomas said uneasily. “Your mother is not a young woman, my dear. I don’t like the idea of someone playing tricks on her.”
Liz smiled. She rose and held out her hand to pull Thomas to his feet.
“You really are a darling. Come along, Thomas, the afternoon meeting will be starting shortly. We mustn’t miss it. Dickon has strictly forbidden discussion of our mystery; he says we’ve wasted enough time already.”
“So we’re to hear Frank rehashing the murder of the princes,” Thomas said, falling in step beside her.
“And Lady Isobel reading her new poem—if time permits.”
“Time probably won’t permit,” Thomas said, cheered by the thought. “We’re two meetings behind schedule now. All the same, Liz, are you certain about Hastings being the next victim? Haven’t the Tudor slanderers implied Richard murdered Edward the Fourth?”
“Not even Sir Thomas More would be that absurd.” Liz frowned thoughtfully. She looked very pretty when she frowned. Thomas was tempted to put his arm around her, but thought better of it.
“Unless,” Liz went on, “one might claim that Richard was indirectly guilty of Edward’s death because he made no attempt to dissuade him from the debauchery that hastened his end.”
“Beautiful,” Thomas said, laughing. “I’m surprised More didn’t think of that one. Remember his statement that Richard was responsible for Clarence’s execution, although he protested publicly against it, but that he didn’t really protest as loudly as he might have done, and so probably didn’t mean it?”
“This isn’t getting us anywhere, Thomas.”
“No. But we will have to watch Philip closely.