The Scottish Play Murder Read Free Page B

that actor might have done well with it. But he said, “Macduff. Matthew will play Macduff. The victor.”
    Louis muttered an Anglo-Saxon vulgarism that was not quite like him.
    Horatio seemed to shake off his funk and his booming voice of authority returned. “I’d not take such an attitude, young man, until I’d mastered the role at hand. You’ll have a better grip on Romeo or you’ll not set foot on my stage again for the Scottish play nor any other!”
    Louis’s lips pressed together, and he stared at the stage boards at his feet.
    Meanwhile, Ramsay adjusted the plaid slung over his shoulder, once more the cheerful and hale Scot who had knocked on the theatre entrance. “Well, then, I’ll be on my way, to return in three days.” He gestured to everyone present, and even to the empty galleries. “God bless you all, and keep you safe until then.” With that, he marched from the theatre, leaving The New Globe Players to stare after him.
    Suzanne wondered what had just happened, and realized that half an hour ago there had been no thought of performing
Macbeth
, and now they had committed to a production and two major roles were filled. Who was that man?

Chapter Two

    “I n all seriousness, Daniel, it was as if he were Macbeth himself, standing on the stage with a knife in his hand, about to steal into the ’tiring house and kill someone. Tall, black hair, ruddy cheeks, for the moment he appeared a different man, then
voila
, he was himself again.” Suzanne was at dinner in her quarters with the Earl of Throckmorton, owner of the theatre and patron of the troupe. The duck was tasty and tender, the bread fresh and expertly baked, and the wine French. Life was good.
    Daniel sat back in his chair at the table in Suzanne’s quarters in the theatre, to sip on his pewter cup of whisky. She’d had it brought from Scotland, for she knew he enjoyed it and couldn’t find it easily in London. To her it was vile stuff, and she could smell the sharp woodiness of it from across the room. She much preferred her ale, or French wine when she had money for it. It was plain to her why whisky wasn’t a popular drink, and was scarce outside of Scotland. She disliked that Daniel had picked up this particular habit, though she had to admit there were things from the Americas that were worse. She was glad he hadn’t picked up the vice of tobacco.
    He said, “Scots are bloodthirsty. It comes naturally to them to want to kill someone.”
    Suzanne blinked. “I only have known one Scot well, and that is Angus, Big Willie’s musician friend. He plays pipes, and you can sometimes hear him accompanying Willie on his corner in Bank Side. I’ve never known him to be anything but sweet and gentle.” Angus reminded her of a big puppy dog, shaggy and waggy-tailed, eager to please. “Bloodthirsty” was the last word she would use to describe him. “Cuddly, even,” she added.
    “You’ve cuddled with him, then?” The curl at one corner of his mouth told her he was teasing. She thought it a poor attempt at humor, but she made a point of not laughing. She wished he would find things to joke about other than her former profession. After all, he was the one who had ruined her at the age of seventeen by giving her Piers, and so she thought he might at least show some regret for the years she’d spent as a whore. A futile hope, to be sure, but she wished it regardless.
    She replied, ignoring his jibe, “In any case, Ramsay should prove an excellent Macbeth, the least of his advantages being that his northern accent is genuine. I’m telling you, when he recited the dagger passage he became another person entirely. You would hardly know he wasn’t a man about to do murder.”
    “I should like to see the performance, then, when it’s presented.” Daniel took another sip and crossed his legs. He wasn’t eating much, and his eyelids were drooping some with the strong drink.
    “I think you should.” She spread a bit of butter on a