A Mystery Of Errors

“Precisely so,” Elizabeth said. “You may imagine how mortified I felt! There, in my mother’s presence, I was made to appear an abject liar and prevaricator! And my own mother believed that I had made up the whole story in some foolish attempt to foil the marriage! I have never been so humiliated in my life! And that… that… that insufferable… arrogant… pernicious… gentleman-” she spat the last word out as if it were the vilest poison, “-stood there smiling all the while… smiling! Ohhhh, if I were a man, I would have wiped that insolent, smug smile straight off his face!”

“And…” Smythe proceeded cautiously, “was this the service that you wished me to perform?”

She looked startled. “Oh! Oh, heaven forfend! What must you think of me? I would never ask for such a thing!”

“Then what…?” It dawned on him abruptly. “Ah! I see! I am to witness that you came to the Theatre on that night, since ‘twas I who met the coach that brought you. And ‘twas Gresham ’s coach, at that, blazoned with his family crest.”

“Indeed,” she said, with relief. “And I also need you to affirm that I was met by Gresham ’s servant, Drummond, who denied ever having seen me in his life, the despicable cur! Would you be willing to give testimony to these facts?” She hesitated. “I… I could pay you for your trouble. Perhaps not very much, but…”

“I would be happy to vouch for the truth of what you said, milady,” Smythe replied, holding up his hand to forestall her, “and no payment would be necessary. I would not take it in such an event, in any case, much as I appreciate your offer. But then, your offer is precisely to the point here. You could pay me. To lie on your behalf.”

“To lie?“ She frowned. “Why, whatever do you mean? I asked for no such thing!”

“Of course not. But consider this, milady. Why would your father, an eminent tradesman in the community, accept the word of a mere ostler, a man who could have easily been paid to bear false witness? You could go down to Paul’s Walk right now and within the hour, for not much more than a few crowns, you could employ half a dozen men to bear false witness for you and testify to anything you wished.”

Her eyes widened. “This sort of thing is done?” She seemed astonished at the very idea.

“Done and done quite commonly, it seems,” said Smythe. “I was told that one could always make some extra money selling his integrity in such a fashion. Not, I hasten to add, that I would find such dubious employment tempting, but there are others who have no such scruples. I fear your father, already disposed to disbelieve you for your reluctance to accept his plans for you, would readily assume that I was precisely such a man.”

For a moment, she simply stared at him with disbelief, shaking her head repeatedly, as if not wishing to accept what he had told her, but then the logic of his reasoning became apparent to her and as Smythe saw it sink in, he prepared himself for tears. Instead, she bunched her slender fingers into fists and raised them, as if taking a pugilistic stance, trembling with barely repressed fury.

Fearing that she might swoon from such overpowering emotion, Smythe raised his hands, palms toward her, and said, “Strike my hands, milady. ‘Twill help to vent your anger.”

He did not expect such an immediate and spirited response. With a cry of pure rage, she came off the bed like a tigress leaping on its prey, swinging at his hands, and he caught one blow on his outstretched right palm and then the next one on his left, surprised at the vigor with which they were delivered, and then her momentum carried her forward and the bench went crashing to the floor as they both fell backward and landed in a heap, with Elizabeth on top of him.

Momentarily stunned, Smythe could only gaze up at her with complete astonishment as the shock of the fall broke through her rage and she stared down at him, herself amazed at what she’d done, and then her gaze intensified, becoming soft and dreamy, and Smythe was pulled into that gaze as he kissed her full upon the lips.

“Success! Victory!” shouted Shakespeare, throwing open the door and startling them both. His eyes widened as he saw them on the floor. “Odd’s blood! Victory on two fronts, it would appear!”

They both scrambled to their feet. Elizabeth ’s face turned red and Smythe had a feeling that his own was flushing deeply. He certainly felt warm. “Damn it, Will! You could at least knock!”

“At the door of my own room? How the hell was I to know you would be entertaining company?”

“ ‘Twas you who let her in, you twit!”

“Ah. Well, so I did. In all the excitement, I had quite forgotten.” He bowed. “My abject and sincerest apologies to you both. I shall withdraw to a pint of ale downstairs. I beg you to forgive the interruption. Carry on…”

“Will! Wait…”

But he had already stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Smythe shook his head and sighed, then turned to Elizabeth. “I am sorry,” he said.