A Mystery Of Errors

“Difficult to say. If, as the lady claims, he truly did tell her that he does not desire the marriage any more than she does, then his actions seem a mystery.”

“She believes his purpose in dissembling with her mother was to make it seem as if she had lied about their meeting at the Theatre, made up the whole story in an effort to get out of the marriage.”

“That seems rather foolish,” Shakespeare said. “I mean, ‘twould seem a foolish thing for her to do. If one is going to tell a lie, then it behooves one to tell it in a manner that prevents one from being easily found out. And in this case, ‘twould have been a very simple matter for her to have been found out. All her parents would have had to do was ask Gresham if they had ever met.”

“Which was precisely what he had denied.”

“Except that we know that she was here,” said Shakespeare. “We both saw her.”

“But we both could have been paid to bear false witness in her favor, and that is what Gresham will doubtless claim,” said Smythe. “No one would take the word of a couple of ostlers over that of a gentleman.”

“Quite so. An excellent point. In all likelihood, our testimony would not resolve the problem, especially if her parents are predisposed to disbelieve her because they want the marriage to take place. But the important thing is that we know that she is telling the truth, at least insofar as having met Gresham at the Theatre goes. I suppose ‘tis possible he might not have told her that he does not want the marriage, but then, if that were so, then why not simply deny that? Why deny meeting her at all?”

Smythe nodded. “I think the more we look at it, the more it becomes self-evident that Mr. Gresham is a liar.”

“And I do not like him, anyway,” said Shakespeare. “I can still remember having my arse turned into a pincushion from diving into those thorn bushes when he nearly ran us down.” He winced. “I am still sore from that, damn his eyes. Arrogant bastard.”

“Fine. We are agreed then that he is a liar and a worthless bastard,” Smythe said. “The question is, what do we do about it?”

“Well, we try to find a way to prove he is a liar,” Shakespeare said. “Or, failing that, ‘twould serve your lady’s purposes as well if we could devise some way to thwart the marriage.”

“Agreed. But we have yet to determine what his motives may be. If we knew that, it might help us to devise a plan of action.”

“Perhaps. You say the lady’s parents are well off?”

“Her father is a wealthy merchant who desires to advance himself socially.”

“Hmmm. A lot of that going around these days. ‘Tis all rubbish if you ask me. If you have a lot of money, society eventually comes to you. There is no need to go fawning upon them.”

“That is what Sir William said, though not in so many words,” Smythe agreed. “In the old days, he said, a man won his spurs upon the battlefield. Nowadays, he simply buys them.”

“Which is what Elizabeth Darcie’s father hopes to do,” said Shakespeare. “She is the bait with which he hopes to snare a gentleman of rank. And, of course, the bait is made more tempting with a dowry, which as a wealthy merchant, he can easily afford. But suppose our Mr. Gresham happens to be particularly greedy?”

“What do you mean?”

“We were talking earlier about how Miss Darcie seemed distressed, but not unbalanced,” Shakespeare said. “But what if she did seem to be unbalanced?”

“She certainly did not strike me that way.”

“No, no, of course not. But suppose she was. Not completely out of her mind, you know, but nevertheless, a little touched.” The poet tapped his temple with his forefinger. “Or if she were one of those shrewish women who tend to lie and shout and throw tantrums whenever they are not given their way. ‘Twould make her far less desirable as a wife, I should think. Especially if she had a reputation for such behavior.”

“I see!” said Smythe, realizing where the poet was going. “And if her father were a very wealthy man, then he might well be moved to increase the size of her dowry considerably, as an incentive for a prospective husband to take her off his hands!”

“You get my drift,” said Shakespeare.

“I do, indeed. Gresham makes her out to be touched in the head, or else failing that, a shrewish maid who would be nothing but a trial to her husband. He plays at following through with the arrangement, but at the last moment, seems to hesitate, as if having second thoughts as a result of Elizabeth ’s behavior. And her father, desperate to see them married so that he can make use of Gresham’s social stature, offers him more money to recompense him for the inconvenience he shall experience in trying to tame this shrew. The result: Gresham gets himself a pretty wife and a pretty windfall!”