Murder by Misrule

  ***

  Thomas Campion next took the stage. He sat alone on a stool with his lute. The audience continued its loud chatter for half a minute, but soon he had their rapt attention as he sang "Beauty, Since You So Much Desire," a song of his own composition.

  Another success. Francis loved music and wished he could enjoy the song, but he was fraught with anxiety waiting for his masque. He had arranged for the benchers to sit in the front stands on the left of the aisle and the ancients opposite them on the right. That way, all would be reachable by his Wild Men during the performance.

  Treasurer Fogg sat arm in arm with Lady Penelope Rich, gossiping comfortably. They had obviously reached an accord concerning her debts to Sir Amias Rolleston. Francis suspected the old gentleman would have to wait a long time to be repaid, but he wasn't surprised that Fogg had sacrificed his client's interests to curry favor with the lady.

  Their current accord changed nothing. At the time the murders were committed, Fogg's ambitions confronted seemingly insurmountable obstacles. That he had now scaled those ramparts in nowise altered the past.

  George Humphries sat with the other ancients, cheeks flushed with wine and excitement. He looked like a pettifogger, dressed in old-fashioned slops. Francis almost felt sympathy for the man's obstructed life. Almost. If Humphries was the man who had performed these heinous deeds, he deserved to hang, however pathetic his history and his wardrobe.