Free The Twelfth Night Murder by Anne Rutherford Page A

wouldn’t have called him actually “feminine,” for there was far too much about him that, had he been a woman, would have marked him as “too masculine.” His jaw was square and his lips not particularly generous, but the way he stood and moved, the lightness of his voice, his mannerisms and gestures were all an exaggerated parody of the feminine. A little too much of what was meant, and that worked for the stage but not terribly well for society.
    His name was Walter, but he went by Little Wally and insisted everyone call him that, or simply “Wal.” Everyone in the troupe thought it great fun they now had Big Willie and Little Wally, and to further the irony, Little Wally was the larger. Not by much, but he was an inch or two taller than the tiny, wiry musician.
    Watching Wally paint his face for his role as Olivia before the performance of
Twelfth Night
that very night, Suzanne saw he was prim and precise as a French princess, outlining his eyes and making the most of his lips with long practice and an eye for emphasizing his best features and minimizing his lesser ones. He mitigated the squareness of his jaw by using less of the white powder at the sides of his face and rubbing an ever so subtle dab of white paint at the tips of his nose and chin. The effect narrowed his face just slightly, and distracted the eye from the masculine corners of his face. A tiny bit of rouge above his eyes and some overpainting of his too-thin mouth also helped draw attention from the jaw.
    He noticed her watching and gave her a demure smile, then returned to his task. She’d seen men like this before, of course, but they were rare and those who weren’t actors never flaunted it. Nobody wanted to be arrested for sodomy, and so most who were naturally effeminate did their best to hide their true natures, whether or not they were actually sods. Wally didn’t seem to care what the world thought of him, and so always presented himself as effeminately as he pleased. Suzanne had no idea whether Wally preferred women or men, and knew better than to ask even did she care.

Chapter Five

    T he hiring of Wally left Suzanne free to set forth on her search of the truth about the unknown boy in the dress. First she went to talk to Young Dent at the Goat and Boar about the night they’d seen the boy there. Unfortunately the proprietor had no memory of any boy in a fine blue dress. He’d been so busy serving his clientele he couldn’t remember any of their faces. Neither did he remember ever seeing anyone fitting the description of the boy before that night. He was most apologetic, but simply couldn’t remember him.
    Next Suzanne made a visit to the astrologer who had warned her away from the river the night of the murder.
    The woman had a shop across the river, very near the Royal Exchange. The Exchange was one of Suzanne’s favorite places, filled with shops and places to eat and drink, and swarming with people who interested and amused her. The rooms maintained by Mistress La Tournelle were tucked in the corner of a building on the other side of Thread Needle Street, with an entrance below street level that was hard to find.
    The structure was of stone, and to get to the shop one descended half a flight of stairs and followed a short corridor beneath an arch, then around a corner between this building and the next, which was more like a tunnel with the upper floors overhanging. There a door of heavy oak was set into the stone wall, and painted on it in crimson and black was a circle surrounded by astrological sigils. The signs were quite intricately drawn, with significant skill and great detail, somewhat resembling the Celtic knots of the north, but with the grace of a centuries-old illuminated manuscript. They seemed to dance around the circle, entrancing the eye and keeping her for the moment from knocking.
    She returned to herself and knocked, and a distant voice from well within bade her enter. She lifted the iron door latch and