“Perhaps,” said Smythe. “But whereas a friend might lie for her, the others in the household probably would not. Parents, servants, any of them could give her away.”

“True,” said Shakespeare. “We would need a rather more convincing fiction, I should think.”

Burbage glanced at Stackpole. “Granny Meg?” he said.

The innkeeper grinned and nodded. “Granny Meg,” he agreed.

“WHO IS GRANNY MEG?” ASKED Elizabeth, as they rode through the nearly deserted streets together in the small carriage Burbage had arrived in.

“She is what some people call a ‘cunning woman,’ “ Burbage replied.

“In other words, she is what other people would call a witch,” Shakespeare said, wryly.

“A witch!“ Elizabeth ’s eyes grew wide. “You are not taking me to see a witch?”

“My dear Mistress Darcie,” Burbage said, “you have just, by your own account, witnessed a murder. Surely you are not going to quail before the notion of visiting a harmless old woman?”

“But a witch!” Elizabeth replied. “They are said to be in league with the Devil!”

“They are no such thing at all,” Burbage said, calmly. “Cunning women such as Granny Meg have been around long before your doctors and apothecaries. For hundreds of years, in fact. They are folk healers and charmers and diviners whose knowledge is passed on from mother to daughter throughout the generations.”

“But they practice sorcery and black magic, do they not?” Elizabeth asked, apparently not quite reassured.

“There are some who would say that sorcery and black magic were one and the same thing,” Burbage replied. “And there are others who would differentiate between sorcerers and witches. Yet still others who would claim that magic is simply magic, neither white nor black, just as intent can be either good or evil. If you ask me, most of the talk one hears about magic, white or black, is all a lot of arrant nonsense. But call it what you will, I can attest that there is something to be said for the skills of cunning women.”

“As can I,” added Smythe. “We had a cunning woman in our village, an old and well-respected woman named Mother Mary McGee. If a farm animal fell ill, or if someone were to have need of a poultice to help cure an injury or else an infusion to quell a fever, why, old Mother Mary was the one they went to, always. And no one ever thought that Mother Mary had any dealings with the Devil, to be sure. She was a kindly old soul who would never hurt a fly.”

“As is Granny Meg,” said Burbage, nodding.

Elizabeth looked dubious. “And why must I go to see this Granny Meg? You have still not made that clear.”

“Well, in this particular case, ‘tis to save your reputation,” Burbage replied. “ ‘Tis not the sort of request that Granny Meg would ordinarily receive, but we are old friends and she will do me the kindness of helping you, I have no doubt.”

“What will she do?” asked Elizabeth, with an uncertain, worried look.

“We shall merely ask her to vouch for you,” said Burbage. “Specifically, we shall ask her to vouch for your whereabouts today. We do not wish it known that you were ever at The Toad and Badger. That is not at all the sort of place a young woman of your standing should go to, unescorted. And I might add that there are many who would call it an unsuitable environment for a proper young woman even if she were escorted. ‘Tis a place known to be frequented by actors and bear wards and jugglers and minstrels and the like, and ‘twould cast a certain pall upon your character if ‘twere known that you had been there, especially alone.”

“I have nothing to be ashamed of,” Elizabeth protested, with a sidelong glance at Smythe.

“And I, for one, would be inclined to agree with you,” Burbage replied. “However, I am quite certain that your parents would not. You have spoken of concerns that you have had about this proposed union with the late and apparently unlamented Mr. Gresham. Well, you went to Granny Meg with those concerns, upon someone’s recommendation, we shall refine the details of our story later, and then you were with Granny Meg for most of the afternoon and evening, in an attempt to learn your future and what it held in store.”

“And what of the servant, Drummond, whom Gresham had sent on ahead?” asked Smythe. “He saw her in the street.”

“Well, he may present a minor problem,” Burbage said, “but I have been thinking about that. With Gresham dead, the servant is the only one who can place Miss Darcie at the scene of the murder. And he had been sent on to drive ahead, so he was not there when it occurred. When Gresham never came to meet him, what would he have done?”

“I imagine he would have doubled back to see what happened,” Smythe said. “Perhaps he even found the body and called the sheriff’s men.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps it had been found already. In any case, we have only his word-the word of a servant-that Miss Darcie was even there. She could either claim he was mistaken and the time was later or else deny that she was ever there at all.”

“And this Granny Meg can be relied upon not to change her story should the sheriff’s men come calling upon her to make inquiries?” Smythe asked.

“She is an old friend of the family,” said Burbage, nodding emphatically. “She can be relied upon. We shall take Miss Darcie there, then drive her home and let her out close to her house, so that she shall not be seen with us.”

“You are all most gallant,” Elizabeth said.

“Thank you. However, much as we appreciate the compliment,” said Burbage, “in truth, I should point out that our motives are not entirely unselfish. Your father and mine are partnered in a business venture that affects all of our lives. Our very livelihoods depend upon it.”

“Nevertheless, you have all been very kind,” Elizabeth said. “And I shall not forget that.”

The carriage pulled up in front of a small apothecary shop on a dark and narrow, winding side street. The small wooden sign that hung out over the street was painted with a mortar and a pestle.

“Granny Meg has an apothecary shop?” Shakespeare asked.

“What did you expect to find in the middle of London?” Burbage asked, with a smile. “Some dotty, wild-haired old woman living in an overgrown and tumbledown, ramshackle cottage hidden in a stand of trees?”

The poet grimaced. “But the apothecaries have a guild, do they not?” he said. “And I have never heard of any guild that would admit a woman.”

“Nor have I,” Burbage replied. “But I never said that Granny Meg was the apothecary, did I?”

They rang the bell and, a moment later, a small eyehole appeared in the heavy, planked front door. Elizabeth gasped slightly as an eye filled it briefly, then the plug was reinserted and the door was opened slowly with a long, protracted creaking sound. Elizabeth convulsively seized hold of Smythe’s arm. He patted her hand reassuringly and they entered.

What struck them first was the heady fragrance of the place, for they could see next to nothing in the darkness. It seemed to be composed of a cacophony of smells all wafting through the air and mixing together, subtly changing from moment to moment, depending upon where they moved.

“What is that smell?” Elizabeth asked.

“Herbs,” said Smythe. “Drying herbs, hanging from the beams up in the ceiling.”

The door behind them creaked shut slowly and now there was almost total darkness in the shop, save for the glow coming from a brass candle holder that looked like a little saucer with a ring attached. The tallow candle stuck in it was nearly burnt down to a stub, with lots of melted wax caked upon it and the holder.

As the man holding the candle came away from the door and moved toward them, his candle brought illumination and they could see in the dim light the bunched, drying herbs hanging from the ceiling. It looked almost like a thatch roof turned inside out. There was vervain and rosemary and thyme, bay and basil and chive, elder, fennel, lemon balm and marjoram and hyssop and many, many more. Earthenware jars of various sizes filled the wooden shelves on all four walls. In front of one row of shelves there was a long wooden counter, laden with mixing bowls and mortars and pestles and scales with weights and measures and cutting boards and knives and scoops and funnels and all the other common tools of the apothecary.