if fighting back a sob. “Why not try telling me the truth, Tommy. It would be such a novel deed for you.” Tom’s pale blue eyes stared up, reflecting a stray beam of moonlight in tears of impotent dread. “Stop it, Tom. I told you before that I’m not going to hurt you—or at least, not very much. Let us find some spot where we may talk.” I gave him a little shake, suddenly irritated by his abnormal timidity. Eventually we made our way to the carefully tended “Wilderness” and I dropped down into the sweet smelling grass, pulling Tom down beside me. “Now, isn’t this pleasant?” Still holding him by the wrist, I reached over and stroked his hair, smiling at the shivering reaction. “You cannot decide, can you, whether you desire me more than you fear and despise me, or if it’s the other way about,” I continued in the darkness, amusement and disdain equally combined in the quiet tones of my voice.
“I could never hate you . . . I was waiting for you,” Tom extemporized. I could almost hear his thoughts clacking along: If I was Kit a little flattery should do the trick. His Kit had always doted pathetically on admiration, and if I were only a feigned Kit, well, then I was mad, and what harm could it do? “I wanted to see you again, as we were, uh, in my chamber. I—I need you,” he let his voiced break off in a ardent sigh, reaching his free hand up to touch my face, wondering if his design was working. I could read his every thought as easily as I once read books. I plainly saw that part of him wanted it to work, wanted me to be as besotted with him as his lost Kit had been, wanted to manipulate me as he had the others, while at the same time another part of him wanted to grovel at my feet and beg for favor.
“God’s Teeth, Tom, but what a tawdry little whore you’ve become! You should have trod the boards: even the Rose has never seen a performance like this. Do you think you’re still seventeen and the prettiest boy in England? Think again,” I purred, the words as cruel as knives, as cruel as I could make them. He tried futilely to wrench away from my restraining hand only to have his wrist twisted viciously. My lazy inspection of his person must have left him horribly aware of his thinning hair and the beginnings of the paunch that he had tried to hide with the stuffed peascod belly of his doublet. A red flood of hatred washed over his face, hatred for me, a handsome, elegant, and above all, much younger man.
“I will see you destroyed, dishonored, and begging for deliverance, and I shall spurn you and walk on,” he raged and I laughed.
“It won’t work, Tom, whatever petty little plans for revenge you devise. Now, what were you really trying to seduce me into, killing Frizer for you?” He lurched away, and this time I let him go, amused by his tumble back into the long grass.
“Well-a-day, Tom! It would seem that shot hit in the gold,” I chuckled and stood up, brushing the leaves from my clothing, offering my hand to help him up. He ignored me, scrambled to his feet and began to back away. “Not that way, Tom. The Wilderness verges on the duck pond just over there and I am quite certain you would find the water disagreeable,” I laughed. Moving far too quickly for him to see, I crossed the space between us to grasp his elbow, pinching a nerve and numbing his arm when he tried to jerk away. “Don’t be recalcitrant, Tommy. Remember, I’ll not hurt you, not seriously, if I can help it. But tell me about Frizer. Where is he now?”
“In Eltham. He’s running a tavern there. But you must not kill him! It would all come out then—I’d be ruined!”
“Perhaps I desire that. You could come crawling to me for favor and patronage, then.”
Tom’s anger choked him into silence. As we stepped into the lamplit stable-yard, he stopped, looking with horror at the stable cat. It had caught a mouse and was toying with it, letting it appear to escape; only to snare it again and drag it back. He glanced sidelong at me, and gasped at the smile playing over my face. “I’m the mouse to your cat, aren’t