SHAKESPEARE’ SECRET by Elise Broach Page A

Why did he leave it here with you?”
    Mrs. Roth tilted the box again and reached inside. She pulled out a note card, creamy white with a navy monogram emblazoned across the front. “This was also in the package,” she said, handing it to Hero.
    Hero opened the note card. Inside, in bold cursive, it read:

    Hero frowned, puzzled. “It’s from Mr. Murphy?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œIs he giving you the necklace to keep?”
    Mrs. Roth looked away, her face shadowed. She didn’t say anything. Hero waited, but the silence gathered in the kitchen, as heavy as the downpour outside the window.
    At last Mrs. Roth spoke. “They had no one else. No . . . children, no other family to give it to. I think Arthur wanted me to have it because he knew it would mean something to me.”
    â€œBut you can’t wear the necklace without the diamond in it.”
    â€œNo,” Mrs. Roth said. “I don’t think that was his intention.”
    â€œThen what?” Hero wondered. “Does he think you know where the diamond is? Does he expect you to find it?”
    Mrs. Roth took the necklace from Hero and curledit in her hand, closing her fingers over it. “Read the back of the card,” she said.
    Hero turned the note card over and read, printed neatly across the back:
Do not go gentle into that good night.
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
    â€œWhat does that mean?” she asked.
    â€œOh, my dear. For someone named after an illustrious literary character, you have an alarming ignorance of English literature.”
    â€œWe don’t even study English literature in school,” Hero protested. “I don’t think you do that till seventh grade.”
    Mrs. Roth shook her head in mock dismay. “Is that an excuse? It’s from a poem by Dylan Thomas. It’s about dying. About how to die, really.”
    Hero kept looking at the card. “I don’t get it. Did Mr. Murphy write this on the back? Why?”
    â€œBecause it’s quite like Eleanor, I think. He wanted to remind me of her. And perhaps it has something to do with the diamond.”
    â€œLike a clue?” Hero asked eagerly. She studied the verse more closely. “Is he trying to tell you where he hid it?”
    Mrs. Roth sipped her tea. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
    â€œBut you said that he thinks you know where the diamond is. He wants you to find it.”
    â€œActually, Hero, you said that.” Mrs. Roth seemed tired. She rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know what Arthur thinks or what he wants to happen. It was horrible for the two of them during those last few months. All that uproar about the diamond, badgered by the police and the insurance investigators. And the whole time, Eleanor was dying. Even after she was gone, people were still talking about the diamond, the Murphy diamond. How much it was worth. Where it might be hidden. Would he get away with it. The poor man’s wife had died, and nobody would leave him alone. It was all very . . . disappointing.”
    Hero looked out at the rainy day. “But why would Mr. Murphy give you the necklace unless he wanted you to have the diamond, too?”
    Mrs. Roth opened her hand and stared at the necklace, absently touching the chain. “I imagine that he simply wanted the necklace and the diamond to be in the same place, as they’d been for over four hundred years. I think he wanted to put things right.”
    Abruptly she placed the necklace back in the box, folding the cardboard flaps closed. She seemedsubdued, though Hero couldn’t figure out why. They sat in silence for a few minutes.
    Finally Hero asked, “Should I go now? You seem kind of tired.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” Mrs. Roth said. “I’m not being a very good hostess, am I? It’s just that—” She hesitated. “I miss my friend.”
    Hero felt a pang of envy. She tried to remember