‘For whom? You or him?’
‘I simply came to watch a play, Margery.’
‘Then why not visit The Rose, which is closer to your home and far more commodious? Why not go to Shoreditch to choose between The Curtain and The Theatre? Deceive yourself, but do not try to deceive me. You came here for a purpose.’
‘To see Vincentio’s Revenge,’ insisted Anne.
‘I will not press the matter.’
‘What happened between Nick and myself is…all past.’
‘Not in his mind. Still less in his heart.’
Anne grew pensive. Margery’s companionship gave her joy and discomfort in equal measure. Anne’s feelings were so confused that she was not quite sure why she had decided to find the time to attend the play, and to release Preben van Loew from his work in order to chaperone her. She had responded to an urge which had yet to identify itself properly.
‘Forgive me,’ said Margery, squeezing her wrist in apology. ‘My fondness for Nick makes me speak out of turn. You and he need no Cupid. I’ll hold my peace.’
‘A friend’s advice is always welcome.’
‘You know what mine would be. I say no more.’
Anne nodded soulfully and a surge of regret ran through her. It soon passed. Vincentio’s Revenge began and the forthright woman beside her turned into a sobbing spectator. Anne herself was caught up in the emotion of the piece and whisked along for two harrowing but glorious hours by its poetry and its poignancy. It was only when the performance was over that she realised why she had come to it.
***
Having piloted another play safely into port, Nicholas Bracewell supervised the unloading of the cargo and the crew. It was not until the last of the properties and the costumes had been safely locked away that he was able to spare the time to listen to Owen Elias’s report of his findings. The two of them were alone in the tiring-house.
‘His name is Hugh Naismith.’
‘Can you be certain, Owen?’
‘As certain as it is possible to be. The fellow was a regular member of Banbury’s Men, a promising actor, secure in the company’s estimation and likely to rise to the rank of sharer.’
‘What happened?’ asked Nicholas.
‘Friar Francis. By one Jonas Applegarth.’
‘I remember seeing the playbills for it.’
‘Hugh Naismith did not like the piece. Friar Francis was a most un-Christian play, by all account, as full of fury as The Misfortunes of Marriage, and with an even sharper bite. This foolish actor dared to rail against it in the hearing of the author and the two of them had to be held apart for they squawked at each other like fighting cocks.’
‘Was this Naismith his opponent in the duel?’
‘Ned Meares confirms it,’ said Elias. ‘The varlet was so badly injured that his arm was put in a sling for weeks. Banbury’s Men expelled him straight. The fight with Jonas has cost Naismith both his pride and his occupation.’
‘Two strong reasons for him to seek revenge.’
‘One arm was in a sling but he still might throw a dagger with the other. It must be him, Nick.’
‘Where does he dwell?’
‘In Shoreditch. I called at his lodging.’
‘You met him?’
‘He was not there. Out stalking his prey, no doubt. That thought made me straight repair to Jonas’s house, where I found our fat friend, sitting at his desk in the window of his chamber, writing away as if he did not have a care in the world.’
‘You and he arrived here together, I saw.’
‘Yes, Nick,’ said Elias. ‘I felt compelled to go back to his house again this morning. An assassin may strike on the journey to the Queen’s Head just as well as on the walk back home. Four eyes offer better protection than two.’
‘How did Jonas seem?’
‘As loud and irreverent as ever.’
‘Did you mention Hugh Naismith to him?’
‘He affected not to know the man and would not discuss his time with Banbury’s Men except to say that it was a species of torment.’
‘For him or for them?’ asked Nicholas with a wry smile.
‘Both.’
The book holder checked that everything had been cleared out of the tiring-house before taking his friend through into the taproom. It was throbbing with noise. Players and playgoers alike were ready for drink and debate after the stirring performance of Vincentio’s Revenge.
Jonas Applegarth was holding forth in the middle of the room, addressing his remarks to all who would listen. His lack of tact and restraint made the newcomers gasp.
‘It is a miserable, meandering, worm-eaten play,’ he argued.
‘Vincentio’s Revenge is a sterling piece,’ countered James Ingram. ‘You saw how the audience loved it.’
‘Ignorant fools! What do they know of drama? If you put ten bare arses on the stage and farted at them for two hours, they would applaud you just as wildly. The Maids of Honour was base enough, but today’s offering was putrid.’
‘That is unkind! Unjust!’
‘And untrue!’ added Barnaby Gill, entering the fray. ‘Vincentio’s Revenge has been a loyal servant to the company. It fires my imagination each time we play it and raises the pitch of my performance.’
‘Then is it time for you to retire,’ said Applegarth with scorn. ‘You were a walking abomination up on that stage. I have seen sheep with more talent and less confusion. Show some benevolence to mankind, Barnaby, and quit the theatre for good.’
‘I was sublime!’ howled Gill.
‘Scurvy!’
‘Unparallelled.’
‘In absurdity!’
‘Barnaby was at his best,’ defended Ingram stoutly.
‘Then I would hate to see his worst,’ retorted Applegarth, ‘for it would beggar belief. Why wave his hands so, and pull his face thus?’ His grotesque mime turned Gill purple with rage. ‘It was a barbarous performance, almost as bad as that of Vincentio himself.’
Lawrence Firetorn came sailing into the taproom.
‘What’s that you say, sir?’ he growled.
‘The play was ill-chosen.’
‘Not as ill-chosen as your words, Jonas,’ warned the other. ‘Have a care, sir. We like Vincentio’s Revenge.’
‘Can any sane man admire such a botch of nature?’
‘Yes!’ challenged Firethorn. ‘He stands before you.’
‘Then I will list my complaints against the piece in order,’ said Applegarth, quite unabashed. ‘Firstly…’
‘Save your strictures for another time,’ insisted Nicholas, diving in quickly to take the heat out of the argument. ‘Master Firethorn is entertaining his wife and does not wish to be led astray by idle comment that smells too strongly of ale. Our play found favour this afternoon and there’s an end to it.’
With the aid of Owen Elias, he shepherded Applegarth to a table in the corner and sat him down on a bench. Barnaby Gill was still pulsating with anger and James Ingram with disgust, but the quarrel was effectively over. Lawrence Firethorn mastered his fury. Reminded that Margery was still waiting for him in the adjoining chamber, he ordered wine and withdrew to the urgent solace of her embrace. An uneasy peace descended on the taproom.
Jonas Applegarth was still in a bellicose mood.
‘I am entitled to my opinion,’ he asserted.
‘Not when it offends your fellows so,’ said Nicholas.
‘Can they not cope with honesty?’
‘Honesty, yes, but this was random cruelty.’
‘I will not praise where praise is not due, Nick.’
‘Then hold your tongue,’ counselled Elias, ‘or you’ll lose every friend you have made in Westfield’s Men. Insult Master Firethorn again and your career with us i
s ended.’
‘This play was lame stuff.’
‘Why, then, did you force yourself to watch it?’ said Nicholas. ‘If Vincentio’s Revenge is not to your taste, avoid it. That way, you will not have to suffer its shortcomings and your fellows will not have to bear your gibes. How can you expect actors to give of their best in your play when you mock their performances in every other piece?’
‘Stop biting the hand that feeds you,’ said Elias. ‘You have spat out enough fingers already. Respect our work and we might grow to respect yours.’
‘My art demands reverence!’ said Applegarth, slapping the table with a peremptory hand. ‘The Misfortunes of Marriage is an absolute masterpiece.’
‘Only when it is played,’ reminded Nicholas.
‘Why, so it will be. At The Rose next week.’
‘Not if you talk it off the stage.’
‘Westfield’s Men are contracted to perform it.’
‘We were contracted to perform The Faithful Shepherd by Edmund Hoode until you came along. If one play can be ousted thus easily from The Rose, so can another.’ Nicholas did not mince his words. ‘And if Westfield’s Men do not perform your work, it will remain as no more than words on a page. I gave you fair warning at the start, Jonas. You will be out of the company and we will cheer your departure.’
Applegarth was momentarily checked. ‘But you saw my play, Nick. It blazed across the stage like a meteor. Owen will vouch for its quality. He tasted its true worth from the inside. Would any company be so prodigal as to cast aside a work of art?’
‘Our doubts are not about The Misfortunes of Marriage,’ said Nicholas. ‘It is a rare phenomenon. We all agree on that. But the playwright obstructs our view of the play. In plain terms, you are making us regret the misfortunes of marriage between Westfield’s Men and Jonas Applegarth. Divorce grows daily nearer.’
‘Then let it come!’ shouted the other.
‘Listen to Nick,’ said Elias. ‘You need us.’
‘Not if I must be bound and gagged. Fie on thee!’
‘Sleep on what I have said,’ suggested Nicholas. ‘We would be friends. Why rush to make us mortal enemies?’
‘God’s blood!’ exclaimed Applegarth. ‘I’ll not stand it!’
He rose to his feet and swayed over them. The smell of strong ale was on his breath. Applegarth had been drinking heavily before, during and after the performance. It made him even more pugnacious and fearless of consequence.
‘A turd in your teeth!’ he bawled. ‘Oust me? I spurn you all like the knaves you are! There is a world elsewhere!’
Kicking the bench aside, he lurched towards the door. Owen Elias was outraged by his behaviour but his affection for the playwright won through.
‘Wild words spoken in haste,’ he said.
‘That tongue of his will talk him out of employment.’
‘I’ll after him and see the rogue safe home.’
‘Counsel moderation, Owen.’
‘What I counsel is a bucket of cold water over his foolish head before I deign to speak to him. If Jonas will not see sense, he loses my esteem. I’ll not sew another patch on the torn sleeve of our fellowship.’
As soon as the Welshman left, Nicholas was joined by James Ingram, still in a state of agitation.
‘Applegarth is a menace to us all, Nick!’
‘But chiefly to himself.’
‘Do not ask me to show him sympathy.’
‘Jonas has supped too much ale.’
‘Sober, he is merely obnoxious; drunk, he is beyond excuse. He poured contempt on the whole company.’
‘I heard him, James.’
‘He is one big barrel of arrogance.’
‘His time with us may be very short indeed.’
‘It will be,’ said Ingram with feeling. ‘If he takes the cudgel to us, we will fight back. I tell you, Nick, I’d willingly strike the first blow.’
Nicholas was surprised. James Ingram was not given to fits of anger. With the exception of Edmund Hoode, he was the most mild-mannered person in the company. Yet he was now curling his lip in a sneer of animosity. It was several minutes before Nicholas could calm him down. When he finally did so, he slipped his hand inside his buff jerkin to take out the sketch which Caleb Hay had drawn for him.
‘I have something to show you, James.’
‘What is it?’
‘Blackfriars. Given to me by a friend.’
Ingram examined the sketch with great interest and traced the outline of the theatre with his finger. There was a hint of nostalgia in his voice.
‘It is very accurate.’
‘The artist is a keen historian of the city.’
‘Then here, in this small drawing, is history writ large. Castle and tower are turned into a monastery. Monastery becomes a theatre. And this very week, theatre becomes a place of execution. Master Fulbeck’s death is one more violent change in Blackfriars. God rest his soul!’
‘Amen.’
‘When will you go back there, Nick?’
‘This evening.’
‘Take me with you.’
‘Gladly.’
‘I am ready,’ said Ingram, handing the sketch back to him. ‘Why do we tarry here?’
‘Because I have to pay my respects first.’
‘To whom?’
Nicholas glanced towards a door on the far side of the room and Ingram gave a smile of understanding. The book holder needed to exchange a greeting with Margery Firethorn.
‘I’ll be with you anon,’ said Nicholas.
He crossed to the door and tapped lightly on it.
‘Enter!’ boomed the actor.
Husband and wife were seated at a table when he went in. Both rose to their feet instantly, Margery coming across to embrace the visitor and Firethorn seeing an opportunity to elude her matrimonial vigilance for a few minutes.
‘Is that insolent braggart still here, Nick?’
‘Jonas Applegarth has gone back home.’
‘He is like to stay there if he rail against me. I was Vincentio to the life this afternoon. Was I not, my dove?’
‘Beyond compare,’ cooed Margery.
‘Yet that wrangling malcontent denied my genius. I’ll fetch him such a box on the ears, he’ll not wake until Doomsday! Let me see that he has quit the premises or I’ll not rest.’
Firethorn slipped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Margery was clearly delighted to be left alone with Nicholas. Taking him by the hand, she led him across to a small bench and they sat down together. She spoke in a conspiratorial whisper.
‘Thank heaven that you came to me, Nick.’
‘Why?’
‘You’d else have missed the glad tidings.’
‘Tidings?’
‘She was here.’
‘Who?’
‘Who else, man?’
‘Anne? Here at the performance?’
‘Sitting as close to me as you are now. She loved the play as much as I did and wept almost as many tears. Anne sent a private message to you.’
‘Did she?’
‘I am to give you her warmest regards,’ said Margery. ‘What she really meant me to convey was her undying love but she could not put that into words.’
Nicholas was pleased that Anne had made contact through an intermediary, though disappointed that she had not delivered her message in person.
‘Did Anne come to the Queen’s Head alone?’ he said.
‘No,’ replied Margery with a teasing grin. ‘She was on the arm of the most striking young man I have seen for a long time. Were I not a contented wife, I would have fought her tooth and nail for the privilege of being escorted by so dashing a partner. An exquisite fellow.’
; ‘What was his name?’
‘Preben van Loew.’
Nicholas laughed with relief. There was no point in trying to hide his love for Anne Hendrik from her. Margery had seen them together in earlier days and never ceased to tax him over their parting. Unwilling and unable to talk about Anne with anyone else, he was now with the one person who had some insight into the relationship.
‘Go to her, Nick,’ she advised.
‘It is not the answer, I fear.’
‘She wastes away without you.’
‘That is not my impression.’
‘I can tell when a woman is grieving.’
‘It is not for me,’ he said with a sigh. ‘When I called on her yesterday, I only managed to upset her. We have lost the way of speaking to each other.’
‘Use deeds instead of words. Embrace her with love.’
He shook his head. ‘My suit is unwelcome.’
‘Press it with more diligence.’
‘I am too late. There is another man in her life.’
‘Ambrose Robinson.’
He blinked in astonishment. ‘She spoke of him?’
‘Not a word.’
‘Then how did you learn of his existence?’
‘From her handsome escort.’
‘Preben van Loew?’
‘Yes,’ she said airily. ‘Anne would not talk of her personal affairs and so I bided my time until I could speak with the Dutchman alone. For some reason, the poor fellow is afraid of me. I cannot think why. I am Mildness itself. Is any woman in London less frightening than me?’
‘I think not,’ said Nicholas tactfully.
‘As we were leaving the gallery, Anne met a neighbour and exchanged a few words with her. I seized my opportunity. Preben was most forthcoming.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He does not like this Ambrose Robinson, I know that.’
‘No more do I.’
‘Anne does, it seems. And with some reason.’
‘What might it be?’
‘Money,’ she said. ‘The Dutchman was too loyal to betray the full details, but he gave me hints and nudges enough for me to piece together the story. Earlier in the year, her business was in grave difficulty.’
‘Anne told me that it was faring well.’
The Laughing Hangman Page 13
