‘Good even, Mistress Roundel,’ he said, raising his tankard to her.
‘Giddy!’ she cried with delight.
‘Get rid of that foul toad beside you.’
‘Who is this?’ demanded the bearded man, glaring at Mussett. ‘Bess is mine for the night and I’ll stand no interference.’
‘If you’d interfere with Bess, then I’ll interfere with you, sir.’
‘Away with you, you pie-faced rogue.’
Mussett tossed the remains of his ale in the man’s face then struck him on the head with the tankard. Before he could recover, a flurry of punches hit him from all angles and the man slumped off his chair and on to the floor. A ragged cheer went up from the others in the room. Bess looked alarmed but Mussett cackled in triumph.
‘Come,’ he said, grabbing her by the hand. ‘He’ll not be needing you now.’
‘I can see why Sebastian never mentioned his daughter before,’ said Firethorn. ‘He wanted to keep the girl away from temptation.’
‘You sound like the one who is tempted, Lawrence,’ remarked Edmund Hoode.
‘As never before.’
‘Is this the moment to remind you that you are a married man?’
‘Marriage vows dissolve in the face of so much beauty.’
‘Sebastian is our friend,’ said Nicholas. ‘For his sake, you must not even consider such a thing. The girl is young and innocent.’
‘Youth, innocence and beauty. Thomasina has all three.’
‘So did Margery when you first met her,’ Hoode reminded him.
They were sitting in a corner of the taproom in the Star Inn, enjoying a drink as they reflected on the performance they had just given and looked forward to the one they would next offer. Barnaby Gill would have sat in on such a discussion as a rule but he had withdrawn to his room once more.
‘Who did throw that cat on to Barnaby’s chest?’ wondered Firethorn.
‘Not me,’ said Hoode. ‘Barnaby has endured enough as it is.’
‘Are we certain that it was not Giddy?’
‘Yes. Nick and I retired to the room with him. He did not leave it at all.’
‘He’s nimble enough to have climbed through the window,’ said Firethorn. ‘We all saw that fall he pretended to have at the White Hart.’
Nicholas was not persuaded. ‘I locked the shutters myself. They creaked with age. Giddy could not have opened them without rousing the whole room.’
‘Well, someone did the deed. Barnaby had scratches on his face.’
‘What hurts him more are the scratches on his reputation.’
‘Did he watch us this evening?’ asked Hoode.
‘Yes,’ said Nicholas, ‘but it was more punishment than pleasure for him. The sight of Giddy as Rigormortis must have curdled his blood but he had some compensation. Good as he was, Giddy came nowhere near Barnaby in the role.’
‘That’s why I think we should let the people of Faversham see the play,’ said Firethorn, pleased at the way he had dominated the performance. ‘It will soothe Barnaby’s feelings. However many times he dances around the maypole, Giddy will never threaten him as Rigormortis.’
‘He will as Bedlam,’ argued Hoode. ‘Giddy even put you in the shade at the Lower Courthouse. I say that we play A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady again.’
Firethorn looked at Nick. ‘You be the judge.’
‘Neither would be my choice,’ said Nicholas.
‘Why not?’
‘Because both place such a mighty weight on Giddy.’
‘He has carried it lightly in both cases.’
‘The effort is bound to tell on him. I’d choose a play that did not rest so much upon our clown. Vincentio’s Revenge is one such piece. The Loyal Subject might be even better for our purposes.’
‘But Giddy has already conned two parts,’ said Hoode, running a hand across his smooth chin. ‘Why force him to learn a third?’
‘We cannot offer a mere two plays, Edmund.’
‘Even when they work so well?’
‘We have a reputation to protect. Do you want the people of Kent to think of us as capable of nothing more than low comedies? Think of yourself. Do you wish to be remembered solely as the author of Cupid’s Folly when we have finer dramas of yours to set before an audience?’
‘Nick is right,’ said Firethorn, adding more wine to his cup from the jug. ‘We must be bold enough to show the very best of ourselves. Vincentio’s Revenge enables us to do that. Giddy will have only a small part beside mine.’
‘But he is a jewel we should polish up,’ said Hoode.
‘He’ll have his chance to sparkle.’
‘Yes,’ said Nicholas, ‘we have a long way to go yet, Edmund.’ He sipped his wine. ‘I wonder when we shall overtake Conway’s Men.’
Firethorn inflated his chest. ‘In all that matters, we overtook them years ago.’
‘Sebastian said they had played in Dover and Rye.’
‘And here in Maidstone,’ said Hoode.
‘Where does that leave? Rochester, perhaps? Faversham? Canterbury?’
‘There’s not room for two companies in one town.’
‘Then we’ll drive them out like dogs,’ said Firethorn.
‘Not until we have put some questions to them,’ said Nicholas. ‘I still feel they were implicated in the affray at the Queen’s Head. Even if they were not there in person, they could have incited those young rascals. Then there is the murder to consider. Their patron’s nephew betrays them by going over to Westfield’s Men. I do not think Lord Conway would have sent best wishes to Fortunatus Hope.’
‘Conway’s Men are scoundrels!’
‘But they’d stay their hand at murder, surely?’ said Hoode.
‘I’d believe anything of Tobias Fitzgeoffrey.’
‘We need more proof,’ said Nicholas solemnly, ‘or our accusations are empty. Sebastian knows the county better than we. Let’s ask him to find out where the company will next be. Then we can stalk them.’
Firethorn gave a ripe chuckle. ‘I’d rather stalk Sebastian’s daughter.’
‘She’s old enough to be your own child, Lawrence,’ said Hoode.
The comment went unheard. Into the taproom had come three men, bearing the body of a third. They did not stand on ceremony. After flinging their burden down on the floor, they stamped out again. Nicholas was the first on his feet, horrified at what he saw. Lying flat on the floor, covered in blood, caked in filth and positively reeking of ale was Giddy Mussett. He raised himself up on one elbow.
‘Who wants a fight?’ he challenged.
Then he passed out.
Chapter Nine
When they set out early next morning, Westfield’s Men were downcast. Maidstone had been kind to them. It had enabled them to stage two highly successful performances that had brought in the money that would help to pay for their tour. The Star Inn had been an amenable hostelry and they had warmed to the town itself. Yet they left the inn yard in a state of despondency. One reckless act threatened the future of their work. In the space of a couple of hours, Giddy Mussett had changed from being the saviour of the company into its potential destroyer. Having seen him at his best on stage, they now had a glimpse of Mussett at his worst. A drunken evening in the arms of a prostitute ended with a tavern brawl that he had almost certainly started. When he was dragged unceremoniously back to the Star and dumped in their midst, the actors were reminded how slender was the thread from which their continued success hung. On the slow journey to Faversham, their new clown provided no laughter.
Nicholas Bracewell was afflicted by pangs of guilt. He was the one who had advised that Mussett be employed and he had promised to keep the latter under control so that he would not indulge his well-known vices. Nicholas had failed in his duty. Mussett had sneaked off when the book holder’s back was turned. He had been so badly beaten at the Black Eagle that he could not even make his own way back to his friends. It had fallen to Nicholas to clean the blood from his face and
bind his wounds. A strip of linen around his head, Mussett now dozed in the back of the leading wagon, surrounded by George Dart and the four apprentices, who stared with horror at the bruised face and the hideously swollen lip. The clown was not the man he had once been. They felt that they had lost a friend in exchange for a troublesome stranger.
As if to match the mood of the travellers, steady drizzle was falling, moistening the backs of the horses and making the occupants of the wagons huddle together. Mussett was oblivious to it all, still trying to sleep off the effects of the beating. Every time that Nicholas glanced over his shoulder, he saw that the man lay in the same position with a weary smile on his battered face. What had happened at the Black Eagle on the previous night was not yet clear. While he was being doctored, Mussett was too inebriated to give a coherent account of events and Nicholas was determined to drag the truth out of him in due course. He had also come to an agreement with Owen Elias and Edmund Hoode that each of them in turn would keep their clown under observation. They could not risk another escapade like the one in Maidstone.
There was one source of consolation for Nicholas. After refusing even to consider the notion of using the wheelbarrow, Barnaby Gill had become reconciled to it. Except as an alternative bed, Gill had not actually used it but he consented to have it loaded on to the wagon with the rest of the baggage. Nicholas had every hope that he would soon agree to be moved about in the wheelbarrow, making it much easier for Dart to transport him from place to place, and, more importantly, keep him apart from his rival. Gill was the one person to derive pleasure from Mussett’s fall from grace and he predicted that it would only be the first of many such lapses. Most of the actors were inclined to agree with him. It was largely up to Nicholas to confound the prophecy.
When Mussett finally opened his eyes, he looked up to see a lattice-work of branches above him as they passed through a small wood. The drizzle had stopped but not before it had bathed and soothed the wounds on his face. He saw the anxious eyes of the apprentices, staring down on him, and tried to give them a reassuring smile but his bruised jaw ached and his swollen lip throbbed violently. It was minutes before he worked out where he was and what had occurred during the preceding night. His conscience pricked him mercilessly. As soon as could summon up enough strength, he hauled himself up and clambered onto the seat beside Nicholas. They were back in open countryside now, wending their way along a twisting track that climbed a hill.
‘Good morrow, Nick,’ began Mussett.
‘Ah,’ said Nicholas. ‘You have awakened at last.’
‘And wished that I had not. I am in such pain.’
‘So are we, Giddy. And the fault is yours. You brought disgrace upon us.’
‘I know,’ admitted Mussett. ‘I owe you a thousand apologies.’
‘They will not atone for the damage you have done,’ said Nicholas pointedly. ‘We rode into the town as one of London’s leading theatre companies and we ride out with our reputation blemished. Instead of remembering us as the players that gave them A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady and Cupid’s Folly, they will always think of us the troupe with the drunken clown. You were fortunate not to spend the night behind bars.’
‘I was attacked, Nick.’
‘Where?’
‘At the Black Eagle.’
‘Had you been with us at the Star, no harm would have befallen you.’
‘I needed to get away to celebrate.’
‘By getting drunk and picking a fight?’
‘No, Nick,’ said Mussett. ‘I thought to spend an hour with a friend, that is all. Bess is good company. I love you all but I miss the touch of a woman. So it was that I sought Bess out and rescued her from some bearded oaf with groping hands. When I came back downstairs, he was sitting there with friends, calling me foul names and hurling insults that could not be borne. I knocked him from his chair.’
‘In other words, you started the brawl.’
‘His lewd taunts did that.’
‘Your hot temper was to blame, Giddy.’
‘His friends set upon me, all three of them.’
Nicholas turned to him. ‘What encouragement did you give?’
‘None beyond a few remarks.’
‘Taunts and curses, more like.’
‘They did not frighten me, Nick. I had to show them that.’
‘So you provoked them instead,’ said Nicholas. ‘No wonder they assaulted you. If you punch their friend and call them vile names, what do you expect?’
Mussett forced a smile. ‘I expected to win.’
‘You are lucky that you survived, Giddy. Others might have left you for dead or hurled you into the river. And how did they know where you were staying?’ asked Nicholas, eyes back on the road ahead. ‘My guess is that this friend of yours must have told them.’
‘Yes, I think she did. When they stopped kicking me, I heard Bess mention the Star.’ He winced aloud and felt his side. ‘My ribs are wondrous sore this morning.’
‘It’s no more than you deserve,’ said Nicholas coldly.
‘Am I to have no sympathy at all?’
‘It’s reserved for Westfield’s Men. The landlord thought us welcome customers until you were brought in like that. It changed his opinion. Jonathan Jowlett was glad to see the back of us today. I daresay he was relieved that you started the brawl elsewhere and not at the Star Inn.’
‘That bearded rogue was to blame.’
‘No,’ said Nicholas firmly, ‘you were. And it’s not the first time, is it?’
‘It’s the first time since I joined Westfield’s Men.’
‘First and last, Giddy.’
‘I swear it!’
‘Your word is easily given, and just as easily forgotten.’
‘Fists and feet reminded me of that last night,’ said Mussett with contrition. ‘Because I forgot my oath to you, I was justly punished. My face is on fire and my body aches as if a herd of cattle trample over it.’ He put a hand on Nicholas’s arm. ‘Forgive me, Nick. I’ll make amends.’
‘How?’
‘By taking a vow of abstinence that I mean to keep.’
‘That will not wipe away the memory of last night.’
‘Then I’ll do more.’
‘What more is there?’
‘There must be something,’ said Mussett, casting round for a way to regain his approval. ‘Something that will prove to Westfield’s Men how much I value what they did for me. I have it!’ he announced, smacking his knee. ‘I’ll help you to find the killer of Fortunatus Hope. Only I can do that, Nick. If Conway’s Men are involved in any way, I can tell you for sure.’
Nicholas was interested. ‘Go on.’
‘We know that they are in the county and may not be far away.’
‘Sebastian Frant has offered to find out where they are.’
‘When he does,’ said Mussett, desperate to impress, ‘send me off to them. Tobias would hate to see me again but I still have friends among Conway’s Men. One, in particular, owes me a great favour. He has no love for Tobias Fitzgeoffrey. If there is scandal to report, I’ll hear it from him.’
‘We could never trust you enough to let you out of our sight.’
‘Then come with me, Nick. Or give me another companion to watch over me. If you seek the truth about Master Hope’s death, this is the best way to find it.’ He gave a crooked smile. ‘Will this win back your good opinion of me?’
‘No,’ said Nicholas bluntly, ‘but it will prove that you are in earnest.’
Lawrence Firethorn called a halt near a large pond so that they could have a rest and water the horses. Edmund Hoode’s donkey was the first to trot to the edge of the pond, its loud bray scattering the ducks that had been floating around in search of food. Now that the drizzle had abated, the sun peeped grudgingly through the clouds to show the travellers what beautiful countryside they were passing through. Apple orchards stood off to their left. On a farm to their right, pears, plums and cherries were grown. The soil was rich an
d the climate benevolent. Kent was a truly county of abundance. Like other visitors from London, Westfield’s Men felt that the cows were much larger, the poultry much finer and the sheep much fatter than those raised on the fringes of the capital. Unwilling to leave the Queen’s Head, they were finding that travel had its compensations.
After leading his horse to water, Firethorn had a quiet word with Nicholas.
‘What does he have to say for himself?’ he asked.
‘Giddy is full of penitence.’
‘He was too full of ale last night. There’s nothing penitential about that.’
‘I taxed him with his folly.’
‘What of his injuries?’
‘Good fortune attended him,’ said Nicholas. ‘Nothing was broken, apart from his promise to us, but he’ll be in pain for some time. Giddy is a strong man. Others would not recover so quickly from such a beating.’
‘He’ll get another from me if he lets us down again.’
‘You’ll not lack for helpers.’
Nicholas looked in Mussett’s direction. Squatting at the edge of the water, he was dabbing a wet cloth gingerly on his face. Everyone else had turned away from him. There was no happy banter. It was as if the others were pretending that he was not there.
‘He’ll not play Bedlam in that condition,’ said Firethorn.
‘Nor Rigormortis. Those dances are well beyond him. His legs are black with bruises and make him stagger rather than walk.’
‘Our choice is made for us, Nick. Vincentio’s Revenge, it shall be in Faversham.’
‘Or The Loyal Subject,’ argued Nicholas. ‘It gives him less to learn.’
‘Watch him closely.’
‘I will.’
‘Acquaint him with the degree of my anger,’ said Firethorn.
‘I think he knows that.’
‘Then keep him out of my reach or I’ll not be able to reign in my temper.’
‘That was Giddy’s offence. He was too choleric.’
The Vagabond Clown Page 12
