The Vagabond Clown

by Edward Marston

  ‘When do we move him?’

  ‘When it’s dark enough.’

  ‘There are hours to go yet.’

  ‘I know,’ said the man who had threatened Firethorn earlier. ‘If it was left to me, he’d be lying in a ditch somewhere. Why the delay? I want to enjoy his death.’

  Leaving the others to continue their search, Nicholas Bracewell and Owen Elias went off in the direction of Walmer. It was a cool, clear, dry evening and their horses maintained a steady canter along the track. During the ride, Nicholas sifted through all the information that he had gathered about Conway’s Men and their actor-manager. In view of his daily commitments to his company, Tobias Fitzgeoffrey could not have been directly involved in the two murders or in the ambush on the road to Faversham but he, in league with his patron, could easily have hired agents to work on their behalf. Their envy of Westfield’s Men was long-standing and their urge to secure a base in London was ever-present. If they were responsible for the earlier crimes, then the disappearance of Lawrence Firethorn could also be attributed to them. It was the latest in a series of attempts to bring a rival company to its knees. By the time that Walmer Castle came into sight on the horizon, Nicholas had convinced himself that they were closing in on the culprits.

  The village was little more than a straggle of houses that looked out across the sea. There was a church, a couple of inns and a blacksmith’s forge but what really gave Walmer its significance was the castle, built in the shape of a Tudor Rose and presenting a stern test to any invaders who had the temerity to land on the nearby beach. Smaller and more compact than Dover Castle, it had an air of permanence about it, even though it had only been constructed during the later years of King Henry VIII’s reign, when his abrupt break with the Roman Catholic Church provoked papal outrage as well as the wrath of France and Spain. Had the Spanish Armada succeeded in putting foreign troops on English soil, the castles along the southern coast would have been vital strongholds.

  Nicholas and Elias were in luck. When they called at the larger of the two inns, they discovered that several members of Conway’s Men were there, drinking in the taproom and complaining about their lot. They were a disconsolate crew with none of the vigour or good fellowship of their competitors from the Queen’s Head. Nicholas was relieved to see that the company was not performing that evening. If the majority of them had come into Walmer, then Fitzgeoffrey would only have a handful of his actors around him. Nicholas and Elias would not be hopelessly outnumbered. Following the directions given by Sebastian Frant, they rode towards the estate owned by Sir Roger Penhallurick.

  ‘What if he refuses to see us, Nick?’ asked Elias.

  ‘Let’s run him to earth first.’

  ‘I could always sneak into the house and drag him out by the throat.’

  ‘There must be a simpler way than that,’ said Nicholas.

  The estate consisted of three hundred acres of rolling parkland, dotted with trees and fed by a gurgling stream. Herds of fallow deer could be seen grazing but they quickly fled when the two riders approached. Game birds were also plentiful. The most arresting feature of the house was its façade, large, elegant and symmetrical with a stone balustrade along the roof and around the square towers at either end of the frontage. Elias was impressed by the sheer size and opulence of the place. Lord Conway clearly had a very wealthy friend.

  Nicholas was more interested in some outbuildings off to the right, noting the two empty wagons that stood outside them. The chances were that they belonged to the visiting theatre troupe. When he drew Elias’s attention to them, the Welshman reached the same conclusion. Skirting the house, they made straight for the outbuildings. Loud banging noises greeted them. When they got closer, they saw a thickset young man, using a hammer to repair a wooden throne.

  ‘Good even, friend,’ said Nicholas.

  The man stopped hammering. ‘Good even,’ he said pleasantly.

  ‘You must be one of Conway’s Men.’

  ‘The lowliest of them, sir. I’m actor, stagekeeper, carpenter and anything else that is needed. As you see, my work is never done.’

  ‘We are looking for Master Fitzgeoffrey.’

  ‘Then you’d best try the house,’ said the man, ‘for that’s where Tobias dwells. Most of us make do out here with nothing but straw to lie on at night. Only our manager has a soft bed on which to rest his bones.’ He looked up at them. ‘What business do you have with him?’

  ‘We’re from London,’ said Nicholas, dismounting from his horse. ‘We wish to speak to Master Fitzgeoffrey about a performance in the capital.’

  ‘Indeed?’ The man grinned hopefully. ‘Conway’s Men may play in London?’

  ‘That’s something we need to discuss with him.’

  ‘Tobias will be interested, sir, no question of that.’

  ‘Do you think that you could fetch him for us?’ asked Nicholas with a disarming smile. ‘If we go to the house, we’ll have to meet Sir Roger and his other guests. The only person we need to speak to is Master Fitzgeoffrey.’

  ‘I’ll bring him to you, sir. May I give him your name?’

  ‘Thomas Christopher.’

  The man scampered off towards the house. Elias stared at his friend.

  ‘Christopher? Why did you pluck that name out of the air?’ he wondered.

  ‘Because my own might be recognised, Owen. Think on it. St Christopher is the patron saint of travellers and who are we, if not travellers?’

  Elias dismounted. ‘We are certainly in need of a patron saint!’

  ‘Tether the horses,’ said Nicholas, handing him the reins of his own mount. ‘I’ll be with you in a moment.’

  He took a swift inventory of the outbuildings. Costumes, properties and scenery had been stored in one of them but the others were given over to accommodation. Through an open window, he could see three other members of the company, squatting on the floor as they played cards on an upturned wooden box. They were so engrossed in their game that they did not even look up. No sooner did Nicholas go back to his friend than two figures emerged from the house. Tobias Fitzgeoffrey studied the visitors before beckoning them across with a lordly gesture. The young man who had carried the message trotted back to his carpentry.

  When they got nearer to him, Fitzgeoffrey’s suspicion was aroused.

  ‘I’ve seen you before,’ he said, pointing a finger at Elias. ‘You are one of Westfield’s Men, are you not?’

  ‘And proud to be so,’ replied Elias.

  ‘I saw you play at the Queen’s Head.’

  ‘That’s the performance we came to discuss with you, Master Fitzgeoffrey,’ said Nicholas. ‘I’m the book holder with the company.’

  Fitzgeoffrey was contemptuous. ‘I’ve nothing to say to you.’

  ‘I think you have.’

  ‘You brought me out here under false pretences.’

  ‘And we mean to keep you here,’ said Elias, brandishing his dagger, ‘until we get the truth out of you. Be warned, my friend. Call for help and you’re a dead man.’

  ‘What do you want of me,’ said Fitzgeoffrey, eyeing the weapon nervously.

  ‘First,’ said Nicholas, ‘there is the small matter of six shillings and fourpence, owed to Pieter Hendrik, weaver in Maidstone. You had cloth from him that was never paid for. Do you recall the transaction?’

  ‘I had no ready money at the time,’ lied the other, ‘and meant to settle the debt as soon as we visited the town again. Did he appoint you as his bailiffs?’

  ‘It’s an office I willingly embraced. But we’ll return to that when we’ve attended to more serious concerns. Why did you visit the Queen’s Head recently?’

  ‘For the same reason as everyone else in the audience.’

  ‘No,’ said Nicholas, ‘they came to enjoy a play. You were there to witness our humiliation. The performance was halted by an affray.’

  ‘Not before time, in my opinion,’ rejoined Fitzgeoffrey with a show of bravado. ‘It was a weak comedy that was wea
kly acted by your fellows.’

  ‘Watch your words,’ growled Elias. ‘I was on that stage.’

  ‘Yes, you ranted and raved like a madman.’

  ‘Insults are not required,’ said Nicholas, jumping in quickly before Elias lost his temper. ‘Our reputation is adamantine proof against your slurs. We would not expect a rival to admire his superiors.’

  Fitzgeoffrey wrinkled his nose. ‘I know of none.’

  ‘When our performance was stopped that day, the whole audience fled.’

  ‘I was among them and glad to flee from such an abominable play.’

  ‘One spectator was unable to leave,’ said Nicholas. ‘Fortunatus Hope. During the commotion, he was stabbed to death in the gallery.’

  ‘Yes, I heard tell of that,’ said Fitzgeoffrey with a cold smile. ‘Do not expect me to mourn for the fellow. He treated my patron shabbily and we are well rid of him.’

  ‘I believe that you and Lord Conway may have incited the murder.’

  ‘That’s a monstrous accusation!’

  ‘Then let me add another,’ said Elias, holding the dagger on him. ‘You had Giddy Mussett killed as well.’

  Fitzgeoffrey looked surprised. ‘Giddy is dead?’

  ‘Do not give us any counterfeit sympathy.’

  ‘Nor will I. Giddy Mussett was no friend of mine. I came to despise the little devil. When he was neither drunk, nor quarrelsome, which was rare because he was usually both at the same time, he was doing and saying more than was set down for him in a play. Sympathy? Ha!’ said Fitzgeoffrey with disdain. ‘There were times when I’d gladly have wielded a dagger myself.’

  ‘But you hired someone else to do the deed.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘The same man who dispatched Fortunatus Hope,’ said Nicholas. ‘The two men were killed with matching daggers. Thanks to the work of an assassin, two enemies of Conway’s Men were removed.’

  Fitzgeoffrey was defiant. ‘I rejoice in the fact!’

  ‘Not if you wish to live,’ said Elias, prodding him with his weapon. ‘Giddy was a friend of mine. I was the one who found the body and I got a lump on the back of the head for my pains. The man you hired cudgelled me.’

  ‘I hired nobody.’

  ‘Then who caused that affray at the Queen’s Head?’ demanded Nicholas.

  ‘Some drunken ruffians.’

  ‘How much did you pay them for their ale?’

  ‘Not a penny.’

  ‘Someone set them on,’ said Nicholas, ‘in order to cause a distraction so that Fortunatus Hope could be killed. If you were not involved, what were you doing there? Why were you in London at all when your company needed you here in Kent?’

  ‘That’s a private matter,’ replied Fitzgeoffrey.

  Elias prodded him again. ‘Then we’ll have to intrude on your privacy.’

  ‘Tell us,’ advised Nicholas. ‘Owen is getting impatient with his dagger.’

  ‘Very impatient.’

  ‘Stand off!’ said Fitzgeoffrey as a jab opened up a slit in his doublet. ‘Look what you’ve done, you Welsh idiot!’ Elias became even more menacing. ‘Yes, yes,’ said the actor, frightened of him, ‘I’ll tell what you wish to know, if only you’ll give me room to tell it.’ He turned to Nicholas. ‘Keep him away from me.’

  ‘We still await our answer,’ said Nicholas. ‘Understand that we have some intelligence of what went on. Giddy spoke to your book holder, Martin Ling. So did I when the fellow left your company in disgust.’

  ‘Martin was almost as much trouble as Giddy Mussett.’

  ‘According to your book holder, you returned from London in such a mood of contentment that you spread your money among the company. Is that true?’

  ‘I do not deny it.’

  ‘Then you must also admit you were celebrating our humiliation.’

  ‘It was a pleasure to behold.’

  ‘Your corpse would be a pleasure for me to behold, Master Fitzgeoffrey.’

  ‘Let him speak, Owen,’ said Nicholas. ‘Well?’

  The actor took a deep breath. ‘I was summoned to London by a letter from a lawyer. An uncle had left a bequest to me. When I learnt how generous that bequest was, I was so pleased that I let a friend persuade me to bear him company to the Queen’s Head. And you were right,’ he confessed. ‘I did not come to enjoy the performance at all. I went to sneer at it and mock the arrogance of Lawrence Firethorn in setting himself up as some emperor of the boards. When the affray broke out, I took some real enjoyment from the occasion, after all. That is why I was in such high spirits.’

  ‘Can any of this be proved?’

  ‘I have the papers from the lawyer with me and I’ll gladly furnish you with his name so that my word can be upheld by him. Taking a theatre company around the shires is a labour of Hercules, as you well know. Rewards are few, hazards are many. When I had this sudden stroke of fortune,’ he went on, ‘I did what anybody would have done in my position. I shared it with my fellows.’

  Nicholas could see that he was telling the truth. He became acutely aware that they were levelling their accusations at the wrong man. Tobias Fitzgeoffrey had some blatant defects of character and Nicholas could never bring himself to like him, but he was not part of a conspiracy to destroy Westfield’s Men. Elias, however, still clung to the belief that Fitzgeoffrey was guilty of the various crimes.

  ‘What have you done with Lawrence?’ he said, putting his face close to that of the other man. ‘Where is he being kept?’

  ‘How would I know?’

  ‘Tell us – or I’ll cut that doublet into a thousand pieces.’

  ‘No,’ said Nicholas, easing his friend a pace backward. ‘Sheath your dagger, Owen. We have no need of it here. Master Fitzgeoffrey has told us all we need to know.’

  ‘But he hasn’t, Nick. I swear that he’s hiding Lawrence somewhere.’

  ‘I think not. We must tender him an apology.’

  ‘That’s the least I expect,’ said Fitzgeoffrey huffily. ‘The pair of you should be locked up for your audacity. Now, be off with you, sirs!’

  ‘First, however,’ said Nicholas, ‘let me congratulate you on your good fortune in inheriting some money from your uncle. It means that you are now in a position to settle the debt you incurred in Maidstone. Pay the six shillings and fourpence that is owed to Pieter Hendrik and I’ll see it put into his hands.’

  Fitzgeoffrey started to bluster until he saw the glint of determination in Nicholas’s eyes. Eventually, he capitulated. Opening his purse, he counted out the money and thrust the coins into the book holder’s palm.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Nicholas. ‘Come, Owen. We have stayed long enough.’

  They collected their horses and rode quickly away. Elias was rueful.

  ‘I thought that we came here to solve some dreadful crimes,’ he said. ‘And all that we did was to secure payment for a weaver who was too dim-witted to ask for his money in advance.’

  ‘We did more than that,’ reasoned Nicholas. ‘We learnt the folly of reaching too many conclusions on too little evidence. I blame myself for that. Tobias Fitzgeoffrey was not involved in the crimes that have plagued us. Nor was his patron. They are too busy trying to keep that miserable troupe of theirs together. So our journey was not in vain. We did make some progress.’

  ‘I fail to see it.’

  ‘Since they’ve been cleared of blame, they will no longer divert us. We can now forget about them and search for Lawrence elsewhere. I know that he’s still alive.’

  Hours of sitting in the same position, with his hands tied behind his back and his body encircled by rope, took their toll on Lawrence Firethorn. Limbs that once ached were now subject to cramp. Pain came in spasms but he did his best to withstand it so that his captors could not see his suffering. When he heard a candle being lit, he knew that darkness was starting to fall outside. Time oozed slowly by. The men said little but he hung on every word in the hope of learning who they were and why they had abducted him. One of them even
tually left the room again and was gone for some while. On his return, he came to stand directly in front of the prisoner. A dagger was slipped in under the rope around his chest. Firethorn sensed that they were going to cut his bonds and he got ready to dive forward by way of attack. The opportunity never came. Before the dagger slit the rope, a cudgel struck him hard on the top of his head and he was too dazed even to move.

  ‘Cut him loose and put that sack over him,’ said a voice. ‘We move him now.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was dark by the time they got back to Dover and candlelight glowed in open windows. Lanterns were hanging in the stables at the Lion so that the ostlers could see to unsaddle the horses. Wearied by their ride in pursuit of a false scent, Nicholas and Elias joined the others in the taproom. The mood was sombre. Though they had searched the town until nightfall, the actors had found no clues as to the whereabouts of Lawrence Firethorn and they were convinced that he was dead. The arrival of the newcomers destroyed their last faint hopes. Nicholas and Elias had come back empty-handed. All was lost. The company grieved in silence and the taproom was uncannily quiet. Looking around the sad faces, Nicholas began to wonder if the actors would be able to summon up the strength and the dedication that was needed to stage a play in front of an audience. Elias tried to set a good example by retiring to a quiet corner with a tankard of ale and a copy of his scenes from A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady. He was soon repeating lines to himself.

  Nicholas sat beside Edmund Hoode, who was morose and withdrawn.

  ‘Where’s Barnaby?’ asked Nicholas.

  ‘He’s gone to his room,’ replied Hoode. ‘He prefers to be alone. George has been running hither and thither, fetching wine and food for him.’ He looked at his friend. ‘I begin to have doubts, Nick. Is it wise for us to go ahead without Lawrence?’

  ‘We have no choice in the matter.’

  ‘But we do. We can cancel the performance.’

  ‘When we have already agreed to give it?’ said Nicholas. ‘Playbills have been printed. Word of mouth has spread our fame afar. Think how our reputation will suffer if we disappoint our audience.’