‘What has happened, Lawrence?’
‘Something so dreadful that I can scarce name it.’
Gill let out a gasp. ‘Edmund is dead?’
‘No,’ growled Firethorn, ‘he is very much alive, worshipping at the altar of Mistress Avice Radley. Our one hope is that this will bring him to his senses.’
‘What will?’
‘I sent a message to his lodging. If Edmund has one ounce of loyalty to the company that made him famous, he will surely come. Nick, too, should be here.’
‘You have summoned Nicholas as well?’
‘George Dart went off to fetch them both as fast as his legs could carry him. We need their counsel. You, Edmund and I can determine the policy of Westfield’s Men but we are now menaced by something that only Nick Bracewell can help us to beat off.’
‘And what is that, Lawrence?’
Firethorn handed him a letter. ‘Prepare yourself, Barnaby. Before you read it, pray to God that it is all a foolish mistake.’
‘Why?’ He glanced at the missive. ‘Lord Westfield’s hand.’
‘It was delivered to my house earlier.’
‘Can its contents really be so abhorrent?’
‘I’ll let you decide that.’
Gill opened the letter to read it. Almost immediately, his face went white and his eyes bulged in disbelief. He began to froth at the mouth. With a cry of despair, he dropped the letter as if it were red hot. Before he could make any comment to Firethorn, a shadow fell across the table. They looked up to see Nicholas Bracewell. Standing behind him, sweating from his exertions, was George Dart. Firethorn jumped up gratefully to enfold Nicholas in his arms.
‘Nick, dear heart!’ he exclaimed. ‘You were never more welcome.’
‘George said that I had to come as quickly as possible.’
‘You and Edmund, both.’ Firethorn glared at Dart. ‘Well, where is he?’
‘Master Hoode declined your invitation, I fear,’ said Dart.
Firethorn was aghast. ‘What did you say?’
‘He refused to come, Master Firethorn.’
‘Did you tell him how important this meeting was?’
‘Repeatedly, sir.’
‘I ordered you to bring him here, George.’
‘He would not budge.’
‘You failed me,’ said Firethorn, raising a hand to strike.
‘Do not blame the messenger,’ said Nicholas, intervening to save Dart from a blow. ‘George went first to Edmund’s lodging but was given short shrift. You or I or Master Gill might have met with the same response. It is not George’s fault.’
Reining in his anger, Firethorn sat down again and dismissed the cowering Dart with a wave of his hand. The assistant stagekeeper shot Nicholas a look of gratitude before scampering away. Firethorn and Gill said nothing but their expressions were eloquent. Nicholas sat down and looked from one to the other.
‘What ails you both?’ he asked.
‘The death of a beautiful dream,’ said Firethorn sadly.
‘Worse than that, Lawrence,’ said Gill. ‘It is the end of my rule upon the stage.’
‘Thus it stands, Nick. Or, rather, thus it falls.’ He indicated the letter and Nicholas took it up. ‘Lord Westfield has received notice that a certain moneylender is to pay off all his debts so that he is our patron’s sole creditor. The miscreant is not named in the letter, as you see, but he gives Lord Westfield a bare month to settle the debt or he’ll drive him to bankruptcy.’
‘There is no way that Lord Westfield can meet this demand,’ wailed Gill. ‘He owes thousands of pounds. His property and all his assets will be seized forthwith. It is only a matter of time before Westfield’s Men cease to exist.’
‘Now do you see why I sent for you?’ asked Firethorn.
Gill was morose. ‘Not that Nicholas can do much for us. He has no fortune to bail out our wayward patron. Nor have we, alas.’
‘What I can do is to provide the missing name,’ said Nicholas, returning the letter to Firethorn. ‘I know who the man is and what prompted this vicious action.’
‘We are facing oblivion!’
‘Be silent, Barnaby,’ scolded Firethorn. ‘Listen to Nick.’
Nicholas took a deep breath before delivering the bad news. ‘The moneylender in question is Sir Eliard Slaney,’ he said.
Firethorn erupted. ‘Hell and damnation!’
‘Who is the fellow?’ asked Gill.
‘The biggest blood-sucker in London.’
‘How can Nicholas be so sure that he is the man?’
‘It can be none other,’ replied Nicholas. ‘Sir Eliard Slaney is the person whom Frank Quilter and I have been stalking these past few days. We believe that he was responsible for the false accusations that led to the execution of Frank’s father.’
‘In other words,’ said Firethorn, rounding on him, ‘you and Frank have so annoyed Sir Eliard that he is venting his fury on the company.’
‘It is further proof of guilt,’ argued Nicholas. ‘Do you not see that?’
‘All I see,’ sneered Gill, ‘is a deadly poison by the name of Quilter. We should have expelled Frank the moment that we realised that his father was a killer.’
‘Gerard Quilter was innocent.’
‘He is guilty of killing Westfield’s Men, I know that.’
‘Barnaby is right,’ said Firethorn. ‘Frank has brought this down on us. I should have revoked his contract when I had the chance. I rue the day that you talked me into giving him leave of absence, Nick. We shall all have leave of absence now,’ he added, pounding the table with a fist. ‘Westfield’s Men will vanish into thin air.’
‘Perhaps not,’ said Nicholas.
‘Even you cannot get us out of this quicksand.’
‘Hear my advice.’
‘We’ve heard it once too often,’ said Gill spitefully.
‘Sir Eliard Slaney has shown his hand.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Firethorn, ‘before he crushes us to death with it. We are to lose Edmund within a week, then crumble into dust at the end of a month. I was a fool to listen to you, Nick.’ He picked up the letter. ‘When I saw the mention of a grasping moneylender, I should have guessed that it was none other than Sir Eliard. You had warned me that he was your quarry.’
Gill was indignant. ‘You knew about this man, Lawrence?’
‘Only what Nick had told me.’
‘Why did you not warn us about him?’
‘I did not see any need for caution. Nick and Frank were sniffing at his heels. That is all I was given to understand. It never crossed my mind that they would put us in jeopardy by their pursuit of this moneylender.’
‘You are as much at fault as they,’ accused Gill.
‘Their cause was a worthy one, Barnaby. I tried to support them.’
‘And brought about the collapse of all our hopes in the process.’
‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘That is not true.’
‘It is, Nick,’ said Firethorn. ‘This moneylender will buy us out of business.’
Gill pointed a finger at him. ‘Much of the blame must rest on your shoulders.’
‘I did what I felt to be right and honest.’
‘Is it right and honest to steal my occupation from me?’
‘Stop bickering!’ yelled Firethorn.
‘You have betrayed us all, Lawrence.’
Nicholas slammed an object down on the table to bring their argument to an end. Both men fell silent and stared down at the dagger that gleamed before them.
‘What is that?’ asked Gill.
‘The weapon that was meant to kill me yesterday,’ explained Nicholas coolly. ‘You talk of losing your occupation, Master Gill, but I came close to losing my life. And I have Sir Eliard Slaney to thank for it.’
Firethorn was alarmed. ‘Can this be true, Nick?’
Nicholas told them about the attack, omitting the reason that had taken him to Turnmill Street but telling them enough to convince them that the moneylender
had ordered his death. Firethorn was full of sympathy for his friend but Gill saw it only from his own viewpoint.
‘Are we to be hunted down by hired assassins?’ he cried.
‘You are quite safe, Master Gill,’ said Nicholas. ‘Sir Eliard has found a way to stab us by legal means. He knows that Frank and I are involved with Westfield’s Men. A strike at the company is a broadside against us.’
Gill leapt up. ‘Then there’s the remedy, Lawrence,’ he urged. ‘Evict both Frank Quilter and Nicholas from our midst and we are saved. Sir Eliard will not need to destroy us then. Let him know that we have got rid of the troublemakers.’
‘Sit down, Barnaby,’ ordered Firethorn.
‘My plan solves everything.’
‘Sit down!’ He reached out to pull Gill back onto his seat. ‘Even for you, that is a shameful suggestion. At the very moment when we should pull together, you want to cast two of our number adrift.’
‘But they are the ones dragging us down into the water.’
‘We are not,’ said Nicholas firmly. ‘Apply a little thought to the situation and you will see that it may not be as gloomy as it appears.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Firethorn.
‘Firstly, there is the question of time. Westfield’s Men will not expire at the end of the month. If our patron cannot repay his debts,’ Nicholas pointed out, ‘that is when he may be taken to court. But the law’s delay will add valuable time to our life.’
‘That’s like saying we’ll twitch a little longer at the end of the hangman’s rope.’
‘It was Gerard Quilter who was executed. Unjustly, in our view. We have already gathered some evidence to exonerate him. Once our investigation is complete,’ promised Nicholas, ‘we will be in a position to confront Sir Eliard Slaney with his villainy and free Westfield’s Men from the threat of dissolution.’
‘True,’ said Firethorn, scratching his beard. ‘Sir Eliard cannot enforce payment of the debts if he is languishing in prison.’
Gill was sceptical. ‘You are assuming that he is guilty.’
‘He is!’ attested Nicholas.
‘How do we know that it can be proved?’
‘Put your trust in us, Master Gill.’
‘We did that before,’ retorted Gill, ‘and look where it has got us!’
‘Sir Eliard is far too slippery to be caught,’ said Firethorn.
Nicholas shook his head. ‘We believe otherwise.’
‘He is, Nick. If your guess is correct, he has manipulated the law in the most blatant way. Sir Eliard could only have done that if he had powerful friends. We have none of equal merit,’ he said wearily. ‘Except our patron, that is, but he has turned out to be our worst liability.’ He picked up the dagger. ‘Sir Eliard will stop at nothing to get his way. He now intends to push this between the shoulders of the whole company.’
‘That is why we must fight back.’
‘How?’
‘It is impossible,’ said Gill.
‘Would you rather lie down and let him trample over us?’ said Nicholas, trying to shame them. ‘Will you admit defeat without even lifting a hand to save Westfield’s Men? Yes, I know that Sir Eliard Slaney is a dangerous enemy. The speed with which he has moved shows that. One of his creatures must have looked into our affairs,’ he concluded. ‘I’ll wager that he goes by the name of Cyril Paramore. It is the kind of work that gentleman would do swiftly and well. No matter who it was, Sir Eliard had enough information at his fingertips today to threaten Lord Westfield with extinction.’
‘When our patron falls,’ said Gill, ‘then we fall with him.’
‘Not if Sir Eliard Slaney falls first.’
‘How can we ensure that, Nick?’ asked Firethorn.
‘I have a plan.’
‘If it involves Frank Quilter,’ said Gill, ‘I’ll hear none of it.’
‘Nor will I,’ agreed Firethorn.
‘It involves all of us,’ said Nicholas quietly. ‘The axe is hanging over Westfield’s Men. If we are to avoid its keen edge, we must fight as a company. It is the only way to stave off Sir Eliard Slaney.’
‘Tell us how, Nick.’
‘Let me speak to Edmund first.’
‘Edmund?’ repeated Firethorn. ‘He does not care if we sink or swim.’
‘I’ll play on his loyalty.’
‘He has no loyalty,’ declared Gill.
Firethorn was dejected. ‘If we are to rely on Edmund Hoode, we may as well start to dig our graves now. He’ll not lift a finger to help us. A pox on it!’ he exclaimed. ‘I do believe that this is the worst day of my life. I am spurned by our playwright, abandoned by our patron and brought down by a foul toad of a moneylender. As for Margery, I fear that she may bar the door of our bedchamber against me.’ Looking up, he raised both hands to the heavens. ‘What further torment do you have in store for me?’
It was at that moment that Alexander Marwood appeared, hobbling across to them on a stick. His face had a deathly pallor but there was a sharp crackle of life in his voice.
‘There you are, Master Firethorn,’ said the landlord. ‘Now that I am recovered, I have some complaints to make against your company. When I needed sleep, the thunder of your performances kept me awake for hours. I demand recompense, sir.’
Firethorn sagged. ‘Why did I have to tempt Providence?’ he said.
Chapter Ten
Edmund Hoode was enjoying a contentment that he had never known before. Events had moved so swiftly that he was in a state of pleasant bewilderment. A short while ago, he had never even heard of Avice Radley yet now he could not imagine life without her. To his glazed and adoring eyes, she was the epitome of beauty, a woman who possessed all of the female virtues yet who was, miraculously, within reach of his undeserving hands. During their brief romance, he had moved through every stage of infatuation until he had attained the deep joy of lasting togetherness. Alone of all the women in his past, she loved him in the way that he wanted to be loved, admiring him for himself as well as for his talents and intent on creating a protected world in which they could grow even closer. Hoode put something of his devotion to her in the first sonnet that he had produced. Gazing soulfully at her, he recited the closing couplet.
‘And yet, I own, I think my love so pure,
In thy sweet arms, I stand at heaven’s door.’
Avice Radley was enthralled. She gave him a kiss of gratitude on the cheek.
‘Thank you, Edmund,’ she said. ‘The sonnet was beautiful.’
‘It needs more work on it yet.’
‘I would not change a single syllable.’
‘It is too rough-hewn.’
‘Not to my way of thinking.’
‘I had thought to weave your name into the sonnet,’ he confessed, ‘but neither Avice nor Radley lend themselves to pretty rhymes. “Sadly” and “badly” have no place in any poem that celebrates you.’
She smiled. ‘You may find room for “madly” on another occasion.’
‘That word rhymes with Edmund Hoode,’ he declared, ‘for I have been in the grip of a divine madness ever since we met.’
‘It was so with me. When I wrote that letter to you, I gave way to a madness.’
‘Then we are both happy lunatics, shut away in a private Bedlam.’
‘Throw away the key,’ she said, ‘for I can think of no finer place to be.’
They were sitting beside each other in the parlour of Avice Radley’s house. Hoode’s cheek was still glowing warmly from the kiss that she had bestowed upon it. Wanting to place his lips on her own cheek, he lacked the courage to lean impulsively forward so he kissed her hand instead. She stroked his arm with her fingertips until he was tingling all over. Sufficiently emboldened, Hoode was about to embrace her when there was a knock at the front door. He moved back guiltily.
‘Are you expecting a visitor?’ he asked.
‘No, Edmund. I want nobody to disturb us.’
His voice hardened. ‘I hope that it is not Lawrenc
e Firethorn again.’
‘If it is, he will not be admitted across the threshold.’
‘He will try anything to lure me back again.’
‘You are mine now,’ she avowed.
There was a tap on the door then it opened to reveal the maidservant.
‘A gentleman is asking for Master Hoode,’ she said.
‘Tell him I am not here,’ he replied.
‘No,’ said Avice, overruling him. ‘Let us at least hear his name.’
‘It is Nicholas Bracewell,’ said the maidservant, ‘and he sends his apologies for disturbing you at this hour.’
Avice saw the indecision in Hoode’s face. She suspected that he would refuse to see anyone else from Westfield’s Men but he had spoken so warmly of its book holder that she sensed a close friendship between them. The visitor could represent no danger to her. From what she heard of him, Nicholas Bracewell would hardly seek to pay his attentions to her as Lawrence Firethorn had tried to do, nor could he divert Hoode from his chosen path while she was beside him. Though she was annoyed by the intrusion, she was also curious to meet a man of whom she had heard so much praise.
‘Show him in,’ she said to the maidservant.
Seconds later, Nicholas entered the room. After introductions had been made, he reiterated his apologies for disturbing them. Avice Radley was very impressed by his appearance and by his manner. Hoode, however, was extremely wary.
‘How did you know where to find me?’ he asked.
‘Lawrence Firethorn gave me this address,’ replied Nicholas. ‘I went first to your lodging and, since you were not there, hoped that I might track you down here.’
‘You have come on a fruitless errand, Nick. My answer remains the same as the one I gave to George Dart earlier. I am no longer at Lawrence’s beck and call.’
‘I understand that, Edmund.’
‘Then take the message back to him.’
‘But I have not come at his behest,’ said Nicholas. ‘Had it been left to him, I would not be here at all for he assured me that it would be a waste of time. I like to think that I know you rather better than he.’
Hoode raised a warning hand. ‘I’ll not be persuaded, Nick.’
‘Our decision is inviolable,’ said Avice. ‘Nothing can change it.’
The Bawdy Basket Page 23
