‘Would you take me by force?’ asked Sir Eliard.
Quilter drew his sword. ‘Gladly. Give me the excuse to do so.’
‘You are foolish men. You turned down the chance to gain from this enterprise.’
‘Your arrest is the only gain that I seek.’
‘It will not be effected by you, Master Quilter.’
Sir Eliard snapped his fingers and the steward reappeared with one of the manservants. Both were armed with muskets and looked as if they knew how to use the weapons. They moved swiftly into position to cover the visitors.
Sir Eliard smirked. ‘Be so kind as to lay down your swords, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘And your daggers, while you are at it.’
Quilter turned to Nicholas for guidance. The latter gave a nod then both put their weapons on the floor. Sir Eliard waved them back a few steps so that he could pick up one of the swords. He brandished it with a malicious gleam in his eye.
‘Your boldness is your undoing,’ he told them. ‘Had you waited, you might have sailed from England with the officers and looked to take me in irons. As it is, you came too quick and unprepared.’ He indicated the other men. ‘It is a rule of mine that I always have someone at my back. That is why I have prospered so.’
‘Your prosperity is at an end, Sir Eliard,’ said Nicholas.
‘Is it? I think not. Your warning has been timely. If others are to come in search of me, they’ll not find me on the island. Lady Slaney and I will be long gone.’ He gave a cackle. ‘We’ll stay, however, to ensure that you have a decent burial. Take them out!’
His men obeyed. With a musket prodding their backs, Nicholas and Quilter were forced out of the room and along a passageway to the rear of the house. They went out into a formal garden that was neatly divided by a series of hedges and trees. Still carrying the sword, Sir Eliard led the way until he came to a secluded bower. He turned to face the prisoners, irritated that they showed no fear. He waved the sword at Nicholas.
‘I’ve half a mind to kill you myself,’ he said. ‘But for you, we’d never have been caught. My only regret is that the interfering milliner is not here to die with you. Say your prayers, sir, for you will never see the lady again.’
Nicholas had, however, seen someone over the man’s shoulder. He alerted Quilter with a nudge then took a step towards Sir Eliard. His voice was calm.
‘You wrong us, Sir Eliard,’ he said. ‘We have learnt from your example. We, too, have someone at our back. Here he comes.’
Sir Eliard and his men turned their heads to see an extraordinary sight. Hurtling towards them out of the bushes was a man who was executing a series of such rapid somersaults that it was impossible to separate his head from his feet. The prisoners took full advantage of the diversion. Nicholas quickly disarmed one of the men then felled him with a blow from the musket. Quilter wrestled with the other man until the weapon discharged its ball harmlessly into the air. Lightfoot, meanwhile, completed his performance with the most effective trick of all. When he reached the group, he put extra spring into a final somersault and kicked Sir Eliard full in the face, splitting open his nose and knocking him backwards. Nicholas was on the moneylender in a flash to snatch the sword from his hand and hold it to his throat. Having subdued the servant, Quilter recovered the loaded musket to point it at the moneylender. The long and destructive career of Sir Eliard Slaney was finally at an end. Dazed and bloodied, he could do nothing but groan with pain.
Lightfoot spread his arms to bask in applause that did not come.
‘What is wrong?’ he asked in disappointment. ‘Did nobody enjoy my tumbling?’
‘I enjoyed it, Lightfoot,’ said Quilter.
‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘So did I. And I can promise you one thing. Sir Eliard will remember it for the rest of his days.’
Lightfoot gave his audience a mock bow.
A new play by Edmund Hoode was always an occasion of note but the premiere of The Duke of Verona gave particular cause for celebration. The fear of extinction had been lifted from Westfield’s Men, enabling a revivified Lawrence Firethorn to blossom in the title role and encouraging Barnaby Gill and Owen Elias to shine brilliantly in supporting parts. United once more with his fellows, the playwright himself caught the eye in the small but telling role of a Turkish ambassador. Another deserter had returned. Now that his father had been exonerated and given a posthumous pardon, Francis Quilter was restored to the company and acted with a new passion. The rest of the actors were unaware of how close they had come to disaster but they followed where the leading players led. Nicholas Bracewell controlled everything with unhurried ease.
The Duke of Verona might not be a masterpiece but it was a stirring drama, containing moments of high tragedy that were offset by scenes of comic genius, and touching on themes of loyalty and betrayal. The audience at the Queen’s Head was spellbound for two hours in the afternoon sun. Anne Hendrik and Preben van Loew watched in wonderment. Lightfoot was an even more delighted spectator. Avice Radley was a wistful onlooker, admiring the quality of the play yet having grave reservations about its author. But the person who enjoyed the performance most was Lord Westfield himself, resplendent in a new suit and surrounded by an entourage that was even larger and more decadent than usual. Lord Westfield was back in his element. The closing lines of the play had a special significance for him.
‘All troubles now are gone, all dangers fled,
The noble Duke with bravery has led
The fight against his foes without surcease,
To triumph as the patron saint of peace.’
Spurred on by the words in the Epilogue, he was at his most saintly and patronising when he welcomed the members of the company to a feast in a private room at the Queen’s Head. It was a rare treat for Westfield’s Men. Their patron supported his troupe from his habitual seat in the gallery but he never mingled with them, still less did he offer them a treat of any kind. They fell on the banquet with relish. As he bit into a leg of chicken, Firethorn turned to his book holder.
‘This is all your doing, Nick,’ he said gratefully.
‘Frank Quilter started it all,’ replied Nicholas. ‘Had it not been for his burning faith in his father, I would never have ventured on this business.’
‘I am glad that you did. But you must take all the credit for Edmund’s return. Your appeal not only rescued him from Mistress Radley,’ Firethorn pointed out, ‘it gave Edmund the urge to finish the new play. You saw the result this afternoon.’
‘Another success for Westfield’s Men.’
‘Our patron revels in it. And there’s more bounty yet.’
‘Is there?’
‘Yes,’ said Firethorn, sipping his wine. ‘We actually coaxed a smile out of that ghoulish landlord. When I told him that Lord Westfield would be gracing us with his presence at a feast, Alexander Marwood all but kissed me.’
‘I am not surprised,’ said Nicholas, looking along a table that was laden with delicious food and expensive drink. ‘This celebration of ours will put a lot of money into the landlord’s purse.’
‘That is the only thing that worries me, Nick.’
‘What is?’
Firethorn waved an arm. ‘How on earth can Lord Westfield pay for all of this?’
‘With ease,’ said Nicholas. ‘Our patron will borrow the money.’
They joined in the general laughter.
About the Author
EDWARD MARSTON was born and brought up in South Wales. A full-time writer for over forty years, he has worked in radio, film, television and the theatre and is a former chairman of the Crime Writers’ Association. Prolific and highly successful, he is equally at home writing children’s books or literary criticism, plays or biographies.
www.edwardmarston.com
By Edward Marston
THE BRACEWELL MYSTERIES
The Queen’s Head
The Merry Devils
The Trip to Jerusalem
The Nine Giants
The Mad C
ourtesan
The Silent Woman
The Roaring Boy
The Laughing Hangman
The Fair Maid of Bohemia
The Wanton Angel
The Devil’s Apprentice
The Bawdy Basket
The Vagabond Clown
The Counterfeit Crank
The Malevolent Comedy
The Princess of Denmark
THE RAILWAY DETECTIVE SERIES
The Railway Detective
The Excursion Train
The Railway Viaduct
The Iron Horse
Murder on the Brighton Express
The Silver Locomotive Mystery
Railway to the Grave
Blood on the Line
The Stationmaster’s Farewell
Peril on the Royal Train
The Railway Detective Collection:
The Railway Detective, The Excursion Train, The Railway Viaduct
THE CAPTAIN RAWSON SERIES
Soldier of Fortune
Drums of War
Fire and Sword
Under Siege
A Very Murdering Battle
THE RESTORATION SERIES
The King’s Evil
The Amorous Nightingale
The Repentant Rake
The Frost Fair
The Parliament House
The Painted Lady
THE HOME FRONT DETECTIVE SERIES
A Bespoke Murder
Instrument of Slaughter
Five Dead Canaries
Copyright
Allison & Busby Limited
12 Fitzroy Mews
London W1T 6DW
www.allisonandbusby.com
First published in 2002.
This ebook edition first published in Great Britain by Allison & Busby in 2014.
Copyright © 2002 by EDWARD MARSTON
The moral right of the author is hereby asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978-0-7490-1521-3
The Bawdy Basket Page 30
