The Counterfeit Crank

by Edward Marston

  Elias was disgusted. ‘Bridewell whores, eh? You do not belong with them.’

  ‘That’s what I kept saying,’ she explained. ‘But the women dressed me to look like them and I was dragged to the hall, protesting all the way. As we crossed a courtyard, Hywel saw me from his window. He was shocked.’

  ‘What did he do?’ asked Nicholas.

  ‘He tried to rescue me.’ Her face lit up for second. ‘How he escaped from his room I cannot tell you but I knew that Hywel would somehow come to my aid. I was in the hall, arguing still and being chastised by Master Beechcroft, when he burst in. As soon as Hywel saw what they were doing to me, he flung himself at Master Beechcroft and beat him to the ground. It took three men to pull him off.’

  ‘Who is this Master Beechcroft?’

  ‘One of the people who runs Bridewell.’

  ‘What did he do when Hywel was overpowered?’

  ‘He wanted revenge,’ said Dorothea, wringing her hands. ‘There was blood streaming from his nose and he was shaking with anger. If he’d had a weapon on him, think he’d have drawn it against Hywel. As it was …’ The words tailed off. Dorothea needed a moment to gather herself. ‘As it was,’ she continued, ‘he swore an oath then said something that made me catch my breath.’

  ‘What was it?’ asked Elias.

  Her lips trembled. ‘Master Beechcroft said Hywel had caused enough trouble at Bridewell and that he’d not get the chance to cause any more.’ She shivered violently. ‘Then they took Hywel out and I never saw him again.’

  ‘What happened to you?’ said Nicholas. ‘Were you forced to stay at this feast?’

  ‘No, I was taken away and beaten. A couple of days later, they discharged me.’

  ‘So soon? But you’d been sent there by a court.’

  ‘They do as they wish at Bridewell,’ she said, bitterly. ‘Master Beechcroft boasts about it. People come and go all the time. They had no need of me so I was thrown out.’

  ‘Yet they kept Hywel in there?’

  ‘No. He’s not at Bridewell. They told me so.’

  ‘Then where is he?’

  ‘I do not know,’ she cried. ‘That’s why I came to you. Something terrible has happened to Hywel. I sense it. He tried to save me and they punished him for it in some way. He was my only real friend in the world. I must find out what happened.’

  ‘Hywel was brave,’ Elias said, admiringly. ‘He tried to save you.’

  ‘But at what cost?’ asked Nicholas. ‘I do not like the sound of what we heard.’

  ‘No more do I, Nick.’

  ‘I think this Master Beechcroft will bear close inspection. If he’s empowered to run Bridewell, there are rules that must be obeyed. It’s a place where the poor are put to work, not a house for revelry and licence.’

  Dorothea was pathetically grateful. ‘You’ll help me, then?’ she said.

  ‘Do not doubt it.’

  ‘We’ll find Hywel for you,’ vowed Elias. ‘You may rely on us, Dorothea. Apart from anything else, I want him to teach me the trick of counterfeiting the falling sickness. It may come in useful one day.’

  But the girl was not listening. Overcome with relief, she burst into tears.

  The spectators who stood in the yard that afternoon had their numbers reduced and their spirits dampened by the weather. Overhanging eaves gave those who sat in the galleries a degree of protection that was not shared by those below. Undeterred by the persistent drizzle, Westfield’s Men put their hearts and souls into a performance of The Maid of the Mill, a rustic comedy that drew much incidental humour from its many references to blazing sunshine. When the actors pretended to wipe sweat from their brow, they were merely brushing away the moisture that coated every face. The drizzle gave them other problems. It not only made the stage slippery, it soaked into their costumes and made them much heavier to wear.

  The irony was that the weather finally improved as the play neared its end. When the maid of the mill was duly married in the final scene, the drizzle abated and the clouds began to drift away. The audience signalled its thanks by applauding the company with enthusiasm. Wet and weary, the actors trudged off to the tiring house. They were glad to have survived intact. Their troubles, however, were not over.

  ‘Where was he found, Adam?’

  ‘In a passageway at the back of the inn,’ said Crowmere.

  ‘Who did this to him?’

  ‘Nobody knows.’

  ‘Was all the money taken?’

  ‘Every last penny, Nick.’

  Nicholas was disconcerted. At the end of each performance, one of his tasks was to collect the takings for the day. Gatherers had been positioned at the doors to take the admission fee and to charge extra, from those in the galleries, for a cushion to set on the hard benches. When the play began, one man, Luke Peebles, took charge of all the money so that he could hand it over to the book holder afterwards. Peebles was now seated in the taproom with his head swathed in a piece of blood-stained linen. He was still too dazed to remember much.

  ‘He was hit from behind,’ said Crowmere, regarding the man with sympathy. ‘The wound is on the back of his head. I bound it as well as I could.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Nicholas. ‘How do you feel now, Luke?’

  ‘My head still aches so,’ said Peebles, weakly.

  ‘Do you have any idea who attacked you?’

  ‘None at all, Nick.’

  ‘Was it one man? Two, perhaps?’

  ‘It happened so quickly,’ recalled Peebles, raising a hand to his skull. ‘I heard some footsteps then I felt this pain at the back of my head. The next thing I remember, the landlord was helping me up.’

  Crowmere was angry. ‘I feel so guilty about this, Nick.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Nicholas. ‘It was not your fault.’

  ‘But it happened on my premises. I’ve a responsibility.’

  ‘It’s our responsibility to guard our takings, Adam. We do not look to you.’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ said Crowmere, ‘I would like to offer remuneration. When Luke is well enough to tell us how much money was in his satchel, I’ll meet that amount out of my own pocket.’

  ‘Master Firethorn would not hear of such a thing.’

  The landlord grinned. ‘He’d not hear of it from Alexander, I know that. He’s the meanest man in Christendom. But you’ll not say that of me,’ he went on, solemnly. ‘This crime took place on my property. I’ve a duty here.’

  ‘The only duty you have is to serve your customers,’ said Nicholas, ‘and you do that very well. Look at the terms of our contract with the Queen’s Head and you’ll see that it absolves the landlord of any liability for losses that we incur. I am the one who feels guilty. I should have instructed Luke to have a guard with him when he collects up all the money.’

  ‘It’s never been needed before, Nick,’ said Peebles.

  ‘It will be in future. We’ll not put you in danger again.’

  Nicholas was sorry to see the man in such evident pain. Peebles was short, slight and unarmed. Though still quite young, he was not robust. A blow that might only have stunned a tougher man had knocked him senseless. It was cruel to press him for details that were still too hazy in his mind.

  ‘Wait here, Luke,’ he advised. ‘I’ll find someone to take you home.’

  ‘Thank you, Nick.’

  Nicholas turned to the landlord. ‘I’m sorry that this has happened, Adam. I can see how much it’s upset you. But talk no more of offering us money. We’ll bear the loss.’

  ‘Can I give you no compensation?’ asked Crowmere.

  ‘None. The matter is closed.’ He looked around. ‘Where is the girl I asked you to keep an eye on while we performed this afternoon?’

  ‘Dorothea is still in the kitchen.’

  ‘I warned her not to be a nuisance to you.’

  ‘The poor creature is too tired for that. She slept for hours.’

  ‘Good,’ said Nicholas. ‘She needed the rest.’

  �
�She’ll not be able to stay, I fear,’ said Crowmere. ‘I have hands enough to help in the kitchen and she’s not fit to serve in the taproom. Dorothea is far too timid for that.’

  ‘The girl will not be staying, Adam.’

  ‘What will become of her?’

  ‘I’ll find somewhere for her to spend the night,’ said Nicholas. ‘First, I must report this crime to Lawrence. He’ll not be pleased. We lacked numbers in the yard but the galleries were full and they bring in more money. We’ve lost a tidy sum.’

  Crowmere was livid. ‘Find me the villain who did this and I’ll tear him in two.’

  ‘If I get my hands on him,’ said Nicholas, ‘there won’t be any of him left.’

  Following his orders, Owen Elias went straight to Bridewell. Instead of sharing a drink with the others after the play, he thought only of a young man in jeopardy. The fact that Hywel Rees came from Wales put an extra urgency in his step. Nicholas had schooled him to curb his aggression, telling him that he would learn little by making intemperate demands. Elias had to be more devious. The notion appealed to him.

  When he reached the building, he stopped to look up at its waning grandeur. Impelled by the best of motives, King Edward VI had granted the palace to the city of London to be used as a workhouse for the poor and idle. It was a handsome gift and, as he studied the looming proportions, Elias wondered at this example of royal benevolence. The irony was self-evident. Constructed for the mightiest person in the realm, Bridewell was now the home of the lowliest members of society. He went in search of one of them.

  ‘I am looking for a cousin of mine,’ he said. ‘Hywel Rees, by name.’

  ‘We allow no visitors here, sir.’

  ‘At least, tell me if he’s still held in Bridewell.’

  ‘Are you certain that he came here in the first place?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Elias. ‘About a week ago.’

  ‘Then he is like to be still with us.’ The keeper who manned the gatehouse was a plump, officious man in his thirties with a face that might have been hewn from granite. It seemed incapable of expression.

  ‘Do you not keep records?’ pressed Elias, glancing at the ledger on the desk.

  ‘We do,’ said the man.

  ‘Then it’s but a simple matter to see if my cousin still resides here.’

  ‘This is no residence, sir. Bridewell is here to correct.’

  ‘Then open your ledger and find out if Hywel is being corrected.’

  The man was stubborn. ‘I lack the authority to do that.’

  ‘Is it authority that you lack or the simple urge to help me?’

  ‘Go your way, sir. There’s no more I can do for you.’

  ‘But there is,’ said Elias with excessive politeness. ‘You can tell me your name. If, that is, your parents gave you the authority to do that. I’ll need to know who you are when I report to Master Beechcroft how obstructive you have been.’

  ‘I do what I am paid to do. Nothing more.’

  ‘Master Beechcroft may have other ideas. I am not here out of idle curiosity.’

  ‘No, sir?’

  ‘A place this size must be expensive to run,’ said Elias, ‘and I know that charity is solicited. If my cousin Hywel is still here – and if I can find someone with the authority to verify that – I’ll make a donation out of my own purse. Will you turn me away and lose all hope of my money?’

  The keeper stared at him blankly. Elias was smartly dressed and he had a faint air of distinction about him. His request could be easily met even though the keeper was forbidden to volunteer information to strangers. If the Welshman’s enquiry were spurned, there could be awkward repercussions. The man’s resolve weakened.

  ‘What was the name again, sir?’ he asked, opening his ledger.

  ‘Hywel Rees, convicted of vagrancy.’

  ‘Was he alone when he was brought here?’

  ‘No,’ said Elias, ‘a friend was with him. A young girl called Dorothea Tate.’

  ‘I think I may remember them.’ He used a finger to run down a list of names. ‘Here’s one of them. Dorothea Tate. She was discharged yesterday.’

  ‘What of my cousin?’

  ‘No longer here, sir. According to this, he left Bridewell days ago.’

  ‘Then why is there no sign of him? He’d surely have come first to me.’

  ‘Would he?’ said the man, suspiciously ‘If you are so concerned for his welfare, you could have saved him from being arrested in the first place. What sort of man are you to let a cousin of yours beg for a living on the streets?’

  ‘A repentant one,’ replied Elias, conjuring up a look of contrition. ‘You are right to chide me, my friend. When he came to me for money, I turned Hywel away and I’ve been overcome with remorse ever since. It’s such a shameful thing that a member of my family should end up in Bridewell.’ He glanced at the ledger. ‘Why was he discharged?’

  The book was slammed shut. ‘Never mind, sir. He has gone.’

  Dorothea Tate was so unaccustomed to generosity that she could not believe that it was happening. Since she had turned up at the Queen’s Head, she had been fed, comforted and treated with a respect she had never known before. Two men with whom she had only a fleeting acquaintance had immediately come to her aid, and the landlord had shown her indulgence as well. Suddenly, she glimpsed a different world. Dorothea feared that her good fortune could not last and, when Nicholas Bracewell invited her to return to his lodging, she resisted the idea strongly. In the past, most men had only sought her company for one vile purpose. What had made Hywel Rees so different was his kindness and consideration. Where others tried to molest her, he offered her protection.

  It took Nicholas some time to persuade her and she set out with misgivings. She felt excited at being rowed across the Thames for the first time, though the foul language of the waterman made her cheeks burn. It was when they plunged into Bankside that her apprehension grew. It was a haunt of desperate men and the kind of shameless women she had met in Bridewell, standing brazenly in tavern doorways to beckon custom. Nicholas hustled her on until they turned into a quiet street. The houses were much bigger here and thatch had been replaced by tile. They stopped outside a door.

  Dorothea drew back. ‘I’ll not go in alone with you,’ she said.

  ‘I do not expect you to,’ he replied. ‘Wait here a minute. I’ll not be long.’

  Nicholas let himself into the house and closed the door behind him. Left alone in the street, she mastered the impulse to run, telling herself that he had shown her nothing but kindness. Though he had exposed Hywel’s deception at their first encounter, Nicholas had also saved them from a beating in the street. She had to trust him. If he had designs upon her, they would have been made clear by now yet he had treated her throughout with paternal concern. There was something else that influenced her. Everyone who spoke to Nicholas Bracewell at the Queen’s Head did so with fondness and respect. That was the clearest indication of his upright character.

  When the front door opened, she expected him to come out again but it was an attractive woman who appeared. She took the girl gently by the shoulders.

  ‘Come in, Dorothea,’ she said with a welcoming smile. ‘My name is Anne. Nick has told me all about you. There’s shelter for you here until we find your friend.’

  ‘Something has happened to Hywel. I fear for him.’

  ‘He may yet be safe. Do not torment yourself with anxious thoughts,’ said Anne, leading her into the house. ‘God willing, your friend is still alive and well.’

  It was the hand that gave him away. Looped around a piece of driftwood, the arm seemed to be clinging on desperately. As the piece of timber bobbed in the dark water of the Thames, the white hand broke the surface time and again to wave farewell to life.

  Chapter Seven

  The next day being the Sabbath, it began as usual with a visit to church. Nicholas Bracewell accompanied Anne Hendrik and Dorothea Tate through the streets of Bankside to the sound of a medley
of bells. Washed, well fed and restored by a good night’s sleep, Dorothea was wearing one of the servants’ dresses and a borrowed hat that had been designed by Anne. When the girl knelt in prayer at the church, Nicholas had no doubt who was in her thoughts. Racked with anguish, she was pleading for the safe return of her friend and protector. After the service, Nicholas escorted the women back to the house, then left them alone in the hope that, if Anne could spend some time alone with Dorothea, she would win her confidence and draw out details that the girl had been too embarrassed to divulge to a man.

  Nicholas, meanwhile, had to meet a friend on the other side of the river.

  ‘What did you learn, Owen?’ he asked.

  ‘Precious little from the gatekeeper at Bridewell,’ grumbled Elias. ‘He’d have told me nothing at all had I not wheedled the facts out of him.’

  ‘How did you do that?’

  ‘By posing as Hywel’s cousin.’

  ‘You have the looks and accent to carry it off.’

  ‘It was like getting blood from a grain of sand.’

  He told Nicholas what had transpired. The two of them were in the Welshman’s lodging, a long, low room that was filled with amiable clutter. On the bed in the corner, the sheets were still rumpled from a night of passion, and from the sudden departure to church of the woman with whom Elias had been sleeping. There was a faint aroma of tobacco from the pipe that had been smoked earlier. Nicholas was disappointed that such scanty information had been gained at Bridewell. Elias added a telling detail.

  ‘I peeped into his ledger as he checked it,’ he explained. ‘Beside the name of Dorothea Tate was a scribble that I took to be a record of her discharge. But there was nothing beside Hywel’s name. Instead, it was scratched through with a line of ink.’

  ‘Scratched through?’

  ‘It was almost as if they were pretending that Hywel Rees did not even exist.’

  ‘That’s worrying news.’

  ‘I did not give up there, Nick. Since I got such short shrift at Bridewell, I decided to look elsewhere for help. I reasoned that, if anyone could tell me how that workhouse was run, it had to be a lawyer.’