‘A sensible decision.’
‘Do we play with the same pack as yesterday?’ said Ingram.
‘The very same.’
‘Then I do not need to hesitate. I know that my luck will hold.’
‘I pray that mine changes,’ said Quilter, feeling his purse.
‘You must not be allowed to rob us all again tonight, James. It’s my turn to play the pickpocket.’
‘Everyone at the table has the same chance to win,’ said Lavery, sitting opposite the two actors. ‘That’s the beauty of the game. It makes us all equal.’
‘Deal the cards,’ urged Ingram. ‘I want to savour another victory.’
‘And I,’ said Quilter, ruefully, ‘to get my revenge.’
The cards were dealt and the game began. Before it was over, however, there was a tap on the door and it opened to reveal another player. As the man walked slowly into the room, Lavery looked up in astonishment.
‘Come in, come in, sir!’ he said with delight. ‘This is a pleasant surprise!’
Henry Cleaton’s office was small, musty and filled with books, documents and piles of papers. His desk was covered with so much clutter that it was impossible to see a square inch of the wooden top. Before his visitor could sit down, Cleaton had to move some writs off the chair for him. He grinned at Nicholas Bracewell.
‘Take a weight off your feet,’ he said. ‘It’s a long walk from Bankside.’
‘I came to see if you’ve any news for me.’
‘Then you come upon your hour. I’ve been a true bloodhound, Nicholas.’
‘What have you learnt?’
‘Where both of the men live,’ he explained. ‘When I put my mind to it, I soon saw how easily it could be done. Joseph Beechcroft is a weaver and Ralph Olgrave a tailor. I sent my clerk to enquire at the Weaver’s Hall and he was given the address at once. The Merchant Tailors’ Hall likewise supplied Olgrave’s house and street.’
‘Did they surrender the information so willingly?’ asked Nicholas.
‘We had to put bait on the hook. My clerk pretended that each man had been mentioned in a will and was due an inheritance. That quickly loosened tongues.’
‘May I have the addresses?’
‘As soon as I can find them,’ said Cleaton, searching under the mounds of paper on his desk. ‘I wrote them down and put them somewhere safe.’
Nicholas was amused. ‘There’s nowhere safer, Master Cleaton. You are the only man in the world who could find what you wanted in here.’ Cleaton retrieved a few scrolls that fell from the desk and put them back again. ‘I’ll start with Joseph Beechcroft.’
‘He lives in Basinghall Street, not far from the Weaver’s Hall. Did you know that they are the oldest livery company in London? They received their first charter in 1155 and have a distinguished history.’
‘It’s a pity that Master Beechcroft did not uphold their high standards.’
‘Ah,’ said Cleaton, pulling out a scrap of parchment. ‘Here it is, Nicholas.’ He handed it over. ‘Be wary of the fellow. If he can talk his way into such an advantageous position in Bridewell, he’ll have a smooth tongue and a quick brain.’
‘All that I mean to do at this point is to sound him out.’
‘You’ll do that better without Owen Elias beside you. He tends to be bellicose.’
‘Celtic blood runs hot in his veins,’ said Nicholas with an affectionate smile. ‘Owen always prefers action over talk. The time will come when I need his strong arm and short temper.’
‘Let me know how you get on.’
‘I will, Master Cleaton. And thank you for all that you’ve done.’
‘You’ll need a lawyer again before you’ve finished, I daresay.’
‘I’ll know where to come.’
‘Meantime, I’ll make some more enquiries about Bridewell and see what I can find. I sniff a pungent scent here,’ said Cleaton, beaming. ‘My tail begins to wag.’
‘I’m glad to hear that you are sanguine.’
‘My optimism is tempered with hard fact. Hounds do not always catch the fox.’
‘Oh, we’ll catch this one,’ said Nicholas with quiet determination. ‘And his accomplice.’
Joseph Beechcroft was preening himself in a mirror when the servant brought him news of his visitor. Hearing that Nicholas Bracewell had come in the hope of discussing some aspect of Bridewell, the weaver agreed to see him. They met in the parlour, introduced themselves then weighed each other up. Nicholas was not invited to sit.
‘What business brings you here?’ asked Beechcroft. ‘I was just about to set off for Bridewell. If you’ve an interest in the place, you should have sought me there.’
‘I tried to do so,’ lied Nicholas, ‘but could not get past the gatekeeper.’
‘We discourage random visitors.’
‘I do not come by accident, Master Beechcroft. I have a purpose.’
‘Tell me what it is.’
For a man who had started as a humble weaver, Beechcroft had a lordly air. He wore a gaudy doublet of blue and red with gold thread looped across the breast. In his buff jerkin and plain hose, Nicholas presented a sharp contrast.
‘Well, sir,’ nudged Beechcroft, irritably. ‘I do not have all day.’
‘How many people do you have inside Bridewell?’ said Nicholas.
‘That’s private information.’
‘I wondered if you had so many that you did not know who they all were.’
‘I know the name of each and every one,’ asserted Beechcroft. ‘When someone works for me, I learn everything I can about them so that I can get the best out of them.’
‘You assign the labour inside Bridewell, then?’
‘What is it to you?’
‘I wondered if you or Master Olgrave was in charge.’
‘If you must know, we share the responsibility. Ralph and I are partners.’
‘I’m told that you run the place with some efficiency,’ said Nicholas with feigned admiration. ‘It was not always the case under your predecessors. They often failed. You must be good administrators.’
‘We are,’ boasted the other. ‘We know how to turn a profit. Is that why you’ve come to me, Master Bracewell? You wish to do some business with us?’
‘That depends on how good your word is.’
‘It’s my bond, sir.’
‘Tell me about one Hywel Rees,’ said Nicholas, watching him carefully.
Beechcroft started. ‘Who?’
‘One of the inmates at Bridewell.’
‘The name is unfamiliar to me.’
‘A minute ago, you claimed to know everyone inside the institution.’
‘Yes,’ said Beechcroft, recovering his composure. ‘And it’s true. We did have a young man by the name of Hywel Rees with us but we discharged him days ago.’
‘May I know the reason?’
‘No, sir. You may not.’
‘But I need to track him down,’ said Nicholas, recalling the ruse that was used by Henry Cleaton’s clerk. ‘I’ve news that will mend his fortunes. Hywel Rees – if he be the man I seek – has been left some money by an uncle back in Wales.’
‘Some money?’
‘A substantial sum. I’m not at liberty to reveal the amount but it would buy the young man out of Bridewell or out of any debtor’s prison. I heard that he had fallen on hard times and was convicted of vagrancy. There’s a record of that, and of the fact that he was sent to you for correction.’
‘No man was more in need of it!’ said Beechcroft under his breath.
‘What happened to him when he left your care?’
‘He disappeared into the crowd.’
‘I find that hard to believe, Master Beechcroft.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Because I understand that he was imprisoned with a friend,’ said Nicholas. ‘The two were arrested together and both were sent to you. Her name was Dorothea Tate. Do you remember her as well?’
‘Yes,’ replied Beechcroft. ‘S
he, too, was discharged recently.’
‘That seems odd, sir. When vagrants are committed to the workhouse, they expect to stay for some time. That’s what the court enjoins. Do you have the power to override a judicial decision and dispatch any inmate you choose?’
Beechcroft scowled. ‘Bridewell was not the right place for either of them.’
‘So you sent them on their way?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have any idea where Dorothea Tate may have gone?’
‘Back to the streets, I expect.’
‘That means you discharged a beggar so that she could return to begging. What is the point of that, Master Beechcroft?’
‘I’ll not be criticised in my own house,’ exploded the other, rounding on him. ‘Why have you come here and what do you really want?’
‘To learn the whereabouts of Hywel Rees. If you do not know where he is, it is possible that this girl does. Find her and we find the beneficiary of the will.’
‘You are wasting your time, sir.’
‘Am I?’
‘I do not know exactly where he went,’ said Beechcroft, ‘but I can tell you this about Hywel Rees. He’s not in London. Search as much as you like, you’ll not catch sight of him again. He went back to Wales and we were glad to see the back of him.’
‘I can see that you remember him very well.’
‘He was a rebel. A stubborn, awkward, noisy fellow. A thorn in our sides. My partner and I can usually break the spirit of such rogues but he was too wilful for his own good. Hywel Rees had to go.’
‘Back to Wales?’
‘That’s where he said that he was heading.’
‘Without his closest friend, Dorothea Tate?’
‘For all I know, the girl went with him. Good riddance to both of them!’
‘Was she another rebel?’
‘To some degree. Strict obedience is the rule inside Bridewell.’
‘That depends on what people are asked to obey,’ said Nicholas, levelly. ‘Why did she flout your authority, Master Beechcroft? Can you answer that?’
‘No!’ retorted the other, crossing to open the door. ‘I’ve answered too many of your questions, as it is. Hywel Rees is no longer in London, I can assure you of that, so you look in vain.’ He pointed to the door. ‘Good day to you!’
‘Thank you for your help,’ said Nicholas with the faintest hint of sarcasm. ‘You’ve explained a lot to me. And as you say, your word is your bond. I can see now why Bridewell is in such safe hands.’ He crossed to the door. ‘Oh,’ he added, pausing beside the man. ‘You tell me that Hywel Rees went back to Wales.’
‘I’m certain of it.’
‘How would he get there? Do you think he might try to swim?’
Joseph Beechcroft turned pale and his mouth fell open. Nicholas had what he wanted. Before the other man could even speak, the visitor swept out of the house and left him in turmoil.
Chapter Nine
Lawrence Firethorn was in a vile mood that morning. Cantering into the yard of the Queen’s Head, he brought his horse to a halt and glowered at everyone within range. When he dismounted, he tossed the rein to an ostler and barked an order. It was not the choicest moment for Michael Grammaticus to approach him.
‘Good morrow, Master Firethorn,’ he said.
‘What do you want, sir?’
‘Is there any news of the play?’
Firethorn was brusque. ‘Nick has taken it to the scrivener and he is still copying it out. Forgive me, Michael, but I’ve far more important things to worry about than The Siege of Troy.’
‘But I was talking about the other play.’
‘What other play?’
‘A Way to Content All Women. Has Edmund not spoken to you about it?’
‘Oh, that,’ said Firethorn, irritably. ‘You believe that you can write a comedy.’
‘Only with your consent.’
‘Talk to Nick Bracewell. He knows my mind on this.’
‘Edmund is agreeable,’ said Grammaticus. ‘We spoke about it yesterday.’
‘Then why bother me? The only comment I can make on the play is that its title should be changed. Any man who believes that there’s a way to content all women,’ he said with rancour, ‘has never met my wife. Are you married, Michael?’
‘Only to my work.’
‘Then I envy you.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I have learnt a grisly truth,’ he confided. ‘Women are never content. Give them what they want and they’ll put a new demand upon you. Grant them that and they’ll still not find contentment. Ignore their pretty faces and supple bodies. Eschew their blandishments. Women are no more than a breed of shrews and harpies.’
‘If you say so.’
‘I know it to be true.’
And on that sour note, Firethorn turned on his heel and strode out of the yard, leaving Grammaticus in his wake. No rehearsal had been called for that morning but a meeting of the sharers had been summoned. Only two of them were there when Firethorn stormed into the room that had been hired for the occasion. It gave him another excuse to lose his temper.
‘Saints and serpents!’ he howled. ‘Where is everybody?’
‘The others will soon be here, Lawrence,’ said Elias.
‘This is more than I can bear. I’ve lost our author, our book holder, our takings from The Maid of the Mill, and now I’ve lost most of the sharers. This is a conspiracy against me.’
‘Be patient a while.’
‘Patient!’ cried Firethorn. ‘Do not talk to me of patience, Owen. I’ve been far too patient with this company and look what happens. Everyone lets me down.’
‘What’s put you in this angry mood?’
‘I spy a woman’s hand here,’ said Gill, mischievously. ‘Or rather, the absence of it. Margery has not milked his epididymis this morning so Lawrence is full of bile.’
Firethorn glared at him. ‘Be quiet, you prancing pestilence!’
‘A rift in the marital lute?’ teased Gill.
‘Taunt me any more and I’ll make a rift in your lute.’
‘Calm down, Lawrence,’ said Elias. ‘We meet here as fellows.’
‘Then show me some fellowship. Nobody else in this company will do it.’
‘This is foolish talk. You know that we all love and respect you.’
Gill tossed his head. ‘Do not include me in that, Owen.’
‘You see?’ said Firethorn, pointing at him. ‘I’m surrounded by enemies.’
‘How can one man surround you?’ said Elias. ‘This is the raving of a madman. Now, sit beside us and wait until the others come. A cup of Canary will improve your disposition.’ He patted the chair beside him. ‘Come now, Lawrence. Join us.’
Firethorn consented to sit down and sip from the cup of Canary wine that stood before him. He was sullen and distracted. Not wishing to provoke another outburst, the others said nothing. After a short while, James Ingram came into the room and greeted everyone with a pleasant smile.
‘Forgive this lateness,’ he said, lowering himself onto the settle beside Gill. ‘My horse cast a shoe and I had to take it to be shod.’
Firethorn glared at him. ‘Does the shoeing of a horse take precedence over the affairs of Westfield’s Men?’
‘No, Lawrence.’
‘Then why were you not here on time?’
‘We might ask the same of you, Lawrence,’ said Gill with an impish grin. ‘Owen and I had a long wait before you deigned to appear.’
‘The meeting should start the moment that I walk through the door.’
‘Then you’ll have to walk through it again when the others arrive for we cannot begin without them.’ Gill turned to Ingram. ‘Take care, James,’ he warned. ‘Lawrence is like a wounded bull this morning. He’ll charge you as soon as look at you.’
‘Hold your noise, Barnaby!’ snapped Firethorn.
‘Hark! The beast is snorting again. He’ll stamp his foot next.’
‘Bait me any more
and I’ll stamp it on your overgrown testicles.’
‘Peace!’ chided Elias. ‘If you are in this humour, Lawrence, there is no point in having any discussion this morning. Why do we not disband and return when you are in a more amenable mood?’
‘That might take years,’ said Gill.
‘Stop goading him, Barnaby.’
‘I merely speak the truth.’
‘I’m surprised that vicious tongue of yours still knows how to do that,’ remarked Firethorn, sharply. ‘It’s told so many wicked lies that it’s in danger of dropping out. The day that Barnaby Gill turns honest man, the streets will sprout corn and the Thames will run with ale. You are nothing but a viper.’
‘Then best beware my sting.’
‘Enough of this!’ protested Elias.
‘Yes,’ said Ingram, forcefully. ‘There’s no sport for us in watching you two at each other’s throats. I thought we were met to talk about the future of the company, not to see a cock fight. Take off your spurs, I pray.’
‘Well said, James.’
Firethorn and Gill stared across the table at each other but said nothing. The other sharers began to drift in until the full complement was assembled. The actor-manager rapped his knuckles on the table to gain everyone’s attention. Before he could start the meeting, however, the door was flung open and a white-faced Hugh Wegges was standing before them. He pointed at Firethorn.
‘There you are,’ he said, ‘I need to speak with you.’
Firethorn was curt. ‘This is not the time, man. Be off with you!’
‘But you’ll want to hear what I say.’
‘If it’s to ask for your wages in advance again, then you waste your time. I spurn your request. How dare you interrupt us! Now, take that ugly visage out of my sight.’
‘We’ve been robbed!’ cried Wegges.
‘What are you jabbering about?’
‘I came to set out the costumes for Love and Fortune, that we play tomorrow, and half of them are not there. The finest costumes from our stock have gone. If you do not believe me, come and see for yourself.’
‘I’ll do just that,’ said Firethorn, hauling himself up. ‘If this be a jest, Hugh, I’ll paint you yellow and hang you from the highest tree in England.’
‘It’s no jest, alas. I wish that it were.’
The Counterfeit Crank Page 15
