The Malevolent Comedy

by Edward Marston

  ‘Then they are cruelly misled.’

  ‘Are they, Master Hibbert?’ asked Nicholas, meeting his glare. ‘We have rivals but none that would lower themselves to such shameful devices as we’ve suffered during The Malevolent Comedy. It’s not our enemies we should look to, therefore, but yours.’

  ‘I have no enemies,’ denied the other.

  ‘One of them has followed you to London. He was the man who bought that poison and arranged for the dog to be released during the play. Who would hate you enough to do such things?’

  ‘Nobody.’

  ‘Think hard, Master Hibbert.’

  ‘I do not need to.’

  ‘If we’re to catch this rogue,’ said Nicholas, earnestly, ‘we’ll need your help. There must be someone in your past who holds a grudge against you. Tell me his name.’

  ‘How can I, when there is no such person?’

  ‘Are you certain of that?’

  ‘Quite certain.’

  ‘Since you’ve been with us,’ said Nicholas, pointedly, ‘you’ve shown little interest in making friends – among the men, that is. Among the ladies, I gather, it’s another matter.’ Hibbert glowered again. ‘Has it never occurred to you that someone who does not make friends is bound to create foes instead?’ The playwright shifted his feet uneasily. ‘There is someone, isn’t there?’ pressed Nicholas. ‘Give me his name. Who is this sworn enemy of yours?’

  Hibbert spluttered but no words came out. Wanting to upbraid the book holder, he was inhibited by Anne’s presence and by Preben van Loew’s mournful expression. Sensing that he had the playwright on the run, Nicholas repeated his demand.

  ‘This man poisoned Hal Bridger,’ he reminded. ‘Who is he?’

  Saul Hibbert did not pause to reply. Pulsing with rage, he swung on his heel and headed for the taproom. He refused to admit that he was the target for the attacks on his play. Only one enemy preoccupied him at that moment and his name was Nicholas Bracewell.

  The book holder, meanwhile, was bidding adieu to Anne Hendrik and Preben van Loew, sending them off on the journey back to Bankside. He was grateful that the Dutchman had been there. The hatmaker’s indifference to the play had allowed him to see the stable door being opened. It was a valuable piece of evidence. Nicholas was about to go into the building when that evidence was confirmed.

  A small boy had been lurking in the shadows, waiting until Nicholas was on his own. After licking his lips, the boy scuttled over.

  ‘Please, sir,’ he asked, nervously, ‘are you Nicholas Bracewell?’

  ‘Yes, lad. How can I help you?’

  The boy swallowed hard. ‘Can I have my dog back, please?’

  While Barnaby Gill’s wound was being examined in private by a doctor, the rest of the company were in the taproom. Disconcerted by the second mishap with the play, all that most of them wanted to do was to steady their nerves with strong drink. Owen Elias was therefore puzzled when he saw one of the cast trying to leave.

  ‘You are going already, Edmund?’ he said in surprise.

  ‘Yes, Owen.’

  ‘The rest of us will carouse for hours.’

  ‘Too much wine only befuddles my brain,’ said Edmund Hoode.

  ‘That’s the attraction of it, man. Come, join with your fellows.’

  ‘Not today.’

  ‘You’re no priest now, Edmund. The play is over.’

  ‘The Malevolent Comedy may have finished but another play has already begun.’ Elias looked baffled by the remark. Hoode became inquisitive. ‘Do you think that she was here today, Owen?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Ursula, of course. Ursula Opie.’

  ‘The sisters were both here.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because I saw them when we took our bow,’ replied Elias. ‘They were in the upper gallery with their father, clapping their hands with the rest. They liked the play.’

  ‘What did Ursula think of my performance, I wonder?’

  ‘Ask her when you meet her again tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, I will.’

  ‘But spare a moment to look at her sister as well,’ suggested the Welshman. ‘Have you ever seen such a merry twinkle in a woman’s eye? And, oh, those ruby lips! Bernice Opie has the lips of a cherub.’

  ‘It’s what came out of them that matters to me,’ said Hoode, flatly. ‘I’ve never heard anyone talk so much to so little effect. She gurgled like a never-ending stream. Whereas Ursula – God bless her – said little yet spoke volumes.’

  ‘Did she? Neither I nor Lawrence noticed that.’

  ‘You were too busy ogling her sister.’

  ‘Can you blame us? Bernice is divine.’

  Hoode smiled wryly. ‘Be honest, Owen. Neither of you was attracted to the young lady by her divinity. All that you felt was lust.’

  ‘We are true sons of Adam.’

  ‘Then I must have descended from someone else,’ decided the playwright, ‘for she aroused scant interest in my breast, let alone in my loins. Besides, respect must always come before desire and Ursula was the only one whom I respected.’

  Elias shrugged. ‘But she was as plain as a pikestaff.’

  ‘Not to my eye.’

  ‘Then you need spectacles, Edmund.’

  ‘I can see Ursula Opie with perfect clarity.’

  ‘That’s something I’d not care to do.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Bernice decorates a room whereas Ursula is that dull piece of furniture you put in the corner. One sparkles, the other does not.’ Hoode shook his head. ‘It’s true, Edmund. But what’s this about one play beginning while another ends?’

  ‘Look to the sisters, Owen.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Study them both instead of just the pretty one. That’s what I did and it was a revelation. Ursula and Bernice Opie are two sides of the same coin. That helped me to see my mistake.’

  ‘What mistake?’

  ‘You’ll find out in good time,’ said Hoode, waving farewell. ‘Enjoy your ale, Owen, and raise a tankard to Ursula for me. You’ll have cause to thank her before long.’

  ‘Thank her?’ said Elias, perplexed. ‘Thank her for what?’

  The boy’s name was David Rutter and he was no more than ten or eleven. Though his clothes were ragged and his face dirty, he had clearly been taught manners by someone. Nicholas found him polite and honest. Before he returned the dog to its young owner, however, he wanted to know all the details.

  ‘You were paid to release the dog like that?’ he asked.

  ‘Rascal, sir,’ replied the boy. ‘His name is Rascal.’

  ‘Then he lived up to it this afternoon. Who named him?’

  ‘My father. He came to us as a puppy and was so full of mischief that my father dubbed him Rascal.’ Rutter grinned. ‘It suits him.’

  ‘Only too well. How much were you paid?’

  ‘A penny beforehand with threepence more to follow if I did as I was told. The gentleman must have thought I let him down because there was no sign of him afterwards.’

  ‘I doubt if he ever intended to pay you anything else. He bought you and Rascal cheaply to inflict some very expensive damage. But how did you get into the stables?’ wondered Nicholas. ‘When I searched them, they were empty.’

  ‘That’s what you thought, sir, but we were there all the time. Rascal and I were hidden under a pile of hay. That was our mistake.’

  ‘Mistake?’

  ‘I was told to let Rascal loose ten minutes after the play had started,’ said the boy, ‘though I could only guess at the time. But it was so warm and cosy under that hay that we fell asleep.’

  ‘Even with the audience making so much noise?’

  ‘We live beside the river, sir. We’re used to noise.’

  ‘So you didn’t wake up until the play was two-thirds over?’

  ‘I’d no idea about that. All I could think about was the money we’d earn if Rascal did his job. So I let him out of the stable,
’ he continued, ‘and that was the last I saw of him. What did he do?’

  ‘Let’s just say that he made his presence felt.’

  The boy was anxious. ‘Was he hurt?’

  ‘It was Rascal who did the hurting,’ replied Nicholas. ‘He bit the Clown and chased everyone else around the stage.’

  ‘The bite was only meant in fun, sir. Rascal does that all the time when we play together. He never bites hard.’ He licked his lips once more. ‘Can I have him back, please?’

  ‘If you tell me about the man who paid you.’

  ‘Much like you in height but dressed more like a courtier.’

  ‘Have you ever seen a courtier, David?’

  ‘No, sir, but that’s how I think they must look – with a fine doublet and a tall hat with an ostrich feather in it. And he was rich,’ said the boy. ‘When he put a hand in his purse to find me a penny, it came out with a dozen gold coins in it.’

  ‘Was he a fair-haired man with a well trimmed beard?’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘And a voice that was not born in London?’

  ‘That was the fellow, sir – you’ve met him.’

  ‘No,’ said Nicholas, ‘but I’ve every intention of doing so. Come, David,’ he went on, turning away. ‘I’ll not only show you where I locked Rascal up. I’ll give you another penny to take him far away from here.’

  When he stormed into the taproom, Saul Hibbert was impeded by members of the audience, who insisted on heaping praise on him. All that he could do was to smile, nod and express his thanks. It was minutes before he could make his way across to Lawrence Firethorn, who was seated at a table with Owen Elias. Hibbert stood over them.

  ‘I need to speak to you, Lawrence,’ he declared.

  ‘Then do so sitting down,’ replied Firethorn, ‘so that we may talk in comfort.’ Hibbert lowered himself onto a stool. ‘Will you join me in some Canary wine?’

  ‘No, I’ve come to talk business.’

  ‘And I know what business that is,’ joked Elias. ‘You wish your play to be known henceforth as The Malevolent Dog.’

  ‘I’d boil the creature in oil, if I catch it,’ vowed Hibbert. ‘Everyone I speak to congratulates me warmly on my play but saves their highest compliment for that yapping animal.’

  ‘I’d save it for Nick Bracewell. He got rid of the dog for us.’

  ‘But he was to blame for it being there in the first place.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’ asked Firethorn.

  ‘He admitted as much,’ said Hibbert. ‘It seems that the dog was hiding in the stables, waiting to be let out. Yet Nicholas claims that the stables were empty when he searched them.’

  ‘Then you can rest assured that they were.’

  ‘In that case, how did the dog suddenly appear?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ confessed Firethorn, ‘but we go to great lengths to make sure there are no animals in the yard before we begin. Someone smuggled in a cockerel one afternoon and let it loose while I was playing a tender love scene.’

  ‘And don’t forget that rabbit who once tried to take a role in The Loyal Subject,’ said Elias. ‘He, too, was released by way of a jest.’

  ‘That dog was no jest,’ insisted Hibbert, eyes aflame. ‘He was brought here in a deliberate attempt to ruin my reputation.’

  ‘What about our reputation?’

  ‘That’s too well established to be in danger, Owen. Mine, however, is not. If my play had been abandoned because of the dog, I’d be the real loser. I’ll not stand for it, Lawrence.’

  ‘Calm down,’ soothed Firethorn.

  ‘How can I calm down when my livelihood is at stake?’

  ‘You were safely up in the gallery when the attack was made. We were the ones onstage, having to dodge those gnashing teeth. You might begin with a word of thanks for the way we rescued the situation.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Elias, ‘and for the way that Nick captured the dog.’

  ‘But for him,’ argued Hibbert, ‘the animal would not have been there in the first place. Your book holder failed miserably in his duty. I’ll not have the bungling fool involved in a play of mine again.’

  The Welshman bristled. ‘Mind your language. Nick is my friend.’

  ‘I’d sooner take his place myself.’

  ‘No man could do that,’ warned Firethorn. ‘He’s far more than a mere book holder. Nick controls the whole performance. He’s also in charge of counting our takings, dealing with our churlish landlord, finding any hired men we need and acting as our emissary to Lord Westfield. He has a dozen more responsibilities besides.’

  ‘Most of all,’ said Elias, ‘he’s known and trusted by the company.’

  ‘You are not, Saul.’

  ‘If you want to see Nick’s true value, look at the plot he drew up for The Malevolent Comedy. It tells the story of each of the five acts, and shows who should be where in every scene. Nick pins it up in the tiring-house before we start. Without it, we’d be lost.’

  ‘Then we keep the plot and get rid of him,’ said Hibbert.

  ‘We’ve had this futile argument before,’ recalled Firethorn, ‘and our answer’s still the same. Nick stays, regardless.’

  ‘Does that mean my play will not be staged again?’

  ‘Far from it. We plan to offer it every day next week.’

  ‘Without my permission?’

  ‘What author would deny permission to have a play performed?’

  ‘I would,’ attested Hibbert. ‘Look to the contract and you’ll see that I’m within my rights to do so.’

  Firethorn gaped. ‘You’d stop us playing The Malevolent Comedy?’

  ‘Unless my terms are met.’

  Elias was combative. ‘Do you dare to threaten us?’ he said.

  ‘I mean to have my way.’

  ‘Then you can take your worm-eaten play and stuff it up your …’

  ‘Be quiet, Owen,’ said Firethorn, cutting him off. ‘We need to haggle here. Saul’s comedy could fill our coffers to the brim.’

  ‘I’m glad that you’ve remembered that,’ said Hibbert, smugly.

  ‘What’s to prevent it appearing at the Queen’s Head on Monday?’

  ‘The presence of Nicholas Bracewell.’

  ‘You demand a terrible price.’

  ‘And I mean to have it.’

  ‘The performance will suffer without Nick’s guiding hand.’

  ‘I refuse to believe that, Lawrence. Find a reliable deputy.’

  ‘A moment ago,’ noted Elias, ‘you were offering to take on the office yourself. Mark my words, you’d not be popular if you did so. And you’d not get the best out of the actors.’

  ‘Nicholas will never touch my play again!’

  ‘Or you’ll withdraw it?’

  ‘I’ll do far worse than that.’

  ‘Worse?’ repeated Firethorn.

  ‘I’ll work instead for Banbury’s Men,’ said Hibbert with conviction. ‘I’ve already received blandishments from them. John Vavasor and Cyrus Hame were sent to whet my appetite. Lamberto showed their gift for tragedy. I am wanted at the Curtain for my comic mastery.’

  Firethorn was shocked. ‘You’d go to Banbury’s Men?’

  ‘Only if you deny my request.’ He rose quickly to his feet and put his hands on his hips. ‘Nicholas Bracewell or Saul Hibbert? Make your choice. Which of us is more important to you?’

  Before any reply could be made, Hibbert stalked off dramatically.

  ‘I know which one I’d choose,’ said Elias, belligerently.

  ‘Peace, Owen.’

  ‘Nick is worth a dozen Saul Hibberts.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Firethorn, ‘but Nick does not write plays. If we lose Saul to our rivals, we yield up our best hope of competing with them.’

  ‘Do you believe that Banbury’s Men are really after him?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Then why not let him go?’ said Elias. ‘In return, you can lure away John Vavasor and Cyrus Hame. A f
air exchange, I’d say.’

  ‘And so would I, if there were any chance of it taking place. But there’s not,’ said Firethorn with a sigh of regret. ‘When he showed a play to me, I tossed it back in Master Vavasor’s face. He’d never join us now, Owen. The fellow has every reason to get his own back at me.’

  John Vavasor poured two cups of wine and handed one to Cyrus Hame.

  ‘Do you think he’ll come?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m certain that he will. Saul Hibbert is an ambitious man.’

  ‘Too ambitious, I fancy. We’d need to watch him, Cyrus.’

  ‘He’s no match for us,’ said Hame, sipping his drink. ‘We played him like a fish at the end of a line yesterday. The promise of more money will be irresistible.’

  ‘Yes, he’s as fond of women and fine clothes as you are.’

  ‘Like me, he has good taste in both. That means expense.’

  ‘Ambitious and in need of money – we have him!’

  ‘Unless they bind him by contract to Westfield’s Men.’

  ‘They’ve not done so yet,’ said Vavasor. ‘He told us as much. And I doubt that Lawrence Firethorn would pay what Banbury’s Men will offer. He’s a reputation for being tight-fisted – among his other vices.’

  ‘What about his virtues?’

  ‘He has none.’

  Hame laughed. ‘You really hate the man, John.’

  ‘I loathe him. He said that my play was pure dross.’

  ‘Dross can be turned into gold by the right process.’

  ‘You proved that,’ said the other with gratitude. ‘You’re a true alchemist, Cyrus. My work was base metal until you put it in the roaring furnace of your brain. It came out as new-minted gold.’

  ‘We are partners, John. Each of us needs the other.’

  ‘The question is – do we also need Saul Hibbert?’

  ‘You want to cripple Westfield’s Men, do you not?’

  ‘Oh, I do. I want to bring Master Firethorn crashing down.’

  They were in a room at Vavasor’s house, a spacious mansion that rubbed shoulders with the homes of the high and mighty in the Strand. Having no need to work for a living, Vavasor was nevertheless driven to make his mark in the theatre, even if it meant long hours of unremitting toil. Until he had met Cyrus Hame, all success had eluded him. Suddenly, the two of them were the most celebrated authors in London, and they had all but completed their new play. Vavasor looked wistfully at the manuscript and succumbed to a feeling of doubt.