‘An act of penitence.’
‘He needs to show some of that penitence at home. According to Dick Honeydew, life in Old Street has been even more ear-splitting than usual. Margery took her husband to task for the way he treated Nick.’
‘Good for her!’ said Hoode.
‘I’d love to have been a fly on the wall,’ said Quilter.
Elias grinned. ‘Every fly within a mile heard the quarrel. Dick tells me that Lawrence was even exiled from his bed. No wonder he was so peevish this morning.’
‘It sounds to me as if Margery had the courage that we lacked.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Hoode. ‘She stood up to Lawrence.’
‘So did I,’ claimed Elias. ‘I swore he’d never share my bed again until Nick Bracewell was back with us.’
‘Do not jest about it, Owen. It’s too serious a matter for that.’
‘Where is Nick?’ wondered Quilter. ‘Is he not here today?’
‘I’ve not seen him, Frank. Nor do I expect to do so.’
‘Why not?’
‘He’ll want to steer well clear of Saul,’ said Hoode, ‘and, since he was not holding the book this afternoon, Nick may feel out of place.’
‘Out of place!’ echoed Elias. ‘A pox on it! And a pox on Saul Hibbert as well! It’s an evil day for us when Nick Bracewell feels out of place among his friends. We need him.’
‘He’ll not be back while The Malevolent Comedy holds the stage.’
‘Then we defy Lawrence and refuse to play in it.’
‘Yes,’ said Quilter. ‘I’ll back you in that enterprise.’
‘Edmund?’
‘Let’s not act too rashly,’ said Hoode, holding up his palms.
Elias was shocked. ‘Do you not want Nick back with us?’
‘Of course, and as soon may be. But it would be wrong to whip the company into a frenzy over a choice of a play. I’ve no high opinion of Saul as a man,’ he continued, ‘but I’m the first to applaud his work. I’m an author myself and know how difficult it is to write a sprightly comedy. There’s an important principle at stake here.’
‘Yes,’ said Elias. ‘We want Nick instead of Saul Hibbert.’
‘No, Owen. It has a deeper significance than that. Should the company spurn a good play simply because it dislikes the playwright? Look at my case,’ Hoode said. ‘Everyone loves me yet How to Choose a Good Wife was turned down because it was a bad play. That’s how it should be. A play must be judged on its merits and not on the personality of its author.’
‘I never thought Saul’s play had any merits,’ said Quilter.
‘Then you are at variance with hundreds of happy spectators.’
‘Edmund is right,’ said Elias, grudgingly. ‘The play is popular.’
‘Not with those of us who have to act in it.’
‘I still believe that we should challenge Lawrence.’
‘Leave that to Margery,’ said Hoode. ‘She loves Nick as much as any of us and will do her best to get him back. Margery is our true champion. Let her joust with Lawrence on our behalf.’
Elias nodded. ‘It shall be so,’ he decided with a smile. ‘Margery will knock her husband from his saddle and trample all over him until he begs for mercy. That’s where our hope lies – in the arms of a woman.’
Nicholas Bracewell remained in his hiding place until the yard was almost clear. He was pleased that the performance had suffered no disturbance though his relief was tempered with disappointment. He felt that an opportunity had been missed to catch the person who had left such an indelible stain on the two earlier performances. Nicholas showed his customary tact. He did not even think of leaving the room until he saw that Saul Hibbert had disappeared from the gallery. Nothing would be served by another argument with the playwright. At least, Nicholas thought, he would not be blamed for the shortcomings that had come to light that afternoon.
When all but a few stragglers had gone, he left the room and went downstairs. Coming into the yard, he first encountered Leonard.
‘What did you see?’ asked Nicholas.
‘Little beyond the play.’
‘You were supposed to be on guard.’
‘I was, until the Clown began to dance,’ said Leonard. ‘I could not take my eyes off him. He made me laugh. I’m sorry, Nicholas.’
‘Luckily, we did not need you.’
‘I’m always here if you do.’
‘Unlock the stables and feed the horses,’ said Nicholas, ‘or you’ll have the landlord shouting at you again. And – thank you!’
‘I thank you for letting me watch such a wondrous comedy.’
Leonard walked off and Nicholas turned his attention to the stage. Under the direction of Thomas Skillen, the decrepit stagekeeper, George Dart and the others were removing the boards and folding the trestles. After bearing the weighty responsibility of holding the book, Dart had now reverted to his more usual role as an underling, and Skillen kept reminding him of it. To spare the old man effort, Nicholas took over many of the stagekeeper’s duties himself but Skillen was proving that he was still capable of doing them, even though now in his seventies.
Nicholas gave him a cheerful wave and waited patiently until the stage had been put away. George Dart then ran eagerly back into the yard to speak to him, looking up at Nicholas like a dog that expects a pat of approval from its master.
‘You did well, George,’ said Nicholas.
‘Thank you.’
‘The play went off without any misadventure.’
‘I was too frightened to make a mistake,’ replied Dart.
‘We’ll make a book holder of you yet.’
‘Coming from you, that’s real praise.’
‘I never doubted you, George.’
‘Master Firethorn did. After the rehearsal this morning, he was ready to nail me to the wall of the tiring-house.’
‘I hope that he had the grace to congratulate you this afternoon.’
‘Yes, he did.’
‘Good,’ said Nicholas. ‘Fetch me the play and I’ll be off.’
‘Will you not stay to join us in the taproom?’
‘Not today.’
‘But everyone will expect you there.’
‘I’d feel a little uneasy,’ confessed Nicholas, ‘because I was not really part of the company this afternoon. I’d be an outsider. Besides, there’s always the chance that Master Hibbert will be there as well to soak up praise from any spectators. For a number of reasons, I prefer to keep out of his way.’
‘So do the rest of us,’ said Dart, sharply.
Nicholas clicked his tongue. ‘Now then, George.’
‘We hate the man.’
‘Show a proper respect for a talented author.’
‘I do that for Edmund Hoode. He truly deserves it.’
‘I agree with you there.’
‘Master Hibbert does not. He bullies us. In any case,’ Dart went on, ‘you should not dare to talk of respect. You showed him little of it yourself when you set about him the other day.’
‘I’ll not deny it,’ said Nicholas. ‘My temper was frayed and I hit out. But that’s all in the past.’
‘Not if he stays. Master Hibbert will never forgive you.’
‘That’s his business.’
‘He wants you out of Westfield’s Men for good.’
‘I mean to remain,’ declared Nicholas.
‘That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.’
‘Thank you, George. Now get the book so that I can take it home and lock it up securely.’
‘I’ll about it straight.’
Dart raced off and Nicholas smiled. As a result of his success as book holder, there was a spring in Dart’s step and confidence that oozed out of his spare frame. In the course of the afternoon, he had come through a time of trial. Nicholas was glad for him, hoping that it might liberate him from the mockery that was his usual lot. The new-found confidence did not last long, however. When he reappeared minutes later, Dart was the same worr
ied, woebegone, timorous little creature he had always been. Nicholas felt sudden alarm.
‘Where is it?’ he asked.
‘It’s not there. I’ve searched high and low.’
‘Where did you leave it?’
‘On a bench in the corner.’
‘Could one of the actors have taken it?’
‘No,’ said Dart. ‘As soon as the play was over, they rushed off to the taproom. The book was there when we took the stage to pieces. I saw it before I came out to speak to you.’
‘That’s the only complete copy of The Malevolent Comedy,’ said Nicholas. ‘Without it, the play cannot be staged. Think, George. Are you sure that you left it on the bench?’
‘I’d swear to it on the Holy Bible.’
‘Then there’s only one conclusion – it’s been stolen.’
Lawrence Firethorn was in despair. Battered by circumstance and bruised by marital confrontation, he had led his company with less than his accustomed gusto that afternoon. To his utter chagrin he had been compelled to give Saul Hibbert an abject apology then stand there while the author denounced the performance in forthright language and had especial words of censure for Lord Loveless. Reeling from the encounter, all that Firethorn wanted to do was to drink himself into a stupor. Instead, he found Nicholas Bracewell waiting for him at the door to the taproom with bad tidings. The actor was apoplectic.
‘The book was stolen?’ he cried.
‘So it appears,’ replied Nicholas.
‘Are you certain that nobody took it in jest?’
‘This is no jest, Lawrence. Everyone knows how sacrosanct the book of a play is. That’s why I guard it so carefully.’
‘But you were not there this afternoon, Nick. In my folly, I let George Dart take your place. He’s to blame for all this. I’ll crucify him!’
‘George served you well this afternoon,’ said Nicholas, coming to his defence, ‘and worked just as hard after the play was over. He could not watch the book every second. The real fault lies with the thief, not with George.’
‘What am I to do?’ groaned Firethorn, clutching at his hair. ‘I’ve already worn sackcloth and ashes for Saul Hibbert once. Am I to don the robe of shame again?’
‘Send me in your stead.’
‘Oh, no.’
‘I’ll try to reason with our author.’
‘You’d find a charging elephant more inclined to reason. No, Nick,’ said Firethorn, ‘it falls to me to face his ire again. I’ll tell Saul what’s befallen us. Stay here to learn the outcome.’
‘I will,’ said Nicholas. ‘We need a quick decision on the matter.’
Leaving his book holder at the bottom of the staircase, Firethorn ascended the steps again and went along the passageway. He tapped on the door of Hibbert’s but elicited no response. He knocked harder.
‘Go away!’ yelled Hibbert from inside the room.
‘This is Lawrence again.’
‘I don’t care if it’s the King of Mesopotamia – go away!’
‘But I need to speak to you on urgent business.’
‘I’ve urgent business of my own!’ rejoined Hibbert, angrily.
Firethorn heard the rhythmical creaking of the bed and understood what that business might be. He waited until the sound reached its peak then faded slowly away. The actor-manager banged on the door again.
‘I’m still here, Saul,’ he called out.
‘Then you can stay there all night.’
‘I came to warn you that we may not be able to stage your play tomorrow. Or any other day this week, for that matter.’
‘Why not?’
‘When you are ready to listen, I’ll tell you.’
A long pause was followed by the sound of movement. When the door was finally inched open, a sullen Hibbert peered out. But for the shirt he had hurriedly put on, the author was naked.
‘Your timing was poor enough onstage today,’ he said, nastily, ‘but it’s deserted you altogether now. You knew that I was entertaining a lady and should have kept your distance.’
‘This news will brook no delay.’
‘What news?’
‘The book has been stolen.’
‘What book?’
‘The prompt copy of your play,’ explained Firethorn. ‘When George Dart’s back was turned, someone sneaked into the tiring-house and took it. The Malevolent Comedy has vanished.’
‘Damnation!’
‘There may yet be a remedy.’
‘Yes,’ snarled Hibbert. ‘I’ll hire a brace of lawyers to sue you for the wilful loss of my property. This is a disaster.’
‘Do you still have your foul papers?’
‘What?’
‘Your early draught of the play,’ said Firethorn. ‘The one from which the fair copy was made by the scrivener.’
‘No, it was covered in blots and scribbles. I threw it away,’
‘Then we are lost.’
‘What of your own copies?’ asked Hibbert. ‘Sides were written out for the actors. Put them all together and we have a complete play.’
‘Only if we had all kept our roles. Most of us have not. When we commit a part to memory, it stays lodged in the brain. We toss the written record of it away.’
‘That’s idiocy.’
‘It’s practicality. I’ve played thirty-six different roles this season, dozens more in the past. By my troth, if I kept a copy of every part I played, the house would be filled to the rooftops with paper.’
‘Nicholas Bracewell is behind all this,’ said Hibbert, vindictively. ‘I’ll wager that he stole the play in order to get revenge.’
‘He’d never dream of hurting the company in any way.’
‘His quarrel is with me.’
‘Then he’ll settle it in his own way,’ said Firethorn, ‘but not like this. Nick is the only person who can save us from this sorry plight.’
‘I’ll not have him involved.’
‘Then resign yourself to seeing another play at the Queen’s Head tomorrow. And hire as many lawyers as you like,’ he went on. ‘Look to our contract and you’ll find that the book is the legal property of Westfield’s Men. We bought it from you.’
‘I still have moral ownership.’
‘That’s a poor argument in a court of law.’
‘The book must be found forthwith,’ ordered Hibbert. ‘Instead of bickering with me, you should be out looking for it.’
‘And where would you suggest we start?’ asked Firethorn. ‘We’re still trying to find the man who poisoned Hal Bridger then paid for a dog to be unleashed upon us.’
‘I’ll warrant he’s behind this latest crime as well.’
‘A moment ago, you accused Nick Bracewell.’
‘He’ll be gloating over this terrible loss of mine.’
‘You mistake him badly. Nick is more upset than anyone. The book of any play is like a precious jewel to him. He’d defend it with his life.’
‘Pah!’
‘It’s true, Saul,’ said Firethorn. ‘Had he been in his place today, a whole army would not have been able to wrest the prompt book from him. In pushing Nick aside, you took away your play’s protection.’
‘I still abide by that decision.’
‘Even though you saw the effect upon us? That was the main reason we lacked any spirit today. We missed our book holder.’
‘Can one man make such a difference?’
‘Judge for yourself.’
‘Saul,’ purred a woman’s voice in the background.
‘One moment,’ Hibbert said to her.
‘Come back to bed now.’
‘Go to her,’ encouraged Firethorn, waving him away. ‘I can see you’d rather sport with your mistress than save your reputation.’
‘My reputation is everything to me, Lawrence.’
‘Then watch it wither on the vine. It rests on three performances of a play that no longer exists. Success entails keeping yourself in the public eye, Saul. A month off the stage and you’ll be forgo
tten.’
Hibbert was rocked. ‘Is there no way we can redeem ourselves?’
‘Only one.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Turn to Nick Bracewell. Let him work his magic.’
‘How could he come to our rescue?’
‘The way he did once before,’ said Firethorn, ‘when a play of Edmund Hoode’s went astray, stolen by a disaffected actor. Within the space of twelve hours, Nick had conjured another copy out of the air.’
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘Then ask Edmund. The play was called Gloriana Triumphant. We played it to celebrate the victory over the Spanish Armada.’
Hibbert’s resolve weakened. ‘Is there no other solution here?’
‘None.’
‘Could nobody else do what Nicholas would do?’
‘They would not have the knack of it, Saul.’
‘I’d rather it be any man but him.’
‘Nick may say the same about you, I fear.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He’d come to the aid of other playwrights without hesitation. With you, alas, he’s more likely to drag his feet.’
‘He’d dare to refuse?’ asked Hibbert, aghast.
‘I’ve no means to compel him.’
‘Hold him to his contract.’
‘You abrogated that, Saul. He was contracted to stay in place for every play we staged but you disbarred him from yours.’ Seizing the advantage, Firethorn twisted the knife gently. ‘It might be the one way to win him back,’ he suggested, floating the idea. ‘The one way to soothe his injured pride.’
‘The one way?’
‘Let him occupy his rightful position again.’
‘He’ll not touch my play!’
‘Without him, you may have no play.’
‘Saul,’ cooed the woman. ‘How long are you going to be?’
‘Just wait!’ he snapped at her.
‘Is that how you treat a lady?’ she complained.
‘Be quiet, please. I need to think.’
‘You’ve already made your feelings clear,’ said Firethorn, pretending to withdraw. ‘I’ll tell the company we play Black Antonio again tomorrow and send George off to the printer for some new playbills.’
The Malevolent Comedy Page 14
