‘Unhappily, it will.’
Nicholas felt another trickle down his forehead and folded the cloth before applying it to the gash once more. The lump on the back of his head continued to pound away. He appraised his companion for a moment and took especial note of his weaponry.
‘You have served in the army, I think,’ he said.
Chaloner was surprised. ‘Why, yes.’
‘And saw service in Germany?’
‘Holland. I was at Zutphen when our dear commander, Sir Philip Sidney died. How on earth did you guess that?’
‘You have something of the stamp of a military man,’ said Nicholas. ‘And you have a soldier’s bravery, certainly. You would not else have undertaken such a dangerous business. You carry those weapons like a man who knows how to use them.’ Nicholas gave longer attention to the stock of the pistol, which protruded from the other’s holster. ‘I would say that fought in the cavalry.’
‘Even so! By what sorcery did you divine that?’
‘Your pistol. May I see it?’
Chaloner handed it over at once. ‘Here, ’tis yours.’
‘It is of German design,’ said Nicholas, ‘its stock inlaid with engraved staghorn. A wheel-lock. Such weapons are highly expensive and not to be wasted on common foot-soldiers, where the risk of damage would be great. This is a German cavalry pistol.’
‘Indeed, it is,’ agreed Chaloner with a grin. ‘I borrowed it from its owner when he had no more use for it. The villain had the gall to discharge it at me. When our swords clashed, I cut him down and took it as a souvenir. You name him aright, Nicholas. He was a German mercenary.’ He took the pistol back and returned it to his holster. ‘How does a book holder with a theatre company come to know so much about firearms?’
‘It is all part of my trade, sir. We use pistols and muskets in our plays as well as swords and daggers. Nathan Curtis, our stage carpenter, fashioned a caliver out of wood but two weeks ago. Before that, an arquebus. Painted replicas but made with great skill.’
‘And a ball-butted German cavalry wheel-lock?’
‘No,’ said Nicholas, ‘that is beyond his art and our needs. But he works from a book of firearms that I keep and study for pleasure. It contains a drawing of your pistol. It is very distinctive.’ He leaned forward and his voice hardened. ‘So you see, Master Chaloner. I already know more about you than you intended. Do not put me to the trouble of finding out who you really are. Enough of all this mystery and evasion. If you wish to proceed in this affair, we must have more honesty between us.’
‘There is only so much that I may tell you, Nicholas.’
‘Then we might as well part company now.’
‘Do not mistake me,’ said Chaloner, easing the other back on to his stool as he tried to rise. ‘I will answer any question you put to me. Some of those answers, I must insist, are for your ears only and I rely on your discretion to perceive what they might be. But my own knowledge is far from complete. On many things, I am still in the dark.’
‘Let us begin then where light can be shed.’
‘Please do.’
‘How did they know I was coming to this tavern?’ said Nicholas. ‘When you hired the room here, did you tell the landlord my name?’
‘The devil I did! He did not even get my own.’
‘Then why was I expected at the Eagle and Serpent?’
‘I can only guess, Nicholas.’
‘Well?’
‘Someone learned of my business with Westfield’s Men,’ decided Chaloner. ‘Not from me. I am as close as the grave. And only one other person on my side knew of our meeting. Someone at the Queen’s Head must have let slip our plans.’
‘Only three people know them apart from myself.’
‘Word got out somehow. It shows how subtly they work.’
‘They?’
‘The people who ordered the death of Thomas Brinklow. Who sent his wife and her lover—guilty of sin, but innocent of murder—to the gallows. The people whom the play sets out to expose and call to account.’
‘But what are their names?’ pressed Nicholas.
Chaloner hesitated. ‘I am not certain.’
‘You are lying.’
‘More evidence yet is needed.’
‘You know who they are.’
‘I believe I know who he is but not his confederates.’
‘Name the man,’ demanded Nicholas. ‘The Roaring Boy is a tasty loaf indeed but only half baked if we exonerate the innocent without pointing a finger at the malefactor.’
Chaloner shrugged. ‘It is not as easy as that.’
‘Very well, sir. Let us come at it another way.’
‘As you wish.’
‘Did you know Thomas Brinklow of Greenwich?’
‘Extremely well.’
‘Was he a friend or a relative?’
‘He was like to have been both,’ said the other. ‘I am betrothed to his sister, Emilia. Had he lived, Thomas would have been my brother-in-law by now.’
‘You are still betrothed to the lady?’
‘We will be fast married as soon as this business is finally over.’ Chaloner’s glib charm was replaced by a warm compassion. ‘Emilia has suffered deeply over this. She lost a brother whom she adored and a sister-in-law whom she liked in spite of Cecily’s failings. Emilia was as anxious as anyone to see Thomas’s death answered on the gallows but not when it meant the execution of two innocent people. She is desperate for the real murderer to be convicted. As am I.’
‘That is only natural,’ said Nicholas. ‘Emilia Brinklow is that one other person of whom you spoke just now?’
‘Yes. She alone is in my confidence.’
‘What of the author?’
‘The author is…no longer involved in the project.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he has gone away, Nicholas. Far away.’
‘Without waiting to see his work performed?’
‘The play was written out of love for Thomas Brinklow and given to us. I took upon myself the task of trying to get it staged by one of our leading companies.’
‘On Saturday last, you told me that you were involved in the creation of the piece.’
‘That is so.’
‘What form did that involvement take?’
‘I provided the facts of the case,’ said Chaloner, ‘the author supplied the art. To put it another way, Nicholas, I made the bricks and he built the house.’
‘You have worked hard.’
‘With good cause.’
‘How many of your facts are true?’
‘All of them!’ said the other with sudden vehemence. ‘I can vouch for each and every one of them. Do you think I would spend all that time and money in pursuit of something so important and let it elude my grasp? Consider what we are up against here. You have only been yoked to The Roaring Boy for a matter of days and it has cost you a beating. Imagine the dire threats I have received these past few months. I have to look over my shoulder wherever I go. Were I not so well-trained in the arts of war and able to take care of myself, Emilia would be mourning another loved one. That devil has sent his men after me a dozen times.’
‘What is his name?’ insisted Nicholas.
‘Speak it to nobody else, I charge you.’
‘Who is he?’
A long pause. ‘Sir John Tarker.’
‘You are certain?’
‘As certain as any man can be.’
‘Sir John Tarker that excels in the tournaments?’
‘The same.’
‘Was he acquainted with Thomas Brinklow?’
‘He was,’ said Chaloner. ‘Sir John spends much time at Greenwich Palace. Thomas was often a guest there.’
‘For wh
at reason did he want Master Brinklow killed?’
‘Dislike, envy of his wealth.’
‘Murder needs a stronger warrant than that.’
‘Thomas and he had quarrelled. Sir John is a bellicose man who bears a grudge against any who gainsay him. His ire festered. When Thomas crossed him again, the testy knight hired ruffians to cut him down.’
‘There is something you are not telling me.’
‘They quarrelled. I would swear an oath on that.’
‘About what?’ said Nicholas.
‘Does it matter? They fell out. That is enough.’
‘Not for me,’ said Nicholas. ‘What was the cause?’
‘Some foolish disagreement.’
‘Is folly to be paid for with a life?’
‘They simply could not abide each other.’
‘The reason?’
‘Hold off, Nicholas,’ said Chaloner, turning away. ‘You have heard the truth about Sir John Tarker. You have read the play. It says all. What else do you need to know?’
‘Why you are shielding Mistress Emilia Brinklow.’
Chaloner reached involuntarily for his dagger but Nicholas was too quick for him, grabbing his arm in a grip of steel and holding it tight while he stared deep into the other man’s eyes. They were locked in a battle of wills for a long while before Nicholas finally prevailed.
Chaloner’s wrath subsided and he gave a resigned nod of acceptance. Nicholas released his hold. A memory made the young man shake with muted fury.
‘Sir John Tarker made unwelcome advances to Emilia.’
‘Her brother intervened?’
‘Most strongly. Thomas was a mild man but he could be a lion when roused. Sir John was more or less thrown out of the house in Greenwich, an insult that he would not bear lightly.’ An angry scowl descended. ‘He was fortunate. That scurvy knight was very fortunate. Had I been there, I would have used something more damaging than harsh words.’
‘Where were you at the time?’
‘In Holland. I came back within the month.’
‘To be told this sorry tale.’
Chaloner’s head dropped. ‘No, Nicholas. They kept it from me. My own dear Emilia was all but molested by that foul lecher and they hid it from me lest I run wild. I did not learn the truth of it until after Thomas’s death. When it was too late.’ He looked up with haunted eyes. ‘Can you see now why I am obsessed with this affair? Thomas was killed because he defended my betrothed. I’ll not rest until Sir John Tarker is arrested for the crime.’
Nicholas gave him time to recover from what had been a harrowing confession. It had robbed Chaloner of his poise and left his face ashen, but it had thrown a whole new light on The Roaring Boy. Nicholas brought the cloth away from his head and felt the wound with tentative fingers. It had stopped bleeding. He put the cloth aside and resumed the conversation. Something had struck him forcibly.
‘His sister is not mentioned in the play.’
‘Nor can she be. Emilia insists on that.’
‘But she is an element in the story.’
‘It is one that she prefers to forget,’ said Chaloner. ‘The fact of Sir John’s guilt is more important than its causes. He has been given reason enough in the play to murder Thomas, has he not? Why add more?’
‘Because we go in the pursuit of truth.’
‘Truth has to be tempered with consideration.’
‘I must speak with the lady.’
‘That, too, is impossible.’
‘Then we waste time here. Your play is not for us.’
‘Nicholas—’
‘Good night, sir,’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘I will not stay to be misled any further.’
‘You ask too much of me.’
‘And you ask too much of us!’ retorted Nicholas with a show of spirit. He snatched up a candle and held it to his face. ‘I have taken a beating for you and this play. That entitles me to know everything there is to know about it and I cannot do that unless I speak with the lady. If she will not meet my request, I’ll advise Master Firethorn to put the piece aside. That path has much appeal for me, I assure you.’
Their eyes met again in another contest of strength but it was soon over. The Roaring Boy was doomed without the help of Westfield’s Men. No other company would have the bravado to stage it and the skill to do it to bring the best out of it. Simon Chaloner was being forced to make the one concession he hated most but he had no choice.
‘I will speak to Emilia and arrange a meeting.’
‘We will try not to intrude too long upon her grief.’
Chaloner stiffened. ‘We?’
‘Edmund Hoode and I.’
‘Can you not conduct the interview alone, Nicholas? She has been almost a recluse since her brother’s death. One person will be distressing enough for Emilia to accommodate. Two will throw her into a state of profound dismay.’
‘Master Hoode must be there,’ argued Nicholas. ‘If he is to make your play fit for the stage, he must know every detail that appertains to it. Have no fears on his part. He is the gentlest soul and will pose no threat to the lady.’
Chaloner sighed. ‘Very well. I will bring Emilia to London and the four of us will meet secretly.’
‘Why not in Greenwich? That is the obvious place.’
‘I’d welcome the excuse to get her away from there.’
‘Then find it on some other pretext,’ said Nicholas. ‘Edmund Hoode will not only wish to meet the sister of Thomas Brinklow. He will want to see the house where the man lived and the place where he was murdered. It will all help to make The Roaring Boy a richer and more accurate play in the end. That, surely, is our common goal.’
‘Let me talk with Emilia. This may require persuasion.’ He got to his feet. ‘May I tell her, then, that the play will be performed if she agrees to help?’
‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘You may also tell her that we will offer five pounds for the privilege. Westfield’s Men always pay the price of a good play.’
‘We want to money, Nicholas. Only justice.’
‘The author might wish for payment.’
‘He has been well paid already.’ He crossed to the door and paused. ‘I will send word to you at the Queen’s Head. Until then…’
‘Not so fast. I have one last question.’
‘What is it?’
‘The world believes that Thomas Brinklow was cruelly butchered by two men hired by his wife and her lover. How can we persuade everyone to think otherwise?’
‘The play tells you. That is why it is called The Roaring Boy. Freshwell was one of the killers and he was a notorious swaggerer. When he goes to the scaffold at the end of Act Five, he makes a speech denouncing the true villain.’
‘It did not happen quite that way,’ reminded Nicholas. ‘It was Freshwell’s testimony which confirmed the guilt of those who suborned him. He made full confession.’
‘Did anyone see that confession?’ said Chaloner. ‘It was extracted under torture and a man will say anything to escape further agony. I am certain that Freshwell did not drag the names of Cecily Brinklow and Walter Dunne into the reckoning. He did not even know them. For what reason should he bear false witness? Freshwell was liar, rogue and black-hearted murderer but he must certainly be absolved of perjury.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because I was there, Nicholas. At his execution.’
‘Did Freshwell not make a final speech, repenting of his wickedness and asking for God’s mercy?’
‘No. He roared so loud, they had to gag his mouth.’
Nicholas was unconvinced. ‘Men often behave so at their execution. It is a last act of defiance. They roar to show that scorn for the majesty of the law. There is yet another reason why they rave so
at the last. Those wild cries are often a means to disguise their terror.’
‘That was not so in Freshwell’s case,’ explained the other. ‘Had he been allowed to speak, I believe that he would have named the man who hired him to do his filthy work. If Freshwell had but an ounce of conscience, he would also have pleaded for Cecily and Walter Dunne to be released.’
‘Why did he not do so instead of roaring in anger?’
‘The executioner’s assistant explained that.’
‘His assistant?’
‘He pinioned Freshwell in his cell before bringing him to the scaffold, so he got as close to him as anyone. The hangman himself would not even speak to me but his assistant took my bribe willingly enough. He told me why the roaring boy went to his death so noisily.’
‘And?’
‘Freshwell was no longer able to denounce anybody.’
‘Why not?’
‘They had cut out his tongue.’
A new resolution coursed through Nicholas Bracewell.
‘We will stage this play,’ he promised.
***
Heavy rain turned the streets and lanes of London into miry runnels of mud. People dived for cover under the eaves of houses or huddled in doorways or filled church porches with impromptu congregations. Cats and dogs scurried wildly to the nearest shelter. Horses churned up the slime and spattered the walls with indiscriminate force. Unrelenting water explored every leaking roof, splintered door, cracked paving slab and broken window in the city. The vast, noisome, accumulated filth of the capital became a voracious quagmire, which tried to swallow up each leg, paw or hoof foolish enough to tread on it. In the space of a few minutes, a hitherto mild night was transformed into sodden torment.
Sir John Tarker missed the worst of the downpour but that did not still his high temper. While the city itself was feeling the first drops of damnation, he spurred his horse out through Ludgate and galloped along Fleet Street until it became the wide and well-paved Strand. Here were some of the most palatial dwellings in the kingdom, fit only for those from the higher reaches of the nobility or the clergy, built along the line of the River Thames and linking the city with the architectural wonder of Westminster. The Strand was one long strip of wealth and privilege.
The Roaring Boy Page 9
