The Princess of Denmark

Chapter Three

Though they worked extremely hard to clear the debris from the inn yard, they neither expected nor received any thanks from Alexander Marwood. Westfield’s Men knew the landlord too well to look for any sign of gratitude from him, still less for any reward. Pessimistic by nature, Marwood was plunged into despair, seeing the end of the world foreshadowed in the destruction wrought by the fire. Instead of planning to rebuild his inn, he was mentally composing his will. The taproom of the Queen’s Head was virtually unscathed but the troupe did not even consider retiring there at the end of their exhausting labours. Marwood still blamed the troupe for the disaster and neither he, nor his flint-hearted wife, Sybil, would serve them. The actors therefore walked up Gracechurch Street to the Black Horse, a smaller and less comfortable tavern but one where they were at least guaranteed a warm welcome.

Seated at a table, three of the leading members of the company picked away desultorily at their food and discussed their prospects. They looked bleak. Lawrence Firethorn, Barnaby Gill and Edmund Hoode were not the only sharers but it was they who customarily made all the major decisions affecting Westfield’s Men. Hoode, playwright and actor, felt that, in this case, the decision had been made for them.

‘We must disband until next year,’ he said gloomily.

‘That would be fatal, Edmund,’ said Firethorn. ‘We must stick together at all costs or the company will lose heart. Who knows? There may be room for us at The Rose from time to time, and we may even have the opportunity to perform at court in due course.’

‘Neither outcome is likely,’ said Gill with a dismissive flick of his hand. ‘The Rose already has its resident company and we will hardly be invited to play at court if we disappear from sight. We have to be seen on stage in order to catch the eye.’

‘Barnaby is right,’ agreed Hoode. ‘To all intents and purposes, Westfield’s Men have ceased to exist.’

‘No,’ said Firethorn, banging the table.

‘We have nowhere to perform, Lawrence.’

‘There may be another inn ready to help us out.’

‘We’ve never managed to find one before. The Queen’s Head is our home. When people hear the name, they think of us.’

‘And so they should,’ said Firethorn, thrusting out his jaw. ‘I’ve given some of my finest performances on the boards there. And you have helped me to do so, Edmund. Your plays have inspired me to reach the very peak of my art.’

‘What about me?’ asked Gill peevishly.

‘You frolic down in the foothills.’

‘I surpass you in everything I do, Lawrence.’

‘You surpass me in pulling faces, dancing jigs and singing bawdy songs, that much I grant you. As a tragedian, however, I cannot be matched in the whole of Christendom.’

‘Your modesty becomes you,’ said Gill waspishly.

‘Where would the company be without me?’

‘Better off in every way.’

‘It could certainly spare your meagre talents, Barnaby.’

‘Stop this argument,’ said Hoode, taking his usual role as the peacemaker. ‘You two never agree but you fall to quarrelling. The truth is that all of us — whatever our talents — have been put out of work by this fire.’ He chewed the last of his meal meditatively. ‘What does Nick say?’

‘What does it matter?’ countered Gill sharply. ‘You seem to forget that Nicholas is merely a hired man with no real standing in the company. It is we who decide policy, not the book holder.’

‘Nevertheless, his advice is always sound.’

‘Not in this case,’ said Firethorn with a sigh. ‘Nick thought that we should take to the road and hawk our plays around England.’

‘I’ll not turn peddler for anyone,’ said Gill defiantly.

‘You’ve done so before.’

‘Only under duress — and only in spring or summer.’

‘Strolling players are on tour throughout the year,’ noted Hoode. ‘They take no account of bad weather.’

Gill was insulted. ‘We are not strolling players, Edmund,’ he said huffily. ‘We are members of a licensed company. We have a patron and wear his livery. That sets us worlds apart from the ragamuffins who call themselves strolling players.’

‘For once, I agree with Barnaby,’ said Firethorn. ‘We have high standards and we must never fall below them. As for touring, it’s the wrong time of the year to walk at the cart’s arse.’

‘I dispute that,’ said Hoode. ‘If we have no audience in London, we must go in search of one. We can brave a little rain for the sake of keeping our art in good repair.’

‘I refuse to stir an inch from London,’ declared Gill with finality.

‘Then we’ll have to go without you.’

‘I’ll not allow it.’

‘I side with Barnaby on this,’ said Firethorn. ‘In another month, it will not only be rain that will harass us. Frost, fog and freezing cold will hold us up. Roads will be like swamps. Rivers will be swollen. Icy winds will get into our very bones.’

‘Stop it, Lawrence,’ ordered Gill. ‘My teeth chatter already.’

He pushed away the remnants of his dinner and reached for his wine. His companions fell silent. The despondent atmosphere that hung over the table pervaded the whole taproom. Actors sagged in their seats or conversed in muted voices. There was none of the happy banter that normally invigorated them. For the sharers — those with a financial stake in the company and who therefore enjoyed a share of its profits — the future was cheerless. For the hired men — jobbing actors employed for individual plays — it was far worse. Being out of work was a form of death sentence for them. With no wages to sustain them, and with a harsh winter ahead, many would fall by the wayside.

The sense of dejection was almost tangible. Nicholas Bracewell noticed it as soon as he entered the inn. He collected a few nods and words of greeting but none of the raillery for which the actors were famed. When he stopped beside Firethorn’s table, he was met with blank stares from all three men seated around it.

‘I’ve been to see Lord Westfield,’ he announced.

‘Did you tell him that his company is posthumous?’ asked Gill. ‘For that is what we are now — mere ghosts that no longer have any corporeal shape or function.’

‘Speak for yourself, Barnaby,’ chided Firethorn. ‘I am no ghost but a flesh and blood titan. All that I lack is a stage on which to unleash my power.’ He looked at the newcomer. ‘Find a seat, Nick, and tell us the worst. Was our patron shocked by the news?’

‘No,’ replied Nicholas, bringing an empty stool to the table and lowering himself onto it. ‘Lord Westfield was not shocked.’

‘Horror-struck, then?’

‘No, Lawrence.’

‘Alarmed?’

‘Not even that.’

Hoode was puzzled. ‘Lord Westfield is not insensible,’ he said. ‘When you told him about the fire at the Queen’s Head, he must have expressed some emotion.’

‘He did, Edmund.’

‘Anguish — fear — disappointment?’

‘None of those things.’

‘I do not believe it,’ said Gill irritably. ‘You’ll be telling us next that he was glad his company were driven out of their home by the blaze. Let’s have no more of this jest, Nicholas. It’s in poor taste.’

‘It’s no jest, I assure you,’ Nicholas promised. ‘Our patron was sad that we had been evicted from the Queen’s Head but he was far from crestfallen. He saw it as an Act of God.’

‘Except that God, in this instance, went by the name of Will Dunmow for it was he who started the fire that ruined us. Act of God, indeed!’ said Gill, clicking his lips. ‘I’ve never heard such nonsense.’

‘Lord Westfield thinks otherwise.’

‘Was he not even upset at our loss?’ said Firethorn.

‘To some degree.’

‘Does he want us swept from the boards?’

‘Of course not,’ replied Nicholas, ‘but, given the situation, he is quick to take advantage of it.’

‘Advantage!’ howled Firethorn. ‘What advantage?’

‘I see none,’ said Gill. ‘You are teasing us, Nicholas.’

‘I would never do that,’ said the book holder.

‘Then stop speaking in riddles,’ urged Hoode. ‘The troupe is a credit to our patron. We bear his name and proclaim his status. Since we are the best company in London, we add lustre to Lord Westfield. Can he sit calmly by and watch all that cast away?’

‘No, Edmund,’ said Nicholas. ‘He would never do that. He has our best interests at heart.’

‘Then why is he not as downcast as the rest of us?’

‘For two reasons.’ He took a deep breath before imparting the news. ‘First, Lord Westfield is to marry.’

Firethorn was astounded. ‘Marry?’ he exclaimed. ‘That old goat? Why does he need to take another wife when he can enjoy all the pleasures of marriage without one?’

‘I did not know that there were any pleasures in marriage,’ said Gill, a man who looked upon any relations between the two sexes with a jaundiced eye. ‘The love of man for man is the only source of true happiness.’

‘How would you know, Barnaby? The only man you ever loved is yourself. You’ve spent a whole lifetime courting mirrors. But no more of that,’ he went on, turning back to Nicholas. ‘Are you in earnest?’

‘Never more so,’ said the other.

‘Who is the lady?’

‘Her name is Sigbrit Olsen.’

‘A foreigner?’

‘She lives in Denmark and comes from good family.’

‘Whatever possessed him to marry a Dane?’

‘She is a lady of exceptional beauty. I saw her portrait.’

‘How old is she?’

‘Still young, Lawrence.’

‘I can understand Lord Westfield pursuing her,’ said Hoode, ‘but what does he have to offer a Danish beauty? Nobody could call him handsome and he relishes every vice in the city.’

‘Not all of them,’ murmured Gill to himself.

‘He means to mend his ways,’ said Nicholas. ‘As to what must have attracted her, I would have thought it was obvious — he is wealthy since his brother’s death, he has a title and he has us.’

‘Westfield’s Men?’

‘Our reputation goes before us, Edmund. It seems that her uncle — and it is he who has brokered this match — saw us perform when we played at Frankfurt as we travelled across the Continent. He had never forgotten the event and has filled his niece’s ears ever since with tales of our excellence.’

‘That’s gratifying to hear,’ said Firethorn, ‘but the lady is not being asked to wed us. She will be sharing a marriage bed with our patron, an ageing voluptuary.’

‘Just like you, Lawrence,’ remarked Gill nastily.

‘I resent that jibe.’

‘Truth is always painful.’

‘Nothing could be more painful than the sight of your repulsive face, Barnaby. It’s a monument to sheer ugliness.’

‘Many people account me well-featured.’

‘Blindness is a terrible handicap.’

‘You are at it again,’ scolded Hoode, pushing them apart with his hands. ‘Forbear, both of you. Listen to Nick. I think he has something very important to tell us.’

‘I do,’ confirmed Nicholas.

‘You said that there were two reasons why Lord Westfield was not as worried as he might have been. What’s the second?’

‘Our loss is his gain, Edmund.’

‘Could you speak more plainly?’

‘You are all very slow to pick up my meaning,’ said Nicholas, amused by their bafflement. ‘In short, the position is this. Since our patron means to marry — and since his future wife is fond of the theatre — he intends to take us with him.’

Firethorn gaped. ‘Take us where, Nick?’

‘To Denmark.’

‘Is that where the wedding will be held?’

‘Yes, Lawrence. At Kronborg castle in Elsinore.’

‘That’s hundreds and hundreds of miles away,’ complained Gill.

‘It matters not. We are offered work.’

‘But only after an interminable journey.’

‘Why must you always see only the hazards of an enterprise?’ said Hoode, grinning broadly. ‘This is splendid news. We are to perform at the Danish court.’

‘And we will doubtless be invited to show our skills elsewhere,’ said Nicholas. ‘Remember what we discovered on our other visit to Europe. We have no rivals there. English companies excel all else. If we go to Elsinore, we will be feted.’

‘Then we’ll go, Nick.’

‘Nothing would stop me,’ said Firethorn, elated. ‘Westfield’s Men will be the toast of Denmark. We’ll tell you of our many triumphs when we return, Barnaby.’

Gill was disconcerted. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You will be discarded from the company.’

‘But I’ve every right to go.’

‘Earlier on, you said that you refused to stir from London.’

‘True,’ admitted Gill, ‘and I still have qualms about this new venture. But, then, it has its undeniable attractions. A court is my natural home. I flourish before royalty.’

‘We will all flourish,’ said Firethorn, leaping to his feet to address the whole room. ‘Do you hear that, lads?’ he yelled. ‘Cast off your misery. Order more drink. Lord Westfield is to marry and we will perform a play to celebrate the occasion. Kiss your wives and mistresses goodbye, dear friends. We are going to Denmark!’

Owen Elias was so pleased at the turn of events that he sang to himself in Welsh as he strolled down Gracechurch Street. Chance had contrived their salvation and turned unhappiness into sheer joy. He was still exercising his rich baritone voice as he turned into the yard of the Queen’s Head. When he confronted the scene of destruction once more, however, the ditty died on his lips. Because of the concerted efforts of the company, much of the debris had been burnt or taken away but enough still remained to bring him to a halt. Instead of looking at one side of the inn, he was staring over piles of rubble at the houses beyond. It was dispiriting.

Out of the corner of his eye, he detected movement and swung round to see the landlord shuffling towards him with a stranger. The other man was in his forties, tall, stooping and in need of a walking stick. From his appearance, Elias could tell that he was a man of substance. He wore a smart brown suit, a fine hat and he had an air of prosperity about him.

‘You come upon your hour, Master Elias,’ said Marwood. ‘This gentleman has come in search of a friend who stayed here last night.’

‘Will Dunmow?’ asked Elias.

‘The very same. I’ll leave him in your hands. I am so weighed down by what has happened that I can barely speak.’ He shot them both a baleful glance. ‘Excuse me, sirs.’

‘The landlord was not very helpful,’ said the stranger as Marwood walked off. ‘I had difficulty prising a word out of him.’

‘Then you are fortunate, my friend. This morning, a whole torrent of abuse surged out of his mouth and it was aimed at us.’ He offered his hand. ‘My name is Owen Elias and I belong to Westfield’s Men.’ They shook hands. ‘What have you learnt about Will?’

‘Nothing beyond the fact that he spent the night here and died in the fire. I am Anthony Rooker, by the way,’ said the other, face lined with anxiety. ‘I’m a friend of Will’s father and offered the son bed and board while he was visiting London.’

‘He was very grateful, sir, and spoke well of you.’

‘That’s good to hear.’

‘Will told us that he was here to do business on his father’s behalf but that he intended to enjoy himself while he did so. He was cheerful company and generous to a fault.’

‘The lad has always been open-handed.’

‘His father is a merchant in York, I believe.’

‘Isaac Dunmow and I were partners in the city until I moved to London, but we still transact business together if the occasion serves. However,’ said Rooke, lips pursing in trepidation, ‘I am not sure that our friendship will survive this. I was meant to look after Will. I was in loco parentis.’

‘He was too old to be fathered and too young to drink with actors. That was Will’s undoing, alas.’

‘Tell me what happened.’

Elias gave him an honest, straightforward account of Will Dunmow’s fateful visit to the Queen’s Head, ashamed of the way that he had helped to get him helplessly drunk, thereby making him so vulnerable. Anthony Rooker listened with a mingled sadness and unease, stunned by the details of the death and wondering how he could break the news to the father when he wrote to him. He was not surprised to hear of Will Dunmow’s readiness to carouse.

‘His father is inclined to severity,’ he explained, ‘and frowns upon most of the pleasures of life. It is only when he journeys south that Will can enjoy drink, lively company and entertainment.’

‘What about women?’ asked Elias.

‘He has not neglected them while he was here.’

‘I ask that because he was so enamoured of Emilia.’

‘Emilia?’

‘A character in The Italian Tragedy, the play that moved him so much. When he acted as our benefactor, the person he most wished to meet was Emilia. Thinking her to be the gorgeous young lady he had seen on stage, Will blushed deep crimson when he realised that the part had been taken by Dick Honeydew, one of our boy apprentices.’

‘He is not well-versed in your conventions.’

‘It shocked him that he was entranced by a young lad.’

‘It would have shocked Isaac even more.’

‘One thing you may tell the father,’ said Elias, ‘not that it will soften his grief. But his son died happy. While he was with us, Will was in ecstasy and said so in round terms.’

‘Then I will certainly mention it in my letter.’

‘I’ll gladly write to his father myself, if that would help.’

‘No, no,’ said Rooker quickly. ‘This is wholly my obligation. I mean no disrespect to you, Master Elias. The truth is that Isaac does not hold players in high regard. This tragedy will only serve to confirm his prejudices.’

‘What of the body?’

‘I’ll see it taken to York for burial.’

‘You will have to wait until the coroner releases it,’ said Elias. ‘I would add this warning. Will was badly burnt. It would pain you to look on him and you must advise his father not to open the coffin. His son should be remembered as he was in life.’

‘That’s good counsel. I’ll follow it.’

‘If there is anything we can do, Master Rooker, do call on us.’

‘You’ve told me all I need to know.’

‘The truth was harsh but it had to be spoken.’

‘I bid you farewell, sir.’

‘One moment,’ said Elias as he remembered something. ‘You told me earlier that you and Will’s father were partners at one time.’

‘For several years.’

‘Why did you go your separate ways?’

A shadow fell across the face of Anthony Rooker. ‘We parted by mutual consent,’ he said evasively. ‘Isaac Dunmow has many virtues and every attribute that a merchant must have. But he was not the easiest person with whom to get along.’

‘You and he had an argument, then?’

‘In asking that, you presume far too much.’

‘Then I apologise,’ said Elias, holding up two penitent hands. ‘It is just that wine tends to loosen the tongue and it certainly set Will’s free. When he talked of his father, it was not with affection. Will said that he sometimes resorted to violence.’

Rooker’s eyes flashed. ‘Good day to you, sir,’ he snapped.

Turning abruptly, he hobbled away on his walking stick.

‘It is an accident that Heaven provides,’ said Anne Hendrik, taking his hands. ‘By all, this is wonderful, Nick!’

‘It has certainly rallied Westfield’s Men.’

‘No wonder. Instead of being deprived of work, they will be able to win new friends in a foreign country. My only regret is that you will not be able to perform in Amsterdam while I am there.’

‘Denmark will keep us fully occupied.’

‘Your patron, too, by the sound of it. Having outlived two wives, I never thought that he’d take a third.’

‘When he was deep in debt,’ said Nicholas Bracewell, ‘he was in no position to do so. An inheritance has transformed his outlook. The lady in question would enchant any man.’

‘I hope that you were an exception.’

‘Of course — I am already spoken for.’

Anne laughed and brushed his lips with a kiss. It was late evening and they were in her house in Bankside. At the end of a long and eventful day, Nicholas was grateful for some peace and some warm companionship. Anne, too, was able to relax for the first time as they sat side by side in the parlour.

‘Describe her to me,’ she requested.

‘Who?’

‘This paragon whose portrait you saw in miniature. Is she really a princess of Denmark?’

‘Only in Lord Westfield’s mind.’

‘Is she dark or fair?’

‘Fair.’

‘What of her eye, her lip, her cheek?’

‘She has the requisite number of each,’ said Nicholas, ‘but she still does not compare with you, Anne. You have one crucial advantage over Sigbrit Olsen.’

‘And what is that?’

‘I can see you as you really are — a lovely woman in the prime of life with virtues too numerous to name. All that I know of Lord Westfield’s bride is what I gleaned from her portrait. Limners can be deceptive,’ he pointed out. ‘And they are there to please their clients.’

‘You mean that they will hide any blemishes?’

‘And enhance any finer points of a countenance.’

‘This lady still has considerable charm,’ said Anne. ‘The most artful hand cannot turn an ugly face into a beauteous one. What does she know of the man she has agreed to marry?’

‘Only what her uncle has told her. The match has been arranged by him and by a man whom our patron engaged to find a suitable bride.’

‘So she had not seen a portrait of Lord Westfield?’

‘No, Anne. She is taking him on trust.’

‘Then she is in for an unpleasant surprise,’ she said. ‘Of the two of them, Sigbrit Olsen is getting by far the worst of the bargain.’

‘We shall see,’ said Nicholas tolerantly. ‘All that concerns me is that we have been rescued from idleness by this marriage. More to the point, it enables me to spend more time with you.’

‘How so?’

‘I thought that you would sail for Amsterdam alone.’

‘I still intend to do so. I’ve promised to visit Jacob’s family and I will not let them down. My plan is to leave next week.’

‘Stay your hand and we may sail together. A ship that sails for Denmark is likely to visit the Low Countries as well. Indeed, I’ll make sure that it does before I commit us as passengers.’ He smiled fondly. ‘Would you rather go with or without me?’

‘You know the answer to that,’ she said, touching his arm. ‘There’s nobody I would rather have beside me. You are a good sailor, Nick. I am not. You have voyaged around the whole world. All that I managed to do was to sail across the North Sea.’

‘That, too, can have its perils.’

‘Then I’ll gladly share them with you.’

He put an arm around her and she nestled into his shoulder. Dappled by the shadows thrown by the candles, they sat there in restful silence for a long time. Nicholas’s memory was then jogged.

‘How is Preben?’ he asked.

‘Still pretending that there is nothing wrong with him.’

‘He looked as pale as death when I saw him.’

‘That stone all but knocked him senseless,’ said Anne, ‘and he lost a lot of blood. He was so upset that I should see him like that.’

‘Did you report what happened?’

‘Yes, Nick. We gave that document to a constable and charged him to pass it on to the authorities. They will be as angry as we were by that message of hatred. Steps will be taken to find the culprits.’

‘There have been no arrests so far.’

‘The villains have been too cunning.’

‘Then a trap needs to be set for them.’

‘It’s not your place to get involved, Nick.’

‘I gave Preben my word,’ he said.

‘And it caused him great disquiet,’ said Anne. ‘To have anyone acting on his behalf only distresses him. Preben would prefer that the whole matter was forgotten.’

‘His head was cracked open. Retribution is due.’

‘Humour him, please. For his sake, do not pursue the matter. We had a shock this morning and we are over it now. With so much to do before you leave for Denmark, you will not have time to go to the Dutch Churchyard.’

‘I’ll find the time somehow.’

‘What is the point?’ she said. ‘Your chances of success are very slim. It may well be that what we saw was the last of these libels against strangers. Those who put them there know the dire penalties that they face. I think that they will be frightened away.’

The watchmen plodded along side by side in the dark like two old carthorses pulling a heavy load. Broad Street was no less noisome by night than by day. A compound of unpleasant smells hung in the air to assault their nostrils and their feet squelched through all kinds of filthy refuse. But they knew their duty. When they reached the Dutch Churchyard, they paused to look inside, using their lanterns to illumine even its darkest corners. All that they found was a dog, curled up beside one of the gravestones. Dispatched with a kick, it yelped aloud and scurried away. The watchmen were content. Leaving the churchyard, they checked every inch of the wall to see if anything had been hung there again.

‘Nothing,’ said one.

‘We are good scarecrows,’ said the other.

‘Yes, Tom. We frightened them away at last.’

Chuckling quietly, they went on their way, patrolling the streets of the parish at the same slow, tireless, unvarying pace. They were soon swallowed up by darkness. When the distant echo of their footsteps finally died away, someone came out of a doorway opposite the churchyard and trotted across to it. Seconds later, another vile attack on foreigners was attached to the wall.

The villains had struck again.