The Wanton Angel

Chapter Nine

Viscount Havelock lived in a style which was the envy of his friends and foes alike. His house in Bishopsgate was palatial, surpassing in extravagance, though not in size, the neighbouring Crosby Place. The Viscount was a man of considerable wealth and a passion for displaying it. His theatre company were not simply a reflection of his devotion to the arts. They were a public statement of his importance, an expression of his vanity and a glittering jewel which he could wear to impress the rest of London. Viscount Havelock never resisted any opportunity to polish that jewel.

‘Well, Rupert?’ he enquired.

‘All things proceed to our advantage,’ said Kitely.

‘I am delighted to hear it.’

‘This latest device of Sir Edmund Tilney’s makes our position ever more secure. We are to play at Court in sequence with Banbury’s Men and Westfield’s Men so that we may be judged side by side. Choice of the fare we select will be critical, my lord, and fortune favours us.’

‘How so?’

‘We have a play, fresh and new-minted, the sprightliest comedy which has come our way in years.’

‘What is it called?’

‘A Looking Glass for London.’

‘I like the sound of that.’

‘You will like it even more when you see it, my lord,’ said Kitely with pride. ‘It was to have been staged at The Rose on Monday but we will save it for Court. A Looking Glass for London is the ideal piece to set before Her Grace. Our rivals, meanwhile, will have no new offering ready in time. They will have to ferret through their old playbooks to find something fit. Our work will be fresh and lively against their dull, stale, careworn dramas.’

‘This serves us well, Rupert.’

They were at the house in Bishopsgate and Kitely was extremely flattered to be invited there. At the same time, he was reminded of his position as the servant of his patron by being kept waiting when he first arrived then by being made to stand while his host lounged in a chair. They were in a small but well-appointed antechamber and Kitely could hear the sound of busy preparations in the adjoining dining room. The noble Viscount Havelock would never deign to invite the actor to his table. Though the theatre troupe brought them close, and even permitted a degree of friendship, the social distance between them remained vast.

‘What of Westfield’s Men?’ asked the patron.

‘They are beset by problems,’ said the other complacently.

‘And we will create more to vex them.’

‘Have you been able to raid the company?’

‘We have taken one prisoner so far, my lord. Their young playwright, Lucius Kindell. You saw his work at the Queen’s Head recently.’

‘Saw it and admired it,’ recalled the Viscount. ‘This fellow has talent. But I would sooner you had poached Edmund Hoode from their pantry. They feed chiefly off him.’

‘Hoode will come in time, my lord,’ said the actor. ‘And Lucius will help to bring him there. My calculation was that Hoode would be desolate at the loss of his young apprentice. And so it has proved. Westfield’s Men are a lesser company when their playwright is dejected.’

‘You are a wise politician, sir.’

‘I need to be in my profession.’

‘And Banbury’s Men?’

‘They are of no account, my lord.’

‘Do not dismiss them lightly, Rupert.’

‘You know the terms of the edict better than I, my lord. One playhouse to stand north of the river and one south. Banbury’s Men cannot hurt us while they are in Shoreditch.’

‘But they must also have designs on Westfield’s Men.’

‘Indeed,’ said Kitely, ‘they have set themselves the task of stealing Barnaby Gill away.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Such information can be bought, my lord.’

‘A spy in their camp?’

‘He warns me of all that happens at The Curtain,’ said Kitely with a thin smile. ‘One Henry Quine, an actor with the company, was used to see if Gill could be tempted. It seems that he can be. Gill has met with Giles Randolph.’

‘I would sooner he met with Rupert Kitely.’

‘That, too, will come in time, my lord,’ promised the other. ‘For the moment, I choose to let Banbury’s Men work on our behalf. If they take Barnaby Gill from the Queen’s Head, they disable the company badly and that serves our purpose. It is The Angel which threatens The Rose. Our rivals will help to clip its wings.’

Viscount Havelock rose to his feet to deliver his command.

‘I want this new playhouse strangled in its cradle.’

‘It will be, my lord.’

‘The Rose must have no rival in Bankside.’

‘Nor will it,’ pledged the other. ‘Havelock’s Men will be unchallenged. The Angel theatre is the doomed project of a company which will soon be disbanded. Your company will reign supreme, my lord.’

‘That will please me mightily.’

Viscount Havelock rose from his chair with a smile of satisfaction then gave his visitor a nod of dismissal before going off to join his guests. He would have something to boast to them about now.

Nicholas Bracewell was deeply troubled. His walk home from the Queen’s Head was a series of recriminations. A casual remark from their patron had made him see their situation in an entirely different light. When he left the house in the Strand, he firmly believed that their benefactor was advancing a loan to the company out of fondness for Sylvester Pryde but it now transpired that she might have another motive. Cordelia Bartram, Countess of Dartford, had struck him as a beautiful woman who was grieving over the death of a close friend and Nicholas had sensed that the friendship might well have been of the most intimate nature. He passed no moral judgement on that. It was not his place to do so.

If, however, the lady really was the discarded mistress of Viscount Havelock, and if she was using Westfield’s Men as a weapon against him, then the company’s position was precarious. They were mere pawns in a private quarrel between estranged lovers. When they had served their purpose and brought about the demise of the rival company, the scheming Countess might have no further use for them and the loan which she had so readily supplied might be recalled or laden with crippling additional interest payments. Instead of ensuring their salvation, Sylvester Pryde might unwittingly have loaded them with an intolerable burden.

What made his predicament worse was that Nicholas was unable to discuss it with anyone. Having given his solemn word, he was duty bound to stand by it and that meant holding back from his fellows any knowledge of the threat which their benefactor posed. He could now see all too well why the Countess of Dartford insisted on her anonymity. She did not wish Viscount Havelock to know that she was funding a campaign against his theatre company, nor, Nicholas suspected, did she want her husband to become aware of how she disposed of her money or how she spent her time away from him. Judging by his portrait, the Earl of Dartford was a proud, haughty man with a possessive nature. Had he realised that his wife had been entertaining a young lover at their London home, he would have been justifiably roused.

The more Nicholas reflected on the situation, the more complicated it became. Lord Westfield had his faults but he was a supportive patron. He could be weak, erratic and prone to interfere at times yet he never failed them in a real crisis. Nicholas could imagine how outraged he would be if he knew that one of the people he had recruited to his Court faction was secretly providing the money to build the new playhouse. If her identity were ever revealed, then Nicholas himself would come in for severe criticism from a patron who would not be above demanding his removal from the company. He was shaken by the thought that a vow given to the Countess of Dartford might turn out to be an act of professional suicide.

His meditations carried him all the way down to the river and he engaged a waterman to row him across. As they rode on the choppy water in the falling light, Nicholas recalled that Sylvester Pryde had made a similar journey to Bankside on the night of his murder. He could well understand the emotions which had surged through his friend. To be able to effect the survival of his company would have been deeply gratifying but it was the notion of the new playhouse which had fired him. The Angel theatre would not just be a marvel which Pryde had helped to bring into being. For a rootless actor, an outcast from his family, a wandering soul, a man who had finally discovered his true path in life, it was a spiritual home.

The boat landed him a hundred yards downstream of The Angel but Nicholas felt a sudden urge to view the site himself. Little would be visible in the gloom but he knew that it would impart the same thrill of anticipation which Pryde had sought on his fatal visit. Instead of returning to his lodging, therefore, he walked briskly past the tenements which fringed the riverbank. When a gap in the buildings appeared, Nicholas thought for a moment that he saw figures moving about on the site and he came to a cautionary halt. No work could be done without torches and Thomas Bradd had dismissed his men some hours before. Who then could be trespassing?

Though he strained his eyes against the half-dark, Nicholas could no longer see anyone among the timbers and the piles of bricks. He decided that he had either been mistaken or that his arrival had frightened away any intruders. When he moved forward, he still took the precaution of keeping a hand on his dagger but he did not expect to have to use it. The site of the playhouse seemed deserted. Foundations had been dug and one wall had already been started. When he stood in the centre of the plot, Nicholas could envisage the great, many-sided structure rising up all around him until it matched The Rose in the middle distance. It was an inspiring moment but he was not allowed to enjoy it for long.

The sound of footsteps made him turn and he saw a burly figure hurtling towards him. Nicholas lowered his shoulder and struck his assailant so hard in the chest that the man was knocked off his feet. Nicholas pulled out his dagger but a second man struck his arm with a staff and forced him to drop it on the ground. He swung round to face the new adversary. Before Nicholas could even grapple with him, however, he was attacked from behind by a third man. All three now set on him, Nicholas resisted manfully, punching hard and drawing blood, using all his power to shake one of his attackers off and to wind a second with a blow to the stomach. But it was only a temporary respite and they came back at him with renewed ferocity.

Nicholas was outnumbered. As the brawl continued, the staff was used to club him to the ground. He tried to put his hands up to protect his head but his arms were drained of strength. A final blow knocked him unconscious. The men did not delay. Leaving him there, they set about their work with increased speed, kicking down the preliminary wall of the theatre then using ropes to drag and manoeuvre the heavy timbers into a pile in the middle of the site. Hessian soaked in oil was stuffed under the pile along with kindling. The bonfire was lit and the men retreated into the night.

By the time that Nicholas began to recover consciousness, the blaze was well-established. He opened a bleary eye to find that The Angel theatre was now a small inferno.

Giles Randolph was in a mood of unassailable smugness. His performance in the title role of Richard Crookback that afternoon had been hailed, the takings had been excellent, his patron had been indulgent and his favourite mistress had sent word that she was awaiting him. Only one source of pleasure was missing. He raised the topic with Henry Quine when the two of them met at The Elephant Inn in Shoreditch.

‘You have done well, Henry,’ he congratulated.

‘Thank you,’ said Quine.

‘How did you charm Barnaby Gill so cunningly? I do not think that you did it at the Queen’s Head under the very noses of his colleagues.’

‘That would have been too dangerous.’

‘Then how did you reach him? At his lodging?’

‘No, Giles,’ said Quine with a grin. ‘Master Gill is not like us. He takes no pleasure from the society of women. His interests lie elsewhere and he frequents those haunts where he can pursue those interests. I met him at one of those secret gatherings.’

Randolph smiled. ‘Did you turn apprentice and put on woman’s apparel? Were you a practised coquette?’

‘I simply approached him when he was in his cups and off guard. Flattery was my most potent ally. I showered praise on his work and told him what a tragedy it would be if his genius was swept off the London stage.’

‘What was his reply?’

‘The very notion mortified him.’

‘So you whispered the name of Banbury’s Men in his ear.’

‘Yes, Giles,’ said Quine, ‘but that is all I whispered. I gave him plenty of time to think it over before I went to him again. Too much eagerness at first would have aroused his suspicion and frighted him away. Persuasion could not be rushed. Barnaby Gill has been with Westfield’s Men a long time and deep loyalties still exist.’

‘You found a way to defeat them, Henry, and I am most grateful to you for that. Well,’ he said happily, ‘he came. Master Gill’s curiosity was such that he came here and met me. I told him all that he was hoping to hear.’

‘You were masterly, Giles.’

‘It seems that I could take lessons from you.’

‘We won him over together.’

‘Not quite, sir,’ the other reminded him. ‘We brought the horse to water but we have yet to make him drink.’

‘He is ours.’

‘That would be a twin joy, Henry. We would gain the finest clown in London and wound Lawrence Firethorn deeply. All hope would vanish for him. Westfield’s Men would surely perish.’

‘Even with their clown, they would not survive.’

‘Can we be certain?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Quine with a smirk. ‘Absolutely certain.’

‘Our patron asked me recently how far we would go to preserve the company and subdue our rivals.’

‘What was your answer?’

‘All the way.’

‘That is mine, too. When war is declared, we must not be afraid to inflict casualties.’

Laughter at a nearby table made Quine look up. Some of the sharers from Banbury’s Men were celebrating the triumph of Richard Crookback and savouring their forthcoming appearance at Court. Henry Quine felt a surge of ambition. It was only a matter of time before he became a sharer himself and joined the exclusive ranks of his profession. He turned to frame a question to which Randolph already had the answer.

‘When will we have Barnaby Gill in our grasp?’ he asked.

‘That will be soon, Giles.’

‘The day that it happens, I will have a contract drawn up for you, Henry. You will have the same privileges as all the other sharers. You will have your due proportion of the profits.’

‘I yearn for that precious moment.’

‘Nobody has earned it more than you,’ said Randolph. ‘You are accomplished in your art. When you have the opportunity to give full vent to your skills on stage, I will have to look to my own laurels.’

‘No compliment could be higher than that, Giles.’

Henry Quine basked in the approval of his master.

‘This was a fearful assault, Nick. You might have been killed.’

‘No, Anne.’

‘This wound is deep.’

‘They could easily have murdered me if they had wished.’

‘You should not have gone there alone.’

‘I wanted to visit the site.’

‘Hold still,’ she said as he tried to turn his head. ‘I have all but finished.’

Anne Hendrik was tending his wounds in the kitchen of her house. Having bathed his head with water, she was putting a bandage around it to stem the last of the bleeding. When that was done, she turned her attention to the bruises on his face and the grazes on his knuckles. Nicholas Bracewell endured the throbbing pain in his head without complaint.

‘How do you feel now?’ she asked.

‘Much better after your ministrations, Anne.’

‘You were in such a state when you staggered in here. I thought you had been set on by a dozen men and left for dead.’

‘They wanted me alive.’

‘And is the fire quite put out?’

‘By the grace of God, it is,’ he said sadly. ‘But not before it had done its worst. Most of our timber went up in smoke. The site is derelict.’

Fire was an ever-present danger in Bankside where it could spread quickly through the rows of tenements with their timber frames and thatched roofs. When the blaze roared into life, dozens of people in the vicinity had streamed out of their dwellings in fear. To save their own property, and under the guidance of Nicholas Bracewell, they fought the fire with buckets and pans. The proximity of the river was the deciding factor, giving them a ready supply of water and helping them in time to douse the flames. It was only then that Nicholas felt able to lurch home to his lodging.

‘I am almost done,’ she said, bathing his hand.

He managed a smile. ‘That is a pity. Your gentle touch blocks out the memory of the beating I took.’

‘Promise me that you will not go to the site alone again.’

‘Not alone, perhaps,’ he said, ‘but I will certainly return. I may well have to spend a night or two there.’

She was aghast. ‘A night! Whatever for, Nick?’

‘The site will need protection.’

‘But there is nothing left to protect.’

‘We still own the land. Once it has been cleared, we will have to buy fresh timber and start the work again.’ He tried to rise. ‘I must get word to Thomas Bradd.’

‘You are not leaving this house tonight.’

‘He must be told about this setback, Anne.’

‘Then tell him from the comfort of that chair,’ she said, easing him back into his seat. ‘I will send a servant to fetch him. When he hears of your injuries, he will come post-haste.’

‘That might be the best way,’ he conceded. ‘I still feel giddy when I stand. Master Bradd will be as angry as I am by this latest attack on us and I am sure that he will want us to mount patrols at night.’

‘Must you be part of them?’

‘I will insist.’

‘Then I will join you.’

‘Anne!’

‘If you are to stand there in the darkness, I will bring food and drink to succour you. I may not be strong enough to fight off intruders but I can at least keep you all well-fed.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, kissing her hand affectionately. ‘Your offer is appreciated but I would feel happier if I knew that you were warm and safe in bed here. Bankside at night is no place for a lady. Besides, Anne, I will not have to be there all the time. We will take it in turns.’

‘You have done your share already, Nick.’

‘I have a responsibility. I will not shirk it.’

‘You are too dutiful.’

She gave him a hug then sat down opposite him, worried at the state he was in but relieved that she had been able to tend his wounds. The blows to the head had opened up deep gashes and he was badly bruised but no bones were broken. Anne knew from experience that he would not let his injuries slow him down. Nicholas Bracewell had shown his resilience on many occasions. A beating which would have cowed other men only put more steel into his resolve.

‘I will find him,’ he said quietly.

‘Him?’

‘The man who instigated this raid. I think he will be the same person who murdered Sylvester. That gives me an even larger score to settle.’

‘Who could commit such hideous crimes?’

‘Someone who is determined to ruin us.’

‘Someone from The Rose?’

‘Or from Shoreditch,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Banbury’s Men have equal reason to want us silenced for ever.’

‘What of your loan?’

‘Our loan?’

‘Your benefactor gave you that money in good faith to build a new theatre,’ she said, ‘but all that it has produced so far is murder and arson. The whole project is smeared in blood. How will your guardian angel react to that?’

Nicholas made no reply but he was profoundly worried.

Lord Westfield arrived at the Palace of Whitehall with a new spring in his step. Word of the impending performances at Court by the three rival companies had been voiced abroad and it brought in support for his faction from some unexpected quarters. He firmly believed that his was no longer a theatre troupe with the mark of death upon it. It enabled him to meet the smirking Earl of Banbury and the smiling Viscount Havelock with equanimity. He could look both of them in the eye.

When he saw one of his allies, he detached himself from his entourage to steal a moment alone with her. Cordelia Bartram, Countess of Dartford, looked as gorgeous as usual but there was a faint air of sadness about her which even her vivacity could not entirely dispel.

‘What is amiss, dear lady?’ he asked courteously.

‘Nothing, my lord. I am well.’

‘You seem a trifle distracted.’

‘My mind was elsewhere,’ she said, shrugging off her melancholy at once. ‘But I am delighted to see you. How fares your campaign?’

‘Exceeding well.’

‘Have you been gathering your forces?’

‘Yes, Cordelia,’ he said, ‘and with encouraging results.’

‘Tell me more.’

‘I have had pledges of support from all quarters and Sir Patrick Skelton has hinted that he may be able to exert some influence over the Privy Council.’

‘That is heartening,’ she said. ‘I am a mere woman but I am committed to your cause. What I can achieve on your behalf with my wiles, I certainly shall.’

He chuckled merrily. ‘Then is the battle already won. No man alive can resist your wiles, Cordelia. I dare swear that you could win over the testy Earl and the handsome Viscount, if you put your mind to it.’

The Countess of Dartford hid her irritation behind a smile. Any mention of Viscount Havelock in her presence was tactless even if it was only in jest. Sensing that he might have offended her, Lord Westfield went off into a flurry of apologies but she waved them away.

‘All that I want is the survival of your troupe.’

‘That is assured, Cordelia,’ he said airily. ‘Now that the three rivals will play here side by side at Court, our future is certain. Westfield’s Men will tower above the others.’

‘I expect no less,’ she said quietly. ‘Winning is paramount with me, my lord. I will not lend my support to a losing faction.’

‘You have not done so.’

After issuing a dozen further assurances, he excused himself to move off to the Presence Chamber. His place was quickly taken by the immaculate Sir Patrick Skelton who eased himself alongside her to exchange niceties.

‘Good morrow, my lady!’

‘I am pleased to see you, Sir Patrick.’

‘How do I find you?’

‘In good spirits.’

‘And your dear husband?’

‘He is in poor health still,’ she sighed, ‘and likely to remain so. His physicians have no remedy for old age, alas. My husband will have to stay in the country.’

‘At least we have the pleasure of your company here.’

‘I crave excitement, Sir Patrick. I like to be involved. That is why I came back to our London house myself. And it seems that I arrived in time for some amusement.’

‘Amusement, my lady?’

‘This trial of strength between the theatre companies.’

‘It is in earnest.’

‘That is what makes it so interesting.’ She lowered her voice. ‘You and I are of the same party, I believe. That is reassuring. When as politic a man as you takes sides, I know that you will choose the right one.’

He gave her an urbane smile by way of a reply then fell in beside her as they strolled towards the Presence Chamber. She saw Viscount Havelock trying to catch her eye but studiously ignored him. It was another theatre patron who intrigued her.

‘Westfield’s Men are building a playhouse, I hear.’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘Is that an expensive undertaking?’

‘Very expensive, I should imagine.’

‘And has Lord Westfield advanced the money?’ she said artlessly. ‘It is an act of wondrous generosity on his part.’

‘It would be,’ said Skelton, ‘if it ever happened. But it did not. Lord Westfield is hounded by his creditors. He is in no position to lend his company one penny. If Westfield’s Men depended on capital from him, they would long ago have vanished into oblivion.’

She absorbed the news with great interest. Her face was impassive but she was smiling inwardly as an idea formed.

The sight of Nicholas Bracewell’s injuries caused fear and consternation among Westfield’s Men. Their book holder had always seemed so solid and indestructible. If he could be reduced to the sorry figure they saw before them, there was little hope for the company. Nicholas’s strength and courage were taken for granted as much as the control he exerted over their performances. To see their warrior so battered was a huge blow to their morale and their self-belief.

Nicholas countered the general misery with some stirring words of defiance then took up his book for the rehearsal and exerted even more authority over the proceedings than usual. He knew how important it was to take their minds off the assault he had suffered and to get them working hard at their craft. When the rehearsal was over, he lingered in the yard with Lawrence Firethorn, Edmund Hoode, Barnaby Gill and Owen Elias. George Dart, torn between sympathy and horror, lurked on the fringe of the discussion in the hope of offering a word of comfort to his one true friend in the company but Nicholas moved him gently away before Dart collected a more abusive dismissal from the rumbling Firethorn.

The actor-manager worked himself up into a fierce rage.

‘This outrage will not be borne!’ he vowed.

‘You are not the one who has to bear it, Lawrence,’ said Elias. ‘That is poor Nick’s lot.’

‘He suffered those wounds while trying to defend our new playhouse. Our timber was destroyed, Owen. We all suffer that agony. Someone is determined to stop The Angel theatre ever coming into being.’

‘I spy the work of Havelock’s Men,’ said Hoode.

‘We have no proof of that,’ said Nicholas.

‘You carry it upon your head, Nick. Who most stands to lose if The Angel is built and prospers? The company at The Rose.’

‘Edmund is right,’ agreed Firethorn.

‘Yes,’ said Elias, adding his endorsement. ‘Who else could it be? And men who commit arson will also lower themselves to murder. One of them probably killed Sylvester.’

‘I wonder,’ said Nicholas. ‘His assassin followed him across the river before doing his work. That could mean that he lives here in the city and is familiar with the Queen’s Head, where he must have lurked in wait for Sylvester. Most of Havelock’s Men live in Southwark. One of them might have been dispatched here,’ he continued, ‘or some hired killer might have been engaged. But there are two further possibilities we must examine.’

‘What are they, Nick?’ asked Hoode.

‘First, that the assassin hailed from Shoreditch.’

‘Banbury’s Men?’

‘Several of them live cheek by jowl with us in the city. They know our territory and our habits. Their company even contains a few deserters from our own.’

Barnaby Gill looked distinctly uneasy. Silent so far, he felt impelled to enter the discussion. He waved a fussy hand.

‘This is wild speculation,’ he said. ‘We should not accuse anybody without proper evidence. The Angel theatre is clearly a stricken enterprise. We should accept that it will never be built and look elsewhere for our salvation.’

‘It will be built,’ asserted Firethorn. ‘If I have to put every brick and piece of timber in place myself, I will have that new playhouse.’

Gill was waspish. ‘What use will a playhouse be if the Privy Council’s decision favours The Rose? You will be left with an empty shell on your hands.’

‘Stop this talk of defeat, Barnaby!’

‘I am merely facing the inevitable.’

‘This is a time to be steadfast.’

‘Is it?’ said Gill sardonically. ‘Look at Nicholas. He was steadfast and we can all see the result. Murder and arson have already taken place on that site. What will come next?’

‘The burial of Barnaby Gill under its foundations!’ roared Firethorn. ‘Ye gods! This is treasonable talk. I want men around me who will fight to defend their livelihood.’

‘Let us come back to Nick,’ suggested Hoode, interceding in the quarrel before it distracted them completely. ‘He said that we should examine two further possibilities.’ He turned to the book holder. ‘What is the second?’

‘That the person or persons we seek have no connection whatsoever with any of our rivals,’ said Nicholas. ‘Indeed, they may not be involved in the theatre in any way.’

‘What, then, is their motive?’ wondered Elias.

Nicholas shrugged. ‘Spite, malice, revenge. Who knows? We all assumed that Sylvester was killed in order to deter us from building The Angel theatre. But the scene of the crime might have been chosen at random by an assailant who took the opportunity when it arose.’

‘What are you telling us, Nick?’ asked Firethorn.

‘That Sylvester may have been hunted down by an enemy. It was no deliberate attack on Westfield’s Men at all. The sole aim was to kill one man.’

‘But Sylvester had no enemies,’ argued Elias. ‘His real talent lay in making friends. Who could possibly wish to raise a hand against him?’ He gave a knowing leer. ‘Unless it was some enraged husband whom he cuckolded.’

Nicholas thought for a moment about the Earl of Dartford.

‘He had enemies,’ he said, ‘I am sure of that. And it might pay us to look more closely into his past.’

‘This does not make sense,’ said Hoode thoughtfully. ‘If Sylvester was murdered by a personal enemy then the crime was an end in itself. Why, then, go on to set fire to our property?’

‘The two attacks may be unrelated,’ said Nicholas. ‘I confess that I thought they were the work of the same villain at first but I am not so convinced now. And even if they are linked, it may not be through one of our rivals.’

‘Who else could join the two together?’ asked Hoode.

‘Our benefactor.’

As soon as the word popped out, Nicholas wondered if he had stumbled onto something. Could murder and arson have been used as a means of attacking the Countess of Dartford? Was there someone in her past who was wreaking the havoc in order to blight her plans? How would they know of her involvement with Westfield’s Men? Or of her relationship with Sylvester Pryde? The only way that he could probe the mystery was to visit her again. Cordelia Bartram had a right to know about the latest setback to the theatre she was lending money to build and she might conceivably be able to offer some insight into the outrage.

When they pressed him for more detail, Nicholas backed off and deflected them from any further mention of their guardian angel. It was forbidden territory. Their immediate concern was to stage a play that afternoon and he urged Firethorn to rally his company beforehand. They must not be allowed to dwell on adversity.

‘I’ll speak with them now,’ said Firethorn.

‘And I will take refreshment,’ said Gill, fastidiously.

‘Do not take your pessimism into the taproom, Barnaby. We have enough of that from our landlord. Give your fellows a smile. Raise their spirits. When the play is done,’ he announced, ‘every man of us will repair to the site to work.’

Gill was scandalised. ‘You will not get me near all that filth, Lawrence. It would ruin my apparel. And my hands are far too delicate for manual labour.’

Nicholas stepped in. ‘There is no need for any of us to go to the site today,’ he said. ‘It would only depress our fellows the more to see it in such a parlous state. Thomas Bradd has men enough to clear the mess. Let us leave it to him.’

‘I wish to view the damage for myself,’ decided Firethorn.

‘Then go alone,’ urged Gill. ‘You will not get me near a place which has brought so much horror down on our heads. I begin to think that it may be haunted.’

He went off to the taproom with Firethorn at his heels.

When Hoode and Elias tried to follow, Nicholas detained them.

‘I need some help from you,’ he said.

‘Anne is the only person who can help you,’ observed Elias. ‘You should be in your bed while she nurses you back to health, Nick. With injuries like yours, I would play the invalid for a week at least.’

‘That is not an option which I can afford to take.’

‘Tell us what to do, Nick,’ said Hoode, ‘and it will be done without complaint.’

‘Thank you, Edmund. I want you to seek out Lucius Kindell.’

‘If I do, it would only be to box his ungrateful ears!’

‘School your anger,’ advised Nicholas. ‘He can be of considerable use to us.’

‘But he is no longer involved with the company,’ said Hoode. ‘He took thirty pieces of silver from Havelock’s Men.’

‘That is why you must befriend him, Edmund.’

‘Befriend the rogue! Never!’

‘Listen to Nick,’ ordered Elias. ‘I understand his reasoning and it is sound. He wants a spy in Bankside.’

‘Not a spy,’ corrected Nicholas. ‘Lucius will be an unwitting informer. Go to him, Edmund. Apologise for your coldness. Make much of him. Give out that you fear the demise of this company and must perforce look for another to stage your plays. Ask him to tell you all that he can of Havelock’s Men. We may well learn much to our advantage.’

‘I’ll do it, Nick!’ said Hoode. ‘Though I’d prefer to strike him yet will I fall upon him with fond smiles and soft words. Lucius will be too innocent to know what I am about. He will be our intelligencer.’

‘And what of me, Nick?’ asked Elias.

‘You have a more difficult assignment.’

‘I am more than ready.’

‘Then follow Master Gill.’

‘Follow him?’

‘When the play ends,’ said Nicholas, ‘wait until he leaves then act as his shadow. I fear that he is in league with Banbury’s Men and would rather know the truth of it than trust to instinct. You were briefly a member of the company and know its haunts. Trail him. See if Master Gill takes you to one of them.’

Elias grinned. ‘I’ll stick to him like a limpet.’

‘What will you do, Nick?’ asked Hoode.

‘Seek a meeting with our benefactor.’

‘Are we never to be told who he is?’

‘Not until I have permission to release the name, Edmund.’

‘I will kiss him on both cheeks in gratitude.’

Nicholas smiled. ‘I doubt that,’ he said, imagining the incongruity of Edmund Hoode trying to kiss the Countess of Dartford. ‘But let us meet again this evening when you have spoken with Lucius.’

‘And I will join you when I have anything to report,’ said Elias. ‘Shall we meet here at the Queen’s Head?’

‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘In Eastcheap. At the Brown Bear.’