The Bawdy Basket

Chapter Nine

Francis Quilter was deeply upset by news of the attempt on his friend’s life. It was one more dreadful setback for them. When he talked to Nicholas Bracewell that evening, he was overcome with guilt.

‘You should have let me go with you, Nick,’ he said.

‘I survived.’

‘But you could just as easily have been stabbed to death.’

‘Not if I remain alert, Frank. I have been to Turnmill Street before and know its dangers well. It’s a place where you need eyes in the back of your head.’ He held up the hat and the dagger that he had collected. ‘In any case, I got the better of the encounter. My attacker had to run away, unarmed and bare-headed. I fancy that he took away a few bruises as well.’

‘My concern is solely for you, Nick. I put you in jeopardy.’

‘Not with intention.’

‘It matters not,’ said Quilter. ‘Simply by helping me you have become a marked man. Moll Comfrey has already perished in my name. Now they have turned their attention to you. Consider your own safety and let me deal with this business on my own forthwith.’

‘That is the last thing I will do.’

‘I have a family interest here. You do not.’

Nicholas was insistent. ‘The call of friendship brought me to your side and there I’ll stay. It is not only you that I help, remember. When we clear your father’s name, the company will also profit. They will regain a fine actor called Frank Quilter and their book holder’s mind will not stray from his duties.’

‘Westfield’s Men will not profit if their book holder is murdered.’

‘Then I’ll ensure that it will not happen,’ said Nicholas with a confident smile.

‘Take me with you wherever you go.’

‘It is you who may need a bodyguard, Frank. I do not expect another attack on me. My assailant has more sense than to risk his neck again. No,’ he went on, frowning with concern, ‘he may come in search of you next time. This, after all, is an investigation set in motion by you. If they kill Frank Quilter, they will hope to prevent any further enquiry into the trial and conviction of your father.’

‘I go abroad armed,’ said Quilter, indicating his sword and dagger.

‘A companion is the best defence.’

‘I might say the same to you, Nick.’

They were in Quilter’s lodging. While the actor had remained at Bartholomew Fair to confirm certain facts, Nicholas had made his way to Turnmill Street. As arranged, they met up to discuss what each had learnt. A thought occurred to Quilter.

‘Can we be certain that the man was hired by Sir Eliard Slaney?’ he asked.

‘I believe so.’

‘Could he not as easily have been some thief in search of your purse?’

‘He would not need to kill me in order to get that,’ reasoned Nicholas. ‘A thief would be more likely to cudgel me to the ground so that he could grab what he wanted. My attacker escaped on his horse, Frank. How many thieves in Turnmill Street own more than the clothes they stand up in? No doubt can exist,’ he emphasised. ‘I was followed there by an assassin who bided his time until he saw his opportunity to strike. He may well be the same man who trailed me to Bankside last night and who had earlier kept watch on Anne’s house.’

‘Would you know him again, Nick?’

‘I could recognise that mean face in a crowd. Do not look so worried,’ he said, with a reassuring hand on his friend’s arm. ‘The attack was foiled because it was not unexpected. I take it to be an encouraging sign.’

Quilter gaped. ‘Where’s the encouragement in an attempt on your life?’

‘It shows how worried they are, Frank. We have made more progress than we know. Sir Eliard Slaney must be fearful if he needs to order another death. His spy has put Anne and me under the same roof, so he will know that I must have asked her to find out what she could from Lady Slaney.’

‘It grieves me that I’ve put Anne’s life in danger as well.’

‘I do not think that you have,’ said Nicholas. ‘What advantage would they gain by her death? You and I are the targets here. Besides, Anne is well-protected by those who work for her. Have no fears for her safety. And sit down,’ he advised, ‘so that I might tell you what I learnt from Vincent Webbe’s widow.’

Quilter sat in the chair while Nicholas perched on the edge of the table. The actor listened attentively as his friend gave him a detailed account of the conversation in Slaughterhouse Yard. He seized on the name of Sir Eliard Slaney.

‘So it was he who told Vincent Webbe to approach my father that night.’

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘Secure in the knowledge that your father would turn down his old partner’s plea for a loan. Sir Eliard could also be certain that Vincent Webbe would lose his temper and become truculent. I daresay he also took care to see that Master Webbe had been drinking heavily before he accosted your father outside the Mercers’ Hall. Hot words were followed by a brawl.’

‘My father would never have provoked it.’

‘He did not need to, Frank. Imagine the situation,’ suggested Nicholas. ‘Vincent Webbe is an indigent man who has lost his standing in the world. He sees your father about to attend a banquet at the Mercers’ Hall because he is a respected member of the guild. His old partner must have been green with envy. When your father refused to lend him money, Vincent Webbe became choleric and struck out.’

‘With many witnesses nearby.’

‘Your father defended himself as best he could then Master Webbe skulked off. From all that I’ve heard about him,’ decided Nicholas, ‘I’d say that he sought solace in the nearest tavern. The next day he was stabbed to death in an alley near Mercers’ Hall and the blame was laid on your father.’

‘You have still not explained why Vincent Webbe had to be killed.’

‘His widow did that for me,’ said Nicholas. ‘She told me that her husband borrowed a great deal of money from Sir Eliard and was hounded for repayment. He grew belligerent and offered violence to the usurer. Sir Eliard would not endure that. Since there were two men whom he had reason to hate, he devised a plan to get rid of both in the most brutal way. Your father was falsely accused of the murder of his old partner, thereby removing both of Sir Eliard’s enemies at a stroke.’

‘Now I see it, Nick,’ said Quilter. ‘He has hit two marks with one shot.’

‘Or two birds with one stone.’

‘You were so wise to make a visit to Vincent’s Webbe’s widow.’

‘She is a good woman,’ recalled Nicholas, ‘still loyal to her husband, even though his dissipation brought about their downfall. I heard no word of reproach against him. I think that Vincent Webbe was loved far better than he deserved.’

‘So it seems.’

‘But what of you, Frank? How did you fare after my departure?’

‘Lightfoot took me to meet Hermat,’ said Quilter. ‘I wanted to hear his evidence from his own lips. Or her lips, as the case may be. What a strange creature Hermat was! Neither man nor woman, yet possessing the features of both. I tell you, Nick, I would not like to have been left alone with Hermat.’

Nicholas laughed. ‘Did you think your virtue would be in danger?’

‘I simply did not know where to look.’

‘What did you learn?’

‘Exactly what Lightfoot had told us,’ explained Quilter. ‘Hermat saw the man around midnight, close by the pieman’s booth. But he remembered one new detail. When he noticed the fellow later, making off, they were close by a fire that had been lighted. Hermat was able to see him more clearly, albeit for a fleeting moment.’

‘What did he remember?’

‘The hat, Nick. The man was wearing a big hat with a tall feather in it.’

Nicholas held up the hat that he had taken from his attacker.

‘Like this one?’

Turmoil was Lawrence Firethorn’s natural element. True art, in his view, could not arise of itself without effort. It grew out of strife and conflict. Only when he had argued with the playwright, bullied his actors and suffered doubts about a performance could he produce the magnificent portrayals for which he was renowned. Since crises were a necessary precursor of his work, he usually took them in his stride, knowing that they would only increase his concentration and redouble his commitment to the play in hand. But the latest emergency could not be dismissed as a positive stage in the creative process. It cast a blight over the whole future of Westfield’s Men. When he returned home to Shoreditch that evening, he was in a pessimistic vein.

‘We are done for, Margery!’ he announced. ‘Dissolution is at our shoulder.’

‘Is Edmund still resolved?’

‘Yes, my love. He quits the company within a week.’

‘Can his contract not keep him tied to Westfield’s Men?’ she asked.

‘Our lawyer has waved that at him but to no avail. Edmund snapped his fingers and dared us to sue him. Even if we win the case,’ said Firethorn disconsolately, ‘all that we will get is money that Avice Radley will cheerfully pay. The court cannot restore our playwright. He is lost forever.’

‘Can nobody persuade him to stay?’

‘We have been debating that very point at the Queen’s Head this evening. Owen Elias offered to knock some sense into Edmund’s head but violence is not the remedy.’ Tossing his hat onto the table, he slumped in a chair. ‘Nor is Barnaby’s suggestion that we increase the fee that he earns with a new play. Money can no longer tempt Edmund. His beloved has wealth enough for both of them.’

‘I still say that Nicholas is your best interlocutor.’

Firethorn groaned. ‘He is too busy helping Frank Quilter wield the sword of justice. Besides, my love, even Nick is powerless here. When he talked to Edmund earlier, his sage counsel went unheard. She is the cunning viper here!’ he said with sudden anger. ‘Avice Radley has bewitched Edmund.’

‘What sort of woman is she, Lawrence?’ asked Margery artlessly.

‘The worst kind, my love. The kind that thrive on power over their victims.’

‘Did you find her attractive?’

‘No, no,’ he said, curling a lip in disgust. ‘Mistress Radley is an ugly, misshapen, ill-favoured creature. She would never appeal to me, that I can swear.’

‘What means did you use when you called at her house?’

‘Means?’

‘Yes,’ said Margery sweetly. ‘Did you persuade, threaten or cajole her?’

‘I used simple reason and nothing more.’

‘Did you not trade on your charm?’

‘It never crossed my mind to do so. I was there on behalf of the company.’

‘Then you would surely resort to anything at your disposal.’

‘No,’ he said with righteous indignation. ‘You slander me. I used the arts of persuasion to convince her of our need to retain our playwright. I was a shrewd advocate but it was a futile visit.’

‘I wonder about the cause of that futility,’ she said. ‘When you called at her house, you had Edmund Hoode in your service for at least another month. Yet, when he accosted you later at the Queen’s Head, that month had shrunk to a week. Why?’ she pressed. ‘What made him reach such a cruel decision?’

‘Spite.’

‘That is not in Edmund’s character.’

‘Avice Radley is consumed with it.’

‘I doubt that a spiteful woman could capture his heart,’ she said. ‘I am inclined to believe that Edmund’s change of mind was prompted by something that happened when you chose to call on Mistress Radley behind his back.’

‘All that I did was to plead our case.’

‘That is not what the lady herself would say.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘According to her,’ said Margery, fixing him with her eye, ‘reason soon gave way to a more intimate form of persuasion. In my opinion, Mistress Avice Radley is not in the least degree ugly, misshapen and ill-favoured. She is a handsome woman who could attract any man.’

Firethorn gulped. ‘You have seen the lady?’

‘I called on her myself to see if womanly argument could make her bend.’

‘Then it was wrong of you to do so,’ he protested, rising to his feet with an attempt at anger. ‘How many times have I told you, Margery? You must not meddle in the affairs of Westfield’s Men?’

‘Even if I am able to save them from a terrible loss?’

His face ignited. ‘Is that what you did?’ he asked hopefully.

‘Alas, no.’

‘Then you have only made the situation worse.’

‘It was your clumsy wooing that did that, Lawrence,’ she said with vehemence. ‘Did you really imagine that you could charm the lady into bed? She is in love with Edmund and he with her. That bond will not be broken because Lawrence Firethorn deigns to lift an eyebrow at her. Instead of seducing Avice Radley, you simply managed to turn a month of Edmund’s time into a bare week. I’m surprised that he granted you that in the circumstances.’

‘You misunderstand what happened, my love.’

‘I understand it only too well,’ she returned. ‘When you see a pretty face, you forget all about your wife and children and think yourself a carefree gallant. Mistress Radley’s is but the latest name that I could cite.’ She jabbed a finger at his chest. ‘You betrayed us all, Lawrence. And the worst of it is that you betrayed yourself as well.’

‘But I only did it to save the company,’ he said, conjuring up a look of injured innocence. ‘Show some faith in me, Margery. I did not go to the house to try her virtue. I was there to test the strength of her love for Edmund.’

‘It is the strength of your lust for her that worries me.’

He reached out for her. ‘My love!’

‘Stand off, sir!’ she cried, beating him away.

‘Truly, I found the lady lacking all attraction.’

‘I have seen her, Lawrence. Do not lie to me.’

‘What else was I to do?’

‘Send Nicholas in your stead,’ she replied. ‘He would have had the sense to get Edmund’s permission to meet Mistress Radley then everything would have been open and friendly. Nicholas would never have descended to your crude harassment of her.’

‘I was led simply by my desire to save Westfield’s Men.’

Margery was scornful. ‘You were led, as ever, by your pizzle.’

Firethorn writhed in discomfort under her searching gaze. The fact that she had also visited Avice Radley took away all possibility of being able to manipulate the truth to his advantage. Only one avenue of reconciliation remained open to him.

‘Let us discuss this in the bedchamber, my love,’ he whispered.

‘Is that what you said to Mistress Radley?’ she retorted.

Storming off to the kitchen, she slammed the door meaningfully behind her.

‘She never gave me the chance,’ he sighed wistfully.

Sunday morning found the inhabitants of Bankside scurrying to the various parish churches south of the river. Nicholas Bracewell was among them, escorting Anne Hendrik and her two servants to matins while making sure that they were neither being watched nor followed. It was on their return to the house that Anne expressed her worries. She pointed to the dagger that lay on her table.

‘That might so easily have ended up in your back, Nick,’ she said.

‘I long ago learnt how to protect it.’

‘What if the man tries again?’

‘He knows the folly of doing so,’ said Nicholas, slipping the dagger into his belt. ‘Should he cross my path again, of course, I’ll have the pleasure of giving him back his weapon. I fancy that it might be between his ribs.’

‘I fear for you.’

‘Without cause, Anne. Remember what I told you. He’ll attack elsewhere now.’

‘Is Frank Quilter in danger, then?’

‘Not if he stays on guard. He is an able fellow, skilled in the use of dagger and sword upon a stage. He’ll be a worthy opponent for anyone who dares to try him. We are both prepared, Anne,’ he said, kissing her on the cheek. ‘Still your fears.’

‘Where are you going now?’

‘Back to Smithfield. I want to see if a certain person recognises this,’ he said, picking up the hat he brought back from Turnmill Street. ‘You tell me that it is like the one you saw but I would value a second opinion.’

‘I only glimpsed the man,’ she explained. ‘Long enough to see that he wore a hat and cloak, but too briefly for me to be certain that it was this particular hat.’ She examined it again. ‘It does, however, look very familiar.’

‘Your experience as a milliner would make you note someone’s hat.’

‘Who else may have seen him wearing it?’

‘Hermat.’

‘A foreign name.’

‘Hermat is a foreign being. According to Frank Quilter, who has seen the sight, Hermat has no equal on earth. Frank thought him the weirdest creature who lived.’

‘Is he an animal, then?’

‘No, Anne,’ he said. ‘Hermat is an hermaphrodite, half-man, half-woman, but so cleverly contrived that it is impossible to see where one leaves off and the other starts. Bartholomew Fair is filled with freaks but Hermat takes the crown.’ He lifted the hat. ‘And, I hope, remembers this less exalted headgear.’

After a fond farewell, Nicholas went to the stable and saddled the horse. It made a great difference, not only speeding up his journey but allowing him a view from an elevated position. Even in thick crowds, he could see exactly where he was going. There was no performance at the Queen’s Head so he had a whole day in which to continue his investigations. Before meeting up with Quilter again, he wanted to visit the fair on his own. Smithfield was busier and noisier than ever. A sea of humanity rippled across the entire fair. Money was changing hands on every side and the pandemonium continued. It did not take Nicholas long to find Lightfoot. Back in the ring, the tumbler was showing off his skills between wrestling bouts. Coins aplenty were being dropped into Lightfoot’s hat. When he saw Nicholas, he hopped over the rope and pushed his way across to him.

‘Good day, sir!’ he welcomed.

‘You are doing brisk business, Lightfoot.’

‘It is Puppy who brings in the crowds. I merely entertain them while he catches his breath between challengers. Do you have any news, sir?’

‘I do,’ said Nicholas.

‘Then let me hear it.’

Nicholas dismounted to tell him of the visit to Turnmill Street. When he described the attack that was made on him, he saw the tumbler’s face pucker with dismay before reddening with anger. Hands on hips, Lightfoot inflated his chest.

‘You should have let me go with you, sir,’ he said.

‘Had you been there, the villain would never have tried to kill me.’

‘That is my argument.’

‘But we would never have known how frightened they are, Lightfoot,’ said Nicholas. ‘We have learnt things that they hoped to keep secret so they needed to stop us. The simplest way of doing that, they thought, was to murder me. But I am not ready to meet my Maker yet. I dispatched their assassin without his hat or his dagger.’

‘Let me travel with you,’ pleaded Lightfoot. ‘As you say, it may well have been the same man who smothered poor Moll to death. I long to meet the rogue. Puppy has taught me all of a wrestler’s tricks, sir. Even without a weapon, I’ll get the better of him.’

‘I yearn for second encounter with him myself.’

‘Let’s go abroad together, sir.’

‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘Your place is here, earning your living. It may be months before you find crowds as large as this. I promise to call on you when we need you.’

‘But there must be something I can do.’

‘There is, Lightfoot. Take me to Hermat. We’ll try his memory with this hat.’

The tumbler led the way through the press to a large booth. Hanging outside was a sign announcing that Hermat was the Most Amazing Sight Ever Seen On Earth, a claim that was supported by some crude but vivid drawings. Further temptation was offered by the stentorian voice of a tall figure in a red uniform who stood on a box outside the booth and urged people to view Nature’s Greatest Outrage with their own eyes. A small queue had formed outside. The man in red was relieving them of a penny before allowing them into the booth. Lightfoot went across to speak to him. When the situation was explained to him, the man told those in the queue that there would be a short break before anyone else was admitted then he took Nicholas and his companion to the rear of the booth so that they could enter through a flap.

‘Wait here,’ said the man. ‘I’ll fetch Hermat.’

He disappeared and left them standing in the area where Hermat and his manager obviously slept. Two truckle beds lay on the ground. A rope had been stretched between two poles so that a series of garish costumes could be hung to it. When he saw the way that the garments had been cut, Nicholas wondered what sort of human being could actually get into them. The answer came in the form of Hermat, who stepped in to join them from the main part of the booth. Lightfoot greeted the newcomer as a friend but it took Nicholas a moment to adjust to Hermat’s appearance. It was truly startling. The face was essentially that of a woman, oval-shaped, smooth-skinned and strikingly beautiful, yet the chin had a pointed beard whose raven colour matched the luxuriant hair. The shoulders had a man’s muscularity yet the one large breast, half-exposed on the left side of the chest, was palpably a female organ. From top to toe, Hermat’s body was a confused mixture of male and female, a fact that was cleverly accentuated by the spectacular costume that was worn.

Nicholas cleared his throat, introduced himself then explained the purpose of his visit. He offered the hat that he had retrieved in Turnmill Street. Hermat took it from him and held it between long tapering fingers whose nails had been painted with a purple dye. The voice that came was deep and gruff.

‘It could be the same one, my friend,’ said Hermat.

‘How close were you to the man?’ asked Nicholas.

‘Almost close enough to touch him. The shape of the hat is the same but I cannot be sure of its colour. Yet it had a feather, just like this. I remember that.’

‘Was the fellow moving swiftly?’

‘Yes,’ said Hermat. ‘He was young and lithe. He was leaving Smithfield as if he wanted to get away as quickly as possible.’

‘Did he see you?’

‘I doubt it, sir. Look at me. When you spend your life being stared at in the way that I am, you do not stir abroad often. When you do go out, it is usually at night and you keep to the darkest shadows. But I saw the fellow clearly,’ insisted Hermat, ‘even though it was only for a few seconds. He was tall, slim, wearing a hat and cloak. When I first noticed him, he was carrying a bundle to his chest.’

‘We think it may have been the blanket,’ said Nicholas.

‘It was used to smother Moll Comfrey,’ added Lightfoot.

‘Yes, I was sorry to hear about your friend,’ said Hermat softly. ‘Though I talk like a man, I weep like a woman. I cried for an hour when they told me that the poor girl was murdered. Is there any hope of catching the rogue?’

Nicholas gave a confident nod. ‘We believe so.’

‘Your evidence has been very helpful, Hermat,’ said Lightfoot.

‘It is little enough.’ A look of fear came into the green eyes. ‘I’ll not have to appear in court, will I? Spare me that, Lightfoot. It would be cruel.’ He indicated his body. ‘I cannot speak in public like this.’

‘Nor will it be necessary,’ Nicholas assured him. ‘We merely wanted you to inspect the man’s hat, that is all. And to ask if you recall any other details, however small, from that night.’

‘No, sir. I’ve told you everything.’

‘Think, Hermat,’ urged Lightfoot. ‘Use your brains.’

Hermat gave a mirthless laugh. ‘I sometimes wonder if I have any brains. When I was born, as you see, God could not decide what to make of me. I am partly a man yet I am unable to attest my manhood in the most obvious way. I am partly a woman yet I never dare to look in a mirror as women are supposed to do. What am I to be called?’

‘A friend,’ said Nicholas, ‘with valuable evidence.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘And there is nothing awry with your faculties.’

Hermat fell silent as a memory rustled. A great deal of concentration was needed before the memory finally took on shape. Nicholas observed how feminine the face looked in repose. The man’s voice destroyed the illusion.

‘Did I mention the smell?’ asked Hermat.

‘Smell?’ repeated Lightfoot.

‘Yes. When I saw him the second time, there was this sweet smell.’

Expecting reassuring news, Bevis Millburne was shocked by what he heard. He flew into a panic and strode up and down the room like an animal in a cage.

‘You told me that we would be safe, Sir Eliard,’ he cried.

‘We shall be, Bevis.’

‘Then how has it come about that this Nicholas Bracewell still lives?’

‘He is more able than we thought.’

‘Able to put us all in prison.’

‘No!’

‘That is what it is beginning to feel like, Sir Eliard.’

‘Be quiet.’

‘He and Francis Quilter get closer and closer.’

‘Quiet!’ howled Sir Eliard, tiring of his friend’s wild alarm. ‘Sit down and listen, man. For you have nothing to say that has the slightest use to us.’ Millburne lowered himself onto a chair. ‘That is better,’ continued the other in a quieter voice. ‘Remember this, Bevis. There is more than one way to bring the business to a satisfactory end. When one means fails, we simply try another.’

‘Gerard Quilter’s son is the one to fear. He is driven by revenge.’

‘Nicholas Bracewell is the more dangerous man.’

‘Have them both killed.’

‘It is not as easy as that,’ said Sir Eliard. ‘They have been forewarned and are on their guard. My man was lucky to escape in Turnmill Street. He has no wish to take on Nicholas Bracewell again.’

‘Then let him relieve us of Francis Quilter.’

‘No, Bevis. We disable him in another way.’

‘How?’

‘By taking away his lieutenant.’

‘We tried to do that with a dagger.’

‘There’s a different means,’ said Sir Eliard. ‘Both men are contracted to Westfield’s Men, a company that performs at the Queen’s Head in Gracechurch Street. Their makeshift playhouse is not far from my house yet I have never been there. Antics on a stage have always offended me. Cyril Paramore, however, admires the troupe.’

‘So?’

‘I set him on to find out what he could about them.’

‘Will this help our cause, Sir Eliard?’

‘It already has. Cyril has discovered the most important fact of all. I’ll let him tell you about it when he comes. Meanwhile,’ he said, crossing to a table, ‘I suggest that you enjoy a glass of Canary wine and stop worrying.’

‘I am bound to worry,’ said Millburne. ‘I perjured myself for you.’

‘And were well-rewarded for your assistance.’

‘No amount of money can buy peace of mind.’

Sir Eliard smiled. ‘As a matter of fact, it can,’ he said complacently. He poured two glasses of wine then handed one to his visitor. ‘Be patient. Cyril will be here at any moment and he will bring glad tidings.’

‘They have been in short supply of late.’

Sir Eliard Slaney ignored him and sipped his wine. They were in the parlour of the house in Bishopsgate. Millburne glanced enviously around, knowing that he could never afford the expensive plate that was on display nor the items of furniture that had been commissioned from famous craftsmen. The room could have graced a palace. Envy slowly turned to solace. The house was a glowing tribute to Sir Eliard’s success. Whatever his friend touched, Millburne knew, seemed to turn to gold. It was foolish to doubt his host. A man who could acquire such wealth and wield such power was beyond the reach of the law. They had nothing to fear. Once he had accepted that fact, Millburne began to enjoy his drink.

Cyril Paramore soon joined them. When he was admitted to the house, he made his way to the parlour and exchanged greetings with his friends. Sir Eliard poured the newcomer some wine then invited him to sit down. Paramore was beaming.

‘I hear that you have good news, Cyril,’ said Millburne.

‘Excellent news,’ replied Paramore.

‘Tell him,’ instructed Sir Eliard. ‘Put a smile back on his face.’

Paramore set his drink aside to reach inside his doublet. Drawing out a document, he scanned it through before speaking. Millburne tapped a foot impatiently.

‘Well, well?’ he demanded.

‘What do you know of Lord Westfield?’ asked Paramore.

‘Nothing beyond the fact that he is the patron of a theatre company.’

‘It is only one of his indulgences.’

‘Indulgences, Cyril?’

‘Yes,’ said Paramore. ‘Lord Westfield is a sybarite. He adores fine things. He likes fine food, fine wine, fine clothes, fine women. Fine everything, in fact. Westfield’s Men are merely another suit of gorgeous clothing for him to wear in public. He uses them to dazzle the eye. There is one problem, however.’

‘What is that?’

‘Fine things come at fine prices,’ said Sir Eliard.

‘And that disgusting old epicurean does not have the money to pay for them,’ resumed Paramore. ‘He is in debt up to his neck. Yet the more he owes, the more he goes on spending. The fellow lives entirely on credit.’

‘Why are you telling me this?’ asked Millburne peevishly. ‘Most of the nobility are short of money. They borrow to survive. Lord Westfield’s problems are his own concern. They hardly serve our purpose.’

‘But they do, Bevis.’

‘Oh, yes,’ insisted Sir Eliard, raising his glass. ‘They most certainly do.’

Millburne was baffled. ‘How?’

‘Observe, my friend. I will give you a lesson in the art of destruction.’

When he called at the house late that afternoon, Nicholas Bracewell was surprised and pleased to see that Francis Quilter had a visitor. Owen Elias was ensconced in the one comfortable chair in the room. The Welshman got up to greet the newcomer warmly.

‘What are you doing here, Owen?’ asked Nicholas.

‘I came to offer my help,’ replied Elias. ‘When we first heard about what happened to Frank’s father, I was among those who felt that the name of Quilter might tarnish the name of the company. I am heartily ashamed of such thoughts now.’

‘What changed your mind?’

‘You did, Nick. You were so convinced of the innocence of Gerard Quilter that I began to entertain doubts. Frank has been telling me just how much evidence the pair of you have gathered. It is damning,’ said Elias. ‘Let me fight alongside you under your banner. One more pair of hands can surely be put to some use.’

‘And one more pair of eyes,’ said Quilter. ‘I am very grateful, Owen.’

‘Employ me as you will.’

‘Then first know what I have learnt today at Smithfield,’ said Nicholas.

Quilter was eager for news. ‘Did you show him the hat, Nick?’

‘Yes, and Hermat thinks it may well be the one.’

‘Hermat?’ echoed Elias. ‘Is that the hermaphrodite that Frank mentioned?’

‘It is. Hermat is a curious individual,’ recalled Nicholas, ‘though it will cost you a penny to enter the booth if you wish to judge for yourself. He, or she, not only saw the murderer on the night that Moll Comfrey was killed, he, or she, may have recognised the hat. One thing more emerged from my visit.’

‘What was that?’ asked Quilter.

‘Hermat remembered a smell, Frank. When the man flitted past him that night, there was a sweet odour that he had never sniffed before. Bartholomew Fair is known for smells of a very different kind, none of them pleasing to the nostrils. This one was rather special.’

‘Why?’

‘Hermat did not expect to find it on a man.’

Elias was intrigued. ‘A woman’s perfume?’

‘It was something rather similar,’ said Nicholas. ‘When he realised what it might have been, Lightfoot ran to fetch it from Moll’s basket and Hermat agreed that that was what he had smelt.’

‘What was it, Nick?’

‘A piece of soap that gave off a powerful scent. It was like a keepsake to her. The one thing she owned that Moll would never have sold. According to Lightfoot, she always slept with it gripped tight in her hand. It sweetened the air for her. During the struggle, the assassin must have rubbed up against it and gathered some of its odour on his clothing.’

Quilter was dubious. ‘Enough for someone to detect the aroma?’

‘Not any of us, Frank,’ admitted Nicholas, ‘especially when the encounter was so brief. But Hermat is not like any ordinary human being, as you can bear witness. Many things may be lacking or deformed in that weird body but Hermat’s senses are far keener than ours. That delicate nose picked up a scent that none of us would even have known was there.’

‘Then it is proof positive that the man he saw was indeed the killer.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Elias. ‘And he may well have been the same villain who tried to stab Nick in Turnmill Street. You should have taken me there with you,’ he chided, turning to Nicholas. ‘I know every inch of that place.’ He gave a coarse chuckle. ‘And one or two beauties in that street know every inch of Owen Elias.’

‘I’ll wager that he was the same man,’ decided Nicholas. ‘Since he disposed of Moll with such ease, he would surely have been hired again by Sir Eliard Slaney.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘A bawdy basket, a tumbler and a hermaphrodite. It is a peculiar chain that leads to Sir Eliard.’

‘Do not forget the blacksmith,’ said Quilter.

‘Luke Furness?’

‘He identified Justice Haygarth for us.’

‘I remember him well,’ said Nicholas. ‘And I recall those huge muscles of his. I’d sooner have the blacksmith shoe my horse than pull out my teeth. There’ll be a lot of sore mouths in London when Luke Furness rides away.’

‘Sore ears are what we endure at the Queen’s Head,’ complained Elias with a grimace. ‘Lawrence has been yelling at us all. This threat has made Lawrence even testier than Edmund is. Lawrence will deafen the whole lot of us.’

‘We will be gravely weakened if Edmund Hoode leaves us,’ said Quilter sadly. ‘It is so unlike him to take such precipitate action. What moved him to do so?’

‘Lawrence paid a visit to Edmund’s beloved in order to use his charms on her.’

‘In vain,’ said Nicholas. ‘It was a ruinous course of action and the company is suffering as a consequence. Edmund will not even speak to him now.’

‘He should have sent me to woo the lady.’

‘No, Owen. Nobody should have gone. It was a cruel undertaking.’

‘Anything is worth trying, if it keeps Edmund by our side.’

‘I disagree,’ said Nicholas sternly. ‘We have no right to besiege Mistress Radley.’

Quilter heaved a sigh. ‘I know that my name has embarrassed the company in recent days,’ he said, ‘but at least I am innocent of one charge. Edmund’s departure is entirely his own decision.’

‘He must be stopped,’ asserted Elias.

Nicholas was precise. ‘Only by fair means, Owen, not by foul.’

‘You are the one person who might win him back, Nick,’ said Quilter, ‘but all of your spare time is taken up with my family troubles.’

‘Yours is the greater need, Frank. If your father’s name is not cleared of shame, you face a whole life in disgrace. It is true that I’ve neglected Edmund,’ he said with regret, ‘and I feel the pangs of guilt. It spurs me on to complete our investigation as soon as we can so that I may turn my attention to Edmund.’

Elias thumped his chest. ‘I offer my heart, my hand and my sword.’

‘All three are welcome.’

‘What is the next move?’

Nicholas pursed his lips and stroked his beard meditatively.

‘I fancy that may come from Sir Eliard Slaney,’ he said at length.

Barnaby Gill was not pleased to be called to the Queen’s Head that evening. He had intended to seek pleasures in a tavern that was more to his taste but the summons had an urgency that could not be ignored. Dressed in his finery, he arrived to find Lawrence Firethorn, brooding alone at a table in the corner. Gill sauntered across to him.

‘All that I can give you is five minutes,’ he declared loftily.

‘You’ll stay five hours when you hear what I have to say, Barnaby.’

‘I have business elsewhere.’

‘Let the boy drop his breeches for someone else tonight.’

‘That is a disgusting remark!’

‘Mend your ways,’ said Firethorn, ‘and I’ll not be able to make it.’ He grabbed Gill by the wrist before the latter could flounce off. ‘Sit down, Barnaby. This is no time for us to fall out. With all your faults, you love Westfield’s Men as much as any of us and will do anything to secure its future. That is why I called you here.’

‘What has happened, Lawrence?’

‘Something so dreadful that I can scarce name it.’

Gill let out a gasp. ‘Edmund is dead?’

‘No,’ growled Firethorn, ‘he is very much alive, worshipping at the altar of Mistress Avice Radley. Our one hope is that this will bring him to his senses.’

‘What will?’

‘I sent a message to his lodging. If Edmund has one ounce of loyalty to the company that made him famous, he will surely come. Nick, too, should be here.’

‘You have summoned Nicholas as well?’

‘George Dart went off to fetch them both as fast as his legs could carry him. We need their counsel. You, Edmund and I can determine the policy of Westfield’s Men but we are now menaced by something that only Nick Bracewell can help us to beat off.’

‘And what is that, Lawrence?’

Firethorn handed him a letter. ‘Prepare yourself, Barnaby. Before you read it, pray to God that it is all a foolish mistake.’

‘Why?’ He glanced at the missive. ‘Lord Westfield’s hand.’

‘It was delivered to my house earlier.’

‘Can its contents really be so abhorrent?’

‘I’ll let you decide that.’

Gill opened the letter to read it. Almost immediately, his face went white and his eyes bulged in disbelief. He began to froth at the mouth. With a cry of despair, he dropped the letter as if it were red hot. Before he could make any comment to Firethorn, a shadow fell across the table. They looked up to see Nicholas Bracewell. Standing behind him, sweating from his exertions, was George Dart. Firethorn jumped up gratefully to enfold Nicholas in his arms.

‘Nick, dear heart!’ he exclaimed. ‘You were never more welcome.’

‘George said that I had to come as quickly as possible.’

‘You and Edmund, both.’ Firethorn glared at Dart. ‘Well, where is he?’

‘Master Hoode declined your invitation, I fear,’ said Dart.

Firethorn was aghast. ‘What did you say?’

‘He refused to come, Master Firethorn.’

‘Did you tell him how important this meeting was?’

‘Repeatedly, sir.’

‘I ordered you to bring him here, George.’

‘He would not budge.’

‘You failed me,’ said Firethorn, raising a hand to strike.

‘Do not blame the messenger,’ said Nicholas, intervening to save Dart from a blow. ‘George went first to Edmund’s lodging but was given short shrift. You or I or Master Gill might have met with the same response. It is not George’s fault.’

Reining in his anger, Firethorn sat down again and dismissed the cowering Dart with a wave of his hand. The assistant stagekeeper shot Nicholas a look of gratitude before scampering away. Firethorn and Gill said nothing but their expressions were eloquent. Nicholas sat down and looked from one to the other.

‘What ails you both?’ he asked.

‘The death of a beautiful dream,’ said Firethorn sadly.

‘Worse than that, Lawrence,’ said Gill. ‘It is the end of my rule upon the stage.’

‘Thus it stands, Nick. Or, rather, thus it falls.’ He indicated the letter and Nicholas took it up. ‘Lord Westfield has received notice that a certain moneylender is to pay off all his debts so that he is our patron’s sole creditor. The miscreant is not named in the letter, as you see, but he gives Lord Westfield a bare month to settle the debt or he’ll drive him to bankruptcy.’

‘There is no way that Lord Westfield can meet this demand,’ wailed Gill. ‘He owes thousands of pounds. His property and all his assets will be seized forthwith. It is only a matter of time before Westfield’s Men cease to exist.’

‘Now do you see why I sent for you?’ asked Firethorn.

Gill was morose. ‘Not that Nicholas can do much for us. He has no fortune to bail out our wayward patron. Nor have we, alas.’

‘What I can do is to provide the missing name,’ said Nicholas, returning the letter to Firethorn. ‘I know who the man is and what prompted this vicious action.’

‘We are facing oblivion!’

‘Be silent, Barnaby,’ scolded Firethorn. ‘Listen to Nick.’

Nicholas took a deep breath before delivering the bad news. ‘The moneylender in question is Sir Eliard Slaney,’ he said.

Firethorn erupted. ‘Hell and damnation!’

‘Who is the fellow?’ asked Gill.

‘The biggest blood-sucker in London.’

‘How can Nicholas be so sure that he is the man?’

‘It can be none other,’ replied Nicholas. ‘Sir Eliard Slaney is the person whom Frank Quilter and I have been stalking these past few days. We believe that he was responsible for the false accusations that led to the execution of Frank’s father.’

‘In other words,’ said Firethorn, rounding on him, ‘you and Frank have so annoyed Sir Eliard that he is venting his fury on the company.’

‘It is further proof of guilt,’ argued Nicholas. ‘Do you not see that?’

‘All I see,’ sneered Gill, ‘is a deadly poison by the name of Quilter. We should have expelled Frank the moment that we realised that his father was a killer.’

‘Gerard Quilter was innocent.’

‘He is guilty of killing Westfield’s Men, I know that.’

‘Barnaby is right,’ said Firethorn. ‘Frank has brought this down on us. I should have revoked his contract when I had the chance. I rue the day that you talked me into giving him leave of absence, Nick. We shall all have leave of absence now,’ he added, pounding the table with a fist. ‘Westfield’s Men will vanish into thin air.’

‘Perhaps not,’ said Nicholas.

‘Even you cannot get us out of this quicksand.’

‘Hear my advice.’

‘We’ve heard it once too often,’ said Gill spitefully.

‘Sir Eliard Slaney has shown his hand.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Firethorn, ‘before he crushes us to death with it. We are to lose Edmund within a week, then crumble into dust at the end of a month. I was a fool to listen to you, Nick.’ He picked up the letter. ‘When I saw the mention of a grasping moneylender, I should have guessed that it was none other than Sir Eliard. You had warned me that he was your quarry.’

Gill was indignant. ‘You knew about this man, Lawrence?’

‘Only what Nick had told me.’

‘Why did you not warn us about him?’

‘I did not see any need for caution. Nick and Frank were sniffing at his heels. That is all I was given to understand. It never crossed my mind that they would put us in jeopardy by their pursuit of this moneylender.’

‘You are as much at fault as they,’ accused Gill.

‘Their cause was a worthy one, Barnaby. I tried to support them.’

‘And brought about the collapse of all our hopes in the process.’

‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘That is not true.’

‘It is, Nick,’ said Firethorn. ‘This moneylender will buy us out of business.’

Gill pointed a finger at him. ‘Much of the blame must rest on your shoulders.’

‘I did what I felt to be right and honest.’

‘Is it right and honest to steal my occupation from me?’

‘Stop bickering!’ yelled Firethorn.

‘You have betrayed us all, Lawrence.’

Nicholas slammed an object down on the table to bring their argument to an end. Both men fell silent and stared down at the dagger that gleamed before them.

‘What is that?’ asked Gill.

‘The weapon that was meant to kill me yesterday,’ explained Nicholas coolly. ‘You talk of losing your occupation, Master Gill, but I came close to losing my life. And I have Sir Eliard Slaney to thank for it.’

Firethorn was alarmed. ‘Can this be true, Nick?’

Nicholas told them about the attack, omitting the reason that had taken him to Turnmill Street but telling them enough to convince them that the moneylender had ordered his death. Firethorn was full of sympathy for his friend but Gill saw it only from his own viewpoint.

‘Are we to be hunted down by hired assassins?’ he cried.

‘You are quite safe, Master Gill,’ said Nicholas. ‘Sir Eliard has found a way to stab us by legal means. He knows that Frank and I are involved with Westfield’s Men. A strike at the company is a broadside against us.’

Gill leapt up. ‘Then there’s the remedy, Lawrence,’ he urged. ‘Evict both Frank Quilter and Nicholas from our midst and we are saved. Sir Eliard will not need to destroy us then. Let him know that we have got rid of the troublemakers.’

‘Sit down, Barnaby,’ ordered Firethorn.

‘My plan solves everything.’

‘Sit down!’ He reached out to pull Gill back onto his seat. ‘Even for you, that is a shameful suggestion. At the very moment when we should pull together, you want to cast two of our number adrift.’

‘But they are the ones dragging us down into the water.’

‘We are not,’ said Nicholas firmly. ‘Apply a little thought to the situation and you will see that it may not be as gloomy as it appears.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Firethorn.

‘Firstly, there is the question of time. Westfield’s Men will not expire at the end of the month. If our patron cannot repay his debts,’ Nicholas pointed out, ‘that is when he may be taken to court. But the law’s delay will add valuable time to our life.’

‘That’s like saying we’ll twitch a little longer at the end of the hangman’s rope.’

‘It was Gerard Quilter who was executed. Unjustly, in our view. We have already gathered some evidence to exonerate him. Once our investigation is complete,’ promised Nicholas, ‘we will be in a position to confront Sir Eliard Slaney with his villainy and free Westfield’s Men from the threat of dissolution.’

‘True,’ said Firethorn, scratching his beard. ‘Sir Eliard cannot enforce payment of the debts if he is languishing in prison.’

Gill was sceptical. ‘You are assuming that he is guilty.’

‘He is!’ attested Nicholas.

‘How do we know that it can be proved?’

‘Put your trust in us, Master Gill.’

‘We did that before,’ retorted Gill, ‘and look where it has got us!’

‘Sir Eliard is far too slippery to be caught,’ said Firethorn.

Nicholas shook his head. ‘We believe otherwise.’

‘He is, Nick. If your guess is correct, he has manipulated the law in the most blatant way. Sir Eliard could only have done that if he had powerful friends. We have none of equal merit,’ he said wearily. ‘Except our patron, that is, but he has turned out to be our worst liability.’ He picked up the dagger. ‘Sir Eliard will stop at nothing to get his way. He now intends to push this between the shoulders of the whole company.’

‘That is why we must fight back.’

‘How?’

‘It is impossible,’ said Gill.

‘Would you rather lie down and let him trample over us?’ said Nicholas, trying to shame them. ‘Will you admit defeat without even lifting a hand to save Westfield’s Men? Yes, I know that Sir Eliard Slaney is a dangerous enemy. The speed with which he has moved shows that. One of his creatures must have looked into our affairs,’ he concluded. ‘I’ll wager that he goes by the name of Cyril Paramore. It is the kind of work that gentleman would do swiftly and well. No matter who it was, Sir Eliard had enough information at his fingertips today to threaten Lord Westfield with extinction.’

‘When our patron falls,’ said Gill, ‘then we fall with him.’

‘Not if Sir Eliard Slaney falls first.’

‘How can we ensure that, Nick?’ asked Firethorn.

‘I have a plan.’

‘If it involves Frank Quilter,’ said Gill, ‘I’ll hear none of it.’

‘Nor will I,’ agreed Firethorn.

‘It involves all of us,’ said Nicholas quietly. ‘The axe is hanging over Westfield’s Men. If we are to avoid its keen edge, we must fight as a company. It is the only way to stave off Sir Eliard Slaney.’

‘Tell us how, Nick.’

‘Let me speak to Edmund first.’

‘Edmund?’ repeated Firethorn. ‘He does not care if we sink or swim.’

‘I’ll play on his loyalty.’

‘He has no loyalty,’ declared Gill.

Firethorn was dejected. ‘If we are to rely on Edmund Hoode, we may as well start to dig our graves now. He’ll not lift a finger to help us. A pox on it!’ he exclaimed. ‘I do believe that this is the worst day of my life. I am spurned by our playwright, abandoned by our patron and brought down by a foul toad of a moneylender. As for Margery, I fear that she may bar the door of our bedchamber against me.’ Looking up, he raised both hands to the heavens. ‘What further torment do you have in store for me?’

It was at that moment that Alexander Marwood appeared, hobbling across to them on a stick. His face had a deathly pallor but there was a sharp crackle of life in his voice.

‘There you are, Master Firethorn,’ said the landlord. ‘Now that I am recovered, I have some complaints to make against your company. When I needed sleep, the thunder of your performances kept me awake for hours. I demand recompense, sir.’

Firethorn sagged. ‘Why did I have to tempt Providence?’ he said.