The Malevolent Comedy

Chapter Six

With the performance safely behind them, Westfield’s Men were relieved but badly shaken. An atmosphere of quiet terror filled the tiring-house. The death onstage of Hal Bridger had been a more horrifying event but only the furniture had been in danger on that occasion. The dog had preferred human targets, biting at the heels of anyone within reach and sinking its teeth into the Clown’s unprotected rear. Barnaby Gill was in despair as he rubbed his sore buttock.

‘He tried to eat me alive!’ he cried.

‘Only because you are such a tasty morsel,’ teased Owen Elias.

‘I may never be able to walk properly again.’

‘Sit in a pail of cold water and you’ll be as good as new.’

‘I need a doctor.’

‘We’ve always said that,’ mocked the other.

‘How can you laugh, Owen? I’m in agony.’

‘There’s no blood to be seen through your hose.’

‘That beast of Hades bit me to the bone.’

‘He was letting you know what he thought of your performance,’ said Firethorn, enjoying Gill’s discomfort. ‘As soon as you started your jig, the dog decided that it could bear no more.’

‘Why did you not come to my rescue?’ demanded Gill.

‘I did. I was about to run the animal through with my sword when Nick saved me the trouble by throwing that cloak over him.’

‘The problem is,’ said Elias, pulling a face, ‘that everyone in the audience will talk about that dog to their friends. Spectators will come to the next performance, expecting to see the same wanton havoc.’

‘We’ll never stage this damnable play again!’ yelled Gill.

‘You were the one who insisted that we revive it today, Barnaby.’

‘I’d not have done so if I realised that my life would be at risk.’

‘Try to remember Hal Bridger,’ suggested Firethorn. ‘He really did lose his life during The Malevolent Comedy. All you have to suffer is a blow to your dignity and a bruised bum.’

‘I might have known I’d get no sympathy from you, Lawrence.’

‘My sympathy goes to the entire company. When that animal was unleashed upon us, the whole performance might have ended in turmoil. Evidently, someone bears us ill will.’

‘Only when we perform this play,’ said Edmund Hoode, quietly. ‘Black Antonio gave us no trouble. It’s only Master Hibbert’s work that brought misfortune upon us.’

‘We cannot blame Saul for this.’

‘Well, the blame must lie somewhere.’

‘Edmund is right,’ said Elias, summing up the general feeling. ‘The Malevolent Comedy is cursed. Stage it again and Barnaby’s other buttock may serve as dinner for a hungry dog.’

‘Never!’ wailed Gill, massaging the injured area harder than ever.

‘I think that we should forget Saul’s play for a while.’

‘And so do I,’ agreed Hoode.

‘That’s rank cowardice,’ declared Firethorn, raising his voice so that everyone in the room could hear him. ‘Nothing will frighten us from doing what we choose. You heard that applause out there. The play is a palpable triumph. We’ll stage it on Monday and every other day next week.’ There was a loud murmur of protest. ‘Would you walk away from certain success?’ he challenged. ‘The Malevolent Comedy will line all our pockets. We must be brave enough to seize the opportunity.’

‘All next week?’ groaned Gill.

‘And the week beyond that if interest holds. Yes,’ Firethorn went on above the noise of dissent, ‘I know that you all have fears and doubts, but there’s one sure way to remove them.’

‘I do not see it, Lawrence.’

‘We’ve almost forty-eight hours before we stage the play. That’s two whole days in which to find the villain who poisoned Hal Bridger and who set that dog upon us. Catch him and our troubles are over.’

‘Supposing we do not?’ asked Hoode.

‘We will,’ affirmed Elias. ‘We’ll find the lousy knave somehow.’

‘And if we fail?’

‘Then we’ll play The Malevolent Comedy regardless,’ said Firethorn.

‘That’s suicide,’ complained Gill.

‘It’s courage, Barnaby. Together, we’ll face up to anything.’

‘You’d not say that if the dog had bitten you.’

‘I agree with Barnaby for once,’ said Hoode. ‘Two performances of this play have so far brought two vicious attacks upon us. We’ve one lad dead and our clown savaged by a dog. Before you commit us to stage the play again, Lawrence,’ he urged, ‘ask yourself this. What kind of peril awaits us next time?’

Nicholas Bracewell took no part in the discussion. There were too many jobs for him to do. The actors were justifiably upset by the unscheduled interference from the dog, but he knew that Saul Hibbert would be even more outraged. For the second time in a row, his play had teetered on the edge of doom. The playwright would demand to know why, and Nicholas accepted that he would be blamed as a matter of course. Confrontation was unavoidable. Before it happened, he had to supervise the dismantling of the stage and the storing of its constituent parts. By the time that task had been completed, the yard was more or less clear and only a few stragglers left in the galleries.

Seeing that he was free at last, two of the spectators came across to him. They made an incongruous couple. Anne Hendrik was smiling happily but Preben van Loew, in his dark, sober apparel, was as lugubrious as ever. Even the frenzied antics of the dog had failed to convince him that theatre was something from which he might take a degree of pleasure.

‘Did you enjoy the play, Preben?’ asked Nicholas.

‘No. I could not follow it.’

‘But your English is excellent.’

‘It is not the way they speak,’ said the Dutchman, ‘but the way they think. You would not find anyone like Lord Loveless in my country. We would never search for a wife like he did.’

‘I can confirm that,’ said Anne, pleasantly. ‘My husband certainly did not woo me by making me take a potion in my wine. I loved the play, Nick,’ she added. ‘I thought it a wild, wonderful, madcap romp. You never told me that there was a dog in the cast.’

‘There was not supposed to be one,’ said Nicholas. ‘He joined us unawares. I still do not know where he came from.’

‘Nor me. The animal seemed to pop up out of thin air.’

‘No,’ said the Dutchman. ‘It was from the stable.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I was not always watching the play. Its manners were too strange for a foreigner like me to understand. So I let my eye wander.’

‘And you saw the stable open?’ asked Nicholas.

‘Just a little. Someone tossed the dog out.’

‘Did you see the man?’

‘No, Nicholas. Only the dog.’

‘That’s one mystery solved, anyway. The animal all but brought the play to a halt. I simply had to get him off the stage.’

‘And you got a round of applause for doing so, Nick,’ noted Anne.

‘Barnaby Gill did not join in the clapping,’ said Nicholas. ‘His hands were too busy rubbing his injury. But did you see anything apart from the play, Anne?’

‘I saw Master Hibbert. He was sitting on a bench in front of us. He was very much as you described — young, handsome, conceited and almost as ostentatious as Barnaby. When the play was over, he was showered with congratulations by everyone.’

‘What else did you see?’

‘Nothing,’ she admitted, ‘I was too absorbed in the play.’

‘I was not,’ said her companion.

‘Just as well, Preben. I was supposed to be Nick’s pair of eyes in the gallery, but it was you who saw the one thing of real consequence.’

Nicholas chatted with them for a few minutes until he became aware of Saul Hibbert, bearing down on him. Instead of detaching himself from his friends, he introduced them to the playwright, knowing that their presence would force him to moderate his language. The playwright’s fury was accordingly suppressed. Ignoring the Dutchman completely, he favoured Anne with a dazzling smile.

‘Did you like the play?’ he asked, fishing for praise.

‘Hugely,’ she replied. ‘Let me add my congratulations.’

‘Thank you.’

‘It was truly a marvel.’

‘I tried to write a comedy with some depth to it.’

‘And you succeeded, Master Hibbert. Behind the laughter, there was much to provoke thought.’

‘It’s good to know that I had such an appreciative spectator.’

‘What I appreciated most,’ confessed Anne, ‘was the scene with the dog, but Nick tells me that that was entirely unrehearsed.’

Hibbert glowered. ‘Unrehearsed, uncontrolled and unwanted.’

‘Thanks to Preben here,’ said Nicholas, ‘we do at least know where the dog came from. It slipped out of the stables, it seems.’

‘How could that be allowed to happen? Did you not check the stables before the play began?’

‘Of course, Master Hibbert. I make it my business to do so. If there are horses in there, I have the stables locked as a precaution. Finding the stalls were empty today, I simply closed the doors.’

‘There was no dog there?’

‘Not when I looked.’

‘No dog in a manger?’ asked the Dutchman, releasing a high-pitched wheeze of a laugh. His face clouded in apology. ‘Oh, I am sorry.’

‘You should have searched the stables more thoroughly, Nicholas,’ chided Hibbert. ‘That animal jeopardised my work.’

‘Barnaby Gill was the real victim. He was bitten.’

‘What’s a mere bite to the loss of a whole play?’

‘Your play was saved by Nick,’ said Anne, coming to his aid. ‘Had he not captured the dog when he did, it might have done far more damage. As for searching the stables, no man would have done it more thoroughly. Nick is very conscientious.’

‘Thank you, Anne,’ said Nicholas.

‘Conscientious or not,’ Hibbert went on, testily, ‘he missed that dog and it was free to bite at my reputation as a dramatist. Be warned, Nicholas. I’ll be complaining to Lawrence about you.’

‘Do not be surprised if there are complaints against you as well.’

‘Against me?’

‘From most of the company, I suspect.’

‘How could they object to me?’ asked Hibbert with a look of injured innocence. ‘I’ve given them the finest play they’ve had in years.’

‘But look what it brought in its wake.’

‘Yes,’ said Anne. ‘A death in the first performance and a dog on the loose in this one. Actors have enough problems onstage as it is without having to cope with unforeseen hazards like that.’

Hibbert was taken aback. ‘You seem to know a lot about the theatre,’ he said, staring at her. ‘Have you seen many plays here?’

‘Dozens of them over the years.’

‘Yes,’ explained Nicholas. ‘Anne is a close friend of Westfield’s Men. You might say that she knows the troupe from the inside.’

‘Then she’ll accept that you were at fault today,’ said Hibbert, ‘for not looking carefully enough into the stables.’

‘Indeed, I’ll not,’ rejoined Anne with spirit. ‘Nick is no culprit. If anyone should bear the blame Master Hibbert, it must be you.’

‘Me?’

‘For writing a play that clearly offends someone deeply.’

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas in support, ‘it may not be the play that caused resentment but its author. That’s the only conclusion I can reach.’

Hibbert was caught on the raw. ‘I resent that accusation!’

‘Others are starting to make it.’

‘Then they are cruelly misled.’

‘Are they, Master Hibbert?’ asked Nicholas, meeting his glare. ‘We have rivals but none that would lower themselves to such shameful devices as we’ve suffered during The Malevolent Comedy. It’s not our enemies we should look to, therefore, but yours.’

‘I have no enemies,’ denied the other.

‘One of them has followed you to London. He was the man who bought that poison and arranged for the dog to be released during the play. Who would hate you enough to do such things?’

‘Nobody.’

‘Think hard, Master Hibbert.’

‘I do not need to.’

‘If we’re to catch this rogue,’ said Nicholas, earnestly, ‘we’ll need your help. There must be someone in your past who holds a grudge against you. Tell me his name.’

‘How can I, when there is no such person?’

‘Are you certain of that?’

‘Quite certain.’

‘Since you’ve been with us,’ said Nicholas, pointedly, ‘you’ve shown little interest in making friends — among the men, that is. Among the ladies, I gather, it’s another matter.’ Hibbert glowered again. ‘Has it never occurred to you that someone who does not make friends is bound to create foes instead?’ The playwright shifted his feet uneasily. ‘There is someone, isn’t there?’ pressed Nicholas. ‘Give me his name. Who is this sworn enemy of yours?’

Hibbert spluttered but no words came out. Wanting to upbraid the book holder, he was inhibited by Anne’s presence and by Preben van Loew’s mournful expression. Sensing that he had the playwright on the run, Nicholas repeated his demand.

‘This man poisoned Hal Bridger,’ he reminded. ‘Who is he?’

Saul Hibbert did not pause to reply. Pulsing with rage, he swung on his heel and headed for the taproom. He refused to admit that he was the target for the attacks on his play. Only one enemy preoccupied him at that moment and his name was Nicholas Bracewell.

The book holder, meanwhile, was bidding adieu to Anne Hendrik and Preben van Loew, sending them off on the journey back to Bankside. He was grateful that the Dutchman had been there. The hatmaker’s indifference to the play had allowed him to see the stable door being opened. It was a valuable piece of evidence. Nicholas was about to go into the building when that evidence was confirmed.

A small boy had been lurking in the shadows, waiting until Nicholas was on his own. After licking his lips, the boy scuttled over.

‘Please, sir,’ he asked, nervously, ‘are you Nicholas Bracewell?’

‘Yes, lad. How can I help you?’

The boy swallowed hard. ‘Can I have my dog back, please?’

While Barnaby Gill’s wound was being examined in private by a doctor, the rest of the company were in the taproom. Disconcerted by the second mishap with the play, all that most of them wanted to do was to steady their nerves with strong drink. Owen Elias was therefore puzzled when he saw one of the cast trying to leave.

‘You are going already, Edmund?’ he said in surprise.

‘Yes, Owen.’

‘The rest of us will carouse for hours.’

‘Too much wine only befuddles my brain,’ said Edmund Hoode.

‘That’s the attraction of it, man. Come, join with your fellows.’

‘Not today.’

‘You’re no priest now, Edmund. The play is over.’

‘The Malevolent Comedy may have finished but another play has already begun.’ Elias looked baffled by the remark. Hoode became inquisitive. ‘Do you think that she was here today, Owen?’

‘Who?’

‘Ursula, of course. Ursula Opie.’

‘The sisters were both here.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I saw them when we took our bow,’ replied Elias. ‘They were in the upper gallery with their father, clapping their hands with the rest. They liked the play.’

‘What did Ursula think of my performance, I wonder?’

‘Ask her when you meet her again tomorrow.’

‘Oh, I will.’

‘But spare a moment to look at her sister as well,’ suggested the Welshman. ‘Have you ever seen such a merry twinkle in a woman’s eye? And, oh, those ruby lips! Bernice Opie has the lips of a cherub.’

‘It’s what came out of them that matters to me,’ said Hoode, flatly. ‘I’ve never heard anyone talk so much to so little effect. She gurgled like a never-ending stream. Whereas Ursula — God bless her — said little yet spoke volumes.’

‘Did she? Neither I nor Lawrence noticed that.’

‘You were too busy ogling her sister.’

‘Can you blame us? Bernice is divine.’

Hoode smiled wryly. ‘Be honest, Owen. Neither of you was attracted to the young lady by her divinity. All that you felt was lust.’

‘We are true sons of Adam.’

‘Then I must have descended from someone else,’ decided the playwright, ‘for she aroused scant interest in my breast, let alone in my loins. Besides, respect must always come before desire and Ursula was the only one whom I respected.’

Elias shrugged. ‘But she was as plain as a pikestaff.’

‘Not to my eye.’

‘Then you need spectacles, Edmund.’

‘I can see Ursula Opie with perfect clarity.’

‘That’s something I’d not care to do.’

‘Why not?’

‘Bernice decorates a room whereas Ursula is that dull piece of furniture you put in the corner. One sparkles, the other does not.’ Hoode shook his head. ‘It’s true, Edmund. But what’s this about one play beginning while another ends?’

‘Look to the sisters, Owen.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Study them both instead of just the pretty one. That’s what I did and it was a revelation. Ursula and Bernice Opie are two sides of the same coin. That helped me to see my mistake.’

‘What mistake?’

‘You’ll find out in good time,’ said Hoode, waving farewell. ‘Enjoy your ale, Owen, and raise a tankard to Ursula for me. You’ll have cause to thank her before long.’

‘Thank her?’ said Elias, perplexed. ‘Thank her for what?’

The boy’s name was David Rutter and he was no more than ten or eleven. Though his clothes were ragged and his face dirty, he had clearly been taught manners by someone. Nicholas found him polite and honest. Before he returned the dog to its young owner, however, he wanted to know all the details.

‘You were paid to release the dog like that?’ he asked.

‘Rascal, sir,’ replied the boy. ‘His name is Rascal.’

‘Then he lived up to it this afternoon. Who named him?’

‘My father. He came to us as a puppy and was so full of mischief that my father dubbed him Rascal.’ Rutter grinned. ‘It suits him.’

‘Only too well. How much were you paid?’

‘A penny beforehand with threepence more to follow if I did as I was told. The gentleman must have thought I let him down because there was no sign of him afterwards.’

‘I doubt if he ever intended to pay you anything else. He bought you and Rascal cheaply to inflict some very expensive damage. But how did you get into the stables?’ wondered Nicholas. ‘When I searched them, they were empty.’

‘That’s what you thought, sir, but we were there all the time. Rascal and I were hidden under a pile of hay. That was our mistake.’

‘Mistake?’

‘I was told to let Rascal loose ten minutes after the play had started,’ said the boy, ‘though I could only guess at the time. But it was so warm and cosy under that hay that we fell asleep.’

‘Even with the audience making so much noise?’

‘We live beside the river, sir. We’re used to noise.’

‘So you didn’t wake up until the play was two-thirds over?’

‘I’d no idea about that. All I could think about was the money we’d earn if Rascal did his job. So I let him out of the stable,’ he continued, ‘and that was the last I saw of him. What did he do?’

‘Let’s just say that he made his presence felt.’

The boy was anxious. ‘Was he hurt?’

‘It was Rascal who did the hurting,’ replied Nicholas. ‘He bit the Clown and chased everyone else around the stage.’

‘The bite was only meant in fun, sir. Rascal does that all the time when we play together. He never bites hard.’ He licked his lips once more. ‘Can I have him back, please?’

‘If you tell me about the man who paid you.’

‘Much like you in height but dressed more like a courtier.’

‘Have you ever seen a courtier, David?’

‘No, sir, but that’s how I think they must look — with a fine doublet and a tall hat with an ostrich feather in it. And he was rich,’ said the boy. ‘When he put a hand in his purse to find me a penny, it came out with a dozen gold coins in it.’

‘Was he a fair-haired man with a well trimmed beard?’

‘How did you know?’

‘And a voice that was not born in London?’

‘That was the fellow, sir — you’ve met him.’

‘No,’ said Nicholas, ‘but I’ve every intention of doing so. Come, David,’ he went on, turning away. ‘I’ll not only show you where I locked Rascal up. I’ll give you another penny to take him far away from here.’

When he stormed into the taproom, Saul Hibbert was impeded by members of the audience, who insisted on heaping praise on him. All that he could do was to smile, nod and express his thanks. It was minutes before he could make his way across to Lawrence Firethorn, who was seated at a table with Owen Elias. Hibbert stood over them.

‘I need to speak to you, Lawrence,’ he declared.

‘Then do so sitting down,’ replied Firethorn, ‘so that we may talk in comfort.’ Hibbert lowered himself onto a stool. ‘Will you join me in some Canary wine?’

‘No, I’ve come to talk business.’

‘And I know what business that is,’ joked Elias. ‘You wish your play to be known henceforth as The Malevolent Dog.’

‘I’d boil the creature in oil, if I catch it,’ vowed Hibbert. ‘Everyone I speak to congratulates me warmly on my play but saves their highest compliment for that yapping animal.’

‘I’d save it for Nick Bracewell. He got rid of the dog for us.’

‘But he was to blame for it being there in the first place.’

‘What makes you think that?’ asked Firethorn.

‘He admitted as much,’ said Hibbert. ‘It seems that the dog was hiding in the stables, waiting to be let out. Yet Nicholas claims that the stables were empty when he searched them.’

‘Then you can rest assured that they were.’

‘In that case, how did the dog suddenly appear?’

‘I don’t know,’ confessed Firethorn, ‘but we go to great lengths to make sure there are no animals in the yard before we begin. Someone smuggled in a cockerel one afternoon and let it loose while I was playing a tender love scene.’

‘And don’t forget that rabbit who once tried to take a role in The Loyal Subject,’ said Elias. ‘He, too, was released by way of a jest.’

‘That dog was no jest,’ insisted Hibbert, eyes aflame. ‘He was brought here in a deliberate attempt to ruin my reputation.’

‘What about our reputation?’

‘That’s too well established to be in danger, Owen. Mine, however, is not. If my play had been abandoned because of the dog, I’d be the real loser. I’ll not stand for it, Lawrence.’

‘Calm down,’ soothed Firethorn.

‘How can I calm down when my livelihood is at stake?’

‘You were safely up in the gallery when the attack was made. We were the ones onstage, having to dodge those gnashing teeth. You might begin with a word of thanks for the way we rescued the situation.’

‘Yes,’ said Elias, ‘and for the way that Nick captured the dog.’

‘But for him,’ argued Hibbert, ‘the animal would not have been there in the first place. Your book holder failed miserably in his duty. I’ll not have the bungling fool involved in a play of mine again.’

The Welshman bristled. ‘Mind your language. Nick is my friend.’

‘I’d sooner take his place myself.’

‘No man could do that,’ warned Firethorn. ‘He’s far more than a mere book holder. Nick controls the whole performance. He’s also in charge of counting our takings, dealing with our churlish landlord, finding any hired men we need and acting as our emissary to Lord Westfield. He has a dozen more responsibilities besides.’

‘Most of all,’ said Elias, ‘he’s known and trusted by the company.’

‘You are not, Saul.’

‘If you want to see Nick’s true value, look at the plot he drew up for The Malevolent Comedy. It tells the story of each of the five acts, and shows who should be where in every scene. Nick pins it up in the tiring-house before we start. Without it, we’d be lost.’

‘Then we keep the plot and get rid of him,’ said Hibbert.

‘We’ve had this futile argument before,’ recalled Firethorn, ‘and our answer’s still the same. Nick stays, regardless.’

‘Does that mean my play will not be staged again?’

‘Far from it. We plan to offer it every day next week.’

‘Without my permission?’

‘What author would deny permission to have a play performed?’

‘I would,’ attested Hibbert. ‘Look to the contract and you’ll see that I’m within my rights to do so.’

Firethorn gaped. ‘You’d stop us playing The Malevolent Comedy?’

‘Unless my terms are met.’

Elias was combative. ‘Do you dare to threaten us?’ he said.

‘I mean to have my way.’

‘Then you can take your worm-eaten play and stuff it up your …’

‘Be quiet, Owen,’ said Firethorn, cutting him off. ‘We need to haggle here. Saul’s comedy could fill our coffers to the brim.’

‘I’m glad that you’ve remembered that,’ said Hibbert, smugly.

‘What’s to prevent it appearing at the Queen’s Head on Monday?’

‘The presence of Nicholas Bracewell.’

‘You demand a terrible price.’

‘And I mean to have it.’

‘The performance will suffer without Nick’s guiding hand.’

‘I refuse to believe that, Lawrence. Find a reliable deputy.’

‘A moment ago,’ noted Elias, ‘you were offering to take on the office yourself. Mark my words, you’d not be popular if you did so. And you’d not get the best out of the actors.’

‘Nicholas will never touch my play again!’

‘Or you’ll withdraw it?’

‘I’ll do far worse than that.’

‘Worse?’ repeated Firethorn.

‘I’ll work instead for Banbury’s Men,’ said Hibbert with conviction. ‘I’ve already received blandishments from them. John Vavasor and Cyrus Hame were sent to whet my appetite. Lamberto showed their gift for tragedy. I am wanted at the Curtain for my comic mastery.’

Firethorn was shocked. ‘You’d go to Banbury’s Men?’

‘Only if you deny my request.’ He rose quickly to his feet and put his hands on his hips. ‘Nicholas Bracewell or Saul Hibbert? Make your choice. Which of us is more important to you?’

Before any reply could be made, Hibbert stalked off dramatically.

‘I know which one I’d choose,’ said Elias, belligerently.

‘Peace, Owen.’

‘Nick is worth a dozen Saul Hibberts.’

‘I agree,’ said Firethorn, ‘but Nick does not write plays. If we lose Saul to our rivals, we yield up our best hope of competing with them.’

‘Do you believe that Banbury’s Men are really after him?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Then why not let him go?’ said Elias. ‘In return, you can lure away John Vavasor and Cyrus Hame. A fair exchange, I’d say.’

‘And so would I, if there were any chance of it taking place. But there’s not,’ said Firethorn with a sigh of regret. ‘When he showed a play to me, I tossed it back in Master Vavasor’s face. He’d never join us now, Owen. The fellow has every reason to get his own back at me.’

John Vavasor poured two cups of wine and handed one to Cyrus Hame.

‘Do you think he’ll come?’ he asked.

‘I’m certain that he will. Saul Hibbert is an ambitious man.’

‘Too ambitious, I fancy. We’d need to watch him, Cyrus.’

‘He’s no match for us,’ said Hame, sipping his drink. ‘We played him like a fish at the end of a line yesterday. The promise of more money will be irresistible.’

‘Yes, he’s as fond of women and fine clothes as you are.’

‘Like me, he has good taste in both. That means expense.’

‘Ambitious and in need of money — we have him!’

‘Unless they bind him by contract to Westfield’s Men.’

‘They’ve not done so yet,’ said Vavasor. ‘He told us as much. And I doubt that Lawrence Firethorn would pay what Banbury’s Men will offer. He’s a reputation for being tight-fisted — among his other vices.’

‘What about his virtues?’

‘He has none.’

Hame laughed. ‘You really hate the man, John.’

‘I loathe him. He said that my play was pure dross.’

‘Dross can be turned into gold by the right process.’

‘You proved that,’ said the other with gratitude. ‘You’re a true alchemist, Cyrus. My work was base metal until you put it in the roaring furnace of your brain. It came out as new-minted gold.’

‘We are partners, John. Each of us needs the other.’

‘The question is — do we also need Saul Hibbert?’

‘You want to cripple Westfield’s Men, do you not?’

‘Oh, I do. I want to bring Master Firethorn crashing down.’

They were in a room at Vavasor’s house, a spacious mansion that rubbed shoulders with the homes of the high and mighty in the Strand. Having no need to work for a living, Vavasor was nevertheless driven to make his mark in the theatre, even if it meant long hours of unremitting toil. Until he had met Cyrus Hame, all success had eluded him. Suddenly, the two of them were the most celebrated authors in London, and they had all but completed their new play. Vavasor looked wistfully at the manuscript and succumbed to a feeling of doubt.

‘Do you think it will be as good as Lamberto?’ he said.

‘No, John.’

‘Oh, dear!’

‘It will be even better,’ Hame said with a grin. ‘Pompey has a nobler hero and a bolder theme. More to the point, the role is even more suited to Giles Randolph’s talents than Lamberto.’

‘That was not the only reason I chose it for him.’

‘No, you wanted him to out-fire Lawrence Firethorn.’

‘And so he will,’ said Vavasor. ‘That will hurt Firethorn more than anything. He’s played Pompey the Great many times in a play of that title and thinks the part is his in perpetuity. We’ll wrest it from him and show how it should be played. Lawrence Firethorn will squirm in a pit of envy.’

‘I begin to feel sorry for him.’

‘There’s more yet, Cyrus. I want you to write a Prologue that will play upon his name and goad him even more. Harp on the fact that our tragedy will have more fire and sharper thorns than those other versions of the story. Mock him without mercy.’

‘The couplets already start to tumble from my brain.’

‘Set him down as Pompous the Great.’

‘I’ll tent him to the quick,’ promised Hame. ‘He’ll wish he never had the gall to turn John Vavasor away.’

‘His troupe will slowly crumble. He’s lost Edmund Hoode. He’s lost his supremacy as an actor. And he’s lost his way.’

‘He’s also set to lose Saul Hibbert.’

‘When we can entice him away.’

‘That may be sooner than we thought,’ said Hame, artlessly. ‘From what I hear, Saul was not too happy with the performance of his play this afternoon. I do not blame him. Who wants to be known as the author of a play about a runaway dog?’

They laughed their fill then poured themselves more wine.

Sunday began, as it always did in the household, with a visit to church. Accompanied by her maidservant, Anne Hendrik walked with Nicholas Bracewell to attend morning service in Bankside, while all the bells of London rang out to call the faithful. When they filed into their pew, Anne knelt in prayer, filling her mind with holy thoughts. By the time they emerged from the church, however, her thoughts had taken a more temporal turn. On the stroll home, she did not mince her words.

‘It was utterly shameful of Lawrence!’ she said.

‘But it was I who made the decision, Anne.’

‘That’s the most shameful thing of all. Given the choice between you and Master Hibbert, he did not even have the courage to take it. Instead, he shifted the burden to you once again.’

‘I had no objection to that,’ said Nicholas.

‘Well, I do.’

‘At least, it allowed me to make the decision.’

‘Only because Lawrence knew exactly what that decision would be,’ she said, angrily. ‘He’s such a Machiavel. Because he could not ask you to stand down tomorrow, he tricked you into offering to do so.’

‘What else could I do?’

‘Defy him and defy Master Hibbert.’

‘The company must come first, Anne.’

‘For once in your life, stop being so noble.’

‘There’s more to it than that,’ he replied. ‘I’m not moved entirely by the spirit of self-sacrifice, I can assure you. The simple fact is that The Malevolent Comedy will bring in lots of money.’

‘It’s that malevolent author who worries me. Besides, after the scares they had with the play twice before, none of the actors wants to touch it again.’

‘Lawrence does and there’s been a request from our patron. Lord Westfield is eager to see it again. That settles the matter, Anne.’

‘What of Barnaby? He was bitten by that dog.’

‘He swore he’d never go near the play again. But the injury was very minor, and he began to remember all the rounds of applause that the Clown was given for his dances. Barnaby has agreed to go on.’

‘Even without you?’

‘He’s never been my closest friend.’

‘But he knows how much they depend on you.’

‘I think he’ll be reminded of that tomorrow,’ said Nicholas. ‘I wish them well, of course, but there could be problems behind the scenes. George Dart will hold the book and it may well prove too heavy for him.’

‘George Dart?’ she said, fondly. ‘What would he do if someone is poisoned onstage or if a dog is let loose again? George would run away.’

‘The play may not be ambushed again tomorrow.’

‘What if it is?’

‘Then I may be in a better position to do something about it, Anne. Instead of being tied up with the performance, I’ll occupy an upstairs room from which I can watch the whole yard. Yes,’ he went on, ‘and I’ll place Leonard where he can receive a signal from me. Between the two of us, we may be able to ward off an attack before it even comes.’

‘That’s not the point at issue here.’

‘It is for me. I want Hal Bridger’s killer caught.’

‘So do I, but I also want justice for Nicholas Bracewell. You’ve given them years of loyal service. All that Master Hibbert has given them is one play. Yet he takes precedence over you.’

‘I’ll admit that I was disappointed by that.’

‘You’d every right to feel betrayed. This is akin to treachery.’

‘Lawrence was put in an impossible situation,’ he said, mildly. ‘I do not hold it against him.’

‘Well, I do,’ she returned with vehemence. ‘I’ll never forgive him for this — or the others, for that matter. Did nobody speak in your favour?’

‘Owen Elias did, so did Frank Quilter. And I’m sure that Edmund would have pleaded my cause, had he still been there. It was all to no avail. Lawrence overruled them.’

‘He’d not overrule me.’

Nicholas laughed. ‘I think it would take an army to do that, Anne. But do not accept defeat yet,’ he warned. ‘The situation may still change in our favour.’

‘How?’

‘Lawrence has to break the news to his wife.’

Until that day, Lawrence Firethorn had been a reluctant churchgoer, attending begrudgingly out of a sense of duty rather than because of any Christian impulse. This time, however, he could not wait to get there because it offered him the sanctuary he desperately sought. Having kept the decision about Nicholas Bracewell to himself, he had made the fatal mistake of confiding in his wife on the Sabbath. Margery’s wrath knew no bounds. People six streets away heard her red-blooded condemnation. In full flow, she could even make as strapping a man as her husband quail with fear. Firethorn fled to church with alacrity and prayed that she might forgive him his trespasses.

On the walk back to Old Street, Margery was quiescent but he knew that it was only the presence of their children, and of the apprentices who lived with them, that held her back from a display of public excoriation. She was saving herself until they were behind closed doors again. The fact that her voice penetrated wood, stone and any other intervening material with ease did not hold her back. Neighbours were compelled to listen to the latest piece of marital discord.

‘You made Nick Bracewell stand down?’ she howled.

‘It was his decision.’

‘You forced him into making it.’

‘I could do little else, my angel.’

‘Angel me no more,’ warned Margery, ‘for you are on the side of the devil. Only a fiend from Hell could treat Nick the way that you did.’

‘He upset Saul Hibbert,’ said Firethorn.

‘By rescuing his play from disaster twice in a row?’

‘Saul does not see it like that.’

‘But you should, Lawrence. You know the truth of it.’

‘Nick did handle him very roughly on Thursday.’

‘I’m surprised that he did not tear the fellow apart,’ she yelled. ‘Any other man would have done so. One of your lads was murdered and all that Master Hibbert can do is to complain that it spoilt his play. Is human life worth no more than that? God’s mercy! In Nick’s place, I’d have strangled him with my bare hands.’

‘There’s no point in arguing over it,’ said Firethorn, trying to assert himself. ‘The decision is made and we all have to abide by it.’

‘Well, I don’t.’

‘You’re not a member of the company.’

‘No,’ she retorted. ‘If I had been, this villainy would never have taken place. Remove your book holder to please this testy playwright? I’d sooner get rid of you.’

‘Margery!’

‘They’ve managed without Lawrence Firethorn before.’

‘And very poorly.’

‘How much worse has it been when Nick Bracewell was absent? Your enemies set a proper value on him. Have you forgotten the time they had him put in prison?’ she demanded. ‘It was not you or Barnaby they sought to impair. They knew they could cause more damage by taking your book holder away from you.’

‘Do not remind me,’ begged Firethorn, hands to his head.

‘Somebody has to, Lawrence. Had I not got him released from the Counter, with the help of your patron, Westfield’s Men would surely have foundered. True or false?’

‘That was a long time ago, Margery.’

‘True or false?’ she shrieked.

‘True, all true, utterly and completely true.’

‘And is this how you repay Nick for his service to the company?’

‘It’s only while Saul’s play holds the stage.’

‘That could be a week, perhaps two. What is your book holder supposed to do in the meantime? Sit quietly at home with Anne?’ She gave a grim laugh. ‘I’ll wager that you’d not dare to face her. Nobody understands Nick’s true worth more than Anne. She’ll be disgusted with you, Lawrence, and I share her disgust.’

Firethorn began to sweat. He felt that he was being roasted on the spit of his wife’s anger. Having married her for her vitality, he had long ago discovered that there was a severe drawback. Turned against him, the zest and vigour that had made Margery such an appealing woman was a potent weapon. He was tempted to run back to church again to hide.

‘Well?’ she asked, folding her arms. ‘What do you have to say?’

‘Nothing, my love.’

‘There’s no love here for you, sir.’

‘Running a theatre company is a difficult business.’

‘A nasty, scurvy, double-dealing business in your hands.’

‘We’d be fools to turn Saul Hibbert and his play away.’

‘And knaves to part with Nick so cruelly.’

‘It’s only for a time, Margery.’

‘Not if this tyrant stays with you,’ she said. ‘What happens when you coax another play out of him? Master Hibbert will make even more demands then. If you lose Nick now, you’ll lose him for good.’

‘I couldn’t bear that thought.’

‘Then why did you force him out?’

‘We are merely resting him, Margery.’

‘In order to please a man you’d never heard of six months ago.’

‘All London has heard of him now,’ said Firethorn. ‘Everyone is demanding to see his play — Lord Westfield among them, and he’s seen it twice already. We have the success that we need and we must build on it. Would you have me let Saul take his talent to our rivals?’

‘Frankly, yes.’

‘That’s patent madness.’

‘Then you are married to a patent madwoman,’ she said. ‘From where I stand, The Malevolent Comedy is far more trouble than its worth. It’s given you too much malevolence and too little comedy. For there’s not a man in the company — apart from Barnaby, perhaps — who will laugh at Nick’s departure. Yet there are several who’ll weep.’

‘I’m one of them,’ he conceded, sadly. ‘Nick is like a son to me.’

‘Then behave like an honest father.’

‘I dare not, Margery.’

‘Renounce this upstart and send him on his way.’

‘Saul Hibbert is an important part of our future.’

‘Without Nick Bracewell, you’ll have no future. Call him back.’

‘It’s too late now. The play has been advertised for tomorrow.’

‘Then do not ask me to come and see it.’

‘Margery,’ he said, slipping an arm around her waist in an attempt to soothe her. ‘I would not have this happen for the world. Whatever we decided would involve some loss. I did what I felt was right for the good of the company. Come,’ he went on, tightening his hold. ‘Bear with me.’

‘Take your hand away.’

‘You’re my wife. You swore to love, honour and obey me.’

‘That was before I realised what villainy you’d stoop to,’ she said, pushing him off. ‘You deserve neither love, honour nor obedience. I cannot honour a man who behaves so treacherously or obey one who issues such unkind commands. As for love,’ she added with a harsh laugh, ‘you’ve seen the last of that, Lawrence. There’ll be no room in my bed for you while Nick is ousted from his place. You are banished.’

Most of Shoreditch had heard the dread sentence imposed.