The Vagabond Clown

Chapter Thirteen

Before they could set out next morning, repairs had to be made to the wagon that was damaged by the avalanche. A new wheel was bought to replace the one that Nicholas had mended sufficiently well to get them to Canterbury, and lengths of stout timber were used to strengthen the makeshift struts beneath the wagon. The local wheelwright employed to help was full of praise for the way that the rim had been put back on the other wheel and his comments fed Lawrence Firethorn’s vanity. The actor boasted aloud about his skills as a blacksmith. It was Barnaby Gill, reclining in his wheelbarrow, who pricked the bubble of his conceit.

‘You should have stayed in the trade, Lawrence,’ he said waspishly.

Firethorn blenched. ‘And deprive the stage of my genius?’

‘I think that your skills are more suited to the forge.’

‘At least, I have skills of some sort, Barnaby. Unlike you.’

‘You would have made an excellent blacksmith.’

‘Had you been my anvil, I’d have enjoyed the work.’

‘Barnaby is your anvil,’ said Edmund Hoode wearily. ‘You strike sparks off him whenever you meet.’

‘I’ve yet to see any spark in his acting,’ said Firethorn.

‘That is because you are too busy looking at yourself,’ countered Gill. ‘An audience is nothing more than a set of mirrors in which you preen yourself.’

‘You are the Narcissus in this troupe, Barnaby.’

‘I strive to look my best, that is all.’

‘And you do look your best in that wheelbarrow,’ teased Firethorn. ‘I’d be more than happy to tip you onto my garden to enrich the soil.’

‘Even with a broken leg, I can outrun you on stage.’

‘But you only go in circles.’

The rest of the company had gathered in the yard for departure but they were too accustomed to the banter between Firethorn and Gill to pay much attention to their latest squabble. When the baggage had been loaded, they climbed into their respective wagons. Owen Elias led his horse out of the stables and went over to the first wagon.

‘Are we ready to leave, Nick?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas, checking the harness. ‘We must head for the Dover Road.’

‘I hope that we can have one journey without an ambush.’

‘I’m sure that we shall, Owen.’

‘What makes you so certain?’

‘Wait and see.’

Nicholas clambered up into his seat and took the reins. When Gill and his wheelbarrow had been lifted into the second wagon, it was time to go. They rolled out of the inn yard and into the busy streets of Canterbury. Firethorn rode ahead, as usual, and Elias brought up the rear with Hoode and his donkey for company. The procession made its way towards Ridingate. There was a distinct mood of apprehension. In view of the earlier attacks, Westfield’s Men were understandably nervous. Sensible precautions had been taken. Even the apprentices had been given daggers and taught how to defend themselves. Trained in the art of stage fights, the actors all knew how to handle weapons but there was a world of difference between rehearsed combat and fight for their lives with an enemy who could select the time, place and means of an attack. The moment they left the comparative safety of the city, they began to feel uneasy. Richard Honeydew gave an involuntary shiver. He climbed onto the seat beside Nicholas.

‘I wish that we could have stayed in Canterbury,’ he said.

‘The city was not ready for us, Dick.’

‘The open road frightens me.’

‘When you have all your friends around you?’

‘The others are as worried as me,’ said Honeydew. ‘You’ve given us daggers but what use are they against an avalanche?’

‘No use at all,’ agreed Nicholas, ‘but we are unlikely to be attacked in that way again. If enemies still lurk in wait, they will not use the same device because they know that we will be more circumspect. Besides, the avalanche inflicted no injuries. It merely delayed us for a few hours.’

‘Why do they want to injure us, Nick?’

‘I believe that envy is at work.’

‘Is that reason enough to kill?’

‘They seem to think so.’ He flicked a glance over his shoulder. ‘I spoke to Stephen yesterday. Has he said anything to you?’

‘Yes, he mumbled an apology to me as we left the cathedral.’

‘There’s an end to it then. The others will learn from him.’

‘Stephen thinks the same as me now,’ said Honeydew. ‘We do not like Master Gill as much as Giddy, but we’d hate to lose him. Or to lose anyone else.’

‘We’ll take steps to make sure that it doesn’t happen.’

They had gone barely a mile along the Dover Road when Nicholas called a halt beside a winding track. Firethorn brought his horse alongside the leading wagon.

‘Why have we stopped, Nick?’

‘I think that we should turn down there,’ said Nicholas, pointing.

‘But this is the most direct way.’

‘That’s why they’ll be waiting for us somewhere along the route.’

Firethorn unsheathed his sword. ‘I’ll be ready for the rogues.’

‘They’ll not give you the courtesy of a fight. Their strategy is to strike hard when we least expect them before fleeing at speed. They’ll not attack unless they can escape.’

‘Leave the main road and we add pointless miles to the journey.’

‘We also gain a degree of safety.’

‘You puzzle me,’ said Firethorn, sheathing his sword. ‘Last night, I heard you ask the landlord which road we should take to Dover and he named all the villages we’d pass on the way. Why bother to seek that information if it is of no consequence?’

‘But it was of consequence.’

‘In what way?’

‘It misled them,’ explained Nicholas. ‘When I walked back to the Three Tuns last night, I was followed by a man.’

Firethorn was disturbed. ‘Why did you not say?’

‘Because I did not wish to spread alarm. The chances were that he’d slip into the taproom at some point. It was so full with custom that we’d not have picked him out. The man who killed Giddy Mussett bided his time from inside the Blue Anchor, remember. Unbeknown to us, we rubbed shoulders with the assassin in Faversham and may have done so again last night at the Three Tuns.’

‘I’ll rub more than his shoulder!’ vowed Firethorn.

‘That’s why I questioned the landlord so openly.’

‘To throw anyone listening off the scent.’

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘The conversation that nobody overheard was the one I had in the stables with the wheelwright. He taught me another way to Dover.’

‘Then let’s take it, Nick. Your judgement is sound.’ He gave a chuckle. ‘If they are lying in wait for us on this road, what will they do when we fail to turn up?’

Nicholas smiled. ‘They may become angry.’

It was a perfect place for attack. The bushes that ran along the ridge gave them ample cover. The two men chose a spot that brought them closest to any traffic on the road below. As they lay in the undergrowth, both had loaded muskets at their side. The man with the beard was writhing with impatience.

‘They should have been here hours ago,’ he complained.

‘Perhaps they were delayed,’ said the brawny young man with the scarred face.

‘By what?’

‘Who knows? An accident?’

‘We are their accident,’ growled the bearded man. ‘We’ll stop them for good. Put a couple of musket balls into Nicholas Bracewell and Westfield’s Men will fall apart.’

‘You said that when you killed Giddy Mussett.’

‘Hold your noise!’

There was a long pause. ‘Shall I ride up the road to see if they’re coming?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it would be a waste of time.’ The bearded man hauled himself to his feet and picked up his musket. ‘A plague on them!’ he exclaimed. ‘They tricked us.’

The first thing that they noticed as they approached Dover was its massive fortress. Perched on the top of the hill, it was like a town in itself, well fortified with high walls and solid towers, gazing out fearlessly across the English Channel. Having followed a serpentine route that twisted its way past countless hamlets and farms, Westfield’s Men entered the town from the north east, passing in the very shadow of the castle. From their high eminence, they had a good view of the sheltered harbour below, protected by the Pent, a massive wall built of cliff-chalk, forty feet wide at the top. Dozens of vessels lay in the harbour. A three-masted ship was just setting sail for France. Travellers were milling around a second vessel as they waited to board it.

The castle was an intimidating structure but the steep incline that now confronted them was equally breathtaking. With the sea to their left, they had to descend the long road that curved down to the town itself. Nicholas ordered them to lighten the load by walking down the hill. Only Gill remained in the rear of a wagon. Like the other two drivers, Nicholas led his horses by hand so that he had more control over them. Hoode walked beside him with his donkey braying in fear at the sight of the precipice nearby.

‘I hope they’ll let us play here, Nick,’ he said.

‘There’s no reason to suppose that they will not,’ replied Nicholas. ‘We know that we must perform at least once at the castle.’

‘Yes, but only when Lord Westfield is present. He was adamant about that. We are days ahead of him. He’ll not expect us here this soon.’

‘Then we’ll have to send him word of our arrival.’

‘As soon as we may,’ said Hoode. ‘Where shall we stay?’

‘Sebastian Frant spoke well of the Lion. It has sixteen beds to offer.’

‘Not all may be available.’

‘Then we’ll have to make other arrangements,’ said Nicholas. ‘We’ve been spoilt so far, Edmund. Last time we toured, some of us slept in the stables.’

Dover was a flourishing community, its population swelled by the large numbers of travellers who came to and fro. Twenty sea-going ships made regular voyages to Calais and other ports on the Continent, giving employment to over four hundred sailors and providing the inns around the harbour with plenty of custom. The newcomers were impressed by the size of the crowds but they also noticed a slight air of decay about the town. A number of churches were in ruins and some of the civic buildings had seen better days. The once imposing St Martin Le Grande was so dilapidated that its stone was being pillaged for use in the construction of sea defences.

Westfield’s Men were back in their wagons by the time they turned into the yard at the Lion. The ruse advised by Nicholas had been successful. In choosing an alternative route to Dover, they had avoided any further incidents. It gave them a new confidence. They were delighted that the inn could accommodate them all. While they unloaded their belongings, it was left to Nicholas to obtain a licence to play in the town and to send word to their patron of their early arrival. By the time that the book holder returned, Firethorn was seated in the taproom with Hoode and Gill. None of them could read the expression on Nicholas’s face.

‘Well,’ said Firethorn. ‘Good tidings or bad?’

‘Good, for the most part,’ replied Nicholas. ‘We have a licence to play at the Guildhall in two days and there is a possibility that we may be able to give a second performance there.’

‘This is cheering news.’

‘Let me finish. Our fee, alas, is only thirteen shillings and fourpence.’

‘So little for such magnificent fare?’

‘It’s the same amount that Conway’s Men received.’

‘That’s even more insulting,’ said Firethorn testily. ‘Our fame surely entitles us to more than that undisciplined rabble.’

‘We’ve played for less in the past,’ Hoode reminded him.

‘Played for less and deserved much more.’

‘The fee has been accepted,’ said Nicholas, ‘and we could make more by a second performance. Even if we pay for the hire of the Guildhall, there should be a profit in the venture.’

‘What of the letter to our patron?’ said Gill. ‘When Lord Westfield reaches the town, we can look to a third performance with the largest audience yet.’

Nicholas gave a nod. ‘Fortune favours us. I told the mayor that I needed to send word to our patron and he offered his help. His own courier travels to London with a string of correspondence so our letter will be in his saddlebag as well.’

Firethorn was content. ‘Three performances in all. That augurs well.’

‘Provided that we choose the best plays, Lawrence,’ said Gill with an arrogant gesture of the hand. ‘One must surely be The Foolish Friar so that I can conquer yet another audience.’

‘Learn to conquer your outrageous pride instead.’

‘Who else could dominate the stage from a wheelbarrow?’

‘You did not even dominate the wheelbarrow itself, Barnaby.’

The two men started to argue about which plays should be performed, each nominating those in which he felt he would have the commanding role. Nicholas caught Hoode’s eye and a silent pact was made. Excusing themselves from the debate, they went out to inhale the fresh air of a fine evening.

‘Which plays would you suggest, Nick?’ asked Hoode.

‘Our choice is limited by that avalanche, Edmund. Some of our scenery was destroyed and several of our properties damaged. I do not have the time or the means to repair them all. However,’ he continued with a wry smile, ‘one thing that did survive was the executioner’s block so we can still offer The Loyal Subject.’

‘That would be on my list as well. Put it forward.’

‘Let’s wait until this latest skirmish between Lawrence and Barnaby is over. Until then, neither of them will listen to what we have to say.’

They decided to go for a walk and their steps took them in the direction of the harbour. It was no accident. The son of a West Country merchant, Nicholas had gone to sea at an early age and developed an abiding love for it. He could not stay in a port like Dover without wanting to see what ships were moored there. Hoode was happy to bear him company, enjoying the stroll and the chance to be free of the others for a while. The smell of the sea soon invaded their nostrils. When they got close to the first of the ships, Nicholas stopped so that he could appraise it at his leisure.

‘Do you miss being a sailor?’ said Hoode.

‘Sometimes.’

‘Have you never wanted to go back to sea?’

‘In the past,’ admitted Nicholas wistfully, ‘the temptation was very strong. Then I met Anne.’

‘Ah, yes. Anne would be a firm anchor for any man.’

‘Westfield’s Men also help to keep me ashore.’

‘Even when we expose you to peril?’

‘There’s no peril greater than a tempest at sea, Edmund.’

‘Then I’ll keep two feet firmly on dry land.’

As they sauntered along the line of ships, Nicholas pointed out their salient features. The vessel around which a crowd had formed now started to let its passengers aboard. They carried their baggage up the gangplank and had their passports checked before they stepped on deck. The two friends paused to watch them, wondering where all those people were going and what was taking them there. Nicholas was still speculating on the ship’s destination when he caught sight of someone out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see a sailor walking briskly past. A slim, sinewy man of middle height, he wore clothing that had been patched too often and a cap that was pulled down over his forehead. Yet there was something about his gait that was arresting. Putting the man’s age around thirty, Nicholas started to make some calculations. Hoode became aware of his interest in the sailor.

‘Do you know the fellow, Nick?’

‘I begin to think that I do.’

‘Go after him, if you must.’

But it was already too late. Before Nicholas could even move, the man was swallowed up in the crowd. Nicholas went off to search for him but it was a futile exercise. The man had vanished from sight. Hoode caught up with the book holder.

‘Who is he?’

‘A friend,’ said Nicholas. ‘An old and dear friend.’

Lawrence Firethorn did not believe in wasting time. Since the Guildhall had been put at their disposal for rehearsal, he assembled his company there shortly after breakfast and worked them hard. Three comedies had been performed on tour so far. To introduce variety, and to give Firethorn the role of a tragic hero, A Loyal Subject was chosen as the play to set before their first audience in Dover. With its clown, Malvino, confined to a wheelbarrow, radical changes had to be made so that Gill could still offer some comic relief in an otherwise serious and, on occasion, solemn play. Songs replaced dances and the fluent pen of Edmund Hoode created new soliloquies for Gill. Owen Elias was once more engaged as the man who pushed the wheelbarrow around the stage.

Though showing the signs of age, the Guildhall was ideal for their purposes with a balcony that could be used by the musicians, and where some of the more intimate scenes could be played. The stage was erected beneath the balcony, thereby making use of two doors in the back wall as exits. Light was more than adequate and the indoor venue rescued them from the dependence on the weather that made performances at the Queen’s Head such a risky proposition. The long, low, rectangular hall was also kind to their voices. By midday, Westfield’s Men had shrugged off most of their fear and dejection. They had good accommodation, an excellent arena in which to perform and the possibility of staging three different plays in the town. They felt wanted.

Nicholas Bracewell was as industrious as ever. Before the others had even risen for breakfast, he was up to repair some of the scenery that was needed in the play. Holding the book throughout the morning, he also suggested many of the changes and devised a series of new effects. As always, he was put in charge of rehearsing the stage fights, drawing on skills he had learnt while sailing with Drake many years earlier. Yet even at his busiest, Nicholas was still troubled by the memory of the man he had glimpsed at the harbour. If it had been the person he thought it might be, then his friend had fallen on hard times. He looked tired and shabby. Nicholas could not dismiss the image from his mind. When the rest of the company went off to the Lion early that afternoon, therefore, he decided to forego a meal in favour of a return to the harbour.

It was as busy as ever. A ship had arrived from France and passengers were disembarking in a stream. Another vessel was being loaded with cargo, a third was about to set sail. Fishermen brought in the morning catch, surrounded by gulls whose cries added to the general tumult. Nicholas felt at home. Inhaling the salty tang, he picked his way along and searched the faces in the crowd. But there was no sign of the sailor he had seen the previous evening. Even when he peeped into the taverns by the harbour, Nicholas could not find him. Eventually, he gave up, deciding that he had either been mistaken as to the man’s identity or that his friend had already sailed on the tide. He strolled down a quay and watched another fishing boat coming into the bay.

This time, it was the other man who recognised Nicholas.

‘Is that you?’ he asked in disbelief. ‘No, it cannot be.’

Nicholas swung round to look at him. ‘John?’ he said. ‘John Strood?’

‘The very same, Nick.’

They embraced warmly then stood back to study each other more carefully. But for the coarse skin and deep furrows on his brow, Strood would have been a handsome man. Nicholas sensed disappointment and setback in his friend’s life but he was still overjoyed to meet someone with whom he had circumnavigated the world on the Golden Hind. John Strood had been a fresh-faced youth then, unable to fend off the attentions of another member of the crew. Nicholas had taken the lad under his wing and a lasting friendship had developed. Strood could not stop grinning.

‘Nick Bracewell!’ he said, slapping him on the arm. ‘I never thought to see you here. What business do you have in Dover?’

‘I work with a theatre company in London. We are on tour.’

Strood was impressed. ‘A theatre company?’

‘Lord Westfield’s Men.’

‘Have you played before the Queen?’

‘Several times.’

‘I knew that you’d make something of yourself, Nick.’

‘I’m only the book holder with the troupe,’ said Nicholas modestly. ‘It’s the actors who have gained us our reputation. But what of you, John?’ he went on, running his eye over his friend’s attire. ‘I’m glad that you’ve not deserted the sea.’

‘I’ve not had the chance. You are educated, I’m not.’

‘You’re a good seaman. That puts you high in my esteem.’

‘Thank you, Nick,’ said the other. ‘I wish that others thought as well of me.’

‘You’ve no need to worry about my good opinion.’

‘That means so much to me. You were the best shipmate I ever had.’

‘Sailing around the Cape of Good Hope together binds us for life.’

‘I always think of it as the Cape of Storms.’

‘So do I, John. An ordeal for any sailor.’

‘What I remember best is the day we boarded the Cacafuego and found all the Spanish treasure aboard. I still have dreams of that wonderful moment.’

While they traded memories, Strood’s face shone with delight as if recalling a time when he was truly happy. Nicholas could see that darker days had followed.

‘Which is your ship, John?’ he asked.

‘The Mermaid,’ replied Strood without enthusiasm.

‘Where is she?’

‘Out in the bay.’

Nicholas looked in the direction to which Strood was pointing. He understood why his friend was slightly embarrassed. Lying at anchor in the bay, the Mermaid was not a vessel that inspired admiration. It was a two-masted ship that looked old, neglected and in need of repair when compared with the trim vessels all around it. Strood clearly took no pride in the Mermaid.

‘Where do you sail?’ asked Nicholas.

‘Here and there,’ said Strood evasively.

‘With cargo or passengers?’

‘Both, Nick.’

‘What age is she?’

‘Too old for comfort.’

Nicholas pressed for more detail but Strood was unwilling to give it, preferring to talk about the work that Nicholas was involved in. When he heard that The Loyal Subject would be staged at the Guildhall, he promised to go and see it. They parted with another embrace. As he walked back to join his fellows, Nicholas was thrilled that he had met John Strood after an absence of so many years but sad that his friend had made such little progress in the world. He also wondered why Strood volunteered so little information about the ship that gave him his living.

The performance at the Guildhall was an unqualified success. The Loyal Subject touched on themes of fidelity and betrayal that struck a deep chord with a patriotic audience. Gill rode to another triumph in his wheelbarrow but it was Firethorn, as Lorenzo, executed in the final scene, who gave the most memorable portrayal. Westfield’s Men not only kept them enthralled for over two hours, they played with such unexampled brilliance that the mayor insisted they offer a second drama at the same place. They had earned both their fee and the opportunity to add substantially to it. There was more good news. A letter had arrived from their patron, saying that he would soon travel to Dover. It meant that Lord Westfield would reach the town in time to see them perform at the castle.

Because the Guildhall would not be used by anyone else for a few days, they were able to leave their stage in position. The scenery had to be dismantled, however, and the properties removed and stored. By the time that Nicholas had finished his work, there were still plenty of people in the hall, talking about the play or listening with interest to one of its leading actors. What everyone wanted to ask Firethorn was how he could still be alive when his head was visibly severed from his body on stage. Firethorn would not give away any secrets. In fact, the execution had been devised by Nicholas, who used a waxen likeness of Lorenzo’s head in the scene. When the executioner’s axe fell, the head appeared to be hacked from the body and it rolled across the stage, drawing gasps of surprise and horror from the spectators.

As Nicholas walked past him, Firethorn was still basking in the adulation of the mayor and his family. Gill, too, had an admiring circle around him and Hoode, the author of the piece, was being congratulated both on his play and his performance as the stern judge who sentenced Lorenzo to death. Hoping to see John Strood again, Nicholas was unable to find him and decided that he had not turned up after all. However, another old friend had been in the audience.

‘Nick!’ said Sebastian Frant, bearing down on him. ‘Welcome to Dover!’

‘Thank you.’

‘I did not expect you for some days yet.’

‘Canterbury turned us away while a religious festival is on.’

‘What is more religious than The Loyal Subject? It has a priest and two cardinals in the cast. You could have been part of the festival.’

‘We chose to come to Dover instead, Sebastian.’

‘Nobody is more pleased by that than I.’

Nicholas looked around. ‘Is your daughter not with you?’ he asked.

‘No, Nick. Thomasina is still at home. It was only by chance that I came into the town. When I heard that you would perform here, I was determined to come.’

‘It’s a play that you must have recognised.’

‘Most of it,’ said Frant, ‘for I was your scrivener when it was written. I copied it out from Edmund’s foul papers. But there were several changes I noticed, the most obvious being that there was no wheelbarrow when the play was first staged.’

‘That was forced upon us, alas. It was the only way to involve Barnaby.’

‘Malvino was crucial to the action, and a joy to watch. There were tears of laughter all around me. But tell me what happened since we last met,’ he said, dropping his voice. ‘I hope that you met with no more setbacks when you left Faversham.’

‘None that we could not overcome,’ said Nicholas, not wishing to talk about the avalanche. ‘And we reached Dover without any problem.’

‘That news gladdens my ear. What of your patron?’

‘He’ll be here in a few days to watch us at the castle.’

‘Lord Westfield must be very proud of his company.’

‘We like to think so. But I’m glad to see you again,’ said Nicholas. ‘You may be able to help me. Conway’s Men, as we hear, stay in Walmer. Their patron has a friend who lives nearby and they are to play at his house. Can you hazard a guess at whom that friend might be, Sebastian?’

‘He lives close to Walmer?’

‘So it seems.’

‘Then it must be Sir Roger Penhallurick.’

‘That’s a Cornish name.’

‘He lives a long way from Cornwall now.’

‘Where is the house?’

‘Not three miles distant from the town. Sir Roger has a large estate.’

‘I may pay it a visit.’

‘Do not waste your time watching Conway’s Men perform. It would be a tedious exercise. They have nothing to teach you, Nick.’

‘My interest is in their manager, Tobias Fitzgeoffrey.’

‘Now, he does have talent,’ confessed Frant. ‘Master Fitzgeoffrey is a true actor, worthy enough to appear with any company in the land.’

‘And on close terms with his patron, I believe.’

‘The two are hand in glove.’

‘Where is Lord Conway now?’

‘Staying with Sir Roger, I daresay. If his company is playing at the house of a dear friend, I doubt very much if he would miss the occasion. The chances are that Tobias Fitzgeoffrey and his patron will be under the same roof.’

Nicholas was pensive. ‘How would I find the house?’ he asked.

Barnaby Gill was so pleased with the success of the performance that he was in a benevolent mood for once. As they supped at the Lion that evening, he bought wine and ale for the actors, and even rewarded George Dart for taking on the thankless task of wheeling him around. What delighted him most was that the play chosen for their second appearance at the Guildhall was A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady, a drama that held a particular significance for him. It was during the performance of the play at the Queen’s Head that he had sustained his broken leg. When the comedy was staged in Maidstone, fatigue kept him away from it but everyone praised the way that Giddy Mussett had taken the role of the clown. Gill now had the chance to reclaim the part of Bedlam for himself. While he could not dance any of his celebrated jigs, he was still confident that he could win over an audience from his wheelbarrow.

Inevitably, some alterations had to be made to the play. Nicholas retired to a room with Edmund Hoode so that they could discuss the changes needed and see how best to promote the character of Bedlam. Much of the comic action that had been used in The Foolish Friar could easily be transposed to a different play, as could some of the songs. The real problem lay in creating a new role for Owen Elias, who would once again be in charge of the wheelbarrow on stage. Hoode sharpened his goose quill in readiness.

‘Fate works against me, Nick,’ he said with a sigh of resignation. ‘I had hoped to write scenes for my new play, but I spend all my time cobbling old ones instead.’

‘You’ve been a master shoemaker, Edmund. Without your skills, Barnaby would never have been able to appear with us. The wheelbarrow may have got him on stage but you were the one whose words gave him a fresh purpose in each play. Does not that bring you satisfaction?’

‘Great satisfaction.’

‘You helped to save us,’ said Nicholas. ‘And by making it possible for Barnaby to act again, you’ve turned a peevish spectator back into a wondrous clown. When we set out from London, he did nothing but carp and bicker. Look at him now. He is so pleased to be back in harness that he showed true generosity this evening. Can you remember the last time when that happened?’

‘No, Barnaby is apt to keep his purse to himself.’

‘He’s doing what he does best once more. That’s the cause of this happiness.’

‘But how long will it last, Nick?’

‘As long as you can provide plays in which he can act.’

‘We cannot stay in Kent forever,’ argued Hoode. ‘What happens then? Return to London and we have nowhere to play. Barnaby and the rest of us will have to look elsewhere for work. This tour may be the death of Westfield’s Men.’

‘Someone certainly intends that it should be.’

‘That’s my other fear. Will we all live to get back to the capital?’

‘Yes, Edmund.’

‘Our enemies may have other ideas.’

‘Then we must keep one step ahead of them,’ counselled Nicholas. ‘As to the Queen’s Head, all is by no means lost. Alexander Marwood drove us out but he may be just as eager to lure us back once the takings in his taproom fall. Westfield’s Men bring in much of his custom. The landlord may hate us but the promise of money will make him smile upon us once more.’

‘That may be a vain hope.’

‘I reason from experience. He has exiled us before, only to welcome us back with open arms. But I’ve asked Lord Westfield to lend his influence as well. When I wrote to advise him of our arrival in Dover, I requested him to make overtures to the testy landlord on our behalf. He may bring cheering news on that account.’

‘The one man who could charm Alexander Marwood is our patron.’

‘Let’s pray that he’s done so.’

‘He may bring other news from London,’ said Hoode. ‘While we have been on the road, the law has been looking closely into the murder of Fortunatus Hope. Who knows? It may even be that the crime has been solved.’

‘No, Edmund, put away that thought.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the man who killed Fortunatus Hope — and, I believe, Giddy Mussett — is not in London at all. We are the only ones who can catch him,’ said Nicholas, ‘for he is somewhere close at hand.’

Rehearsal of A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady began in earnest on the following morning with special attention being paid to the new scenes written for the character of Bedlam. Lawrence Firethorn was delighted with the changes made to the play. Barnaby Gill took every opportunity to seize attention as Bedlam but he posed nothing like the threat to Firethorn’s dominance that Giddy Mussett had offered. Lackwit was in command of the stage and the actor-manager exploited the fact. For most of the cast, however, the play revived unpleasant memories. Gill had been seriously injured when he took the role of Bedlam and the man who replaced him had been murdered. In spite of soothing words from Nicholas Bracewell, they were bound to be wary of that particular drama. George Dart made the mistake of voicing the opinion, within earshot of Firethorn, that the piece might be cursed.

Firethorn exploded. ‘Any play that contains you is cursed.’

‘It was only a suggestion, Master Firethorn.’

‘Keep your suggestions to yourself. They offend my ear.’

‘Yes, Master Firethorn.’

‘They also insult the intelligence of any sane man. A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady is a fine play. We’ve staged it before without the slightest trouble, even though you have been in the cast. No more of these wild accusations.’

‘I withdraw them at once,’ said Dart, wilting before his anger.

‘Dover deserves to see my Lackwit and so they shall.’

‘It’s a role that’s worthy of you, Master Firethorn.’

‘Yet the name is more worthy of you,’ said Firethorn, glaring at him. ‘Who in the company lacks wit so painfully as George Dart? You lack wit, wisdom, common sense and everything else that separates man from beast.’

‘That’s unjust,’ said Nicholas, stepping in save Dart from further abuse. ‘George made a foolish remark and I’m sure that he regrets it bitterly.’

‘Oh, I do, Nick,’ said Dart. ‘I do, I do.’

‘Then no harm has been done. I think that we should remember all the valuable work that George has done for us instead of picking on his one incautious comment.’

‘Keep the idiot away from me,’ grunted Firethorn. ‘That’s all I ask.’

‘Off you go, George,’ said Nicholas, easing him away. ‘You have to wheel Master Gill back to the Lion. We’ll be close behind you.’

‘Yes,’ said Dart, glad of the excuse to get away from the Guildhall.

Rehearsal was over for the morning. The actors drifted back to their inn for dinner while Nicholas remained behind to discuss with Hoode a few refinements that could be made to the play. Firethorn stayed long enough to approve the suggestions before setting off alone. Leaving the Guildhall, he stepped out into bright sunshine. For the first time since they had come into Kent, he felt inspired. He filled his lungs with the keen air. Firethorn was convinced that their visit to Dover would redeem their tour. It would make up for the mishaps in Maidstone and the tragedy in Faversham, not to mention the hazards they encountered on the road. All that was past. In Dover, at least, they would be seen at their best and win new admirers of their art.

His mind was still dwelling on future triumph when he was accosted by a young man, wearing the neat attire of a servant. The stranger was polite and well spoken.

‘Master Firethorn?’ he asked.

‘Yes?’

‘I was told that I might find you at the Guildhall, sir.’

‘What business do you have with me?’

‘I am enjoined to deliver this,’ said the young man, handing him a letter.

Firethorn glanced at the missive. ‘Our patron’s hand.’

‘It was Lord Westfield who sent me. I’m to await a reply.’

‘Then you shall have one,’ said Firethorn, breaking the seal to read the contents of the letter. ‘Dear God!’ he exclaimed. ‘This news lifts my heart. He is already arrived in Dover and requests me to join him for dinner.’

‘Lord Westfield stays at the Arms of England.’

‘How close is that?’

‘No distance to speak of, sir,’ replied the messenger. ‘Let me escort you there before returning to the Lion to tell your fellows where you are.’

‘An excellent notion, my young friend. Lead on.’

Thrilled to hear of the arrival of their patron, Firethorn followed his guide with alacrity. Within minutes, they came in sight of the Arms of England, a comfortable hostelry that was somewhat smaller than the Lion but with the better reputation for its food. The thought of a free meal helped to whet Firethorn’s appetite.

‘When did Lord Westfield reach Dover?’ he wondered.

‘Less than an hour ago.’

‘Does he travel alone?’

‘No, sir. He has brought some friends with him.’

‘I hope that he brings good news from London as well.’

‘This way, sir,’ said the young man, taking him to the rear of the inn. ‘Your patron has a private room upstairs.’

Firethorn went into the inn and climbed the steps behind him. When they came to the first door, the messenger tapped on it three times before standing back to usher the visitor forward. Composing his features into an ingratiating smile, Firethorn opened the door and went in to greet his patron. But there was no sign of Lord Westfield. The man who stood by the window had a grizzled beard and a dark glint in his eye.

‘Where is Lord Westfield?’ demanded Firethorn.

‘Do not trouble yourself about him,’ said the man.

‘But I was summoned to meet him here.’

‘Then it looks as if he has let you down, Master Firethorn.’

Suspecting a trap, Firethorn reached for his dagger but the man concealed behind the door moved too fast for him. He cudgelled the actor to the floor then struck him repeatedly until Firethorn lost consciousness. The bearded man locked the door.

‘Tie him up,’ he ordered. ‘We’ll move him later.’