The Vagabond Clown

Chapter Fourteen

The disappearance of Lawrence Firethorn did not at first become apparent. It was only when Nicholas Bracewell and Edmund Hoode returned to the Lion that the first tiny hint of danger came. The rest of the company was in the taproom, enjoying a hearty meal before the afternoon rehearsal, delighted with the way that Dover had responded to their work and oblivious to the fact that their actor-manager had been lured away. Barnaby Gill had been helped out of his wheelbarrow and into a chair so that he could eat his food in comfort. Nicholas and Hoode joined him at his table.

‘Where is Lawrence?’ asked Nicholas.

‘I thought he was with you,’ replied Gill.

‘No, he came on ahead of us.’

‘Well, I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of him.’

‘Perhaps he went up to his room for something,’ suggested Hoode.

Gill smiled sardonically. ‘When Lawrence goes into a bedchamber, it is usually for one reason only. He’ll no doubt join us when he’s had his sport with the wench.’

‘Even Lawrence wouldn’t begin a dalliance now, surely.’

Nicholas rose from his seat. ‘I’ll see if he’s upstairs.’

‘Remember to knock first,’ warned Gill, ‘or you’ll see much more of him than you wish. My guess is that it will be that rosy-cheeked creature from the kitchens.’

Ignoring the jibe, Nicholas left the room and ascended the staircase to the landing. His search was brief but thorough. Firethorn was not in his bedchamber, nor was he in any of the other rooms. Nicholas conducted a search of the entire building and even poked his head into the stables, but it was all to no avail. Firethorn was not there. When the book holder questioned them, ostlers and servants all said the same thing. The actor-manager had not been seen at the Lion since breakfast. Hiding his concern, Nicholas strolled casually back into the taproom to rejoin the others.

Hoode looked up inquisitively. ‘Well, where is he hiding?’

‘Lawrence is not here,’ said Nicholas.

‘He must be.’

‘I’ve looked everywhere.’

‘Only an assignation would make him miss his dinner,’ observed Gill drily.

‘I’m going to search for him in the streets.’

‘Let me come with you, Nick,’ offered Hoode, clearly worried.

‘No,’ said Nicholas, easing him back into his seat. ‘If we both leave, everyone else will realise that something is amiss. There’s no need to spread unnecessary alarm. Our fellows have had enough to contend with, as it is. I’ll walk back towards the Guildhall. It may just be that he stopped to talk to someone on the way.’

‘Then we’d have seen them as we passed.’

‘Not if she lifted her skirt for Lawrence in an alley,’ said Gill.

‘This is serious, Barnaby,’ scolded Hoode. ‘Enough of these silly jests.’

‘Wait here until I come back,’ advised Nicholas. ‘And try to carry on as if nothing untoward has happened. I’ll be as quick as I can.’

‘What if someone asks after Lawrence?’

‘Invent some excuse to explain his absence.’

‘Excuse?’

‘Nobody in this room has a more fertile imagination than you, Edmund,’ said Nicholas, patting him on the shoulder. ‘You’ll think of something.’

He slipped out quietly through the rear door. Nicholas walked back in the direction of the Guildhall, looking down every street, alley and lane on the way. He found it difficult to believe that Firethorn had come to any harm in broad daylight. Raised in a blacksmith’s forge, the actor was a powerful man whose bustling energy would make any attackers think twice before taking him on. As many had discovered in the past, his skill with sword or dagger made him a doughty adversary. Nicholas tried hard to convince himself that there was a simple explanation for the disappearance of Firethorn, but the further he went, the less persuaded he became that all was well. Hoping that the missing man might somehow have doubled back to the Guildhall, he hurried on to the building and went inside. His search was fruitless. Firethorn was nowhere to be seen.

Nicholas was determined to relieve his anxiety by positive action. He set out on the route that Firethorn should have taken, going back over his own footsteps and stopping to ask people whom he passed along the way if they could remember seeing the distinctive individual whom he described to them. Nobody could help him. Even the most sharp-eyed shopkeepers had not been able to pick out Firethorn in the crowds that drifted constantly past them. Nicholas widened his search, walking down each and every street that branched off the main thoroughfare, peering into shops, inns and ordinaries without success. It was when he turned down towards the harbour that he was brought to a halt. Walking towards him, in the company of a much older woman, was the last person he expected to see emerging from the huddle of people along the sea front.

It was Thomasina Frant.

From her attire and manner, Nicholas guessed that her companion must be a maidservant. He waited until Thomasina caught sight of him. Her face brightened with recognition and she tripped across to him. The maidservant stayed apart from them.

‘Good day to you,’ she said pleasantly.

‘I did not expect to find you here at the harbour,’ he observed.

‘Ordinarily, you would not have done so. I came to bid farewell to a friend who sails for Calais today. Margaret came with me,’ she said, indicating her companion. ‘It’s not wise for a woman to be alone in this part of the town.’

‘I wonder that your father did not escort you.’

‘Father has business elsewhere in Dover.’

‘I thought that Sebastian was retired.’

‘He is,’ she replied, ‘but old acquaintances petition his help and he’s too soft-hearted to refuse. That was ever his fault.’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘But I hear that Westfield’s Men are in Dover and have already given one performance.’

‘Your father was in the audience.’

‘So he tells me. Should you play again, I intend to sit beside him.’

‘Then you must repair to the Guildhall tomorrow afternoon,’ counselled Nicholas, ‘for we are to stage a comedy called A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady. It was the play that you missed in Maidstone.’

‘In that case, I’ll make every effort to be there.’

‘I think that it will be more to your taste than The Foolish Friar.’

‘But I liked that play, Master Bracewell.’

‘I sensed that it displeased you in some way.’

‘Then you were deceived,’ she assured him. ‘Father will tell you how much I laughed at Master Gill in his wheelbarrow. Will he be your clown again tomorrow?’

‘Yes, he’ll be there.’

Her face clouded. ‘I was sad to learn what happened to your other comedian.’

‘We were all shocked by his death.’

‘It must have come as a fearful blow.’

‘It did,’ conceded Nicholas. ‘We are still reeling from it.’

‘Yet you are able to continue with your tour. That shows great courage.’

‘Master Gill has shown most, for he is in constant pain from his broken leg. It takes both courage and skill to play any role in his condition, let alone one that is so important. We are indebted to him.’

‘He is fortunate to have such fine actors around him.’

‘None better.’

‘Especially the renowned Lawrence Firethorn.’

‘A gift to any theatre company.’

‘He’s without compare,’ said Thomasina with polite enthusiasm. ‘My father warned me that Master Firethorn was a very Titan of the stage. Every role he takes, he makes his own. I trust that he’ll be there tomorrow.’

‘Yes,’ replied Nicholas, concealing his disquiet behind a bland smile. ‘Lawrence Firethorn will certainly be there.’

He could neither see, nor speak, nor move. All that he could feel was the searing pain at the back of his head and the dull ache in his limbs. As he regained his senses, Firethorn was slow to realise what had happened to him. Gagged and blindfolded, he was tied to a stout chair that scraped along the floor when he struggled to get free. He had been duped and that fact only served to increase his discomfort. Firethorn was annoyed that he had let down both himself and his company. Anger built steadily inside him. When it reached its peak, he made a supreme effort to break free of his bonds, twisting violently and straining at the thick ropes.

Someone grabbed his beard and held the point of a dagger at his throat.

‘Sit still!’ ordered the man. ‘Or I’ll send you where I sent Giddy Mussett!’

It was impossible to keep the news from them indefinitely. Westfield’s Men had to be told the truth. Nicholas Bracewell waited until the whole company assembled in the Guildhall. Then, after consulting Hoode and Gill, he made his announcement.

‘Grim news, friends,’ he said, looking around their faces. ‘Master Firethorn is missing.’ There was a general murmur of disbelief. ‘He’s not been seen since he left here after the morning rehearsal. Somewhere between the Guildhall and the Lion, he vanished. I’ve searched high and low for him but he’s nowhere to be found.’

‘God help him!’ cried James Ingram, speaking for all of them. ‘Has Lawrence been stabbed in the back as well?’

‘I can only tell you what I know, James. He’s not here.’

‘Where else could he be?’

‘I wish that I knew.’

‘Only death would keep him away from a rehearsal.’

‘Or an attack of pox,’ said Gill, still unwilling to believe the worst. ‘I think that Lawrence wandered off into the stews and lost track of time.’

‘He would never do that, Barnaby,’ said Hoode mournfully. ‘The ugly truth has to be faced. He’s disappeared. The likelihood is that he was ambushed.’

‘Never!’ shouted Owen Elias. ‘An army would not dare to ambush him in the middle of a town. He’d fight them all off, and create such a din in doing so that there would be scores of witnesses to tell us what occurred.’

‘There are none,’ said Nicholas. ‘I’ve spoken to dozens of people.’

‘Are they all blind? They must have seen something.’

‘If only they had, Owen!’

The Welshman squared his shoulders. ‘I think we should go out in search of him,’ he said firmly. ‘Let’s turn Dover upside down until we find him.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Ingram.

‘Why stand here and do nothing?’ asked Frank Quilter, another of the actors. ‘We should be out there now, looking for Lawrence.’

‘Wait,’ said Nicholas, holding up both hands. ‘Do not be so rash. We do not even know if Lawrence is still in Dover or if — God willing — he’s still alive. The question we must ask ourselves is what he would want us to do.’

‘Rescue him!’ asserted Elias.

‘Yes,’ said Quilter. ‘And punish those who dared to touch him.’

Ingram was keen to leave. ‘Let’s track him down,’ he urged.

‘Nicholas has already tried to do that,’ argued Hoode, ‘and we all know how thoroughly he would have gone about the business. Bear this in mind. We came to Dover to display our work. Are we going to let someone prevent us from doing that?’

‘How can we perform any play without Lawrence?’ asked Gill.

‘How can we perform one without Barnaby Gill?’ countered Nicholas. ‘It is simple. We hire Giddy Mussett as a substitute. And when Giddy is removed from our ranks? How do we manage then? By changing our plays to make room for a clown with a broken leg. There’s always a way out.’

‘Not this time, Nick,’ sighed Ingram.

‘It’s hopeless,’ decided Elias. ‘Who could possibly replace Lawrence?’

Nicholas smiled. ‘You could, Owen.’

‘Me?’

‘Your brain is agile enough to learn the part in time.’

‘I’m no match for Lawrence.’

‘You like to think that you are,’ said Nicholas, ‘and this is your chance to prove it. For whatever reason, someone is determined to drive us from the stage. They thought to do it by killing Giddy Mussett but they failed. Their next target, as it seems, is our leading actor. Are we going to let them achieve their end?’

‘No,’ said Quilter. ‘We’ll get Lawrence back from them.’

‘All in good time, Frank. First, we must make a decision. Do we abandon the performance here tomorrow? Or do we honour our commitment and show that Westfield’s Men will not be frightened out of their occupation?’

There were no immediate answers. Everyone needed a few moments to reflect on the dilemma facing them. Their first impulse was to institute a search but Nicholas’s words made them pause. There was no certainty that Firethorn was still alive. If someone had been clever enough to lead the actor astray, they would know how to conceal his whereabouts. Combing the town of Dover might relieve their sense of frustration but it would make it virtually impossible to present A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady on the following afternoon. Forced to make changes to their play, they needed some serious rehearsal. Nicholas suggested a compromise.

‘Let’s divide our forces,’ he said calmly. ‘The scenes we have to work on most are those that involve Lackwit and Bedlam. In short, only half of you will be called upon this afternoon. While we stay here,’ he went on, indicating Quilter, ‘Frank will lead a search of the town. I’ll teach him the best way to do that. This covers both our needs. Dover will have a play to watch tomorrow and Lawrence will not be abandoned.’

‘We’ll find him,’ said Quilter confidently.

‘I hope so, Frank,’ added Hoode. ‘But if you fail, the rest of us will lend our eyes to the search when we’ve finished here at the Guildhall. I say that Nick has hit on the answer to our woes. Is everyone agreed?’

‘Yes,’ said Elias. ‘Nobody will scare me from the stage.’

‘Are we all of the same mind?’ asked Nicholas.

‘No,’ said Gill, waving a dissentient palm.

‘Why not?’

‘Because I do not think the play is possible without Lawrence.’

‘It is, if Owen takes his part.’

‘But who will take Owen’s part?’ said Gill, nodding towards the Welshman. ‘He was to have been my legs, wheeling Bedlam around the stage. Everyone else has a role of his own to play. Nobody is left, Nick. How can we even contemplate a performance when I have no strong hands to push me to and fro?’

‘I had already thought of that,’ said Nicholas.

‘There’s no remedy.’

‘Yes, there is.’

‘Who will be in charge of my wheelbarrow on stage?’

Nicholas put a hand to his chest. ‘I will,’ he said.

The rehearsal went badly. Unnerved by the loss of their manager and confused by a change to the play’s main character, they stumbled from one scene to another. Elias felt his way uncertainly into his new role, Gill was at his most petulant and George Dart, deputising for Nicholas whenever the latter was on stage, had great difficulty following the play from the copy that he held in his trembling hands. Too quiet and too late, his prompts were often directed at the wrong actor. It took Nicholas almost three hours to establish a semblance of control over A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady. His own role as Bedlam’s companion was the only one played with a measure of confidence. He wheeled the clown around the stage at breakneck speed, drawing loud protests from a dizzy Gill yet managing to produce from everyone else the few laughs of the afternoon.

When the long catalogue of mistakes finally came to an end, Elias was agitated.

‘That was truly a nightmare!’

‘Our minds were on other things,’ said Nicholas.

‘We cannot present a play in that state.’

‘Nor will we, Owen. You have a whole evening to master the part and there’ll be long hours at our disposal in the morning. At the next rehearsal, you’ll see a new play.’

‘It wants a new cast as well,’ said Elias bitterly, ‘for none of us was worthy of it. Least of all,’ he added, raising his voice so that Dart could hear him, ‘an ass of a book holder who held the book upside down and who could not tell the difference between a prompt and a whisper.’

‘I crave your pardon,’ whispered Dart.

‘George gave of his best,’ said Nicholas defensively.

‘But I achieved the worst results.’

‘You should have let him push the wheelbarrow instead,’ decided Elias.

‘No, no!’ exclaimed Gill. ‘Spare me that. It calls for someone with a strong pair of hands. Nicholas at least kept me on the stage. George is so weak and nervous that he’d have tipped me out of the wheelbarrow.’

Dart was distraught. ‘I cannot stop thinking of Master Firethorn,’ he said.

‘It is so with the rest of us, George,’ said Nicholas softly.

When they had stored everything away, they were ready to leave the Guildhall. Nicholas sent the four apprentices back to the Lion in the company of Edmund Hoode. Wheeled along by Dart, the peevish Gill went with them. The clown was as disturbed as any of them by the disappearance of Firethorn and his fears expressed themselves in the form of a heightened irritability. Dart suffered a verbal whipping every inch of the way back. Nicholas and the others, meanwhile, met up with some of those who had spent the afternoon hunting for the missing man. He could see from the gloomy expressions of James Ingram and Frank Quilter that their search had so far yielded nothing.

‘Where have you been?’ asked Nicholas.

‘Where you told us to go, Nick,’ replied Ingram. ‘We’ve looked under every stone between the Guildhall and the Lion.’

‘Yes,’ said Quilter. ‘We’ve tried all the taverns and ordinaries but nobody remembers seeing Lawrence, and he’s hardly a man you would easily forget. The only place we haven’t tried so far is the harbour.’

‘Owen and I will scour that now,’ resolved Nicholas. ‘You and James can start at the other end of King Street.’

Quilter nodded then set off with Ingram. The others turned in the direction of the harbour. It was early evening and the place was still seething with people. Elias noted the tavern at the edge of the harbour.

‘Let me try my luck in there,’ he said, moving off. ‘I’ll catch up with you later.’

‘Do not get distracted,’ warned Nicholas.

‘At a time like this, even I can stay sober.’

While his friend strode towards the tavern, Nicholas weaved his way along the crowded wharf. His eyes were everywhere, searching each new face, appraising each building and pausing beside anything that might be construed as a hiding place. He was halfway along the harbour when he noticed the ship he had earlier seen at anchor in the bay. Moored behind a larger vessel, the Mermaid now stood at the quayside. It looked even more neglected at close quarters, its hull in need of attention and its decks in need of a good swabbing. Nicholas felt sorry that his old shipmate could find no better means of employment. John Strood had been evasive when questioned about the Mermaid because he was ashamed of it. After serving under one of the greatest seaman of the day, and sailing around the world with him, Strood was now condemned to routine voyages in a vessel that was as pitiful as the man himself.

Nicholas decided to take a closer look at the ship, walking along the quay from stem to stern then gazing up at the rigging. The Mermaid creaked noisily as it rode on the dark green water. Since there was nobody on deck, he went up the gangplank to explore. Even at its best, the ship had never been anything more than serviceable. It was now approaching the end of its days and Nicholas wondered how much longer it would remain seaworthy. He went across to the open hatch and looked down.

‘Is anyone aboard?’ he called, cupping his hands.

There was no reply. Some of the cargo had already been loaded and covered with a sheet of canvas. Nicholas knelt down to study it. Peeping out from one corner of the canvas was a piece of beautifully carved oak. He wondered what it could be. Before he could even begin to speculate, he heard a harsh voice ring out behind him.

‘You’re trespassing, sir!’ shouted John Strood.

Nicholas rose to his feet and turned. ‘It’s me, John.’

Strood’s manner changed at once. ‘Nick?’ he said in surprise. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Inspecting the Mermaid, that’s all.’

‘It will hardly bear inspection.’

‘Curiosity brought me aboard.’

‘There’s little enough to see.’

‘You’re carrying cargo on this voyage.’

‘Yes,’ said Strood. ‘We’re sailing for Boulogne in due course.’

‘Was that furniture I saw in the hold?’

‘No, Nick. Merely some timber that we take to France.’

‘Then it’s timber that’s profited from the attentions of a wood-carver.’

Strood gave a dismissive shrug. ‘One or two pieces, perhaps,’ he said. ‘The rest of it is fit for little else but the fire. But why do we stand here when we might be talking about old times over a tankard of ale? Shall we step across to the tavern?’

‘Another time, John.’

‘Oh, I thought you’d come looking for me.’

‘I will do,’ said Nicholas, ‘I promise you that. But I’m searching for someone else at the moment so you’ll have to excuse me.’ After exchanging a farewell handshake, he stepped off the ship. Something jogged his memory. ‘Boulogne, you say?’

‘We often sail there, Nick.’

‘I thought that Calais was the more usual destination.’

‘It is,’ said Strood, ‘though some ships call at Nieuport, near Ostend, and a few sail to Dieppe. We’ve been to both in our time.’

‘What was the name of the ship that sailed to Calais on the afternoon tide?’

‘That’s something I can’t tell you.’

‘Were you not down here at the harbour?’

‘Yes, Nick,’ said Strood. ‘I was helping to load the cargo. That’s why I know there was no ship to Calais. Two arrived from there but no vessel went out to sea this afternoon.’ He squinted at his friend. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘No reason, John.’

‘Do you intend to go on a voyage yourself?’

Nicholas laughed. ‘Heaven forbid!’ he said. ‘No, my sea-going days are over.’

Owen Elias stayed so long in the tavern, and spoke to so many people, that the landlord told him either to buy a drink or to leave the premises forthwith.

‘I’m searching for a friend,’ explained Elias.

‘Then do so with a tankard of ale in your hand.’

‘Perhaps you remember him.’

‘I only remember customers who pay their way in here,’ said the landlord, a big, bovine character with an unforgiving eye. ‘Now, then, what will you buy?’

‘He was about my height,’ said Elias. ‘Strong of build, handsome of face and wearing a bright green doublet. Ah, yes, and with a black beard that he trims every day out of vanity. In all, a striking man of my own age. Did you see such a person?’

The landlord stroked his chin. ‘I believe that I did, sir.’

‘When?’

‘Earlier on. A well-trimmed black beard, you say? He may still be here.’

‘Where?’

‘Follow me and I’ll show you.’

Elias was too excited to realise that he was being tricked. As soon as they got to the rear of the building, the landlord opened a door and pushed the Welshman through it into a little yard. Before Elias could get back into the tavern, he heard the door being bolted. He controlled the urge to enter by means of the front door so that he could confront the landlord because nothing would be served by a quarrel. Firethorn was clearly not in the tavern and nobody inside it had either seen or heard of him. Elias walked around the side of the tavern in time to meet Nicholas Bracewell.

‘I thought I’d lost you, Owen. What did you learn?’

‘That you should never trust an innkeeper in a seaport.’

‘What happened?’

‘I overstayed my welcome, Nick. And you?’

‘Wherever Lawrence is,’ said Nicholas with a sigh, ‘it’s not here in the harbour.’

‘Then where can he be?’

‘Who knows? He could be miles away.’

Elias was distressed. ‘You think that he could have set sail?’

‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘That’s one fear we can put aside. I spoke to John Strood, an old shipmate of mine. Since the time when Lawrence disappeared, no vessel has left the harbour. He must still be ashore.’

‘Where do we look for him next?’

‘Nowhere, Owen.’

‘We abandon the search?’ said Elias, shocked at the notion. ‘We must never do that until we find Lawrence.’

Nicholas pondered. ‘I think that we are going the wrong way about it,’ he said at length. ‘Instead of looking for him, we should be trying to find the people who are, in all probability, behind his disappearance.’

‘Conway’s Men!’

‘The evidence certainly points at Tobias Fitzgeoffrey.’

‘My sword will point at him when I catch up with the villain.’

‘He and his company stay at Walmer, not far from here.’

‘Is that where they’ve taken Lawrence?’

‘We’re not even sure that he was taken anywhere,’ admitted Nicholas, ‘though I can find no other explanation that fits the situation. It’s hard to believe that he would wander off by himself. That means he has either been kidnapped or killed.’ He came to a decision. ‘It’s time to accost Master Fitzgeoffrey. We’ve much to talk about with him.’

‘Let’s straight to the Lion to saddle up. You can take Lawrence’s horse.’

‘Away, then!’

They walked swiftly in the direction of the inn. Elias was fired by a spirit of revenge but Nicholas was considering a more cautious approach. Impatient for action, the Welshman had a hand on the hilt of his sword.

‘What shall we do, Nick?’ he asked.

‘Try to get him on his own.’

‘Do we beat the rogue until we get the truth out of him?’

‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘We question him about an unpaid bill in Maidstone.’

Still tied to his chair, Lawrence Firethorn tried to work out where he was. He listened with great care. The room in which he was guarded by the two men sounded small. As he leant back slightly, Firethorn’s shoulders brushed the wall. His captors seemed to be a yard or so away. When one of them left the room, he took only a few short steps to reach the door. As it opened, Firethorn heard the noise of revelry from below. He decided that he was in the upstairs room of an inn and, since the cries of gulls never ceased outside the window, he knew that he was not far from the harbour. Who had kidnapped him and what did they intend to do with him? How had the messenger got hold of a letter in Lord Westfield’s hand? What would the rest of the company do when they discovered that Firethorn was missing? Why had the man who boasted of killing Giddy Mussett not thrust a dagger into his back as well?

Firethorn was still grappling with the questions when the door opened and footsteps came in. Something was put down on a table then a voice he had not heard before spoke. It was lighter and younger than that of the assassin.

‘This ale will help to pass the time.’

‘I’m sick already of waiting,’ grumbled his companion.

‘When do we move him?’

‘When it’s dark enough.’

‘There are hours to go yet.’

‘I know,’ said the man who had threatened Firethorn earlier. ‘If it was left to me, he’d be lying in a ditch somewhere. Why the delay? I want to enjoy his death.’

Leaving the others to continue their search, Nicholas Bracewell and Owen Elias went off in the direction of Walmer. It was a cool, clear, dry evening and their horses maintained a steady canter along the track. During the ride, Nicholas sifted through all the information that he had gathered about Conway’s Men and their actor-manager. In view of his daily commitments to his company, Tobias Fitzgeoffrey could not have been directly involved in the two murders or in the ambush on the road to Faversham but he, in league with his patron, could easily have hired agents to work on their behalf. Their envy of Westfield’s Men was long-standing and their urge to secure a base in London was ever-present. If they were responsible for the earlier crimes, then the disappearance of Lawrence Firethorn could also be attributed to them. It was the latest in a series of attempts to bring a rival company to its knees. By the time that Walmer Castle came into sight on the horizon, Nicholas had convinced himself that they were closing in on the culprits.

The village was little more than a straggle of houses that looked out across the sea. There was a church, a couple of inns and a blacksmith’s forge but what really gave Walmer its significance was the castle, built in the shape of a Tudor Rose and presenting a stern test to any invaders who had the temerity to land on the nearby beach. Smaller and more compact than Dover Castle, it had an air of permanence about it, even though it had only been constructed during the later years of King Henry VIII’s reign, when his abrupt break with the Roman Catholic Church provoked papal outrage as well as the wrath of France and Spain. Had the Spanish Armada succeeded in putting foreign troops on English soil, the castles along the southern coast would have been vital strongholds.

Nicholas and Elias were in luck. When they called at the larger of the two inns, they discovered that several members of Conway’s Men were there, drinking in the taproom and complaining about their lot. They were a disconsolate crew with none of the vigour or good fellowship of their competitors from the Queen’s Head. Nicholas was relieved to see that the company was not performing that evening. If the majority of them had come into Walmer, then Fitzgeoffrey would only have a handful of his actors around him. Nicholas and Elias would not be hopelessly outnumbered. Following the directions given by Sebastian Frant, they rode towards the estate owned by Sir Roger Penhallurick.

‘What if he refuses to see us, Nick?’ asked Elias.

‘Let’s run him to earth first.’

‘I could always sneak into the house and drag him out by the throat.’

‘There must be a simpler way than that,’ said Nicholas.

The estate consisted of three hundred acres of rolling parkland, dotted with trees and fed by a gurgling stream. Herds of fallow deer could be seen grazing but they quickly fled when the two riders approached. Game birds were also plentiful. The most arresting feature of the house was its façade, large, elegant and symmetrical with a stone balustrade along the roof and around the square towers at either end of the frontage. Elias was impressed by the sheer size and opulence of the place. Lord Conway clearly had a very wealthy friend.

Nicholas was more interested in some outbuildings off to the right, noting the two empty wagons that stood outside them. The chances were that they belonged to the visiting theatre troupe. When he drew Elias’s attention to them, the Welshman reached the same conclusion. Skirting the house, they made straight for the outbuildings. Loud banging noises greeted them. When they got closer, they saw a thickset young man, using a hammer to repair a wooden throne.

‘Good even, friend,’ said Nicholas.

The man stopped hammering. ‘Good even,’ he said pleasantly.

‘You must be one of Conway’s Men.’

‘The lowliest of them, sir. I’m actor, stagekeeper, carpenter and anything else that is needed. As you see, my work is never done.’

‘We are looking for Master Fitzgeoffrey.’

‘Then you’d best try the house,’ said the man, ‘for that’s where Tobias dwells. Most of us make do out here with nothing but straw to lie on at night. Only our manager has a soft bed on which to rest his bones.’ He looked up at them. ‘What business do you have with him?’

‘We’re from London,’ said Nicholas, dismounting from his horse. ‘We wish to speak to Master Fitzgeoffrey about a performance in the capital.’

‘Indeed?’ The man grinned hopefully. ‘Conway’s Men may play in London?’

‘That’s something we need to discuss with him.’

‘Tobias will be interested, sir, no question of that.’

‘Do you think that you could fetch him for us?’ asked Nicholas with a disarming smile. ‘If we go to the house, we’ll have to meet Sir Roger and his other guests. The only person we need to speak to is Master Fitzgeoffrey.’

‘I’ll bring him to you, sir. May I give him your name?’

‘Thomas Christopher.’

The man scampered off towards the house. Elias stared at his friend.

‘Christopher? Why did you pluck that name out of the air?’ he wondered.

‘Because my own might be recognised, Owen. Think on it. St Christopher is the patron saint of travellers and who are we, if not travellers?’

Elias dismounted. ‘We are certainly in need of a patron saint!’

‘Tether the horses,’ said Nicholas, handing him the reins of his own mount. ‘I’ll be with you in a moment.’

He took a swift inventory of the outbuildings. Costumes, properties and scenery had been stored in one of them but the others were given over to accommodation. Through an open window, he could see three other members of the company, squatting on the floor as they played cards on an upturned wooden box. They were so engrossed in their game that they did not even look up. No sooner did Nicholas go back to his friend than two figures emerged from the house. Tobias Fitzgeoffrey studied the visitors before beckoning them across with a lordly gesture. The young man who had carried the message trotted back to his carpentry.

When they got nearer to him, Fitzgeoffrey’s suspicion was aroused.

‘I’ve seen you before,’ he said, pointing a finger at Elias. ‘You are one of Westfield’s Men, are you not?’

‘And proud to be so,’ replied Elias.

‘I saw you play at the Queen’s Head.’

‘That’s the performance we came to discuss with you, Master Fitzgeoffrey,’ said Nicholas. ‘I’m the book holder with the company.’

Fitzgeoffrey was contemptuous. ‘I’ve nothing to say to you.’

‘I think you have.’

‘You brought me out here under false pretences.’

‘And we mean to keep you here,’ said Elias, brandishing his dagger, ‘until we get the truth out of you. Be warned, my friend. Call for help and you’re a dead man.’

‘What do you want of me,’ said Fitzgeoffrey, eyeing the weapon nervously.

‘First,’ said Nicholas, ‘there is the small matter of six shillings and fourpence, owed to Pieter Hendrik, weaver in Maidstone. You had cloth from him that was never paid for. Do you recall the transaction?’

‘I had no ready money at the time,’ lied the other, ‘and meant to settle the debt as soon as we visited the town again. Did he appoint you as his bailiffs?’

‘It’s an office I willingly embraced. But we’ll return to that when we’ve attended to more serious concerns. Why did you visit the Queen’s Head recently?’

‘For the same reason as everyone else in the audience.’

‘No,’ said Nicholas, ‘they came to enjoy a play. You were there to witness our humiliation. The performance was halted by an affray.’

‘Not before time, in my opinion,’ rejoined Fitzgeoffrey with a show of bravado. ‘It was a weak comedy that was weakly acted by your fellows.’

‘Watch your words,’ growled Elias. ‘I was on that stage.’

‘Yes, you ranted and raved like a madman.’

‘Insults are not required,’ said Nicholas, jumping in quickly before Elias lost his temper. ‘Our reputation is adamantine proof against your slurs. We would not expect a rival to admire his superiors.’

Fitzgeoffrey wrinkled his nose. ‘I know of none.’

‘When our performance was stopped that day, the whole audience fled.’

‘I was among them and glad to flee from such an abominable play.’

‘One spectator was unable to leave,’ said Nicholas. ‘Fortunatus Hope. During the commotion, he was stabbed to death in the gallery.’

‘Yes, I heard tell of that,’ said Fitzgeoffrey with a cold smile. ‘Do not expect me to mourn for the fellow. He treated my patron shabbily and we are well rid of him.’

‘I believe that you and Lord Conway may have incited the murder.’

‘That’s a monstrous accusation!’

‘Then let me add another,’ said Elias, holding the dagger on him. ‘You had Giddy Mussett killed as well.’

Fitzgeoffrey looked surprised. ‘Giddy is dead?’

‘Do not give us any counterfeit sympathy.’

‘Nor will I. Giddy Mussett was no friend of mine. I came to despise the little devil. When he was neither drunk, nor quarrelsome, which was rare because he was usually both at the same time, he was doing and saying more than was set down for him in a play. Sympathy? Ha!’ said Fitzgeoffrey with disdain. ‘There were times when I’d gladly have wielded a dagger myself.’

‘But you hired someone else to do the deed.’

‘No!’

‘The same man who dispatched Fortunatus Hope,’ said Nicholas. ‘The two men were killed with matching daggers. Thanks to the work of an assassin, two enemies of Conway’s Men were removed.’

Fitzgeoffrey was defiant. ‘I rejoice in the fact!’

‘Not if you wish to live,’ said Elias, prodding him with his weapon. ‘Giddy was a friend of mine. I was the one who found the body and I got a lump on the back of the head for my pains. The man you hired cudgelled me.’

‘I hired nobody.’

‘Then who caused that affray at the Queen’s Head?’ demanded Nicholas.

‘Some drunken ruffians.’

‘How much did you pay them for their ale?’

‘Not a penny.’

‘Someone set them on,’ said Nicholas, ‘in order to cause a distraction so that Fortunatus Hope could be killed. If you were not involved, what were you doing there? Why were you in London at all when your company needed you here in Kent?’

‘That’s a private matter,’ replied Fitzgeoffrey.

Elias prodded him again. ‘Then we’ll have to intrude on your privacy.’

‘Tell us,’ advised Nicholas. ‘Owen is getting impatient with his dagger.’

‘Very impatient.’

‘Stand off!’ said Fitzgeoffrey as a jab opened up a slit in his doublet. ‘Look what you’ve done, you Welsh idiot!’ Elias became even more menacing. ‘Yes, yes,’ said the actor, frightened of him, ‘I’ll tell what you wish to know, if only you’ll give me room to tell it.’ He turned to Nicholas. ‘Keep him away from me.’

‘We still await our answer,’ said Nicholas. ‘Understand that we have some intelligence of what went on. Giddy spoke to your book holder, Martin Ling. So did I when the fellow left your company in disgust.’

‘Martin was almost as much trouble as Giddy Mussett.’

‘According to your book holder, you returned from London in such a mood of contentment that you spread your money among the company. Is that true?’

‘I do not deny it.’

‘Then you must also admit you were celebrating our humiliation.’

‘It was a pleasure to behold.’

‘Your corpse would be a pleasure for me to behold, Master Fitzgeoffrey.’

‘Let him speak, Owen,’ said Nicholas. ‘Well?’

The actor took a deep breath. ‘I was summoned to London by a letter from a lawyer. An uncle had left a bequest to me. When I learnt how generous that bequest was, I was so pleased that I let a friend persuade me to bear him company to the Queen’s Head. And you were right,’ he confessed. ‘I did not come to enjoy the performance at all. I went to sneer at it and mock the arrogance of Lawrence Firethorn in setting himself up as some emperor of the boards. When the affray broke out, I took some real enjoyment from the occasion, after all. That is why I was in such high spirits.’

‘Can any of this be proved?’

‘I have the papers from the lawyer with me and I’ll gladly furnish you with his name so that my word can be upheld by him. Taking a theatre company around the shires is a labour of Hercules, as you well know. Rewards are few, hazards are many. When I had this sudden stroke of fortune,’ he went on, ‘I did what anybody would have done in my position. I shared it with my fellows.’

Nicholas could see that he was telling the truth. He became acutely aware that they were levelling their accusations at the wrong man. Tobias Fitzgeoffrey had some blatant defects of character and Nicholas could never bring himself to like him, but he was not part of a conspiracy to destroy Westfield’s Men. Elias, however, still clung to the belief that Fitzgeoffrey was guilty of the various crimes.

‘What have you done with Lawrence?’ he said, putting his face close to that of the other man. ‘Where is he being kept?’

‘How would I know?’

‘Tell us — or I’ll cut that doublet into a thousand pieces.’

‘No,’ said Nicholas, easing his friend a pace backward. ‘Sheath your dagger, Owen. We have no need of it here. Master Fitzgeoffrey has told us all we need to know.’

‘But he hasn’t, Nick. I swear that he’s hiding Lawrence somewhere.’

‘I think not. We must tender him an apology.’

‘That’s the least I expect,’ said Fitzgeoffrey huffily. ‘The pair of you should be locked up for your audacity. Now, be off with you, sirs!’

‘First, however,’ said Nicholas, ‘let me congratulate you on your good fortune in inheriting some money from your uncle. It means that you are now in a position to settle the debt you incurred in Maidstone. Pay the six shillings and fourpence that is owed to Pieter Hendrik and I’ll see it put into his hands.’

Fitzgeoffrey started to bluster until he saw the glint of determination in Nicholas’s eyes. Eventually, he capitulated. Opening his purse, he counted out the money and thrust the coins into the book holder’s palm.

‘Thank you,’ said Nicholas. ‘Come, Owen. We have stayed long enough.’

They collected their horses and rode quickly away. Elias was rueful.

‘I thought that we came here to solve some dreadful crimes,’ he said. ‘And all that we did was to secure payment for a weaver who was too dim-witted to ask for his money in advance.’

‘We did more than that,’ reasoned Nicholas. ‘We learnt the folly of reaching too many conclusions on too little evidence. I blame myself for that. Tobias Fitzgeoffrey was not involved in the crimes that have plagued us. Nor was his patron. They are too busy trying to keep that miserable troupe of theirs together. So our journey was not in vain. We did make some progress.’

‘I fail to see it.’

‘Since they’ve been cleared of blame, they will no longer divert us. We can now forget about them and search for Lawrence elsewhere. I know that he’s still alive.’

Hours of sitting in the same position, with his hands tied behind his back and his body encircled by rope, took their toll on Lawrence Firethorn. Limbs that once ached were now subject to cramp. Pain came in spasms but he did his best to withstand it so that his captors could not see his suffering. When he heard a candle being lit, he knew that darkness was starting to fall outside. Time oozed slowly by. The men said little but he hung on every word in the hope of learning who they were and why they had abducted him. One of them eventually left the room again and was gone for some while. On his return, he came to stand directly in front of the prisoner. A dagger was slipped in under the rope around his chest. Firethorn sensed that they were going to cut his bonds and he got ready to dive forward by way of attack. The opportunity never came. Before the dagger slit the rope, a cudgel struck him hard on the top of his head and he was too dazed even to move.

‘Cut him loose and put that sack over him,’ said a voice. ‘We move him now.’