The Vagabond Clown

Chapter Sixteen

It took them some time to find the house. All that they knew was that Sebastian Frant lived close to Dover, along the Folkestone road, and they set off in that direction. The first people they encountered on the way were unable to help them. Though they had lived in the area for many years, and could recite the names of every village and hamlet for miles around, they had never heard of anyone called Frant. It was almost as if the former scrivener was in hiding. Nicholas Bracewell and Owen Elias rode on until they eventually found someone who gave them some guidance. The man was a local farmer, tending his cattle.

‘Frant?’ he repeated, shaking his head. ‘That name means nothing to me, sirs.’

‘He’s a tall man,’ said Nicholas, ‘with fifty years or more on his back. A slim, well-dressed fellow whom some would account handsome.’

‘Do not forget his daughter,’ added Elias with a grin. ‘Thomasina is an angel in human form. A fresh, fair virgin of eighteen or nineteen years at most.’

‘Ah,’ said the farmer. ‘I think I know who you mean.’

‘Once seen, Thomasina is not easily forgotten.’

‘Do they live far away?’ asked Nicholas.

The farmer nodded. ‘Little over a mile, sir, but the house is difficult to find. I’ve seen the pair of them from time to time but never exchanged more than a friendly wave. I did not know their names. They like their privacy.’

Taking careful note of the directions, the two men set off again. They soon reached the wood that the farmer had mentioned and picked their way along a track that twisted and turned for hundreds of yards until it brought them out into open country. The house was not at first visible. Shaded by trees, it was set in a hollow in the middle distance. It was only when they got much closer that they had their first glimpse of it. Elias was astounded.

‘Is that where Sebastian lives?’ he exclaimed.

‘It’s much bigger than I imagined, Owen.’

‘We are in the wrong profession. If this is what a scrivener can afford, I’ll quit the stage tomorrow and take up a pen.’

‘Sebastian did not buy this place with what he earned from us,’ said Nicholas. ‘I know what fees he charged because I handed the money over to him. No matter how diligent his pen, he’d not have amassed enough to afford such a house.’

‘He must have had private wealth, Nick.’

‘Then why did he need to work as a scrivener?’

‘Let’s ask him.’

They cantered down towards the house, a large, low, rambling structure with a thatched roof that gleamed in the sunshine and walls that had been painted white. It was set in several acres of land, some of it cultivated but most kept for horses to graze. To the side of the house were a stable block and a run of outbuildings, all of which appeared to be in good repair. Sebastian Frant clearly maintained his home well. Tethering their horses at the front of the house, they went up to a door that was made of solid oak and fortified with iron spikes. In response to a knock, a servant opened the door. He was a sturdy young man with darting eyes.

‘Is your master at home?’ asked Nicholas.

‘No, sir.’

‘Can you tell us where he is?’

‘No, sir,’ said the man bluntly.

‘In that case, we’ll wait until he returns.’

‘My orders are to let nobody in the house.’

‘Is Thomasina here, by any chance?’ asked Elias. A flicker of the servant’s eyes betrayed him. ‘Ah, in that case, we’ll speak with her instead.’

‘She may not wish to see you.’

‘Tell her that we insist,’ said Nicholas. ‘We come from Westfield’s Men.’

‘Yes,’ said Elias. ‘Thomasina and her father watched us perform this afternoon. I want to give her the chance to congratulate me properly.’

‘Wait here,’ grunted the man, about to shut the door in their faces.

‘Let them in, Daniel,’ said a voice behind him. The servant stood back to reveal Thomasina Frant. She looked at them in surprise. ‘What brings you here?’

‘We need to speak with you,’ said Nicholas.

‘Then you had better come in.’

Her manner was pleasant, if not welcoming. She led them into the parlour, a spacious room with low beams, a huge fireplace and some expensive furniture. Nicholas took particular note of an ornate oak chest and a high backed chair that had been exquisitely carved. He was also aware of the fact that the servant was lurking protectively outside the door. Thomasina invited them to sit down but remained standing.

‘Father is not here,’ she explained, looking from one to the other. ‘He’s visiting friends and may be away for some days.’

‘Let’s talk about a friend of yours first,’ suggested Nicholas. ‘When I met you at the harbour the other day, you said that you’d been bidding farewell to someone who was sailing to Calais.’

‘And so I was.’

‘No ship left Dover that afternoon.’

‘Then the vessel must have been delayed.’

‘I begin to wonder if it existed,’ said Nicholas, ‘along with your friend.’

‘Do you doubt my word?’ she said with indignation. ‘Have you ridden all this way to accuse me of telling lies? I’ll call Margaret, if you wish. She’ll vouch for me.’

‘I’m sure that she will. Margaret is well-trained, like that other servant who is standing out in the passageway as a guard dog. They’ll only say what they’ve been told to say. I’d rather hear the truth from you.’

‘You’ve already done so.’

‘We took you for an honest girl, Thomasina,’ said Elias.

‘This is intolerable,’ she retorted with a rare flash of anger. ‘What I do when I’m in Dover is my business. I’ll not be interrogated like this. Daniel will show you out.’

Nicholas was determined. ‘Not until we’ve discussed a few other things.’

‘Other things?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Such as our visit to Arden’s house in Faversham. Or the performance of The Foolish Friar that upset you so much.’

‘I was not upset at all,’ she said, folding her arms. ‘I liked the play.’

‘What did you think of me as a friar?’ asked Elias, fishing for a compliment.

‘Very little, Owen,’ said Nicholas, ‘and I suspect that Thomasina thought even less of Barnaby Gill in a habit. She and her father were appalled.’

‘Why?’

‘Let her tell us.’

She was perfectly calm. ‘There’s nothing to tell.’

‘I believe that there is.’

‘You can believe what you wish, Master Bracewell. It’s of no concern to me. What does trouble me is that you and Master Elias are guests in our house yet all that you can do is to try to browbeat me. I took you for gentlemen. I can see that I was mistaken.’

‘We thought you were a friend,’ said Nicholas, ‘but we were also mistaken.’

‘How can you say that? Father has the fondest memories of Westfield’s Men. Did we not come to watch you play out of friendship? We saw Cupid’s Folly in Maidstone and, this very afternoon, we admired Master Elias in A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady.’

Elias beamed. ‘Thank you.’

‘My interest is in The Foolish Friar,’ said Nicholas. ‘And in that visit we made to a certain house in Faversham. Now I know why that particular place made you cry.’

‘The story moved me,’ she said. ‘That is all.’

‘Which story?’

‘That which touched on the murder of Thomas Arden.’

‘No,’ said Nicholas, watching her closely. ‘I fancy that it was another murder that produced those tears. Thomas Arden was more than a former mayor of the town. After the Dissolution of the Monasteries, he was involved in the distribution of Catholic property that had been confiscated. Abbey Street no longer has a Catholic abbey, does it? You regard that as a heinous crime.’

Thomasina was dismissive. ‘That all happened before I was even born.’

‘But not before your father was born. He’d have brought you up in his religion.’

‘Discuss the matter with him when he returns.’

‘Oh, we’ve much more than that to discuss with him,’ said Nicholas. ‘But let’s come back to The Foolish Friar. It was bold of you to attend a play that you knew would mock the Old Religion. That’s why you were so perturbed. Your father hid his feelings because he has had more practise in doing so. Your displeasure showed in your face. You hated a play that held Roman Catholicism up to ridicule.’

‘I found it rather barren beside Cupid’s Folly,’ she confessed.

‘Barren and insulting.’

There was a long pause. ‘I’d like you both to leave.’

‘Will you not come to the defence of your faith?’

‘It’s a purely private matter.’

‘Not when it leads to the murder of two people and the kidnap of a third.’

She was genuinely shocked. ‘Murder? Kidnap?’

‘The kidnap may have become another murder by now,’ explained Nicholas. ‘When I said that Lawrence Firethorn was indisposed this afternoon, I was concealing the truth. He was abducted in Dover and we’ve not seen him since.’

‘But who could want to abduct him?’ she said with alarm.

‘I think that you might be able to tell us that.’

‘On my honour, I could not!’

‘Are you certain?’

‘I admire him greatly, as you know.’

‘Except when he played in The Foolish Friar.’

‘I’m truly horrified to learn that he’s been kidnapped,’ she said earnestly. ‘I’d swear as much on the Holy Bible.’

Nicholas got to his feet. ‘Would that be a Roman Catholic Bible?’

Her manner changed at once. The polite and reserved young woman revealed another side to her character. Crossing to the door, she snapped her fingers and the servant appeared at her side, holding a musket with the air of someone who had used the weapon before. Thomasina’s eyes were cold and unforgiving.

‘Escort these gentlemen off our property,’ she ordered.

‘Yes,’ he said, glaring at the visitors. ‘Out!’

Nicholas ignored the command. Instead, he walked across to the oak chest and ran his hand over its ornate carving. Then he examined the chair that had been embellished so strikingly by a woodcarver. Nicholas sat down in it and stroked the arms. The servant came over to him and pointed the musket at his chest.

‘Get up!’ he snarled.

‘But it’s such a beautiful chair,’ said Nicholas, leaning back, ‘and of a piece with that magnificent chest. Both were carved by the same man, were they not? I’ll wager that I’ve admired his handiwork before. It was on a lectern I saw in the hold of a ship called the Mermaid.’ He looked at Thomasina. ‘Is that what you were doing in the harbour that day? Sending some church furniture abroad? For that’s where this chair and that fine chest came from, I suspect. They’re too elaborate for the taste of Protestants. My guess is that they are the work of a Catholic woodcarver.’

Daniel jabbed him in the chest with the barrel of the musket but Nicholas was ready for him. Knocking the weapon upward with his arm, he kicked out both feet to trip the servant up. As the man fell backward, the musket went off and its ball lodged itself harmlessly in the ceiling, sending down a flurry of plaster. Before Daniel could move, Nicholas wrenched the weapon from his grasp and Elias leapt from his seat to hold a dagger at the servant’s throat. Nicholas strolled back to Thomasina.

‘It’s all over now,’ he warned. ‘Further denial is pointless.’

‘I know nothing of murder and kidnap,’ she cried.

‘I believe you, Thomasina.’

‘Nor does my father. He’d never stoop to such things.’

‘He may not be the person you think him. Sebastian certainly misled us. And so did you,’ he went on. ‘I thought you a decent, honest, God-fearing person with pride and self-respect. Yet you are too ashamed of it even to declare your faith.’

‘No,’ she rejoined vehemently. ‘I follow the Old Religion with a dedication that you could never even understand. We’ve withstood scorn, ignominy and persecution for many years now and we are still unbowed. Yes, Master Bracewell, I was upset when we saw that house in Faversham because it was a symbol of the vicious cruelty visited upon the Roman Catholic Church.’

‘And The Foolish Friar?’

‘It was an unjust attack on our beliefs. I hated listening to that raucous laughter at our expense. Father took me there to see what we were up against in the theatre. The friar was held up as an object of derision and loathing. For two long hours I suffered as I watched you sharpening your blades on the only true religion.’

‘Only true religion? Not in England.’

‘Here and anywhere else,’ she said defiantly. ‘We’ll never be conquered.’

‘Then you should not have given yourself away,’ said Nicholas. ‘Was my guess correct?’ he added, glancing at the chest. ‘Did that begin life in a church?’

‘Yes, and it will be returned to one soon.’

‘Where?’ asked Elias, hauling the servant to his feet.

‘That’s something you’ll never know.’

‘We mean to find out,’ said Nicholas, as realisation dawned. ‘Come, Owen. We must away. I think I know where Sebastian is. He’s waiting to sail to France with a cargo of furniture. We must try to get to him in time.’

Lawrence Firethorn could not understand the kindness that he was receiving. Having been battered to the ground, he was now being cared for by tender hands. Someone was bathing his face to remove the blood from the gash in his scalp. The man said nothing but he was showing true compassion. When the dried blood had been washed away, a strip of linen was tied around the head to cover the wound. Firethorn wished that he was in a position to express his thanks but the ropes, gag and blindfold were severe restraints. He heard voices shouting above and the sound of activity as the anchor was hauled up. When the wind hit the sail, there was a flap of canvas and the Mermaid moved forward with loud creaking noises. Firethorn was disturbed.

After a last look at him, Sebastian Frant stifled a sigh of regret and slipped away.

When they reached the harbour in Dover, the Mermaid was just beginning to move away from the bay. Elias was dismayed but Nicholas did not give up so easily. With the Welshman at his heels, he spurred his horse in the direction of Dover Castle. Their names were enough to get them admitted instantly to Lord Westfield’s apartment. Resting on a couch after his journey, their patron gave them a wave of welcome.

‘I bring good tidings from London for you,’ he said.

‘That’s more than we can offer you, my lord,’ said Nicholas.

‘I had word from the Queen’s Head. That imbecile of a landlord has recognised his folly and wants Westfield’s Men back again. Break the news to Master Firethorn.’

‘We cannot do that until we find him, my lord.’

‘No,’ said Elias. ‘We do not even know if he is still alive.’

Lord Westfield was aghast. ‘What’s this? Has he disappeared, then?’

Nicholas was succinct. He gave enough detail to show how serious the situation was but did nothing to impede the action that was necessary. Their patron was horrified at what he heard but could not see how he could help.

‘This ship has set sail, you say?’

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘Sebastian Frant is certainly aboard. It may even be that Master Firethorn is there as well. We need to overhaul them, my lord.’

‘Even you cannot swim that fast,’ said the other with a feeble smile.

‘A faster vessel must be dispatched. Only my Lord Cobham could sanction that.’

‘Then it shall be done!’

‘Will you speak with him on our behalf?’

‘No, Nicholas,’ said the patron, ‘you’ll do it much better yourself. Acquaint him with the villainy that’s taken place and the Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports will be only too willing to oblige you. Lawrence Firethorn kidnapped? Mercy on us! The future of my theatre company is at stake. You shall have your ship from my dear friend.’

‘There’s another favour I must beg of him, my lord.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I wish to sail in the vessel,’ said Nicholas.

Sebastian Frant was not capable of expressing the deep anger that he felt. Instead of being furious with his bearded companion, he sounded merely petulant.

‘There was no need to belabour him like that,’ he complained.

‘He had the gall to spit at me.’

‘Then you must have provoked him.’

‘No,’ said the man. ‘I offered him cheese and he spat it in my face. Nobody does that to me with impunity.’

‘You might have caused him serious injury.’

‘If only I had the chance!’

‘Robert!’ said Frant reproachfully.

‘You are too soft, Sebastian. It’s not a fault shared by our enemies.’

‘Lawrence Firethorn is not an enemy.’

‘You wanted to bring Westfield’s Men to a halt, did you not?’

‘I did. But not by killing their manager.’

‘It would have been the deftest way.’

‘Only to someone as bloodthirsty as you, Robert. There’s been enough killing.’

‘There can never be enough of that!’

Frant was standing on the deck of the Mermaid with Robert Armiger, the bearded assassin who had stabbed two men to death and arranged the kidnap of a third. Because they were sailing into a head wind, the ship was obliged to tack and that slowed them down. Frant peered over the bulwark for the first sign of the French mainland but he could see nothing on the horizon.

‘We’ll be late,’ he decided.

‘We should use a bigger vessel,’ said Armiger. ‘The Mermaid has seen better days. She needs to have her hull repaired.’

‘She’s served us well enough in the past, Robert. Who else would do the kind of work we require and ask no questions? We’ll just have to suffer her tardiness.’

‘It’s more than tardiness. The ship is a disgrace. I was a sailor once and it offends me to use the Mermaid. She’s not fit for the work.’

‘We’ve crossed without trouble so far.’

‘Except from Master Firethorn,’ sneered Armiger.

‘You keep away from him.’

‘He has to be beaten into submission.’

‘No, Robert,’ said Frant. ‘I forbid it. When we get to France, he’s to be taken ashore, a long way from the coast, then released. By the time he’s found his way back to Dover, it will be too late. The danger will be over.’

‘Kill Master Firethorn and there would be no danger.’

‘You do not know Westfield’s Men.’

‘I know them well enough to want to destroy them.’

‘That’s not as easy as we imagined,’ said Frant. ‘I hoped that Giddy Mussett’s death would bring them to their knees but they simply pressed on. They should never have been allowed to stage The Loyal Subject here. It was agony to sit through it.’

‘Our religion was mocked again.’

‘Mocked and vilified.’

‘And the chief culprit was the man tied up in the hold.’

‘He’s paid for it, Robert. He’s suffered.’

‘Then let me put him out of his misery,’ said Armiger, fingering his dagger.

‘No! Leave him alone!’

‘You may live to regret your weakness, Sebastian.’

‘It’s not weakness,’ said Frant, ‘but a debt that has to be paid.’

Armiger scowled and moved away. Frant continued to scan the horizon until a member of the crew walked past. He turned to speak to him.

‘How long before we sight land, John?’

‘Not long now, Master Frant.’

‘This delay irks me.’

‘The Mermaid was not built for speed,’ said Strood with a shrug. ‘If you want a fast crossing, choose another vessel. I reckon she’ll reach Boulogne ahead of us.’

‘Who will?’

‘The other ship.’

‘Where?’

‘Look behind you, sir. We’ve company.’

Frant crossed the deck to stare over the other bulwark. Half a mile behind them was a small, sleek three-masted galleon under full sail. When he saw the sun glinting off the cannon, Frant became slightly worried.

‘Do you recognise her, John?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Strood. ‘She’s the Mercury and well-named for her speed. The main and foremast are square-rigged, with topsails, spritsails and top-gallants. When she straightens her line, you’ll be able to see the lateen sail on her mizzen. All in all, she must have three times as much canvas as we do.’

‘She’s carrying guns.’

‘The Mercury is well-armed with seven cannon on each side as well as smaller ordnance. She’s one of the ships kept at Dover to ward off any attacks from Spain.’

‘What makes you think that she’s heading for Boulogne?’

‘She’s holding the same course as the Mermaid. That means one of two things,’ argued Strood. ‘She’s either bound for the same port as we are.’

‘Or?’

‘The Mercury is following us.’

Owen Elias was an indifferent sailor. From the moment they left the shelter of Dover, his stomach began to feel queasy and his legs unsteady Yet he did not wish to miss out on the action. Instead of going below, he forced himself to stay on deck with Nicholas, who was savouring the exhilaration of a voyage once again. Crossing the Channel might not compare with some of the nautical experiences he had been through with Drake but it could still set his blood racing. Nicholas had been the first to pick out a ship on the horizon and he was thrilled when the tiny dot grew bigger and bigger until it was eventually identified as the Mermaid.

‘Are we going to catch her in time?’ asked Elias.

‘No question but that we will.’

‘I think that we should blow them out of the water.’

‘There’s no reason to do that,’ said Nicholas. ‘We know that Sebastian is aboard and he may even have Lawrence with him. Would you want the pair of them to drown?’

‘No, Nick. I spoke in haste.’

‘We need to seize the ship while we can. If the Mermaid is carrying illegal cargo, as I suspect she is, her captain will be called to account. Sink the vessel and we’d have no idea what was in her hold.’

‘I’m just anxious to strike back at Sebastian.’

‘We’ll not do it with cannon, unless we put a shot across her bows. With luck, nobody will be harmed. Remember that I’ve a friend in the crew.’

‘He may not be too pleased to see you.’

‘I doubt that he will,’ said Nicholas, feeling a pang of regret. ‘If his ship is being used for smuggling, John Strood will not thank me for setting off in pursuit of it. His days at sea may be cut short for a while.’

‘What of your friendship?’

‘It will perish, I fear.’

‘Yes,’ said Elias. ‘Like our friendship with Sebastian Frant.’

‘He has a higher duty, Owen. At least, that is how he and that pretty daughter of his will have seen it. They serve God in their own way and that justifies anything.’

‘Even murder and kidnap?’

‘Apparently.’

‘It is so unlike the Sebastian we knew. He was such a gentle creature.’

‘Nobody is suggesting that he wielded the daggers himself.’

‘No,’ said Elias, ‘but he gave the order to the assassin.’

‘That’s what we suppose. I’ll be glad to learn the full truth of it.’

‘So will I, Nick.’

‘Why did he turn against a theatre company that once employed him?’ wondered Nicholas. ‘Why did he sanction the ambush against us and the death of Giddy Mussett?’

‘Lawrence is the person who concerns me.’

‘All the victims deserve our sympathy.’

‘He’s the only one who may still be alive.’

‘Pray God that it be so!’

They looked across at the Mermaid as it changed tack once again. It was now close enough for them to see the crew on deck, going about their duties. Nicholas could not pick out John Strood yet but he knew that his friend must be there. It would be an uncomfortable reunion for both of them. There was no possibility that the Mermaid would outrun them. The old and leaky merchant ship could never compete with a galleon like the Mercury. Thanks to their patron, a trim vessel had been put at their disposal. Lord Cobham, Warden of the Cinque Ports, had acted promptly and decisively. The chase across the Channel was now almost over.

‘I feel sick,’ complained Elias.

‘Go below,’ advised Nicholas. ‘Sit in a quiet corner with a bucket nearby.’

‘And miss the chance of a brawl?’

‘They’ll be fools if they resist, Owen. We outnumber them easily.’

‘I want to measure my sword with the killer himself. Will he be aboard?’

‘I think it very likely, especially if Lawrence is on the ship. Sebastian would not be able to handle him alone. He’d need a strong man to do that. My guess is that we’ll find both master and assassin on the Mermaid.’

‘Why would they take Lawrence with them?’

‘To get him out of the way.’

‘Would it not be easier simply to kill him?’

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas, ‘but I feel that Sebastian will stay his hand. He’s not entirely beyond the reach of friendship and he’ll not decree another murder for the sake of it. He’s a devout man. Sin must ever be weighed against necessity.’

‘Necessity?’ echoed Elias. ‘What necessity was there to have a harmless clown like Giddy Mussett stabbed in the back?’

‘He was not harmless to Sebastian, or to his daughter.’

‘She, at least, does not have Giddy’s blood on her hands.’

‘No,’ agreed Nicholas, ‘that’s true. Sebastian kept her innocent of that. What she will think when she learns the truth about her father, I do not know, but it might shake her faith in the Old Religion.’

The Mercury dipped and rose in the swirling water, gaining on the other ship with every minute. As they drew even closer, Nicholas and Elias caught a glimpse of a lone passenger, standing in the stern of the Mermaid and watching them with apprehension.

It was Sebastian Frant.

Lawrence Firethorn was in agony. Still tied up below deck, he was suffering pain in every limb and a pounding headache. The gag made breathing difficult and the rope was cutting into his wrists. Wearied by loss of sleep, and by the beating he had taken, he had no strength left to test his bonds any more. But the mental anguish was far worse than any physical torture. He worried for himself, for his family and for his beloved company. Not knowing what lay ahead for him, he tormented himself by imagining all sorts of hideous deaths. It was his wife and children who occupied his mind most. How would they feel when they learnt that he had vanished across the sea? How would Margery cope on her own? Who would bear the news to her? What would happen to their home in Shoreditch?

He was still wallowing in remorse when he heard distant yells above his head. They did not sound like orders being barked to the crew. One voice was much closer than the other, though the second seemed to come nearer with the passage of time. Firethorn strained his ears to catch what was being said but the noise of the waves and the creaking of the ship made it impossible. There was a long wait, followed by a resounding thud that made the whole vessel shudder. At first, Firethorn thought that they had been rammed and that the Mermaid would be holed below the water line. Alone of the people aboard, he would be unable to save himself as the ship sank to the bottom of the sea. Seized by panic, he began to recite his prayers to himself. But no water came gushing in to claim his life and no cries of alarm were heard from the crew. Firethorn gave thanks to God for sparing him the horror of being drowned.

There was another long wait. A mixture of strange sounds came down to him but they only confused Firethorn. He had no idea what had happened beyond the fact that the ship did not seem to be maintaining the same speed any more. Hurried feet then came down the wooden steps. The next moment, someone stood behind Firethorn with an arm under his chin to pull back his head. The cold blade of a dagger was held against his throat. He braced himself for the murderous incision but he was spared yet again. Other people came down into the hold and approached him. Against all the odds, he heard a voice that he recognised and loved.

‘Leave go of him, Sebastian,’ warned Nicholas Bracewell.

‘Keep away!’ replied Frant, tightening his grip on Firethorn.

‘There’s no escape.’

‘Take one more step and I slit his throat.’

‘Why? What has Lawrence ever done to you?’

‘He got in the way.’

‘Was that Giddy Mussett’s crime as well?’ asked Nicholas, his voice deliberately calm. ‘Did he get in the way?’

‘His death was forced upon me.’

‘I think that I can guess why.’

‘I doubt that,’ said Frant.

‘Then perhaps I should tell you that we called at your house earlier on. We spoke to Thomasina and admired the furniture in your parlour. Some similar pieces are stored down here in the hold, are they not? Your daughter told us why.’

‘Thomasina would never do that.’

‘She was too proud of her religion to deny it.’

‘Give me the dagger, Sebastian,’ said Owen Elias, ‘or I’ll take it from you.’

‘Not if you wish Lawrence to live.’ Frant’s hand shook and the blade of the dagger drew a trickle of blood from Firethorn’s throat. ‘Stay back, Owen. If you value his life, keep your distance.’

‘That’s sensible advice,’ agreed Nicholas. ‘Leave him be, Owen.’

The Welshman was perplexed. ‘Allow him to get away with this?’

‘Sebastian will get away with nothing.’

‘That depends on what kind of bargain we strike,’ said Frant.

‘You are hardly in a position to strike any kind of bargain,’ said Nicholas quietly. ‘The ship has been boarded and we’ve a dozen armed men on deck. Do you think that you can defy us all, Sebastian?’

‘I’ll trade my safety for Lawrence’s life.’

Elias was scornful. ‘Your safety! You have no safety.’

‘Let me handle this, Owen,’ said Nicholas. ‘My only concern is with Lawrence’s safety. We should rejoice that he’s still alive. Sebastian deserves our thanks for that.’

‘He’ll get no thanks from me.’

Nicholas turned to Frant again. ‘Forgive him, Sebastian. He does not understand. There’s only one reason why you spared Lawrence and it was not because you needed him as a means of bargaining, was it?’

‘That no longer matters,’ said Frant, desperation making his voice hoarse.

‘I believe that it does.’

‘Lawrence’s life is in your hands, Nick.’

‘And what about Thomasina’s life?’ asked Nicholas. ‘Have you forgotten her? It’s a cruel father who’d save his own skin and leave his daughter to suffer the consequences of his crimes. I refuse to believe that Sebastian Frant is that callous.’ He took a step closer. ‘Thomasina loves you. She looks up to you. At least, she did until she heard that you were involved in murder and kidnap. Are you going to make her even more ashamed by taking yet another life?’

‘Be quiet!’ howled Frant, wrestling with his conscience.

‘Put the dagger aside, Sebastian.’

‘No!’

‘Put it aside,’ said Nicholas softly, moving in closer. ‘We both know that you could not kill Lawrence. You’ve too much compassion in you for that. You simply wanted him out of the way so that Westfield’s Men could not continue. Nothing will be served by his death now.’ He held out a hand. ‘Let me have the dagger, Sebastian.’

‘Stay back!’ shouted Frant, pointing the weapon at him.

‘Would you kill me as well? Then do so,’ invited Nicholas, spreading his arms and offering his chest. ‘Come on, Sebastian. We know that you can hire an assassin. Let’s see if you have the courage to use that dagger yourself.’ He took another step forward. ‘We were friends once. End that friendship now, if you must.’

Frant raised the dagger to strike then lost his nerve. Opening his hand, he let it drop with a clatter to the floor. Nicholas was on him in an instant, pinioning him so that he could not move. Elias moved with equal speed to cut through Firethorn’s bonds. The actor-manager tore off the gag and the blindfold. He blinked up at Frant.

‘You had this done to me, Sebastian?’ he asked. ‘I’ll strangle you!’

‘No,’ said Nicholas, using his body to protect Frant. ‘We’ll take him back to face the rigour of the law.’

‘He’ll feel my rigour first, Nick.’

‘You do not look as if you’ve any to spare, Lawrence,’ said Elias, putting an arm around him. ‘Leave him to us.’

‘But he was the one who ordered my kidnap.’

‘Sebastian did not carry it out himself,’ observed Nicholas. ‘He’d not soil his Roman Catholic hands with that kind of crime. He instructed someone else to abduct you. Is that not true, Sebastian?’ He tightened his grip on Frant. ‘Who was the man and where is he now?’ Frant’s lower lip began to tremble. ‘I thought so. The villain is aboard.’

As soon as they were hailed from the deck of the Mercury, he knew that they were in severe difficulties. A ship would not be dispatched from Dover to overhaul them unless there was a good cause. Flight was impossible. The only hope for Robert Armiger was to mingle with the crew of the Mermaid to pass himself off as one of them. Arrests would be made, the ship would be impounded and the captain would certainly be punished for his smuggling activities. Lowly members of the crew, however, might not suffer undue hardship. Armiger felt confident that Frant would not give him away and there was nobody else to identify him as a killer. Accordingly, he stood close to John Strood under the watchful eyes of the armed sailors who had come aboard from the Mercury.

His dream of escape was soon shattered. Nicholas Bracewell came bursting out of the hold with vengeance burning inside him. He looked around the deck.

‘Which one of you is Robert Armiger?’ he called out.

There was no reply. Crew members exchanged nervous glances but said nothing.

‘Where is that killer?’ demanded Nicholas. ‘Anyone who hides him is guilty of his crimes. I ask again — which one of you is Robert Armiger?’

‘He is,’ said Strood, pointing to his companion.

It was a dangerous admission. The words were hardly out of his mouth when Strood felt a dagger being thrust between his ribs by Armiger. Letting out a groan, he fell to the deck. Armiger fled from the spot, pushing his way roughly through the other members of the crew. Nicholas ran quickly to Strood to kneel beside him, cradling his head in one arm and trying to stem the bleeding. It was too late. Armiger’s thrust had been fatal. With a last smile of apology to his old shipmate, Strood finally escaped the shame of making his living as a smuggler on the Mermaid. Nicholas swallowed hard and offered up a silent prayer for his friend. Then he looked for Armiger once more. The man was up on the quarter deck, holding three people at bay with the bloodstained dagger that had just cut down Strood.

‘Leave him to me!’ ordered Nicholas, running to the steps.

Everyone backed away from Armiger. Having killed once, he was clearly ready to do so again and would not be taken without a fight. What amazed all those who watched was that Nicholas had no weapon of his own. He stood within six feet of Armiger.

‘John Strood was a friend of mine,’ he said.

‘Then I’ll send you after him,’ retorted Armiger, waving the dagger.

‘You’ve murdered enough people already.’

‘One more would give me great pleasure.’

‘Your case is hopeless,’ said Nicholas. ‘We can have you shot down with muskets or run through with swords. Put up your dagger while you may.’

‘Then step a little closer,’ urged the other man, ‘and you shall have it.’

Nicholas did not hesitate. During his years at sea, he had learnt to handle himself in a brawl on deck and had disarmed more than one adversary. Armiger was a skilled assassin but he preferred to stab his victims from behind when they were unguarded. Circumstances had changed. They were on the quarter deck of a merchant ship that was bobbing violently on the water. Nicholas was no unprotected victim. He was strong, alert and brave enough to take on an armed man. It put a tiny doubt in Armiger’s mind. As Nicholas came forward, he lunged at him with the dagger then made several sweeps to keep him away. Nicholas eluded the weapon with deft footwork then circled his man as he waited for his moment. It soon came. Armiger lunged again, missed, stabbed the air once more as Nicholas leapt back then hurled the dagger with vicious force. Nicholas ducked and the weapon went harmlessly over his head and into the sea.

Armiger gave a yell of exasperation and flung himself at Nicholas, grabbing him by the throat and forcing him back against the bulwark. They grappled, twisted and turned, then fell to the floor. Nicholas was momentarily dazed as his head struck the stout oak boards but Armiger did not pursue his advantage. Instead, refusing to end his days at the end of a rope, he decided to take his own life and clambered over the bulwark. Before he could jump, he felt Nicholas’s arm around his neck. There was another ferocious struggle as the two of them grappled and punched. Armiger would not be denied. With a last burst of energy, he jumped from the bulwark and pulled Nicholas after him. There was a loud splash as the two bodies hit the water. The moment they surfaced, they went for each other’s throats again.

Everyone on board rushed to the bulwark to watch the fight. Firethorn and Elias were among them, urging Nicholas on and wishing that they could help him in some way. Intent on drowning, Armiger was determined to take Nicholas with him and they threshed about wildly. A boat was lowered but it could never reach them in time to separate them. Armiger got a grip around Nicholas’s neck and forced him below the surface. The two bodies vanished for well over a minute with only a patch of white foam to show where the fight was still continuing. Firethorn and Elias began to fear for their friend but their anxiety was premature. Nicholas’s head eventually appeared. After gasping in air, he hauled the spluttering Armiger to the surface.

‘He’s still alive!’ he shouted. ‘I saved him for the hangman.’

Lifted by the safe return of their actor-manager, Westfield’s Men entered Dover Castle with brimming confidence. They felt that they could conquer with their art a fortress that could not be taken by force. The first surprise that greeted them was the amount of livestock in the grassy courtyard. Over a hundred sheep and a dozen cows were grazing peacefully within the confines of the castle so that fresh milk and tender mutton were readily available. The Great Hall was larger than anywhere else where they had performed in Kent and the number of chairs and benches already set out indicated that a full audience was expected. Nicholas Bracewell had visited the place earlier to take note of its dimensions and to work out where best to erect their stage. All that the actors had to do was to polish a well-tried play. The morning rehearsal went well though Firethorn, still feeling the effects of his ordeal, was careful to pace himself. Refreshment was then served before the company readied itself for the afternoon performance.

William Brooke, tenth Baron Cobham, presided over the occasion. As Constable of the Castle, he held an important post but, as Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports, he also had a ready source of wealth. Governor of the ports of Hastings, Romney, Hythe, Dover and Sandwich, to which Winchelsea and Rye had been added, he was allowed to deduct five hundred pounds from any parliamentary taxation levied on the towns. Several members of his family were in attendance, including his son, Henry, and, significantly, his son-in-law, Sir Robert Cecil. Lord Westfield had brought his own entourage and guests from a wide area came in to swell the numbers. It was a more distinguished and exclusive audience than the troupe had met before in the county. No standees were allowed and no sailors were permitted to wander in from the local taverns.

In view of recent events, The Loyal Subject was the obvious choice even though it had been staged earlier at the Guildhall. It dealt with themes that had great relevance for Westfield’s Men and gave Firethorn the opportunity to exhibit the full range of his skills. Though set nominally in Italy, everyone recognised that the play was about the dangers that threatened the English throne. The Duchess of Milan was a cipher for Queen Elizabeth and some of her leading courtiers could also be identified with their real counterparts by more perceptive spectators. It gave the piece a sharpness and immediacy that added to its appeal. Richard Honeydew was a beautiful but peremptory Duchess with the other apprentices as his ladies-in-waiting. Having whitened his beard to assume old age, Owen Elias was a Chief Minister who bore much more than a vague resemblance to Lord Burleigh, whose son, Sir Robert Cecil, was in the audience. Edmund Hoode once again took the small but telling role of the judge while Rowland Carr, James Ingram and Frank Quilter all had individual chances to shine as conspirators. Barnaby Gill, a decrepit retainer, was liberated from his wheelbarrow and carried on stage in a chair. Deaf, scatterbrained and querulous, he provided some wonderful humour, his broken leg concealed beneath a long robe and his comic song a special moment in the performance.

It was Firethorn, however, who dominated the stage as Lorenzo. Brave, honest and glowing with integrity, he was a hero whose tragedy touched all who watched. His prompt action saved the Duchess from an assassin’s dagger. Yet it was his loyalty that eventually betrayed him and led to his execution. Firethorn used a particular couplet to give the fullest expression to his grief. Manacled by his gaolers and left alone in his cell, he spoke words that were a howl of pain.

‘Fidelity has always been my cry

And constant will I be until I die!’

At the close of the play, when the executioner held up the head that he appeared to have struck from Lorenzo’s shoulders, there was an outburst of protest from the hall and several of the ladies began to weep. Relief was mixed with gratitude when Firethorn led out his troupe to take their bow and it was seen that the actor was still very much alive. The applause was deafening. After their disappointing performance at the Guildhall, the company had vindicated its reputation in the most striking way.

It was while they were in his apartment with their patron that the whole story began to emerge. Lord Westfield had invited Firethorn, Gill and Hoode to join him as the leading sharers and, because of his involvement in the rescue, Nicholas Bracewell was also there. All five of them were sipping Canary wine of the finest quality. Having been kept at the outer margin of events by his disability, it was Gill who felt that he had missed everything. He pressed for details.

‘Sebastian was a friend of ours,’ he said. ‘Why did he let us down?’

‘He served another master,’ explained Nicholas, ‘and that was the Roman Catholic Church. In time, it made him lose all affection for us.’

‘Why was that, Nicholas?’

‘You’ve seen one of the reasons this very afternoon. The Loyal Subject is a play that’s anathema to those who follow the Old Religion. So was The Foolish Friar. In their different ways, both laid bare the iniquities of Popery. When we performed harmless comedies or dark tragedies about revenge, Sebastian Frant was happy enough to act as our scrivener and watch us at the Queen’s Head. Then we presented a play that he found so repulsive that he could not bear to stay in our employ.’

‘Which play was that, Nick?’ asked Firethorn.

‘Not one of mine, I hope,’ said Hoode.

‘No, Edmund,’ replied Nicholas. ‘the author was Jonas Applegarth.’

‘Then it must have been The Misfortunes of Marriage.’

‘The very same.’

Lord Westfield stirred. ‘But I thought it no more than a simple comedy.’

‘It had a deeper meaning, my lord,’ said Nicholas tactfully, ‘and it was not lost on someone like Sebastian. He told me that it was an ordeal to copy out lines that abused the religion to which he had dedicated his life. That was the point at which he left us but it was not to go into retirement. He continued the work that he had always been doing.’

‘As a spy,’ said Firethorn with disgust. ‘We harboured a Catholic spy.’

‘He confessed the truth as we sailed back to Dover. It all began when he was secretary to the Clerk of the Privy Council. Secret documents passed before his eyes every day. Sebastian was only required to copy them out but his keen memory retained them so that he could pass on intelligence to French and Spanish accomplices.’

‘Thank heaven you caught him, Nick!’ exclaimed Hoode.

Gill was puzzled. ‘Why choose to act as our scrivener?’

‘Because the work interested him,’ said Nicholas, ‘and it was a convenient mask behind which he could hide. When he quit his post, he needed to remain in London for a time. Westfield’s Men were only one of a number who employed him.’

‘I wish that we’d never met the rogue,’ growled Firethorn. ‘Although, I have to admit that he was not entirely without finer qualities. When that ruffian of his beat me aboard the ship, it was Sebastian who bathed my wounds. I thank him for that.’ His voice hardened again. ‘But it will not stop me cheering when he and Armiger are hanged.’

‘Their confederates will also suffer,’ noted Nicholas. ‘Both have been arrested. One was the messenger who led you astray with that forged letter.’

‘I was too easily fooled by that.’

‘Sebastian has a cunning hand.’

‘Too cunning,’ said Lord Westfield. ‘When he told us that he was to retire, I wrote to thank him for all the work he had done. He would have kept the letter to copy both my hand and seal.’

‘His days as spy and forger are over,’ said Nicholas.

‘What of his daughter?’ asked Gill. ‘Was she caught up in his nefarious work?’

‘To this extent only. Like her father, she kept alive the flame of the Old Religion. They bought furniture that had once belonged in Catholic churches and sold it in France. Sebastian told me that they sometimes brought back Catholic bibles in exchange. That’s what led them to use the Mermaid as their merchant ship. It was old and decayed but it was known to carry anything for money. When they searched the hold,’ said Nicholas, ‘they found that church furniture was not the only thing being smuggled. The captain will not be sailing a ship for a very long time.’

‘What will happen to Thomasina?’ said Hoode.

‘That’s for the court to decide.’

‘So lovely yet so seasoned in deceit.’

‘Thomasina had no part in the murders or the kidnap,’ Nicholas reminded him.

‘Her father did. He instigated all three. Why pick on Fortunatus Hope?’

‘That’s my question,’ said Lord Westfield, leaning forward.

‘Then I’ll give you Sebastian’s answer,’ replied Nicholas. ‘He and Master Hope were partners in treachery, passing secrets to our enemies abroad. At least, so it seemed to Sebastian. Then he realised that Fortunatus Hope was playing a deeper game as a counterspy. That discovery sealed his fate. Sebastian had him killed to avoid being exposed himself.’

‘But why arrange the murder at the Queen’s Head?’ said Firethorn.

Gill tapped his chest with an indignant finger. ‘And why choose my dance as the moment to halt the performance? It was unforgivable.’

‘It was pure chance,’ said Nicholas. ‘Sebastian’s orders were to cause sufficient disturbance to distract everyone but the lads he employed went beyond that. They were too drunk to care. Once the affray started, it got completely out of hand. Sebastian wanted it to be a public murder so that it would embarrass us. From the moment that we began to stage plays like The Misfortunes of Marriage that ridiculed the Roman Catholic faith, he wanted to get his revenge on us.’

‘Is that why he had Giddy Mussett stabbed?’ said Hoode.

‘It was an attempt to stop us, Edmund. In driving us out of the Queen’s Head, Sebastian did the last thing that he intended. He set us out on the road to Dover. When he learnt where we were headed, he did all in his power to bring the tour to a halt, even if it meant killing our clown or kidnapping our manager.’

Firethorn rolled his eyes. ‘At least, he spared my life.’

‘An old affection lingered.’

‘There’s no affection in being abducted and beaten, Nick.’

‘His aim was to stop us reaching here,’ continued Nicholas. ‘If we got as far as Dover Castle, it was inevitable that our host would learn of the death of our clown and, before that, of the assassination of Fortunatus Hope.’

Lord Westfield rose to his feet. ‘I can explain why,’ he said, seizing his cue. ‘My good friend, William Brooke, Lord Cobham, is a man of consequence who knows the very nerves of state. Had the name of Master Hope been whispered in his ear, he would have realised at once that an English spy had been murdered for political reasons. It would have led him to do what he has now done and that was to order a search of the dead man’s papers that were kept at a secret address.’

‘A secret address?’ repeated Gill.

‘Here in Dover,’ said Nicholas. ‘Lord Cobham knew where it was because Master Hope reported to him from time to time. Sebastian Frant did not. When he believed they were confederates, he sent letters to Master Hope that would expose Sebastian as a spy if they fell into the wrong hands.’

‘Now I understand why he did all he could to prevent us playing here at the castle,’ said Firethorn. ‘Stop the tour and he saved his life.’

‘But the truth about Master Hope was bound to emerge in time,’ said Hoode.

‘Yes,’ agreed Nicholas. ‘That’s why Sebastian had someone searching the town for that secret address. He wanted to destroy those letters before they destroyed him.’

‘But how could they, Nick?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The letters would have been written in code that nobody but Sebastian and Fortunatus Hope could decipher. Sebastian would have been safe.’

‘Would he?’ asked Nicholas. ‘You’ve seen that neat hand of his. No matter how clever the code, there would be no doubt who actually wrote those letters. Sebastian Frant was betrayed by his own profession. His hand was wedded to an elegance that no other scrivener could have achieved. It would have been his undoing.’

‘You were his undoing, Nick,’ said Firethorn gratefully. ‘When I was tied up in that stinking hold, the last voice I expected to hear was yours. I was sore afraid, I confess it. When Sebastian held that dagger to my throat, I thought my end was nigh.’

‘He could not bring himself to do it.’

‘I think that I understand why. It was one thing to have a vagabond clown like Giddy Mussett stabbed to death but I posed a different challenge. When it came to it,’ said Firethorn, giving his vanity free rein, ‘Sebastian was restrained by the memory of all those wonderful performances I gave at the Queen’s Head. He could not bear the notion of robbing London of its finest actor. Without me, Westfield’s Men would wither away.’

‘But that’s not what happened, Lawrence,’ said Gill contentiously. ‘We staged A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady at the Guildhall and won many plaudits. Owen Elias was as masterful in the role as you.’

‘It’s true,’ said Hoode. ‘Owen was another Lawrence Firethorn.’

‘With more compassion than you could ever muster.’

‘And a touch more humour, I fancy.’

‘Can this be so, Nick?’ asked Firethorn, angered by the remarks.

‘Owen was our salvation,’ said Nicholas with a quiet smile. ‘Most of the company gave a poor account of themselves that afternoon but Owen could not be faulted. I’ve never seen him conquer an audience so completely. He had them at his mercy. We were horrified when you disappeared but we certainly did not wither away in your absence. In some ways,’ he recalled, ‘it brought out the best in us.’

‘Hell and damnation!’ roared Firethorn, waving an arm. ‘I expect to be missed.’