The Vagabond Clown

Chapter Six

Westfield’s Men settled quickly into the Star Inn. Most adjourned to the taproom to sample the ale, others decided to snatch an hour’s sleep after the rigors of their journey, a few chose to explore Maidstone on foot and Edmund Hoode found a quiet corner in which to work on a scene in his new play. Giddy Mussett spent an improving hour with Lawrence Firethorn, being patiently instructed in the roles he would play. Nicholas Bracewell was dispatched on an important errand. Before the company could perform in the town, a licence had to be obtained and that task invariably fell to the book holder. He set off towards the town hall, glad that they had arrived safely and certain that Maidstone would prove a rewarding place to visit.

After the teeming streets of London, the town seemed curiously empty and Nicholas found that a welcome relief. It enabled him to saunter along and appraise their new home at his leisure. He soon passed a sight that was very familiar in the capital. Seated in the stocks, a forlorn individual was raising both arms to protect himself from the rotten fruit and clods of earth being thrown at him by mocking children. Set out in front of the malefactor were some loaves of unwholesome bread and Nicholas realised that he was looking at a baker who had sold mouldy produce and who was being punished accordingly.

When he got to the town hall and introduced himself, he was immediately shown in to meet the mayor, a tall, stooping man with an alarming battery of warts on his face. Lucas Broome was surprised to hear that the troupe had already arrived in town.

‘We did not expect you for a matter of weeks,’ he said.

‘Our hand was forced,’ explained Nicholas. ‘We had to quit London sooner than planned. I hope that we are still able to find an audience here.’

‘No question but that you will, my friend. I’ve been waiting a long time to see so illustrious a company as yours visit Maidstone. Whenever I’ve been in London, I’ve made the effort to call at the Queen’s Head.’

‘What have you seen of ours?’

‘Nothing that failed to delight me. The last time it was Mirth and Madness. Before that it was Vincentio’s Revenge. Another play that I remember,’ said Broome, exposing a row of small, uneven teeth, ‘is Cupid’s Folly. It made me laugh so.’

‘We expect to offer it again during our tour.’

‘Your clown was worth the price of entry on his own.’ He scratched his head. ‘Now, what was his name?’

‘Barnaby Gill.’

‘That was him,’ said Broome, snapping his fingers. ‘Barnaby Gill. I trust that you have brought him to Maidstone with you?’

‘Master Gill is with us,’ said Nicholas, ‘but unable to take an active part in our work. A broken leg makes him a spectator on our tour. But have no fear,’ he went on, seeing the disappointment in the mayor’s face. ‘His substitute is just as skilled in the arts of comedy. They are two of a kind and you will not tell the difference between them.’

‘I long to see the fellow.’

‘Grant us a licence and you will do so.’

‘Westfield’s Men are welcome at any time.’ Nicholas reached inside his jerkin to take out some documents but Broome waved a dismissive hand. ‘No need to prove who you are, my friend. I know and respect your patron. Those who wear his livery stand high in my esteem.’

‘Do you not wish to see our licence to travel?’

‘The quality of your work gives you that. My wife has oftentimes heard me talk of my visits to the Queen’s Head. Now she can enjoy the same pleasure herself.’

‘When and where shall we play?’ asked Nicholas, slipping the documents back inside his jerkin.

‘The Lower Courthouse will be yours for one performance,’ decided Broome, ‘and it will be filled to the rafters. Of that I can assure you, my friend. However, you will have to wait a couple of days until the assizes come to an end.’

‘That will suit us well, sir. We will need that time to rehearse our new clown into his roles. You have a liking for Cupid’s Folly, you say?’

‘Why, yes, but I’ll not prescribe your choice. Give me something that I have never seen before and I’ll be equally pleased. Meanwhile, we’ll voice it abroad that you have come to town and bring in a wider audience for you.’

‘The landlord wishes us to play at the Star Inn as well.’

‘Then so you shall. That will give us two chances to savour your art.’

‘We are indebted to you, sir.’

‘And we to Westfield’s Men.’

Nicholas was thrilled with his reception at the town hall. Having been on tour before, he knew that other towns were not always so welcoming and other mayors not so fond of theatre that they sought it out in London. Lucas Broome was a keen admirer of their work. He and his wife would assuredly be there with other civic dignitaries to watch the first performance. Before he left, Nicholas asked if he might have a brief glance at the Lower Courthouse to see how best it could be adapted to their needs. Broome conducted him there in person and they soon found themselves in a long, low, rectangular room with light flooding in from windows along both sides. Two doors in the far wall made that the obvious place where the stage could be set. Having taken note of the proportions of the room, Nicholas thanked his guide.

‘Is this where Conway’s Men performed?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Broome, ‘and they made good use of it. They gave but one performance in the town and fortune decreed that it took place here.’

‘Why? Was the weather unkind?’

‘A torrent of rain fell throughout the whole day. Had they tried to play at the Star, they’d have been washed away.’

‘We’ll pray for sunshine when we take over their yard.’

‘I’ll join you in your prayers.’

Nicholas took his leave. Instead of returning directly to the inn, he had a second errand to run and it was of a more personal nature. Anne Hendrik had given him a letter to deliver to a cousin of her late husband’s. Well over a hundred immigrants had come to the town, driven from the Netherlands by persecution and bringing to Maidstone their skills in the manufacture of cloth, Spanish leather, pottery, tile, brick, paper, armour and gunpowder. Pieter Hendrik was one of them and he had hired a house in Mill Street where he had set up two looms. Nicholas found the place without difficulty. Hendrik was a big, hulking man in his forties with a head that seemed too small for the massive body. Both of the large wooden looms were in use inside the house and the noise made conversation difficult so he took Nicholas into the garden at the rear of the property. Hendrik’s mastery of English was not yet complete.

‘A frient of Anne’s, you are?’ he said, peering at Nicholas.

‘Yes,’ replied Nicholas, handing him the letter. ‘Anne sent this for you.’

‘Thenk you, thenk you. Please to excuss me, ha?’

He opened the letter and slowly read its contents, a fond smile on his lips as he did so. When he had finished, he let out a throaty chuckle.

‘Anne speak fery vill of you, Niklaus.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it.’

‘The work, it is fery gut.’

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘Anne has carried on where her husband left off. They never lack for customers. People from all over London wear hats made by one of her men. Preben van Loew is a master at his trade.’

‘Preben, I know,’ said Hendrik, folding up the letter. ‘A gut man. I not sin him since Jacob’s funeral. Jacob, my cussin, I miss. Togither, we grow up. Loffly man.’

‘Anne has told me all about him.’

‘She write nice litter. You tek what I write bek?’

‘With pleasure,’ said Nicholas. ‘I’ll be in the town for a few days yet. If you want to reply, I’ll carry the letter with me though it may be some time before I can put it into Anne’s hands. She’ll be delighted to hear from you.’

‘Gut, gut.’ He looked quizzically at Nicholas. ‘So why you to Medstun come?’

‘I travel with a theatre company called Westfield’s Men. We stay at the Star Inn and mean to perform two plays in the town. I hope that you will come to see us.’

Hendrik’s face clouded. ‘Mebbe, Niklaus, we see.’

‘Do you object to plays?’

‘No, no. That not risson.’

‘I know that some of your countrymen do.’

‘Not me. I like.’

‘Then why were you so uneasy when I mentioned the theatre company?’

‘It nothing. No fault from you.’

‘Fault?’

‘I haf little trouble, that all.’

‘With a theatre company?’

‘Yis.’

‘Then it must have been Conway’s Men,’ said Nicholas, his curiosity aroused. ‘They were here not long ago, were they not?’

Hendrik nodded. ‘Conway’s Men,’ he said ruefully. ‘They here.’

‘Did you see them play?’

‘Yis. Fery gut. I laugh a lot.’

‘Then why are you so wary of theatre companies?’

‘I deal with menegar. You know the fillow?’

‘Only by reputation. His name is Tobias Fitzgeoffrey.’

‘That him.’

‘What kind of dealings did you have with Master Fitzgeoffrey?’

‘Bad ones, Niklaus.’

‘Oh?’

‘We mek fustian, grogram and other cloth. Best in Medstun. This man, Fissjiffry, he come to buy from us.’

‘He probably wanted it to make new costumes or repair old ones.’

‘This what he say.’

‘How much did he have from you?’

‘Lot, Nicklaus. But no money. Fissjiffry, he say he pay me nixt day. When I call at Star Inn for money, they gone. It no mistake. They liff at dawn with my cloth. No pay,’ said Hendrik, wounded by the memory, ‘Conway’s Men, thieves.’

‘It sounds a fine play,’ said Giddy Mussett with admiration. ‘Yet another worthy piece from Edmund Hoode?’

‘A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady did not come from Edmund’s pen,’ said Lawrence Firethorn. ‘It’s the work of a younger playwright, Lucius Kindell.’

‘I do not know the name.’

‘You soon will, Giddy. He gets better with each play. Lucius came to us to write tragedies but he tried his hand at comedy as well.’

‘And a clever hand, it is. If the other scenes are as rich as the ones in which I appear, then the play is a certain success.’

‘It worked well at the Queen’s Head until this last performance. The piece was never allowed to run its course then. When we reached the point where the clown does his jig, the hounds of hell were unleashed upon us.’

‘We’ll not have that vexation again.’

‘I hope so, Giddy. With all my heart, I do.’

The two men were in an upstairs room that overlooked the yard of the Star Inn. Firethorn was taking his new clown through the plays that they would perform in Maidstone, explaining the plot of both in detail so that Mussett had some grasp of how his part related to the whole drama. It was when he handed the clown a scene to read aloud that Firethorn encountered an unexpected problem. Mussett was almost illiterate. He pleaded poor eyesight but it was evident that he could make out only one word in four and he could hardly get his tongue around that. To his credit, however, he had a quick and retentive brain. When Firethorn read the lines out to him, Mussett memorised a number of them instantly. At one point, he repeated an eight-line speech without a fault.

‘Which play do we stage first?’ asked Mussett.

‘That depends on where we perform it,’ explained Firethorn. ‘If it is to be here, then Cupid’s Folly is the better choice. If we play indoors, then we’ll introduce them to the chaste lady. We must wait for Nick to come back.’ He looked down through the open window and saw the book holder entering the yard. ‘Talk of the devil! There he is.’

‘Nick promised to school me in my roles.’

‘And he’ll do it better than me, Giddy.’

‘Am I free to go now?’

‘As long as you do not join the others in the taproom,’ warned Firethorn sternly. ‘Remember your contract. No drunkenness, no women, no fighting.’

‘Would you have me become a monk?’

‘I would have you aim higher than that — at sainthood.’

Mussett cackled. ‘My hopes of that have already been lost,’ he said. ‘But I’ll not go astray. You have my word on that. I mean to take a walk to remind myself what sort of town Maidstone is.’

‘You’ve been here before, then?’

‘Some years ago, when I was with the Earl of Rutland’s Men.’

‘Why did you part with them?’

‘To become a holy anchorite.’

Mussett cackled again and let himself out of the room. Watching him go, Firethorn gave an indulgent smile. It was hard to dislike a man so relentlessly cheerful as the clown. He might lack Barnaby Gill’s education but he had other gifts to bring to his work. Firethorn turned to the window again and noticed that Nicholas Bracewell was looking at something through the door to the stables.

‘Nick, dear heart!’ called Firethorn.

Nicholas saw him at the window. ‘All is well,’ he said, waving a hand.

‘Wait there until I come down.’

Firethorn went through the door and down a rickety staircase. When he came out into the yard, he saw that Nicholas was still peeping into the stables. Firethorn strode quickly across to him.

‘What have you found, Nick?’

‘Something that may turn out to be a blessing.’

‘Where’s the blessing in horse dung?’ asked Firethorn, seeing the manure that was piled in a corner. ‘Is that what caught your attention?’

‘No,’ said Nicholas, pointing. ‘Look there.’

Firethorn’s gaze fell on a wooden wheelbarrow that had been dumped against the side of a stall. Its wheel was missing and one of its handles had been snapped off. The timber was stained by years of usage. Firethorn was bewildered.

‘I think that I’d rather look at the horse dung,’ he said.

‘The wheelbarrow has been abandoned.’

‘It deserves to be, Nick. It’s outlived its time.’

‘Not if it’s repaired with care,’ said Nicholas.

‘And why should anyone bother to do that? The only use is has now is to serve as firewood. I’m surprised it has not already gone up in smoke.’

‘That may be to our advantage. Find a new wheel, make a new handle, wash it out thoroughly and we bring it back to life.’

‘To what possible end?’

‘A certain person might be able to move about with less pain.’

‘Barnaby?’ said Firethorn with a laugh. ‘Sitting in a wheelbarrow? Moved around like so much dung? He’d never countenance it.’

‘He might if we used some clever carpentry,’ said Nicholas, ‘and I’d undertake that. I need to make it more comfortable and build something to support his back. We could surely woo him with the notion then. Walking is a trial for him. George Dart could push him around with more speed and far less pain.’

‘You may be right, Nick,’ conceded Firethorn, taking the idea seriously at last. ‘Let’s speak to the landlord first and see if we can have the wheelbarrow. If you can mend it, as you say, we’ll tell Barnaby he travels on an imperial couch from now on.’

‘I’ll leave you to coax him into it.’

‘I may need to hitch up two of the horses to do that.’ They shared a laugh then Firethorn rubbed his hands together. ‘How are we received?’

‘Better than we could have desired.’

Nicholas described his visit to the mayor and told Firethorn about the place in which they would perform. The fact that they would have two days to prepare made the actor sigh with relief. Clicking his fingers, he reached an immediate decision.

‘We’ll give them A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady,’ he announced.

‘That would be my choice.’

‘It’s a pity that Lucius Kindell is not here to see his play take wing again.’

‘After the riot at the Queen’s Head, he may not be too eager to view it. Lucius was there when the affray broke out,’ said Nicholas, ‘and he still thinks that his play provoked it in some measure. It grieved him.’

‘We’ll offer it to the good people of Maidstone instead, and play it through to the end even if an invading army tries to stop us.’ He slapped Nicholas on the shoulder. ‘We have two reasons to celebrate now. The town wants us here and,’ he added, indicating the broken wheelbarrow, ‘you have found a chariot in which to drive Barnaby.’

‘I’m not sure that George will relish his office but someone must take it on.’

‘George will do as I tell him,’ said Firethorn grimly ‘But what kept you, Nick? You’ve been gone above an hour and I thought we’d lost you.’

‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘When I left the town hall, I had to honour a promise to Anne. She has a relative here, one Pieter Hendrik, a cousin of her husband’s. I delivered a letter on her behalf and am glad that I did so.’

‘Why?’

‘Pieter is one of many Walloons who settled here when they were driven out of their country. He’s a weaver by trade and has already made his mark here. He was happy in his work until he had dealings with Tobias Fitzgeoffrey.’

‘That scourge of our profession!’ cried Firethorn. ‘He’s a disgrace to the name of actor. Tobias should be driven from the stage with whips of steel.’

‘Pieter Hendrik would be ready to wield one of those whips.’

‘Why? Did he have to endure one of the man’s fearful performances?’

‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘He enjoyed the play that Conway’s Men offered. That was not his complaint. Tobias Fitzgeoffrey had bought a large amount of cloth from him and promised to pay him the next day. Instead of that, he and his company left at dawn and Pieter was left out of pocket.’

‘Nothing surprises me in that. Conway’s Men would stoop to anything.’

‘Including murder?’

Firethorn hesitated. ‘Even they might draw back from that.’

‘I wonder,’ said Nicholas. ‘According to Giddy, they are a law unto themselves. He has tales that accord with what Pieter Hendrik told me. They take what they can get wherever they can. Fortunatus Hope once consorted with their patron. Could it be that the two men parted in anger?’

‘Lord Conway is a spiteful old devil. He’d not have been pleased to see a close friend sitting beside our patron instead. He hates us almost as much as Tobias.’

‘Do either of them hate us enough to cause that affray at the Queen’s Head?’

‘I think so.’

‘Would they also hire an assassin to kill Master Hope?’

‘Who knows, Nick?’

‘Only time will tell,’ said Nicholas. ‘If they are touring Kent ahead of us, we may well cross paths with them at some stage. I promised Pieter Hendrik that I’d ask them why they failed to pay him.’

‘And I’ll ask Tobias Fitzgeoffrey why he dares to strut a stage when he has no skill as an actor. No wonder London has kept Conway’s Men at bay.’

‘That’s their main cause of resentment. Giddy told me that it rankles with them.’

‘He did well to shun the company.’

‘How has he fared this afternoon?’ asked Nicholas.

Firethorn grimaced. ‘We had a desperate start, Nick.’

‘Why?’

‘Did you know that the fellow is unable to read?’

‘I saw that he cannot write when he tried to sign that contract for us. If reading is beyond him as well, he must have found ways around the disability.’

‘He has,’ said Firethorn. ‘His mind is like a bird that picks up every crumb. Teach him a couplet and he knows it at once. Speak a line and he repeats it like an echo. Giddy is yours now, Nick. Take him through A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady.’

‘I will,’ agreed Nicholas, ‘and I’ll make sure that he does not catch any other kind while I am at it.’

‘My decree has been impressed upon him. No drink, no whoring, no fighting. Giddy is a changed man,’ said Firethorn confidently. ‘He’ll not disobey me.’

Bess Roundel was a jovial, red-headed woman in her thirties with a bosom and buttocks of generous proportions. She lay on the bed with her skirt up, giggling with joy as a half-naked man thrust away energetically between her thighs, pausing from time to time to take a swig of ale from a flagon. Giddy Mussett was starting to enjoy his visit to Maidstone.

‘There you are, Bess,’ he said, swallowing another mouthful of ale. ‘I promised to come back to you one day. And here I am!’

Barnaby Gill was beginning to regret his decision to travel with Westfield’s Men. His broken leg was both a huge impediment and a source of continual pain, and his forced retirement from performance made him the outsider in the company. What irked him most was the way in which Giddy Mussett had been accepted so readily by the others. While they ate their supper in the taproom on their first evening, the actors shook with laughter at Mussett’s endless supply of anecdotes. Owen Elias, in particular, seemed to have a real affinity with the new clown. Watching it all from the other side of the room, Gill became increasingly jealous of his rival. He took out his anger on George Dart.

‘George!’ he snapped.

‘Yes, Master Gill?’ said Dart, scurrying across to him.

‘You are supposed to look after me.’

‘I wanted to listen to Giddy’s story about-’

‘Forget him,’ snarled Gill, interrupting him, ‘and attend to my needs instead.’

‘But the tale was so merry.’

‘I’ve no stomach for merriment and no wish to hear anything that that interloper has to say. Now, get me up off this seat,’ he ordered, reaching for his crutch. ‘I’ve had enough of this jollity. Take me to my bed, George.’

Dart helped him up and supported him across the room. As they passed the table where the others sat, Elias grinned and warned Dart to be careful when he was alone in a room with Gill. More teasing followed but Mussett took care not to get involved in it.

‘Good night, Barnaby!’ he said. ‘Sleep well.’

‘How can I do that when I’m under the same roof as you?’ retorted Gill.

He struggled out and made his way towards the little storeroom that had been cleared for his use. A mattress had been brought in along with a stool, a jug of water and a bowl. The considerate landlord had even provided a chamber pot. After helping him into the room, Dart was dismissed and ran swiftly back to the others. Gill began the laborious process of getting ready for bed and lowering himself by degrees onto the mattress. He slept fitfully, unable to get comfortable and wondering how many days it would take before the pain in his leg began to ease. At cockcrow, he was already awake. Abandoning any hope of sleep, he hauled himself up on his crutch to see what sort of day it was, opening shutters that had been locked throughout the night to ensure his privacy.

The weather was fine, the temperature warm. Gill was about to turn away when he saw a figure emerging from a door nearby to stroll across the yard. Nicholas Bracewell disappeared into the stables, leaving Gill to speculate on what made the book holder get up at that hour and why he had been carrying so much timber in his arms.

Lawrence Firethorn wanted to make full use of the day for a rehearsal and he insisted that everyone rose early for breakfast. Seated at the head of the table, he explained to the company what lay ahead of them.

‘Today we will rehearse A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady with particular attention to the scenes in which the clown appears so that Giddy can take full measure of the part.’ He looked down the table. ‘Where is the fellow?’

‘He left the room before I did,’ said Owen Elias. ‘I expected him to be here.’

‘I hope that he’s not causing any mischief.’

‘No, Lawrence. Giddy will have gone off to start the day with a good deed. He’s probably letting Barnaby out of the privy.’

‘This is no jest, Owen,’ said Firethorn, silencing the sniggers with a raised hand. ‘I prefer to have Giddy where I can see him. If he has been bothering Barnaby in any way, it will go hard with him.’ He picked out the smallest figure at the table. ‘George.’

‘Yes, Master Firethorn?’ Dart piped up.

‘Have you seen Barnaby this morning?’

‘Yes, Master Firethorn.’

‘Were there any incidents during the night?’

‘None,’ said Elias, ‘for Barnaby’s splint kept getting in the way.’

‘This is a serious matter, Owen,’ said Firethorn. ‘Well, George?’

‘I called on Master Gill earlier,’ he said, ‘to see if I could bring him breakfast in his room, but he chose to have it with the rest of us. He has not slept at all but it is not Giddy’s doing. There was no mention of him.’

‘I’m pleased to hear that. So where is Giddy now?’

‘I do not know, Master Firethorn.’

‘Nick was supposed to keep an eye on him,’ recalled Elias. ‘You must ask him.’

‘But he’s not here either,’ said Firethorn with exasperation. ‘Where on earth is everyone hiding this morning?’

‘I am not hiding, Lawrence,’ declared Barnaby Gill, making a sudden entrance and pausing in the door for effect. ‘I’ve come to take my rightful place in the company.’ He ran his eye down the table. ‘Has Giddy Mussett absconded yet?’

‘No, no, Barnaby.’ Firethorn beckoned him over. ‘Come and sit next to me.’

Dart moved across to help the newcomer but Gill waved him away, using the crutch with skill and hopping over to the table. Elias moved along the bench to make way for him. Gill’s arrival served to dampen everyone’s spirits and conversation among the actors was more muted. When he had eaten his first mouthful of bread, Gill remembered what he had seen earlier.

‘What is Nicholas doing in the stables?’ he asked.

‘Is that where he is?’ said Firethorn.

‘I saw him walk past my window.’

‘When?’

‘Shortly after dawn. He had some wood in his arms.’

‘Ah! So that’s what he’s doing!’

‘I am none the wiser, Lawrence.’

‘Let me explain,’ said Firethorn, lowering his voice to a persuasive purr. ‘What is the thing that annoys you the most, Barnaby?’

‘Having that drunken rascal, Giddy Mussett, in the company.’

‘But for your broken leg, he’d not be here. That is the root of your trouble, man. You’ve been in great pain ever since the accident occurred.’

‘It was no accident. I was flung to the ground.’

‘Be that as it may, you are now hopping around on one leg and taking an age simply to get from one side of the room to the other.’ He leant in closer. ‘How would you like to move with more speed?’

‘Why? Do you intend to carry me on your back?’

‘Lawrence has already been doing that for years,’ said Elias, unable to resist the jibe. ‘But tell us how it may be done, Lawrence. Is there some means by which Barnaby can be made to fly like a bird?’

‘No, there is another way. It was Nick Bracewell’s idea.’

Gill bristled. ‘Then it will certainly not appeal to me.’

‘Hear me out. Nick must be working on the notion right now.’

‘Why? Does he mean to board me up in the stables?’

‘No, Barnaby,’ said Firethorn, ‘he intends to do you a great favour. We found an old wheelbarrow that could be mended in order to move you from place to place.’

‘A wheelbarrow!’ protested Gill. ‘You expect me to sit in a wheelbarrow? Am I no more than a pile of earth to be carried around then dumped?’

‘This wheelbarrow was used for horse dung.’

‘There you are, Barnaby,’ said Elias, chuckling. ‘You’ll feel at home.’

‘I’ll hear no more of it!’ shouted Gill, banging a fist on the table but unable to stem the general laughter. ‘I have high standards.’

‘Wait until you see what Nick has done,’ advised Firethorn.

‘What he has done is to come up with the most insulting idea that I’ve ever heard in my life.’ Righteous indignation turned his cheeks bright red. ‘Ride in a wheelbarrow? I’d sooner crawl on all fours.’

‘We were only trying to help you.’

‘You were trying to turn me into a figure of fun.’

Elias grinned broadly. ‘Nature has already done that for us.’

‘Be quiet, Owen,’ admonished Firethorn. ‘How can I prove to Barnaby that we have his interests at heart if you keep breaking in?’

‘Say no more, Lawrence,’ asserted Gill, quivering with anger. ‘You’ve wounded me enough already.’

‘But I’ve not told you what Nick intends to do.’

‘I’ve no wish to hear. Nothing on God’s earth would ever get me to lower myself in that way.’ He wagged a finger. ‘Keep your wheelbarrow away from me.’

At the very moment when he spoke, the door to the taproom was flung open and Nicholas Bracewell entered with the results of his endeavours. The wheelbarrow had been transformed. Having made and fitted a new wheel, Nicholas had added a stout board to support the back and a piece of wood that jutted out horizontally over the front of the wheelbarrow. Its purpose was clear. While Nicholas pushed him around the room, Giddy Mussett lay in the wheelbarrow with a lordly air, reclining on the cushions with which it had been filled and resting the leg he had put in mock splints on the piece of wood that protruded over the front. The wheelbarrow came to a halt beside Gill.

‘You’re too late, Barnaby,’ announced Mussett. ‘I want it for myself.’