The Vagabond Clown

Chapter Seven

As soon as breakfast was over, the rehearsal began in earnest. Having no room on his premises that was large enough for their purposes, Jonathan Jowlett was happy to give them free use of his yard, provided that they did not hold up the normal running of the inn. Whenever travellers arrived by cart or on horseback, the actors had to break off to allow them free access to the stables. They also had to endure the goggling eyes of the ostlers, servingmen and tavern wenches as they honed their art in the open air. The company approached A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady with some caution. Its previous performance had been disastrous and their superstitious natures made them uneasy about the piece. Another cause for discomfort was the fact that one of the main roles — that of Bedlam, the clown — was being played by someone who had no real acquaintance either with the play or with the people acting in it. Giddy Mussett was an affable companion but that did not mean he would be a worthy substitute for Barnaby Gill. When word of Mussett’s illiteracy spread, the company became even more restive.

It was Nicholas Bracewell who helped to restore their confidence. Not only did he show Mussett where to stand and when to move in each scene, he repeated the clown’s lines over and over again until Mussett had committed them to memory. The others were amazed at the speed with which their new colleague was mastering the basic elements of his role. What he lacked was Gill’s familiarity with the part and his ability to invest each line with a comic slant. His jig, however, was equal to that of his predecessor and his facial contortions made the onlookers break into spontaneous laughter. Gill was less than amused. Still outraged at the proposition that he should be carried around in a wheelbarrow, he had retired to his room to sulk. He was now watching the rehearsal through the window with a mixture of sadness and pique, dejected because he was unable to take part and nettled that his role had been given to a man whom he loathed so much. Each laugh that Mussett gained was like a dagger through Gill’s heart.

When the company paused for refreshment, Lawrence Firethorn sought the opinion of the two people he trusted most, Edmund Hoode and his book holder.

‘Well?’ he asked. ‘How do you judge him?’

‘Giddy has done well,’ said Hoode. ‘He has a better memory than any of us. Whether it will stand up to the hazards of performance is another matter. I’d have preferred a week at least in which to rehearse him.’

‘We do not have a week, Edmund.’

‘Nor do we need it,’ said Nicholas. ‘Give me time to work with him privily and I’ll have him ready for the good citizens of Maidstone.’

‘What of Cupid’s Folly, Nick?’ asked Firethorn.

‘We’ll look at that as well.’

‘The clown holds the whip hand over all of us in that play,’ noted Hoode. ‘Would it not be sensible to choose a drama that puts less weight on him? There is so much for Giddy to learn.’

‘That will not disturb him.’

‘No,’ added Firethorn. ‘When I told him about his other role, he could not wait to play Rigormortis.’

‘There are other reasons to choose the play,’ said Nicholas. ‘This yard will be an ideal place in which to stage it and the piece is a favourite of the mayor’s. He would not dare to miss it. Where he leads, many others will follow.’

Hoode was worried. ‘I still feel that we ask too much too soon of Giddy.’

‘Someone must take the role of Rigormortis.’

‘Not if we select another play.’

‘We have the costumes and scenery for Cupid’s Folly.’

‘And for Vincentio’s Revenge.’

‘This is no town for tragedy, Edmund,’ said Firethorn. ‘Let’s brighten their day with happy laughter. There’ll be rustics in the audience, brought in from miles around. The soaring verse of Vincentio’s Revenge will be wasted on them. We’ll play it later in the tour to more discerning spectators.’

‘I agree,’ said Nicholas. ‘Cupid’s Folly, it shall be.’

Hoode pursed his lips in doubt. ‘I hope that it does not prove our folly.’

‘You saw this morning how quickly Giddy can learn.’

‘Yes, but I’d feel safer if Barnaby were able to help. He has delighted an audience as Rigormortis well above thirty times. He should be the one to instruct Giddy in the way that the part should be played.’

‘You ask the impossible,’ said Firethorn. ‘The only thing that Barnaby would consent to teach Giddy is how to take his own life.’

‘Besides,’ argued Nicholas, ‘it would be wrong for one clown to school another. We do not want a pale replica of Barnaby. Giddy must give his own performance.’

‘Can he possibly do it in a mere two days?’ wondered Hoode.

Mussett supplied his own reply. Stepping out onto the gallery that ran around three sides of the yard, he struck a pose and declaimed the opening lines from the prologue to Cupid’s Folly.

‘Come friends and let us leave the city’s noise

To seek the quieter paths of country joys.

For verdant pastures more delight the eye

With cows and sheep and fallow deer hereby,

With horse and hound, pursuing to their lair,

The cunning fox or nimble-footed hare,

With merry maids and lusty lads most jolly

Who find their foolish fun in Cupid’s Folly.’

‘Dear God!’ said Firethorn with delight. ‘He has mastered the prologue even though he does not have to speak it in the play. Giddy is a true marvel.’

Nicholas smiled. ‘That’s why I suggested his name.’

‘I cast off all my worries,’ said Hoode. ‘He may yet outdo even Barnaby.’

Gill heard him and felt salt being rubbed enthusiastically into his wounds.

Two days later, they were finishing their rehearsal in the Lower Courthouse in readiness for their performance that evening. Their stage had been set up at the far end of the room in a position that had been occupied by the assize judges. Scenery was artfully used to create a rural setting and both doors were concealed behind skilfully painted trees that stood on bases of solid wood. One door led to the tiring-house where the costumes and properties were arranged in order, the other to an antechamber that was used for storage but which was connected by a door to the larger room that had become their tiring-house. When they were not acting in the play, the musicians sat on a platform that was raised above the level of the stage. Having rehearsed the piece outdoors, they had to make a number of adjustments. Voices that had rung around the yard at the Star Inn had to be modified in a more confined space. Movements had to be changed as they went along. Effects that had always been successful at the Queen’s Head proved much more difficult indoors and had to be adapted accordingly. It made for a long and testing rehearsal during which many mistakes were made. Owen Elias began to have serious doubts. When they finished their work, he drifted across to Nicholas Bracewell.

‘Was it really as bad as it felt, Nick?’ he asked.

‘I have seen it better performed,’ said Nicholas.

‘How can we lose so much of our spark?’

‘The surroundings are unfamiliar. You need to find your feet.’

‘Feet, hands, head and body,’ said Elias. ‘We lost them all.’

‘You are too harsh, Owen. A rehearsal is a time to explore and that always leads to errors. When you have an audience in here, it will be very different.’ He glanced down the room at Barnaby Gill, who sat motionless on a chair with his arms folded. ‘All that you had was a lone spectator.’

‘That’s what unsettled us. Barnaby made us feel that we were on trial.’

‘His eyes were not on you. Only one performance concerned him.’

‘I know,’ said Elias. ‘He came to gloat over Giddy’s errors but they were too rare to notice. Barnaby will have been disappointed. Instead of letting us down, Giddy was the best of us.’ He looked across at Mussett. ‘How long can he keep it up, Nick?’

‘Until we have our own clown back again.’

‘I did not mean his work on stage. It is this peculiar change that’s come over him. We’ve been in Maidstone for three days and I’ve not seen him once drink ale, chase women or lose his temper.’

‘Those were the conditions under which we employed him.’

‘I could not keep to such a contract,’ admitted Elias. ‘Lechery is natural to any red-blooded man. Strong drink merely helps it take its course. We have a duty to take our pleasures where we find them.’

‘You follow inclination more than your duty,’ said Nicholas with a grin. ‘Giddy is the dutiful one. His pleasure consists in proving to Barnaby that he is the better clown. He needs a clear head to do that.’

‘Can he keep that clear head?’

‘If he does not, then we are all lost.’

It was a sobering thought. A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady was a play that relied heavily on its clown. Lawrence Firethorn took the leading role but Mussett’s support was crucial. On the following day, he would be taking on an even more demanding role. It would increase the burden on him. If Mussett faltered in either piece, the whole play would crumble around him. Nicholas was alive to that danger.

‘Do you know why he left Conway’s Men?’ asked Elias.

‘He told me that the quality of their work was too inferior.’

‘That’s not the story I had, Nick. According to Giddy, he stole a woman right from under Tobias Fitzgeoffrey and let her warm his bed instead.’

‘Master Fitzgeoffrey has his own skill at stealing,’ said Nicholas. ‘Conway’s Men have not only filched plays that do not belong to them, they bought cloth from a weaver here in town and rode off without paying him.’

‘Why does he not bring an action against them?’

‘How can he when he has no idea where they are?’

‘The company is touring Kent.’

‘Then we must be the magistrates here, Owen,’ said Nicholas. ‘If we chance to catch up with them, they can be arraigned on three charges. Theft is one. Inciting an affray at the Queen’s Head may well be another.’

‘What is the third?’

‘Conspiring in the murder of Fortunatus Hope.’

Barnaby Gill was in a quandary, not knowing whether to watch or spurn the performance that evening. Loyalty to Westfield’s Men made him wish them success but hatred of Giddy Mussett induced a hope of failure. He could not bear the notion of seeing his rival cheered to the echo by an audience. At the same time, however, he was so possessive about the role that he had created that he did not want to miss its appearance on a stage. On the way back to the Star Inn, his mind was in turmoil. There was a practical problem to be faced as well. He had ridden to the Lower Courthouse in the wagon that carried the scenery but he had to walk back. Even with George Dart’s assistance, it took him almost twenty minutes to reach the inn, leaving him with a bare half-hour before he would have to set off again for the performance. It was a painful journey. The crutch dug into an already bruised armpit and his broken leg ached every time he swung it forward. Dart offered a tentative solution.

‘Would it not be easier to use that wheelbarrow, Master Gill?’ he asked.

‘Never!’

‘I could move you to and fro much faster in that.’

‘But without a shred of dignity,’ said Gill.

‘Nick Bracewell has disguised it so well. It does not look like a wheelbarrow.’

‘It does to me, George, and I’ll have none of it.’

Dart knew better than to pursue the discussion. When they reached the inn, he was dismissed and went off to seek refreshment with the others. Gill felt out of place in the taproom, especially as everyone was saying kind words to Mussett about his performance during the rehearsal. Exhausted by the walk, Gill made his way to his room, questioning the wisdom of attending a play that would commit him to another arduous journey. The wagon might bring him back after the performance but he would still have to get to the Lower Courthouse on foot. It was a frightening prospect. Common sense urged him to remain at the inn that evening in order to spare himself the agonising walk and the discomfort of watching someone else play the role of Bedlam.

Still unable to reach a decision, he let himself into his room. A shock awaited him. Standing beside his mattress and taking up much of the space was the wheelbarrow that Nicholas Bracewell had mended. Gill was incensed. His first instinct was to call the landlord to have the object removed but something made him pause. When he looked more closely at the wheelbarrow, he saw how artfully Nicholas had fashioned it. The board would offer good support for his back and, as he had seen, provision had been made to hold up the leg that was in splints. A large piece of fustian had been draped over the cushions to add more comfort and to disguise the outline of the wheelbarrow. Only the wooden wheel proclaimed its earlier function. Gill’s objections began to weaken. He was even tempted to try sitting in it.

What held him back was the fear that Mussett might be playing a trick on him. If the wheelbarrow had been tampered with, he might get into it then find that it collapsed. Yet it seemed sturdy enough when he shook it and it looked more inviting with each moment. Gill put the crutch aside. Using a hand to steady himself against the wall, he lowered himself into the wheelbarrow and sank back into the cushions. When he lifted his broken leg onto the piece of wood that had been put there for the purpose, he felt strangely comfortable. Gill smiled for the first time since they had left London.

Lucas Broome had not exaggerated. A large audience squeezed itself into the Lower Courthouse, excited by the notion of watching a celebrated London theatre company at work. Wearing his mayoral robe and regalia, Broome sat in the front row with his wife, surrounded by members of the town council with their respective spouses. Three rows of chairs gave way to several rows of benches with standing room at the rear for those arriving too late to secure a seat. It was early evening with ample natural light for the performance, though candles had been set out in case they were required later. There was a buzz of anticipation as the spectators awaited A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady, a title that was already provoking amusement in some quarters. Convinced that they were about to witness a remarkable event, Broome settled back complacently in his seat.

Behind the scenes, there was far less confidence. Instead, there was a gathering sense of doom. Giddy Mussett had failed to return from the Star Inn. Lawrence Firethorn was close to panic. Eyes blazing, he turned to his book holder.

‘Where the devil is he this time, Nick?’ he demanded.

‘I wish I knew.’

‘You were supposed to watch him at all times.’

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas, ‘but I stayed here while the rest of you went back to the inn. There were some repairs I had to make to the scenery for the last act. I asked Owen to keep watch over Giddy.’

‘And so I did,’ said Elias defensively. ‘Giddy was as anxious as the rest of us to get back here on time. But when we set out, he remembered something that he forgot and ran back to the inn to fetch it.’

‘Did you not think to go with him?’ asked Firethorn.

‘No, Lawrence. He said that he’d catch us up within minutes.’

‘This was some device.’

‘I blame myself for being taken in,’ confessed Elias. ‘When we got here and Giddy failed to appear, I hurried all the way back to the inn to search for him.’ He spread his arms in a gesture of helplessness. ‘The bird had flown.’

‘That may not be the case,’ said Nicholas.

‘What else can explain his absence? Giddy has deserted us.’

‘At a moment to embarrass us the most,’ observed Firethorn. ‘We cannot stage the play without Bedlam or it will turn into Bedlam itself. Listen to those people out there. They want us. What will they think when they hear that the performance will not take place? There’ll be uproar.’

‘Think back, Owen,’ suggested Nicholas, keen to find an explanation for the disappearance of their clown. ‘Could he have been taken ill? Did he eat something that may have upset him? What did Giddy drink at the Star?’

‘There was nothing wrong with his health, Nick.’

‘Then he may have been prey to sudden fear.’

‘That’s my prerogative,’ said Firethorn sourly. ‘I shake with terror. Call off the play and we lose any money the mayor will give us. It will also limit our numbers at the Star tomorrow. Who will want to see a theatre company that lets its audience down?’

‘Yes,’ said Elias, ‘and how could we even dream of offering Cupid’s Folly without the man who takes the leading part? Giddy has ruined our visit to Maidstone.’

‘They’ll probably drive us out of town with stones.’

‘Giddy would not let us down without a good reason,’ insisted Nicholas.

‘It’s in his nature,’ said Firethorn darkly, ‘and that is reason enough.’

‘Could he have lost his way here?’

‘We are the ones who lost our way when we employed the rogue.’

‘Yet he has worked so hard to master his part. Why would he do that?’

‘To lead us astray,’ concluded Elias. ‘Giddy Mussett won our friendship in order to fend off our suspicions. He meant to betray us from the very start. The one consolation is that Barnaby is not here to see our humiliation.’

‘Why not?’ asked Firethorn.

‘When George Dart went to fetch him from his room, he had fallen asleep in the wheelbarrow. George thought it best to leave him there.’

‘What was the wheelbarrow doing in his room?’

‘That was my invention,’ said Nicholas. ‘I hoped he might come to appreciate its worth if he could see it properly. My stratagem may have worked.’

Elias was grateful. ‘At least, it kept Barnaby from crowing over us out there. He warned us that something like this would happen.’

Firethorn gritted his teeth. ‘Let’s not delay the anguish, Nick,’ he decided. ‘Go out on stage and find as pretty an excuse as you can to explain why we are unable to play here this evening. We were fools to trust a proven rascal like Giddy.’

Nicholas took a deep breath and headed for the door, blaming himself for foisting Mussett on to the company and vowing to track the man down. Before he could step out on stage, however, there was an outburst of laughter from the audience. Peeping around the tree that covered the entrance, Nicholas saw what had caused the noise. Giddy Mussett, dressed in the costume he would wear as Bedlam, was turning cartwheels down the length of the room before stopping in front of the mayor and somersaulting backwards on to the stage. He acknowledged the applause before scuttling towards the exit. Nicholas grabbed him and took him into the tiring-house. Mussett gazed happily around the startled faces of the actors.

‘Well?’ he said jocularly. ‘Shall we teach them A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady?’

The performance surpassed all expectations. Horrified at the thought that they would have to abandon the play and sneak ignominiously away, Westfield’s Men were so delighted at the appearance of the missing clown that they put more zest and bite into their work. A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady took flight in a way that had never quite happened before. Firethorn was supreme as Lackwit, Elias ranted magnificently as his rival, Hoode introduced a quieter humour with his portrayal of a dithering parson and Richard Honeydew was so convincing as the heroine of the play’s title that half the audience firmly believed that the company had broken with tradition and employed a young woman as their chaste lady. Even George Dart, impressed against his will into a minor role, managed to get a laugh in the correct place.

Giddy Mussett began slowly, feeling his way into the part. When he forgot lines or missed cues, other actors covered for him so expertly that none of the spectators noticed the slight mistakes. Throughout the play, his performance grew until it even threatened to overshadow Firethorn’s brilliant Lackwit. It was when he came to his jig that Bedlam really took command, dancing with comic verve and keeping the audience in a state of helpless laughter. Nobody appreciated his comic genius more than Lucas Broome. As the play surged on to its climax, he had forgotten all about Barnaby Gill. The name on his lips — and on those of countless others — was Giddy Mussett, a clown whose mobile features and sprightly antics were a positive joy to behold.

When the play was over, Firethorn was the first to congratulate the newcomer, slapping him on the back and telling him that he had saved their reputation. It was a different matter when he led out his troupe to take their bow. The applause was long and loud but it was not directed largely at Firethorn this time. Accustomed to being the centre of attention, he was dismayed when most pairs of eyes were fixed on Mussett. Even the young women in the hall seemed to prefer Bedlam to Lackwit. It made Firethorn resolve to make certain changes to the play before it was staged again. He was too vain an actor to allow a complete newcomer to steal the plaudits away from him. Instead of being the company’s saviour, Mussett could turn out to be Firethorn’s personal nemesis.

Back in the tiring-house, the other actors crowded around their clown to shake his hand in admiration. The sight made Firethorn seethe even more. But it was Nicholas Bracewell who took a more considered view of the performance. Biding his time until the general excitement had died down, he took Mussett aside for a private word.

‘You did well, Giddy,’ he said.

‘Thank you, Nick.’

‘Better than we could have hoped.’

‘It is a wonderful part,’ said Mussett, ‘and I mean to make it my own.’

‘You’ll not do that if we have any more of your cunning tricks.’

‘Tricks?’

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas sharply. ‘You went missing on purpose. You kept us waiting until the very last moment before you deigned to appear. That was both cruel and unnecessary. You made us suffer, Giddy, and that was unforgivable.’

‘The others have forgiven me,’ said Mussett blithely.

‘I have not.’

‘Come, Nick, you must. My performance made amends for everything.’

‘Nothing can excuse the way you treated your fellows, Giddy. I thought better of you. When I came to you in prison,’ Nicholas reminded him, ‘you swore to abide by any contract that we could devise. You broke it on the very day of departure, making us think that you would not turn up then falling from that window to gain a few easy laughs. You did not impress me then and you did so less this evening.’

‘The play was a success. What more do you ask?’

‘Loyalty from every member of the company. I’ve yet to see it in you.’

‘I’ve worked hard for Westfield’s Men,’ said Mussett with a disarming smile, ‘and I deserve some reward. Leave off this carping, Nick. We have a triumph to celebrate.’

‘Remember the terms of your contract.’

‘Can we not forget them for one night?’

‘Keep the celebrations within the bounds of reason.’

‘I always do.’

‘And no more of your tricks,’ warned Nicholas. ‘Show some respect for the feelings of others. Turn up when you are told and stop seizing all the attention for yourself. I’ll not tell you again, Giddy.’

Mussett’s smile vanished. Hands on hips, he stood in an attitude of defiance.

‘I rescued Westfield’s Men this evening,’ he asserted.

‘Only after you’d first caused us fear and upset.’

‘I did that for a reason, Nick.’

‘To have another laugh at our expense.’

‘No,’ said Mussett. ‘To show you how much you missed me. Without your clown, the play would have been cancelled and you would have been humiliated. I taught you a lesson this evening. You need me, Nick. Take Giddy Mussett out of the company and see what calamity follows. I’ll hear no more threats from you,’ he went on, thrusting out his chin. ‘Westfield’s Men would not survive without me. That gives me power.’

When Barnaby Gill awoke in his room, he was utterly bewildered. What was he doing in a wheelbarrow that was filled with cushions? It took him a full minute to gather his thoughts. Fatigue had clearly got the better of him. Wearied by a night without much sleep and taxed by the effort of using a crutch, he had succumbed to tiredness in the comfort of the wheelbarrow. His body had made the decision that he had been unable to reach and kept him away from the performance. Torn between relief and exasperation, he vowed to berate George Dart for not waking him up and at least offering him the chance to return to the Lower Courthouse. Gill had no idea how long he had dozed but, when he glanced though the open window, he could see that the sky was just beginning to darken. The play might well be over already. He longed to know how it had been received.

It took some effort to haul himself out of the wheelbarrow but he eventually succeeded. Reaching for his crutch, he looked back at the place where he had enjoyed such undisturbed slumber. It was softer and more easeful than either the bed in his lodging or the mattress with which the landlord had provided him. In spite of himself, he felt an upsurge of gratitude towards Nicholas Bracewell. The book holder had gone to great trouble to convert the wheelbarrow so that it met Gill’s particular needs. It might yet have wider uses for the invalid. Summoning up his strength, he hopped his way towards the taproom to see if the others had returned yet. His timing could not have been better. As he entered the room by one door, three of the actors came bursting in through another. Owen Elias was in the lead.

‘Barnaby!’ he called, seeing the other. ‘Come and join us, old friend.’

‘How did the play fare?’ asked Gill.

‘Wonderfully well. We are famous throughout Maidstone.’

‘Yes,’ said James Ingram, ‘and the best news is that the mayor was so pleased with us, he is to pay five pounds for the chaste lady.’

‘Much of that should go to Giddy,’ said Elias, sitting at a table, ‘for he was the chief delight this evening. He even put Lawrence into eclipse.’

‘Giddy was Bedlam to the life.’

‘So was I, James,’ insisted Gill, hitting the floor with his crutch. ‘Edmund wrote that part for me and I am the only actor who can play it properly.’

‘Oh, I agree,’ said Ingram tactfully. ‘You made the role what it is.’

‘I hope that you all remember that.’

‘We do, Barnaby,’ said Elias. ‘You first played the role but Giddy added to what you did. His dances were inspired, his vigour remarkable. Ask anyone who saw him. He was beyond compare.’

‘You speak the truth, Owen,’ said Rowland Carr. ‘I never thought to see the day when someone could match Barnaby.’

Gill sneered. ‘Mussett is but a pale shadow of me.’

‘You did not watch the performance.’

‘Why not?’ asked Ingram. ‘I thought that you were eager to measure yourself against our new clown. What kept you away, Barnaby?’

‘I had more important things to do.’

‘Is anything more important than cheering on your fellows?’

‘Do not look to me to raise a cheer for Mussett. He’s a counterfeit clown, a sham, a mere pretence, a low, dishonest creature that steals from others what he could never achieve by himself, a rogue, a villain, a monster of deceit.’

‘That is not how we find him. After this evening, he is a dear friend.’

‘More to be honoured than vilified,’ said Elias. ‘Sit down with us, Barnaby. Share our joy. Giddy will be here soon. Take him to your bosom as we have done.’

‘I’d sooner roll in a pit of vipers!’

‘He is one of us now.’

‘Then you are fools to think so, Owen, and I’ll not stay to see you fawning upon him.’ He started to move away. ‘I bid you all good night!’

They called him back but he ignored them and hopped out of the room moments before Giddy Mussett entered it with Edmund Hoode. The actors gave their clown a rousing welcome. Ale was ordered and Mussett was the first to seize a tankard.

‘Are you allowed to drink that?’ said Elias.

‘What man here will try to stop me?’ replied Mussett with a cackle.

‘None here, Giddy,’ said Ingram. ‘You’ve earned it.’

‘What kept you back?’ wondered Carr.

Mussett smirked. ‘The mayor wished to introduce me to his wife.’

‘A comely woman, as I recall.’

‘Plump and delicious, Rowland. Did you hear what the mayor said? He told me that I was the finest clown he had ever set eyes upon and he has seen Barnaby as well. That was sweet music in my ears,’ he confided. ‘The town loved me, the mayor worshipped me and his wife was so consumed with lust for me that her marriage vows were in danger.’ He raised his tankard. ‘Here’s to other conquests along the way, my friends.’ They joined in the toast with alacrity. ‘Victories on the stage, victories in the bedchamber and, most of all,’ he added with a malicious glint in his eye, ‘victory over Barnaby Gill.’

The news had been worse than he had anticipated. Having seen the endless mistakes made during the rehearsal, Barnaby Gill could not believe that the play had been such a success. Still less could he accept that a man who had never even heard of the piece until a few days ago could give a performance in it that drew such unstinting praise from the other actors. It was galling. When he reached the safety of his room, he was panting for breath and pulsing with rage. He was also deeply hurt that friends like Elias, Ingram and Carr could forget the long years of service that Gill had given Westfield’s Men as its clown and acclaim instead an unworthy intruder. Hundreds of signal triumphs lay behind him yet they were obliterated by two hours in the Lower Courthouse in Maidstone. An event in a building devoted to justice left Gill squirming with a sense of injustice.

He lowered himself into the wheelbarrow again and brooded in silence. It was too late to turn back now. Having elected to travel with the company, he was doomed to remain with them and watch his rival win more approval with each performance. Mussett had to be stopped in some way. Gill was still trying to work out how when he began to feel drowsy. He tried to shake himself awake. It was too early to retire to bed. He had neither undressed nor closed the shutters. Comfortable as he found it, he did not intend to spend the whole night in a wheelbarrow. Yet somehow he lacked both the strength and the willpower to move. His eyelids became heavy, his body sagged. Even the sound of merriment from the taproom could not keep him from dozing quietly off. The wheelbarrow that he had once derided was now a snug and consoling bed.

Hours later, he was still asleep, snoring up to heaven and dreaming of a time when his art was unrivalled and he was spoken of with awe. The dream did not last. Through the open window came a shape that merged with the darkness until it landed on Gill’s chest. Sharp claws suddenly dug into his flesh and the creature let out a fearsome shriek. Gill came awake to find himself wrestling with a large black cat that seemed to be trying to scratch him to death. It was a desperate encounter. The struggle only ended when he managed to grab the animal by the nape of the neck and hurl it out through the window. As soon as he got his breath back, Gill spat out the name of his tormentor.

‘Giddy Mussett!’