The Wanton Angel

Chapter Ten

Alexander Marwood truly believed that marriage was an excellent mystery but its excellence proved so elusive that he had ceased to expect it. Every day, however, he was given resounding proof of the mystery of holy matrimony. Sybil’s behaviour was eternally puzzling to her husband. When the dreadful news about their daughter’s child had first been received, they had acted in unison, fearing shame, expressing outrage and punishing the girl with joint severity. Marwood and his wife had together initiated a search, albeit fruitless, for the father of the child.

Without even consulting him, Sybil had then taken the errant daughter off to Clerkenwell after depriving him of a considerable sum of money but all that the journey had produced was a tearful girl who soon fell sick of a fever. Marwood found himself blamed both for her pregnancy and for her illness and had the galling experience of having to part with more money when the doctor was summoned to tend her. More blame was incurred by the bewildered landlord who was accused by his spouse of cruelly locking up their daughter and treating her like a condemned felon.

When the fever broke, Rose improved markedly but Sybil’s behaviour became even more mysterious. Having closeted the girl and badgered her in vain to make a confession, her mother now rediscovered a sweetness and maternal concern which was utterly baffling to her husband. Rose’s door was left open, her window unbolted and food sent to her whenever she called for it. Alternately castigated and coaxed, Marwood was further bemused when he retired to bed on the previous night to be given an absent-minded kiss on the cheek from the dry and normally inviolable lips of his wife.

He was even more befuddled when he went upstairs in search of his capricious partner and found Rose creeping uncertainly along the passageway.

‘Where are you going, girl?’ he said harshly.

‘Mother told me to take exercise,’ she said.

‘Did she?’

‘I have to build my strength up again.’

‘But you are dressed to go out, Rose.’

‘Fresh air is good for me, father. The doctor advised it.’

‘He said nothing about fresh air when he pursued me for his fee.’ A belated paternal concern brushed him. ‘How are you feeling now, Rose?’

‘Much recovered.’

‘That would be good news were it not for the shame that you bear. Are you not penitent?’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘And do you not regret the pain you have caused us?’

‘It grieves me more than I can say.’

‘Then tell us who is the author of our misery.’

‘The author?’ It was her turn to be puzzled.

‘The father of your child!’

His raised voice brought Sybil bounding along the passageway with the ferocity of a lioness defending a cub against attack. She gave Marwood such an earful of rebuke that his head was spinning and all memory of his wife’s nocturnal kiss was obliterated. Pondering once more the mystery of the marital state, he beat a hasty retreat.

‘You told me to stretch my legs, Mother,’ said Rose.

‘I did, Rose,’ said Sybil watchfully. ‘But stay on the premises and do not talk to any of the servants. Confine yourself to a greeting. We have kept them ignorant of your condition and gave out that you were sick.’

Rose nodded obediently but knew that everybody at the Queen’s Head would be aware of what was going on. It made her highly self-conscious. While anxious to meet one member of the staff at the inn, she wanted to keep clear of the others lest she be assaulted with embarrassing questions. Sybil sent her on her way and watched with mixed feelings as her daughter slowly descended the backstairs. Then she went off to confront her husband with another slight change of attitude.

Rose soon found him. Leonard was in the cellar, rolling a barrel of ale noisily into position against the dank wall, his bulk magnified by the low ceiling and the narrowness of the storeroom. Rose shivered in the chill atmosphere.

‘Good day, Leonard,’ she said.

He spun round. ‘Mistress Rose!’ he exclaimed. ‘What are you doing down here?’

‘I came to thank you.’

‘Are you allowed to leave your bedchamber?’ he said, fearing reprisals from her parents. ‘Do not take risks on my account.’

‘But you took them on mine, Leonard.’

‘Did I?’

‘You offered me food.’

‘I was afraid that you were starving. They told me in the kitchen that you had not eaten for a whole day. I thought you might be denied food.’

‘You came to me because you cared,’ she said.

Leonard blushed. ‘I wanted to help.’

‘You did.’

‘But you took no bread and cheese from me.’

‘I saw you there outside my window. That was enough. I knew that I had one friend at the Queen’s Head.’

‘You have many, Mistress Rose,’ he told her. ‘Everyone is talking about you. We think you have been harshly treated. It is not my place to say so,’ he added quickly. ‘I have no right to speak against your parents. Your father gave me a place here when nobody else would look at me and I am grateful to him for that.’ He struggled to find the right words. ‘But I was … worried about you. That was why I came.’

‘It made a big difference.’

‘Did it?’

‘Yes, Leonard.’

A slow smile spread over his face until it shone in the gloom of the cellar. Rose’s gratitude was a bounty in itself. The risks he had taken on her behalf were more than worth it. Her friendship was one of the things which mitigated the grinding hardship and constant unpleasantness of working for Alexander Marwood.

Rose lowered her head slightly and bit her lip.

‘What do they say about me?’ she murmured.

‘Who?’

‘The others.’

‘Kind things, Mistress Rose. Kind things.’

‘They do not laugh at me, then?’

‘No,’ he said earnestly. ‘They would have to answer to me if they did. They are very sorry to hear …’ He cleared his throat and groped for the right words again. ‘To hear … what befell you. The players, too, show sympathy.’

Rose was dismayed. ‘Do Westfield’s Men know of my shame as well?’ she said. ‘It will soon be the talk of the parish.’

‘No,’ he told her. ‘And do not think the players make any jests about you. Nicholas Bracewell makes sure that your name is respected. He will have no foul talk about any young woman. Besides, Mistress Rose, the players have troubles of their own which put you quite out of their mind.’

‘Troubles?’

‘Have you not heard?’

Leonard put his hands on his hips and gave her a halting account of the woes of Westfield’s Men. She was saddened to hear that they might be driven out of the Queen’s Head by an edict of the Privy Council and horrified to learn of the fire at the site of their new playhouse but it was the death of Sylvester Pryde which upset her the most.

‘He was such a courteous gentleman,’ she recalled.

‘An upright fellow, to be sure.’

‘It was always a pleasure to serve him in the taproom. Master Pryde had a smile and a kind word for me every time. And is he really dead?’

‘The funeral is tomorrow, as I hear.’

‘Would that I could be there to pay my respects!’

‘We will miss Sylvester Pryde,’ he said mournfully, ‘but, then, we will miss the whole company when they leave here for good. Westfield’s Men bring so much life and merriment to the Queen’s Head.’

‘They do, Leonard,’ she enthused. ‘When I lay sick in bed, the only thing which stayed me was the sound of a play being staged in our yard. That laughter and applause helped me through my ordeal.’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘I think there is no profession in the world more exciting than that of an actor. The inn will seem dead without the company.’

‘I said as much to Martin.’

Her ears pricked up. ‘Martin?’

‘You remember him. He worked here briefly in the taproom. Martin chanced to call in and asked me how we were all faring at the Queen’s Head. He enjoyed his time with us, I think.’

‘Did he mention me?’ she whispered.

‘Oh, yes. And spoke with fondness.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘That you were locked unjustly away.’

‘And what did Martin say to that?’

‘He was sad to hear it, Mistress Rose. And even sadder when he knew the reason.’ He gabbled his apology. ‘I hope I did not speak out of turn in telling him about your plight. But Martin was concerned for you. He pressed me. He will not breathe a word of this to anyone, I am sure. Martin is discreet.’

‘Yes, Leonard. I am sure.’ She made an effort to sound casual. ‘What news did he have on his own account?’

‘Very little.’

‘Has his ambition been fulfilled?’

‘He mentioned no ambition to me,’ said Leonard, scratching his head. ‘To tell the truth, I cannot think that any man would have an ambition to work at the Brown Bear.’

‘The Brown Bear?’

‘It is a scurvy inn in Eastcheap, full of wild company and wickedness. I would have thought that Martin could find better employment than that.’

Rose was hurt. ‘Martin works at another inn?’

‘Yes,’ said Leonard. ‘He would have been far happier to stay here. He was a fool to leave the Queen’s Head. Do you not think so, Mistress Rose?’

‘I do, Leonard,’ she murmured ‘I do.’

Lawrence Firethorn was glad to loan his horse to Nicholas Bracewell for the second time. The book holder was going to visit their benefactor’s house and Firethorn was eager to do anything he could to make the journey there quicker and more comfortable. It gave him an excuse to pry and to probe.

‘Do you have far to go, Nick?’ he wondered.

‘Far enough.’

‘Outside the city, then?’

‘Perhaps,’ said Nicholas with a non-committal smile.

‘Should you travel in your condition?’

‘I have no choice.’

‘You were badly beaten last night,’ said Firethorn with regret. ‘You must still be in pain. Let me come with you in case you falter on the way. We can borrow a second horse from the stables.’

‘I prefer to go alone.’

‘But is that wise?’

‘Wise and necessary,’ said Nicholas firmly. ‘I was hurt in the attack but Anne was a kind nurse and I managed to walk all the way here from Bankside this morning. A ride will not tax me in the slightest.’

‘Shall I bear you company at least part of the way?’

‘No.’

‘Will our benefactor agree to see you?’

‘I hope so.’

‘What manner of man is he?’ fished the other.

‘I must be on my way.’

‘Is there nothing you will tell me, Nick?’

‘Only that I have to keep my word.’

Firethorn contained his frustration. It irked him that a vital part of the company’s financial situation was wreathed in secrecy. He could not understand why he, of all people, was kept in the dark about the source of their loan. At the same time, he did not wish to imperil it at such a delicate period by forcing Nicholas to break a confidence. He had complete faith in his book holder’s ability to represent Westfield’s Men fairly and firmly.

‘We are undeterred,’ said Firethorn.

‘I know.’

‘Impress that upon our benefactor. The fire last night was a minor setback that will only spur us on. Make him appreciate that, Nick. He must not take fright and withdraw his loan or we are laid low.’ He looked worried. ‘One thing more.’

‘What is that?’

‘May good fortune attend you!’

Firethorn slapped his horse on the rump and it trotted off across the inn yard. He waited until it was out of sight before he went off ruminatively to the taproom. Nicholas, meanwhile, rode off towards the Strand on his mission. It was not one which gave him any pleasure. Some of the bandaging around his head was concealed by his cap but his face still bore vivid souvenirs of the attack and he collected a number of ghoulish stares from passers-by. He wondered how the Countess of Dartford would react when he presented himself in such a bruised condition.

Yet she had to be kept abreast of developments at The Angel theatre and the visit might have an incidental bonus. Nicholas hoped that he might learn more of her relationship with Sylvester Pryde and some indication of whether it might be responsible for some of the ills which had befallen Westfield’s Men. He also intended to find out more about her precise motives for lavishing so much money on a struggling theatre company. One thought buoyed him up. The performance that afternoon had vindicated the company’s high reputation. Led by Firethorn and supported by Nicholas, their response to the arson attack had been refreshingly positive. They refused to be cowed into submission.

When he reached the house, Nicholas had some difficulty persuading the servants to let him in. It was only when the steward was sent for that the visitor was allowed over the threshold and that was done with blatant reservations. The Countess was at home but the steward had the severest doubts that she would consent to admit Nicholas. He went off with measured strides. When he returned from her, however, he was slightly abashed and he told the visitor, with dignified reluctance, that the mistress of the house insisted on seeing him at once. Nicholas was conducted to the chamber where he had met the Countess during his earlier visit.

He doffed his cap in deference and she was shocked.

‘What has happened to you, Nicholas?’ she cried.

‘That is what I have come to tell you, my lady.’

‘Then do so in comfort,’ she said, motioning him to a seat and dismissing the steward in one gesture. ‘Should you not be abed with such injuries?’

‘They appear worse than they are,’ he said bravely.

The Countess of Dartford was impatient to hear all. Nicholas was concise but accurate. He did not play down the extent of the setback but he stressed how well the company had come together in the crisis. Volunteers to work on the site and to guard it through the night were ready and numerous. He was able to assure her that their new playhouse would be fully protected from any further assault. Her main concern was for his safety.

‘You put your own life at risk, Nicholas.’

‘I survived.’

‘Only because of your obvious strength,’ she noted. ‘A weaker man might well have perished from such an assault. They murdered Sylvester. Why did they spare you?’

‘I do not know, my lady,’ he said. ‘Nor can I be sure that Sylvester’s assassin was party to the attack on me. The two crimes may yet be unconnected. On the other hand,’ he added, ‘one reason for my reprieve did occur to me.’

‘Well?’

‘If the fire was started by one of our rivals, I may have been recognised and spared on that account. Havelock’s Men and Banbury’s Men are both confident of their future. If it falls, they expect to pick over the bones of Westfield’s Men. I have been approached by both companies in the past,’ he confided modestly. ‘Haply, I was kept alive by someone who purposed to employ me at a later date.’

‘Battering you like that is a strange way to endear you to a new company,’ she observed drily. ‘And if they coveted Nicholas Bracewell, why did they not also let Sylvester live to join their ranks? He was a sharer and you, with respect, are merely a hired man.’

‘That is so.’

‘What then, is the explanation?’

‘Sylvester could transact the loan which could save us and I could not. He was murdered in order to scare off our benefactor. Fortunately, that did not happen. Also …’

‘Be candid,’ she urged. ‘I know what you are about to say. Sylvester would not have been so eagerly sought after by another company.’

‘He was a good actor but he had limitations.’

‘No,’ she said fondly, ‘he was an able actor who was made to look inadequate in the presence of Lawrence Firethorn and Barnaby Gill and the others. I am not blind. I have seen Westfield’s Men perform a number of times, Nicholas, at the Queen’s Head and elsewhere. I know your quality. I did not need to watch you play The Loyal Servant in order to judge if you were a sound investment. I was at Court when the same piece was acted there. What drew me to your inn yard that day was the opportunity to watch Sylvester Pryde upon a stage.’

‘You saw him at his best,’ said Nicholas.

‘But his best was several leagues below greatness.’

Nicholas hesitated. ‘Yes, my lady,’ he said at length.

‘The consolation is that Sylvester did not know it. In his mind, he was the next Lawrence Firethorn, another titan of the theatre. Oh, heavens! What a magnificent sight he is at full tilt upon the boards! Firethorn is supreme and a proper man in every respect. I could watch him all day!’ Her fulsome praise was commuted to a sigh. ‘But dear, dear Sylvester! His ambition so far outran his talent but he never lived to face that ugly truth. It may have been a blessing.’

‘I would sooner have him with us, my lady.’

‘So would I, Nicholas. I loved the man!’

Her sudden passion took them both unawares and there was a long pause. The Countess went to a chair and lowered herself gently into it while she recovered her poise. Nicholas bided his time and adjusted his view of her. Cordelia Bartram was not the impulsive woman he had imagined, obliging an intimate friend with a substantial loan on the basis of a single visit to the Queen’s Head. She was a seasoned admirer of Westfield’s Men and — if there had been an entanglement with Viscount Havelock — she would be familiar with the work presented at The Rose as well.

‘What do you want from me?’ she asked calmly.

‘Reassurance, my lady.’

‘You came to give it and to take it away. Well, have no worries about the loan. It will take more than a few charred timbers in Bankside to frighten my money away.’

‘I am deeply grateful to hear that, my lady.’

‘There will be ample recompense for me.’

‘Will there?’ he said with interest.

‘I will have the satisfaction of helping the company which took Sylvester to its bosom and I will satisfy a yearning of my own.’ She gave an enigmatic smile. ‘But that will come in time. What will you do now, Nicholas?’

‘Endeavour to track down Sylvester’s killer.’

‘Who may or may not have been one of your assailants.’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘Do you have any clues at all to guide you?’

‘I believe so.’

‘And do they point in the direction of Bankside?’

‘Some of them.’

‘Then take care, sir,’ she warned. ‘You contend with a viper. His bite is poisonous. Those fangs of his will sink into anyone who dares to obstruct him and Westfield’s Men are doing just that.’

‘With your help, my lady.’

‘I do not like snakes. They are treacherous creatures.’

There was a black anger in her face which distorted its beauty for a while and left Nicholas feeling alarmed. The Countess of Dartford was involved in a bitter private feud and she had deliberately dragged Westfield’s Men into it. At that precise moment, it was difficult to see how they could be extricated. Nicholas was sorely perplexed. His wounds began to smart afresh. The visit to their benefactor had left him at once reassured and disturbed. While his fellows could rejoice in the good news he took them, they would be blithely unaware of the silent menace which lay behind it. Nicholas was placed in an impossible position. It was mortifying.

‘You may leave now,’ she said rather brusquely.

‘Yes, my lady.’ He rose to his feet.

‘But keep me well-informed.’

‘I will.’

‘All three companies appear at Court soon,’ she remarked. ‘Have Westfield’s Men chosen the play they will present?’

‘Not yet, I fear.’

‘What of the other companies?’

‘We do not know their intentions.’

‘Might it not help you if you did?’

‘Indeed, it might, my lady,’ he agreed. ‘To that end, I have taken action to ensure that both Havelock’s Men and Banbury’s Men are kept under surveillance.’

Owen Elias could hold his ale as well as any man in the company. When most of them were inebriated, he was only merry and the Welshman was always still on his feet when his fellows reached the stage of ignominious collapse. For the sake of appearances, however, he pretended to have drunk too much too fast in the taproom that evening. It enabled him to assume a drowsiness he did not feel and to keep a half-open eye on Barnaby Gill. The latter had joined his colleagues after the performance was over but he was patently restless. As soon as he believed that nobody would notice his departure, he stole quietly away and made for the stables.

Alert and still sober, Elias was lurking in the shadows by the gate to watch him leave. He could never trail Gill closely on foot but he saw that he did not need to do so. When the horse trotted in the direction of Bishopsgate, Elias knew that the rider was going to Shoreditch and the conclusion was unavoidable. Nicholas Bracewell’s instincts were sound. Gill was on the run. Shocked by the attack on the site of The Angel, he had decided that Westfield’s Men were on the road to destruction and wished to practise his art elsewhere.

It was a tiring walk to Shoreditch but Elias drove his legs on, knowing the importance of his assignment. There had been a period in his life when Giles Randolph dangled the prospect of being a sharer in front of him to wrest him away from Westfield’s Men. Elias knew how cunning and unscrupulous Randolph could be and he was grateful that Nicholas Bracewell brought him back to the Queen’s Head and contrived his translation to the status of sharer. It allowed the Welshman to have some fellow feeling for Gill. Both had responded to strong temptation from Shoreditch. Elias had been rescued but Gill might not be so easy to win back.

He was almost halfway there when he managed to beg a lift from a farmer who was returning home late from the market. It was a bumpy ride on the back of the cart and he had to endure the smell of unsold onions but Elias reached his destination much sooner than he would have done on foot. Gill’s horse was tethered outside The Elephant. It was the confirmation he anticipated but it still upset him. Elias had been vaguely hoping that there was a mistake, that Gill was not fleeing to a meeting with another company at all but was simply visiting friends in Shoreditch, perhaps calling on Margery Firethorn at the family house in Old Street.

The sight of Gill’s horse destroyed all hope. He would have only one reason to enter an inn which was the established haunt of Banbury’s Men. Elias could never bring himself wholly to like the irascible Gill but he had great respect for his talent and a mocking fondness for the man himself. To lose him would be a severe blow to Westfield’s Men but to have him stolen by their fiercest rivals would be a catastrophe. He crept towards The Elephant with his heart pounding.

The taproom was full and half-hidden beneath a fug of tobacco smoke. When Elias peered in through the window, he had difficulty making out anyone at first and reasoned that Giles Randolph would choose somewhere more private for such a sensitive transaction. Elias made his way around the outside of the building, peeping through each window while taking care not to be seen. Too many people in the company knew him. He never believed that he would actually manage to eavesdrop on a conversation between Gill and the actor-manager of Banbury’s Men but the sight of them together would be positive proof of Gill’s treachery.

It came much sooner than he expected. Three men suddenly stepped out of the rear exit of the inn, forcing Elias to dive behind a bush for concealment. He could hear Gill’s voice without being able to make out exactly what he was saying. Had the betrayal taken so little time? Gill would hardly have ridden all the way to Shoreditch to turn down a seductive offer. Was he shaking hands on the deal? Elias inched forward to peer around the edge of the bush. Gill was mounting his horse and seemed to be in good humour. Giles Randolph was laughing softly. Raised in farewell, his colleague’s voice did reach Elias this time.

‘Adieu, sir! I thank you for your forbearance.’

‘I am a patient man, Barnaby,’ said Randolph, ‘but I do need a final decision from you.’

‘You shall have it very soon, I swear.’

‘Do not disappoint us.’

‘I have gone too far in this business to do that.’

‘Play with Banbury’s Men at Court in Richard Crookback.’

‘The notion entices me.’

‘Farewell! How will we hear from you?’

‘I will send word!’ said Gill as he rode away.

‘Farewell, sir!’ called a third voice.

Elias was about to pull back behind the bush again when he noticed the man who was with Randolph. Hisface was oddly familiar yet his name completely evaded the Welshman. There was something about the close-set eyes and the prominent nose which jogged his memory. Had he really met the man before or was he mistaken? Before he was able to make up his mind, the two friends went happily back into the inn, leaving him to ponder. Who was Randolph’s companion?

The question teased him all the way back to the city.

The Brown Bear was a large, low, sprawling inn with overhead beams which obliged the patrons to duck and flagstones which had been liberally stained with hot blood and strong ale in equal proportions. It was the favoured resort of sailors, discharged soldiers and masterless men and the pert tavern wenches who swung their hips between the tables were willing to provide much more than drink. Edmund Hoode was deafened by its noise and unsettled by its sense of danger. The taproom at the Queen’s Head could be rowdy but the Brown Bear seemed to be trembling continuously on the edge of violence.

He was glad when Nicholas Bracewell finally arrived.

‘This place unnerves me, Nick,’ he confessed.

‘Strange,’ said Nicholas with a grin. ‘With my broken head and bruised face, I feel quite at home here.’

They bought drinks and found a corner where they could converse without having to shout over the din. Nicholas told him of his visit to their benefactor but said nothing beyond the fact that their loan was still intact. For the first time since he had sworn to maintain secrecy, he felt that it might have advantages. The Countess of Dartford was the sort of titled lady who should never be allowed near the playwright. His capacity for falling in love with unattainable beauties was alarming. Nicholas would at least be spared the discomfort of watching his friend endure yet another ordeal of unrequited passion.

‘What of Lucius Kindell?’ he asked. ‘Did you see him?’

‘I did, Nick.’

‘And?’

‘I gave a performance which Lawrence could not better.’

‘Tell me all.’

‘Lucius was at his lodging,’ said Hoode, ‘striving to put a scene together in a play they have commissioned. Think of that, Nick. Havelock’s Men believe he has outgrown me. He is to pen a tragedy entirely on his own.’

‘Is he capable of such a feat?’

‘They think so but Lucius does not.’

‘Lack of confidence was always his weakness, Edmund. That is where you helped him most. By instilling some self-belief in him.’ Nicholas sipped his ale. ‘Does he struggle?’

‘Woefully.’

‘He misses your guiding hand.’

‘Lucius almost had it at his throat,’ admitted Hoode, ‘but I stayed it. I told him that I was no longer angry with him and that he was right to go to Havelock’s Men. He was all tears. The only way I could stop them was to ask about his play and why it was becalmed.’

‘Were you able to help him?’

‘Listening was the greatest help I gave, Nick.’

‘And was he grateful?’

‘Thoroughly. He showered me with thanks and sought to justify his move to Bankside. Lucius is young but very observant. He has learnt much about Havelock’s Men.’

‘Does he know what play they will stage at Court?’

‘A Looking Glass for London,’ said Hoode. ‘A new comedy from the pen of Timothy Argus. They let Lucius read an act or two and he was very excited by it.’

‘I do not like the sound of that. Argus is gifted. He has written all of their best plays in recent years. If they have a new play to offer at Court, that gives them a hold over us for we have none.’ He gave a smile. ‘Even Edmund Hoode cannot conjure up five acts of wonder in so short a time. Tell me about A Looking Glass for London.’

Hoode repeated what he had heard from Kindell and added all the other information he had gleaned from his quondam apprentice. Even though his friend professed to loathe the young playwright, there was an affection in his tone which belied his hatred. The reunion had not merely shown Lucius Kindell how much he needed Hoode to advise him. It had reminded the latter of the happiness they had experienced when collaborating on two plays.

Someone jostled Hoode’s arm and made him spill his drink. When he turned to complain, he found himself staring into the hirsute face of a sailor who was much taller and vastly broader than him. The man glowered at him. Hoode gave him a sheepish grin and leant across to Nicholas.

‘Why did you ask me to meet you here, Nick?’

‘It was close to Lucius’s lodging and saves you the walk back to the Queen’s Head.’

‘I would rather have walked ten miles than come here. The Brown Bear is nothing but a den of vice. When I first came in, one of the serving wenches groped me familiarly.’

Nicholas laughed. ‘She remembered you.’

‘I am no pox-hunter! That lady would have fitted me out with a suit of French velvet as soon as I unbuttoned. I have learnt the value of a celibate life, Nick,’ he said. ‘No pox, no peril and no pain. The Brown Bear offers all three.’

‘I came here for a purpose, Edmund,’ explained the other. ‘Bear with me a moment while I satisfy my curiosity.’

Nicholas hailed the landlord, a big, bearded, slovenly man with a bald head that was running with sweat and a face with more warts than space for them to occupy. He hobbled across and glared at Nicholas.

‘What is your pleasure, sir?’ he grunted.

‘I wish to speak to Martin,’ said Nicholas.

‘Who?’

‘Martin. One of your drawers.’

‘We have no Martin here.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I know who I pay, sir, believe me,’ said the man firmly. ‘And I have never parted with a penny to any Martin.’

‘Has he left your employment, then?’

‘He never came to the Brown Bear in the first place.’

The landlord was so certain and his manner so uncouth that Nicholas allowed him to be called away by another customer. Hoode had overheard the exchange.

‘Who is this Martin you seek?’ he said.

‘He worked at the Queen’s Head for a while.’

‘I do not recall him.’

‘No more do I,’ said Nicholas, ‘but Leonard spoke so warmly of him that I feel that I should have. Our landlord is the problem. He treats his servants so badly that they rarely stay for long. Martin came and went with the others.’

Hoode was annoyed. ‘And he is the reason you brought me to this filthy hole? Some skulking menial whose face you cannot even remember?’

‘Leonard told me that he sometimes called in at the Queen’s Head to pick up news. Why?’ asked Nicholas. ‘And why choose Leonard as the man to tell it him?’

‘I do not follow you.’

‘Leonard is the most stout-hearted fellow alive. I love him as a friend and brought him to the inn because I knew he would give sterling service. But his brain is not the quickest thing about him, Edmund. He is easily gulled. I think that this Martin picked him out because Leonard would not suspect that he was being used.’ Nicholas looked around. ‘When I heard that Martin worked at the Brown Bear, I was surprised. You see it. A place of last resort. Beside this inn, the Queen’s Head is a paradise even with Alexander Marwood in charge. No sane man would move from Gracechurch Street to splash about in this vile puddle.’

‘We did!’ protested Hoode. ‘And for what reason?’

‘To satisfy a whim of mine.’

‘That blow to the head has unfixed your brain.’

‘No, Edmund,’ said Nicholas. ‘I found exactly what I expected to find. Martin does not work here. He is a liar who befriended the one man at the Queen’s Head who would believe his lies without question.’

Hoode was still confused. ‘So? Martin is dishonest. Was that wondrous discovery enough to make us endure the Brown Bear? London is full of liars.’

‘But they do not all work at an inn which houses a troupe of players,’ argued Nicholas. ‘And they do not slink back to hear the latest news of the company from one who adores them so much that he watches them whenever he can steal a free moment. All I can plead here is instinct, Edmund, but that instinct tells me that we have been spied upon.’

‘By Martin?’

‘Who else?’

‘But neither of us can even remember the fellow.’

‘Exactly! When he was at the Queen’s Head, he made sure that none of us got to know him properly. He kept in the background and held his peace.’

Hoode was unconvinced. ‘This is folly on your part, Nick. I, too, can plead instinct and it urges me to get out of this evil place before I become infected. Let us go.’

‘We must wait until Owen arrives.’

‘Can we not do so in the street?’

Nicholas smiled. The boisterousness was too intimidating for his friend. Arm around his shoulder, he led Hoode back out into Eastcheap and away from the Brown Bear. A stentorian voice rang down the thoroughfare.

‘I am coming!’ bellowed Elias. ‘Do not leave!’

They paused until he came puffing up to them.

‘Hell’s teeth!’ he growled. ‘I have been all the way to Shoreditch and back. Though a friendly farmer bounced my bum a part of the way, my feet still took a pounding.’

‘To good effect?’ asked Nicholas.

‘Alas, yes. Barnaby is entwined with Giles Randolph.’

‘Never!’ denied Hoode.

‘I saw it with my own eyes, Edmund. Heard them exchange words of friendship. What more do you need? A sighting of the contract which makes Barnaby Gill a sharer with Banbury’s Men,’ he said with sarcasm. ‘Rest here while I go back to Shoreditch to fetch it for you.’

‘What else did you learn, Owen?’ said Nicholas.

‘That my old legs do not like so much walking. I had forgotten how far it was, Nick. I tell you, I do not relish the idea of a daily walk to Bankside either. The city has its faults but I prefer to lodge here.’

‘So do I,’ said Hoode.

‘To lodge and to work here,’ continued Elias. ‘I would not dare to say this to Lawrence now that we are so far gone with The Angel theatre, but the truth is that the prospect no longer thrills me as it once did.’

‘Why not?’ asked Nicholas.

‘I like the Queen’s Head,’ said the other. ‘We have played at The Curtain and at The Rose. Both have their virtues but I have to admit that I would choose the Queen’s Head over them. Even if it were peopled with a hundred Alexander Marwoods.’

‘I think I agree with you, Owen,’ decided Hoode. ‘My best work has been staged there. It inspires me.’

‘It inspires us all,’ said Nicholas sadly, ‘but the Privy Council is like to turn us out. To stay here in London, we must have a playhouse of our own. The Angel answers that need.’

Owen was cynical. ‘Barnaby does not think so. He would sooner throw in his lot with Banbury’s Men than stay with us and risk all. They even talked of having him play at Court with them. In Richard Crookback.’

‘Is that their choice?’ Nicholas heaved a sigh. ‘Report has it that Richard Crookback is their best achievement of this year. A new play from Havelock’s Men and a fine one from Banbury’s Men. We will have strong competition at Court. Tell us more about your findings, Owen?’

‘May I do so with some ale in my hand, Nick? I need to sit down and search for solace in a tankard. Let us step back into the Brown Bear.’

‘No!’ shouted Hoode. ‘It is a stinking pit! The only reason that Nick enticed me in there was to look for someone whom he knew we could not find. An arrant liar called Martin who once worked at the Queen’s Head.’

The light of discovery came into Elias’s eyes.

‘What was that name again?’ he asked. ‘Martin?’