The Wanton Angel Read online

  ‘Not quite.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We have another good friend on whom we may call.’

  ‘Who is that?’

  ‘Anne Hendrik.’

  She was startled. ‘Me!’

  ‘Yes,’ he explained, ‘the labour is vital and the money imperative but something comes before both.’

  ‘Choosing the site.’

  ‘That will be your contribution.’

  ‘But I know nothing about the building of a playhouse.’

  ‘You know Bankside better than any of us, Anne. Your trade brings you into contact with people all over Southwark. You have an instinct for business and an eye for a bargain. I’d willingly put my trust in you.’

  ‘I would not know where to start, Nick.’

  ‘Here and now,’ he said, kissing her lightly on the lips. ‘I will tell you what features a site must have and you will be well-prepared to begin your search tomorrow. Speed is of the essence here, Anne. A project like this must quickly gather its own momentum or it is lost.’

  ‘It is certainly an exciting proposal,’ she said.

  ‘Exciting and inspiring.’

  ‘With one huge drawback.’

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘You might go to all the trouble and expense of building a playhouse, only to find that the Privy Council closes it down again and sends Westfield’s Men into the wilderness.’

  Nicholas sat back in his chair and heaved a sigh.

  ‘That is a risk we will have to take, Anne.’

  A pall seemed to hang over the Queen’s Head next morning. Word of their precarious position had seeped down to the lowest ranks of Westfield’s Men and robbed them of all spirit. George Dart walked around as if in a dream. Nathan Curtis wielded his hammer without purpose as he converted the high-backed chair which had been used in Mirth and Madness into a regal throne. Hugh Wegges, the tireman, wondered if it was worth mending costumes which might never be used again. Peter Digby and his musicians were matching portraits of dejection and Thomas Skillen, the ancient stagekeeper, a man who had weathered so many threats to his livelihood in his long career in the theatre, felt that he could at last hear the funeral bell.

  Alexander Marwood added to the general melancholy, circling the inn yard like a mangy old dog moping over a dead master. His wife glared down on them from a window, a hovering vulture who waited to pick their bones. When they erected their stage, there was a queasy feeling that they might be doing so for the last time. Superstitious by nature, actors saw bad omens on every side. Nicholas Bracewell did what he could to raise their morale but all that he could conjure into being were pale smiles on the faces of corpses.

  Edmund Hoode arrived in a state of gibbering terror.

  ‘It has started, Nick,’ he confided.

  ‘What has?’

  ‘The fight to the death with our rivals.’

  ‘In what way, Edmund?’

  ‘They have got at Lucius Kindell.’

  ‘They?’

  ‘Havelock’s Men,’ said Hoode with disgust. ‘Or, to speak more precisely, that scheming fiend they call Rupert Kitely. He has led poor Lucius astray.’

  ‘How do you know?’ said Nicholas in mild alarm.

  ‘They were seen together at the Devil Tavern last night and I doubt that Lucius had the wit to sup with a long spoon. When I called at his lodging this morning, I was told that he had gone to The Rose.’ Hoode looked betrayed. ‘What more proof do we need? They have seduced him away.’

  ‘Did he expect you to call this morning?’

  ‘Yes, Nick. It was arranged that he would watch the rehearsal of The Loyal Subject. Lucius has written a couple of speeches he wanted me to include in the play. There is no hope of that now. He has sold his soul to Havelock’s Men.’

  ‘We are not certain of that, Edmund.’

  ‘Why else consort with Rupert Kitely?’

  ‘Do not rush to condemn him,’ warned Nicholas. ‘There may yet be another explanation. Lucius is himself a loyal subject. He acknowledges the debt he owes to Westfield’s Men.’

  ‘Then what is he doing at The Rose?’

  ‘We will soon find out.’

  ‘I nurtured him,’ said Hoode sadly. ‘I taught him all that I knew about my craft. It would have been impossible to find an apprentice playwright more eager to learn and willing to work. And no pupil could have been more grateful to his master than Lucius Kindell.’ His voice hardened into a bark. ‘Until this happened. I have been stabbed in the back.’

  ‘It is worrying news, certainly.’

  ‘A tragedy, Nick. And only the beginning.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed the other. ‘I said that we had to shore up our defences. Our rivals are predators. They will swoop down and seize whoever they can in their beaks.’

  Hoode ran a despairing eye over the rest of the company.

  ‘Lucius is our first loss,’ he said. ‘Who is next?’

  At that moment, Lawrence Firethorn came clattering into the yard on his horse to take control. Sensing at once the mood of despondency, he tried to dispel it by issuing crisp orders to all and sundry. Response was immediate. The assistant stagekeepers built the stage with more urgency, the carpenter hammered with more enthusiasm, the tireman picked up his needle and thread, the musicians began to practise and the hired men who had been standing around in disconsolate groups now made their way swiftly to the tiring-house. Leaping down from the saddle, Firethorn handed the reins of his horse to a waiting ostler and crossed to his friends.

  ‘Good morrow!’ he said cheerily.

  ‘I see no goodness in it, Lawrence,’ said Hoode.

  ‘That is because you spent the night in a cold and lonely bed, Edmund. Had you shared the hours of darkness with a wife as warm as Marjory, you would have been up with the lark and throbbing with energy to greet the new day.’ He gave a ripe chuckle. ‘Marriage has many pains but its pleasures are truly beyond compare.’

  Hoode grimaced. ‘How can you talk of pleasure at such a time? Westfield’s Men have no future ahead of them.’

  ‘We have a far more glorious future ahead.’

  ‘If we all work together for it,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘Yes,’ said Firethorn. ‘Unity is our strength. Let them all come at us. The company will triumph. Ah, what a sublime difference a night of bliss can make to a man! I retired to bed as the manager of a troupe which might soon become defunct and I awoke as the leader of a happy band of lads who may soon have their own playhouse.’

  ‘You will not find much happiness here, Lawrence,’ said Hoode gloomily. ‘Most of our fellows do not share your optimism.’

  ‘Then it will have to be beaten into them. Eh, Nick?’

  ‘A good performance is the best remedy.’

  ‘Then we will have it,’ vowed Firethorn, punching the air with a clenched fist. ‘By heaven! We’ll set the stage alight with our skills. Mirth and Madness was a travesty. We owe our audience a superlative performance to atone for yesterday’s disgrace. And what better play to offer them this afternoon than The Loyal Subject by a certain Edmund Hoode?’

  ‘What better play?’ echoed Hoode. ‘The Insatiate Duke.’

  ‘They’ll have that again, too, before the week is out.’

  ‘They may have the play, Lawrence, but not the author.’

  ‘You are the author, Edmund.’

  ‘I am one of them. The other was Lucius Kindell.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘He has turned traitor.’

  ‘That is not so,’ said Nicholas, jumping in to prevent Hoode from reciting his mournful news. ‘Lucius is a rising talent who is bound to be courted by our rivals. But he will always choose Westfield’s Men over them, especially when he hears that we are to have our own playhouse.’

  ‘Will that miracle ever come to pass?’ said Hoode.

  ‘Yes!’ affirmed Nicholas.

  ‘No question but that it will,’ added Firethorn. ‘I will strain every fibre of my being
to bring it about.’

  ‘Everybody will do the same,’ said Nicholas. ‘When they see that we have a choice between survival or disappearance, the whole company will rise to the challenge.’

  ‘That may be so, Nick,’ said Hoode, ‘and you will not find me wanting. But I have grave doubts about our ability to raise the necessary money.’

  ‘Sylvester Pryde will find most of what we need.’

  ‘He will not let us down,’ said Firethorn confidently.

  ‘Then where is he?’ asked Hoode.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Sylvester is not here, Lawrence. I was the first to arrive this morning and I can assure you that he has not come in through that gate.’ Hoode shrugged. ‘Nobody likes Sylvester more than I. He is a cheerful companion and a generous friend. But he does too often try to seize attention and ingratiate himself. What if his offer was no more than an idle boast to gain a momentary lustre?’

  ‘It was made in good faith,’ insisted Nicholas.

  ‘Then where is he?’

  ‘Sylvester will be here any moment.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Firethorn airily, ‘and he will expect to rehearse The Loyal Subject. Let us begin, gentlemen. Nick, gather the whole company into the tiring-house. I’ll put some heart into them and assure them that Westfield’s Men are not destined for the grave.’

  Firethorn stalked off but Hoode’s scepticism remained.

  ‘Where is Sylvester?’ he said.

  ‘He will be here,’ replied Nicholas.

  ‘I thought that about Lucius.’

  He walked forlornly away. Nicholas went after him and collected all the members of the company into the room at the rear of the stage which was used as the tiring-house. Everyone but Sylvester Pryde was there and his absence was worrying. In his short time with Westfield’s Men, he had been unfailingly punctual. At such a critical time in the company’s fortunes, it was vital for him to be there.

  Firethorn spoke to them like a warrior king addressing his army on the eve of battle. There was pure steel in his voice. When he told them about the project to secure a playhouse of their own, heads lifted and frowns vanished. They were also reminded of their shameful performance on the previous day and they resolved to make amends. By the time Firethorn had finished, even the wilting Edmund Hoode and the cynical Barnaby Gill were enthused. They donned their costumes with alacrity.

  Yet there was still no sign of Sylvester Pryde. Hiding his concern behind a broad smile, Firethorn took Nicholas aside.

  ‘Where is the fellow?’ he whispered.

  ‘I do not know.’

  ‘Can he be sick?’

  ‘I think it unlikely.’

  ‘Still lying in the arms of some woman?’

  ‘Sylvester has never let anyone distract him before.’

  ‘Then why is he doing so now?’

  ‘I have sent George Dart to his lodging in search of him,’ said Nicholas. ‘Meanwhile, I would suggest that we reassign Sylvester’s roles to other members of the company for the rehearsal. Owen Elias and James Ingram can most easily take over those roles and both are experienced at doubling.’

  ‘Instruct them to that effect, Nick.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘And pray that Sylvester turns up,’ said Firethorn. ‘He must not desert us in our hour of need.’

  ‘There is no possibility of that.’

  Nicholas’s reassurance sounded hollow. Both men were now having serious doubts about Pryde and they knew how important it was to start the rehearsal before those doubts spread throughout the entire company. Busy actors would have no time to brood. When the musicians were in position, therefore, Nicholas gave the signal and the fanfare sounded. Owen Elias stepped out in a black cloak to deliver the Prologue to a couple of ostlers and four curious horses.

  They were well into Act Two before a breathless George Dart came staggering into the tiring-house. Nicholas gave the cue for the Queen and her train to make an entry then he beckoned the diminutive figure across to him. The perspiration was running in rivulets down Dart’s face.

  ‘What news, George?’

  ‘None that will please you, alas.’

  ‘Was Sylvester not at his lodging?’

  ‘No. He left at first light, it seems.’

  ‘Where did he go?’

  ‘His landlord did not know. Nor does he understand why Sylvester Pryde quit the house for good.’

  Nicholas was shaken. ‘For good, you say?’

  ‘When he left, he took his belongings with him.’

  ‘No word of explanation?’

  ‘None, I fear.’ Dart wiped an arm across his glistening brow. ‘I am sorry I could not bear happier tidings.’

  ‘You have done well, George. Change into your costume as a guard in the royal retinue and be ready for the first scene in Act Three. Oh, and one thing,’ cautioned Nicholas. ‘Do not mention to anyone that Sylvester has quit his lodging. It might cause unnecessary alarm.’

  Dart nodded and went off to find his costume. Nicholas turned his full attention to the rehearsal and put the disappearance of Sylvester Pryde from his mind. There was no point in worrying over a problem he was powerless to solve while he as engaged in his duties as the book holder. It was only when the play came to an end that the subject took on a new urgency. Having thanked the company for the sterling effort which they had put into the rehearsal, Firethorn dismissed them and sought a quiet word with Nicholas.

  ‘Well?’ he said.

  ‘Sylvester is still not here.’

  ‘Where can the man be?’

  ‘Not at his lodging, that much is certain. He left at dawn and took his belongings with him.’

  Firethorn blenched. ‘Has he fled London?’

  ‘I hope not.’

  ‘Why else quit his lodging?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ confessed Nicholas, ‘What surprises me is that he sent no word to us. Sylvester has always been so considerate. This sudden flight is disturbing.’

  ‘And may bring all our ambitions crashing down,’ said an anxious Firethorn. ‘Without Sylvester, there will be no money. Without that money, there will be no new playhouse. Did he deliberately raise our hopes in order to dash them, Nick?’

  ‘That would not be in his character.’

  ‘What is he playing at?’

  ‘We will discover that in time,’ said Nicholas. ‘Until then, we must not unsettle the others by telling them he has disappeared. I will devise an excuse which will cover his absence.’

  ‘Your excuse would not fool me for a moment,’ said a voice behind them. ‘However prettily it was phrased.’

  They turned to see Barnaby Gill entering the tiring-house.

  ‘You were eavesdropping!’ accused Firethorn.

  ‘I have a right to know the truth, Lawrence.’

  ‘By lurking outside a door?’

  ‘Sylvester has fled the sinking ship,’ said Gill wryly. ‘I could have foretold this. He was all noise and pretence, a man of fashion who liked to disport himself upon a stage, a strutting peacock with no real belief in the actor’s art.’

  ‘That is not so,’ countered Nicholas. ‘Sylvester was keen to study and improve. He was committed to Westfield’s Men.’

  ‘Where is that commitment now?’

  ‘We begin to wonder,’ said Firethorn ruefully.

  Gill was sardonic. ‘Wonder no more, Lawrence. He has ridden out of London as fast as he can. That promise to secure a loan for us was no more than a vain boast. It gave him a moment of ascendancy over us. Having enjoyed that, he has left the rest of us floundering.’

  ‘So it seems, Barnaby.’

  ‘I have more trust in Sylvester,’ said Nicholas.

  Gill snorted. ‘Then it is misplaced.’

  ‘He loved this company.’

  ‘Until he discovered that there is no longer a company to love. He has gone. Such men are rovers. They never stay long in one place.’ Gill sniffed at his pomander. ‘I wager that we never set eyes again on Sylveste
r Pryde.’

  Nothing more could be said. They went off to the taproom to seek refreshment before the afternoon’s performance. No mention was made of the missing actor but he was clearly on the mind of the whole company. Their sharer had deserted them and the projected playhouse lay in ruins. Everyone sensed it. There was no way that the company itself could raise such a substantial loan on their own. They had tried and failed many times. Their patron, Lord Westfield, was even less likely to come to their aid. Crippled by debts, he was more concerned with seeking loans for his own purse than for any building plans conceived by his troupe. Their plight was hopeless.

  Yet they did not surrender to despair. The prospect of dissolution seemed instead to fill them with determination to give a good account of themselves in what might be one of a series of valedictory performances. Westfield’s Men were determined to be remembered, to write their signature boldly and vividly on the memories of London playgoers.

  When they returned to the tiring-house, there was a mood of resolution. Firethorn strengthened it with another rousing speech but it was Nicholas who perceived another side to the new sense of purpose. While keen to serve Westfield’s Men to the best of their ability, they also wanted to attract the attention of their rivals. Havelock’s Men and Banbury’s Men were the favoured survivors of the Privy Council’s edict and they would divide the spoils of Westfield’s Men. That being the case, it was highly likely that both companies would have someone in the audience to study the company and select the most likely recruits. Westfield’s Men were auditioning for their individual survival.

  The yard was full, the galleries bursting and the actors straining at the leash. The Loyal Subject was a fine play, first performed at Court during the Christmas festivities and a reminder that the company had been favoured with royal patronage. With a mere ten minutes to go before the drama started, the tension was broken in the most unexpected way.

  ‘I am sorry to keep you all waiting, lads!’

  Sylvester Pryde strode cheerfully into the tiring-house to be met by a tidal wave of questions. He raised both hands to silence the company then motioned them in close to him.

  ‘I went in search of money,’ he explained. ‘That meant an hour’s ride out of London. I left a message with my surly landlord but I see from your faces that he never delivered it. The rogue was too angry at my sudden departure to oblige me. No matter, friends. I am here now and so is our saviour.’