The Counterfeit Crank Page 12

  ‘Which one did you choose?’

  ‘The only one that I could trust. That friend of Frank Quilter’s. The jovial man who gave us so much assistance when Frank’s father was unjustly accused.’

  ‘I remember him well,’ said Nicholas. ‘Henry Cleaton.’

  ‘He told me things that bear out what Dorothea was saying.’

  ‘You surely did not doubt her word?’

  ‘No, no,’ replied Elias, ‘but she’s a young girl, wounded by her experience at Bridewell and still confused about what really happened there. Master Cleaton was able to throw more light on how the institution is administered.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  Elias took a deep breath. ‘Bridewell has been dogged by corruption for years,’ he said. ‘One treasurer was dismissed for letting it flourish under his nose, another convicted for taking money that should have gone to the poor souls inside the place. A third, I discovered, was so incompetent that he paid several bills twice by mistake thus losing any profit that might have been made. Like the prisons,’ he continued, ‘the management and victualling of Bridewell is leased out to the highest bidder.’

  ‘Is that how this Master Beechcroft became involved?’

  ‘Joseph Beechcroft has a partner in the enterprise,’ said Elias. ‘A man named Ralph Olgrave. They somehow persuaded the good aldermen of this city to pay them no less than £300 a year to take over Bridewell.’

  Nicholas was astonished. ‘As much as that?’

  ‘Master Beechcroft is a weaver, as I hear, and Master Olgrave a tailor. They wove a clever deal and tailored it to fit their needs. You can see why the two of them took an interest in the workhouse.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘They can watch their trades practised there. According to Dorothea, wool is carded, cloth woven, suits made up. Dorothea said that hides are tanned there as well – and not only those belonging to the inmates. Joseph Beechcroft and his partner have found a means of using cheap labour.’

  ‘The cheapest kind of all, Nick. They get no wages.’

  ‘Only bed and board.’

  ‘You heard Dorothea. The beds are hard and the food is dreadful.’

  ‘So even more money is saved.’

  ‘Henry Cleaton said that rumours have been coming out of Bridewell for some time, but they are only rumours. No clear proof of mismanagement has been found. In fact, the place is at last being run with some efficiency. What shook me,’ said Elias, ‘was how much power those men have. Our merry lawyer claims that the terms of their contract make them positive kings inside Bridewell.’

  ‘Kings or tyrants?’

  ‘Whichever they choose to be.’

  ‘Joseph Beechcroft does not sound like a benevolent monarch.’

  ‘Dorothea dubbed him a monster.’ ‘And she got close enough to him to make that judgement.’

  ‘Why release her when she could make allegations against him?’

  ‘To whom could she complain?’ asked Nicholas. ‘What strength does the word of a convicted vagrant carry? She was no threat to Master Beechcroft. No, Owen,’ he concluded, ‘I believe that she was discharged to get her out of the way. Dorothea knew too much. As long as she was inside Bridewell, she’d have been trying to find out what happened to her friend. That would irritate them.’

  ‘And, to her credit, she refused to turn punk at Master Beechcroft’s request.’

  ‘So she could not serve her purpose in that respect. As far as he knew, she was alone and friendless in the city. When he had her turned out, Joseph Beechcroft believed that he was throwing Dorothea to the wolves and would never hear from her again.’

  ‘He reckoned without us, Nick.’

  There was a long pause. ‘Let us suppose,’ said Nicholas, trying to think it through, ‘that the gatekeeper was telling the truth. Imagine that Hywel Rees was indeed discharged a few days ago. What would he have done?’

  ‘Banged on the door until they let Dorothea out as well.’

  ‘And if he’d been chased away?’

  ‘He’d have done as she did, Nick,’ decided Elias. ‘Hywel would have turned to the two people in London who showed him any friendship. I fancy that we’d have seen him at the Queen’s Head, asking for our help.’

  ‘That’s my belief. Yet there’s been no sign of him. As I know to my cost,’ said Nicholas with a wry smile, ‘the Welsh are nothing if not tenacious. Hywel is like you, Owen. He’d not give up without a fight. But, all of a sudden, he disappears from the city. Would he desert Dorothea like that?’

  ‘Never!’

  ‘Then there are only two explanations.’

  ‘He has either been hounded out of London altogether.’

  ‘Or he is no longer alive,’ said Nicholas, solemnly. ‘Master Beechcroft, we are told, swore that he’d not be allowed to cause any more trouble at Bridewell. How far would he go to shut Hywel up?’

  Lawrence Firethorn’s day also began with a visit to church, taking the entire household with him. When he had seen his wife, children, servants and the apprentices safely returned to the house in Old Street, he mounted his horse and headed for the city. His first port of call was Edmund Hoode’s lodging and he was pleased with what he found.

  ‘You are out of bed at last, Edmund,’ he observed, approvingly.

  ‘I have been on my feet for the best part of an hour,’ said Hoode, embracing his friend. ‘I am trying to build up my strength again.’

  Firethorn nudged him. ‘And I know why, you rogue. That comely girl, the daughter of the house, let me in. Adele looks even more fetching today. You’ll need all your strength to board that pretty little carrack.’

  ‘I’d not even think such thoughts on the Sabbath.’

  ‘More fool you!’

  Firethorn inspected him more closely. Simply by exchanging his nightshirt for his doublet and hose, Hoode looked markedly better. His cheeks were still hollow but there was a sparkle in his eye and more zest in his voice. He sat near the window and waved his visitor to the chair opposite him.

  ‘What’s this I hear of a theft at the Queen’s Head?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Firethorn, angrily, ‘some rogue beat Luke Peebles to the ground and stole our money. We lost pounds that we can ill afford.’

  ‘Have you no idea who the culprit might be?’

  ‘No. Adam Crowmere has questioned all his servants but none could help us.’

  ‘Thank heaven this did not happen under our old landlord,’ said Hoode. ‘He’d have used it as an excuse to lever us out of the inn.’

  ‘His substitute shows Marwood up for the miser that he is. We could not ask for more sympathy. Adam even offered to make good our losses.’

  ‘A worthy benefactor!’

  ‘Our contract ties us and we had to refuse. But we saw his true character.’

  ‘Everyone has kind words to say of him. Michael Grammaticus told me that this generous landlord has been trying to help the company in other ways.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Firethorn. ‘He’s done things that would never even cross the mind of that maltworm, Alexander Marwood. New benches have been added to the galleries so that we may seat another sixty buttocks, and a better range of food is being served in the yard. More people have been tempted in.’

  ‘Michael spoke of playbills.’

  ‘Yes, Adam Crowmere lets us put them on every wall we choose. Nobody can pass the Queen’s Head without knowing what Westfield’s Men offer next. It’s such a joy to have a landlord who is on our side.’

  ‘If only I were there to share the joy.’

  ‘You will be, Edmund. I see a new man before me.’

  ‘The old problem persists, Lawrence. I am still tired for most of the day.’

  ‘That will pass in time,’ said Firethorn. ‘Before you know it, you’ll be reaching for A Way to Content All Women again.’ He gave a chuckle. ‘Though I could tell you how to do that for I’ve devoted my life to the art.’

  ‘My interest in the play has been rekindled,’ con
fessed Hoode.

  Firethorn was thrilled. ‘You’ve started work on it again?’

  ‘No, but I talked about it with Michael. He’s offered to help me finish it.’

  ‘How? He has no ear for comedy. Just look at the man!’

  ‘Do not be misled by appearances,’ said Hoode. ‘Michael has a keen sense of humour. When he was at Cambridge, he acted in two comedies by Plautus. Admittedly, they were performed in Latin but they taught him much about how to provoke laughter.’

  ‘He can more easily produce tears. That’s where Michael’s skill lies, in the realms of tragedy. Flashes of humour there may be in The Siege of Troy, but it’s a play that will move an audience with its dark and mysterious power.’

  ‘Do not forget that I, too, have written tragedies.’

  ‘Yes, but you are Edmund Hoode, who can turn his hand to anything. How many authors are able to do that? Michael Grammaticus will never ape you in that respect.’

  ‘Give him the chance to try, Lawrence.’

  Firethorn was unconvinced. ‘We’ll see, we’ll see.’

  They talked for half an hour before Hoode began to weaken visibly. His visitor decided to take his leave. Getting to his feet, Firethorn clapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘Welcome back, Edmund!’ he said. ‘You’ve risen from the dead.’

  ‘Bear my fondest regards to all of our fellows.’

  ‘To those that deserve them, I will. But not to Barnaby, the wretch, who cannot find the time to call on you when you need comfort. And there are one or two others who do not merit your affection.’

  ‘Why not, Lawrence?’

  ‘They have let the company down badly.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘By allowing themselves to be seduced,’ said Firethorn, scornfully. ‘If there was a woman in the case, I would not mind, but the seduction involves a card table.’

  ‘At the Queen’s Head? Our landlord detests both cards and dice.’

  ‘Adam Crowmere does not share his objections. He has a man, lodging at the inn, who plays in his room and conjures money out of our fellows’ purses. Nathan Curtis and Hugh Wegges were the first to suffer. They had to beg Nick to give them their wages in advance. The latest victim is Frank Quilter.’

  ‘That surprises me,’ said Hoode. ‘Frank is such a level-headed man.’

  ‘Not when he gets ensnared in a card game. All common sense then vanishes. He lost a lot of money at the table. I mean to raise the matter with Master Lavery.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘The cunning devil who deals out the cards,’ replied Firethorn. ‘The sermon this morning urged us all to confront Satan in his various guises. I mean to do just that.’

  The naked body lay on a cold stone slab in the morgue, the stink of decay softened by the smell of herbs that had been scattered around. Nevertheless, both Nicholas Bracewell and Owen Elias coughed when the foul air first hit their throats. They took care not to inhale too deeply. Though there was blazing sunshine outside, the room was dank and chill. The coroner, an elderly man with a wispy beard, indicated the latest cadaver to join his grim collection.

  ‘This is the only one who might meet your description,’ he said.

  ‘Where was he found?’ asked Nicholas.

  ‘He was pulled out of the Thames yesterday evening.’

  Elias was doubtful. ‘I’m not sure that it’s him.’

  ‘Water disfigures the face,’ warned the coroner. ‘As you see, the body’s bloated well beyond its normal size. We cut his clothing off and burnt it. He was wearing nothing but rags.’

  Nicholas ignored the body and stared at the face, trying to imagine what it would be like without the gashes on the temple where the head had been bludgeoned. It was the nose that caught his attention. He pointed to a long scar.

  ‘Look at that, Owen,’ he said. ‘Do you remember that scar on Hywel?’

  ‘I thought it was more to the left.’

  ‘No, I fancy not. This young man – God rest his soul – is the right age and height and colouring. That mark on his nose tells me that it might well be Hywel Rees.’

  Elias bit his lip. ‘If only I could hear his voice! I’d know him then.’

  ‘Who was he?’ said the coroner.

  ‘A counterfeit crank. He feigned the falling sickness better than those that suffer from it. Hywel was a natural actor.’

  ‘Even he cannot counterfeit death,’ said Nicholas. ‘And this, I think, is him.’

  ‘It pains me to agree with you, Nick, but I must.’

  ‘What was the name again?’ said the coroner, plucking at an ear lobe. ‘Hywel Rees? I do not like to see any man go to his grave anonymously.’

  ‘Hywel Rees, late of Wales. Would that the poor fellow had stayed there.’

  ‘Which part of the river was he found in?’ wondered Nicholas.

  ‘Not far from Westminster.’

  ‘Downstream from Bridewell, then.’

  ‘The body would have been carried much farther by the current had it not been caught in a piece of driftwood that snagged on the bank.’ He glanced at the two men. ‘Would you like to be left alone with him for a while?’

  Nicholas nodded and the coroner quietly withdrew. They were grateful for his consideration. It enabled both men to lose themselves in thought, to feel a mixture of pity and rage at the hideous sight before them, a young life brought to a premature end by a brutal and unknown hand. The more they looked, the more convinced they were that Hywel Rees was lying there before them. It was Elias who eventually broke the silence.

  ‘How will you break the news to Dorothea?’ he asked.

  ‘Gently,’ said Nicholas.

  Dorothea Tate thought that she was dreaming. She had met with such compassion from a complete stranger that she did not know how to respond. Anne Hendrik had not only given her a soft bed and decent food, she had allowed the girl to settle in without exerting any pressure on her. Because Anne did not pry, Dorothea was drawn to her. They sat in the parlour of the house in Bankside and listened to the church bells as they began another booming round to remind people what day it was. Dorothea became inquisitive.

  ‘Do you live alone here?’ she asked.

  ‘Apart from my servant and Nick, who lodges here.’

  ‘You have no husband, then?’

  ‘He died some years ago,’ explained Anne, ‘and left me with his business. What I did not know I soon learnt and I have some of the best hatmakers in London working for me. All Dutch, all outsiders.’

  ‘That was Hywel’s complaint. He was treated like a foreigner as well.’

  ‘Why was he on the road?’

  ‘He worked on his uncle’s farm until the old man died. A cousin took over and he had no love for Hywel. He forced him off the land,’ she said, bitterly. ‘It was cruel. Hywel had no other family. He was driven to leave his native country.’

  ‘What of you, Dorothea?’

  ‘I, too, was orphaned when my parents died of plague. I’d lived in Bedford until then. Nobody would take me in so I set out for London.’

  Anne was concerned. ‘How did you live?’

  ‘By stealing food and sleeping under hedges,’ said Dorothea. ‘Two men caught me in St Albans and took me to a field for sport. Hywel saw my plight. He risked his own neck in saving me.’

  ‘Nick told me that he was a brave young man.’

  ‘He was fearless, Anne. He proved that in Bridewell.’

  ‘What was it like to be imprisoned in that place?’

  Dorothea swallowed hard. ‘Worse than I could tell,’ she said. ‘They made us work all day and never took their eyes off us. Most of the ones I met were old women or young girls, robbed of their childhood. It was frightening.’

  ‘Nick mentioned a man by the name of Master Beechcroft.’

  ‘He’s not a man, he’s fiend from hell and his partner was even worse.’

  ‘His partner?’

  ‘Master Olgrave,’ said Dorothea with a shiver. ‘The one only had me whip
ped for disobeying him but the other, Ralph Olgrave – he kept asking me to call him by his Christian name – did far worse than that.’

  She went off into a reverie and Anne waited until the girl looked at her again.

  ‘Are you able to talk about it, Dorothea?’

  ‘No,’ whispered the other. ‘Not yet. It still troubles me so.’

  ‘When you are ready, you’ve only to turn to me.’

  ‘Thank you, Anne.’

  ‘Do you wish to eat now or would you prefer to rest?’

  ‘I’ll not rest properly until I know what’s happened to Hywel.’

  ‘You love him, I can see.’

  Dorothea’s eyes moistened. ‘He’s the only person who ever let me love him.’

  ‘Then he’s a true friend.’

  There was a tap on the door and the servant popped her head around it. Anne went across to give her instructions about the preparations for dinner. Dorothea looked around the room. It was not large but it was well furnished and very comfortable. The girl had never been in a house with such a friendly atmosphere. She studied Anne with mingled awe and bewilderment. When the servant left, Anne turned to smile at Dorothea.

  ‘Why are you being so kind to me?’ asked the girl. ‘I do not deserve it.’

  ‘I think that you do, Dorothea.’

  ‘But you know nothing about me.’

  ‘I know enough to see that you are in need of help.’

  ‘But you – and Nicholas – have given me much more than help. You’ve taken me in off the streets and listened to my woes. How can I ever repay you?’

  ‘We seek no payment,’ said Anne. ‘From what you tell us, a grave injustice has taken place. It’s our Christian duty to look into that. I know that it causes pain but the more information you can give us, the easier that will be. You’ve been inside Bridewell: we’ve not. So we can never understand the real horrors that go on behind those high walls. You were whipped, you say?’

  ‘That was not the only punishment I suffered.’

  ‘What else?’

  Dorothea looked down and played with her fingers. Anne could see the blend of anger and embarrassment in the girl’s face, and she felt guilty for asking the question. There was a taut silence. After a few minutes, Dorothea found her voice again.