The Malevolent Comedy Read online

  ‘Do you think it will be as good as Lamberto?’ he said.

  ‘No, John.’

  ‘Oh, dear!’

  ‘It will be even better,’ Hame said with a grin. ‘Pompey has a nobler hero and a bolder theme. More to the point, the role is even more suited to Giles Randolph’s talents than Lamberto.’

  ‘That was not the only reason I chose it for him.’

  ‘No, you wanted him to out-fire Lawrence Firethorn.’

  ‘And so he will,’ said Vavasor. ‘That will hurt Firethorn more than anything. He’s played Pompey the Great many times in a play of that title and thinks the part is his in perpetuity. We’ll wrest it from him and show how it should be played. Lawrence Firethorn will squirm in a pit of envy.’

  ‘I begin to feel sorry for him.’

  ‘There’s more yet, Cyrus. I want you to write a Prologue that will play upon his name and goad him even more. Harp on the fact that our tragedy will have more fire and sharper thorns than those other versions of the story. Mock him without mercy.’

  ‘The couplets already start to tumble from my brain.’

  ‘Set him down as Pompous the Great.’

  ‘I’ll tent him to the quick,’ promised Hame. ‘He’ll wish he never had the gall to turn John Vavasor away.’

  ‘His troupe will slowly crumble. He’s lost Edmund Hoode. He’s lost his supremacy as an actor. And he’s lost his way.’

  ‘He’s also set to lose Saul Hibbert.’

  ‘When we can entice him away.’

  ‘That may be sooner than we thought,’ said Hame, artlessly. ‘From what I hear, Saul was not too happy with the performance of his play this afternoon. I do not blame him. Who wants to be known as the author of a play about a runaway dog?’

  They laughed their fill then poured themselves more wine.

  Sunday began, as it always did in the household, with a visit to church. Accompanied by her maidservant, Anne Hendrik walked with Nicholas Bracewell to attend morning service in Bankside, while all the bells of London rang out to call the faithful. When they filed into their pew, Anne knelt in prayer, filling her mind with holy thoughts. By the time they emerged from the church, however, her thoughts had taken a more temporal turn. On the stroll home, she did not mince her words.

  ‘It was utterly shameful of Lawrence!’ she said.

  ‘But it was I who made the decision, Anne.’

  ‘That’s the most shameful thing of all. Given the choice between you and Master Hibbert, he did not even have the courage to take it. Instead, he shifted the burden to you once again.’

  ‘I had no objection to that,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘Well, I do.’

  ‘At least, it allowed me to make the decision.’

  ‘Only because Lawrence knew exactly what that decision would be,’ she said, angrily. ‘He’s such a Machiavel. Because he could not ask you to stand down tomorrow, he tricked you into offering to do so.’

  ‘What else could I do?’

  ‘Defy him and defy Master Hibbert.’

  ‘The company must come first, Anne.’

  ‘For once in your life, stop being so noble.’

  ‘There’s more to it than that,’ he replied. ‘I’m not moved entirely by the spirit of self-sacrifice, I can assure you. The simple fact is that The Malevolent Comedy will bring in lots of money.’

  ‘It’s that malevolent author who worries me. Besides, after the scares they had with the play twice before, none of the actors wants to touch it again.’

  ‘Lawrence does and there’s been a request from our patron. Lord Westfield is eager to see it again. That settles the matter, Anne.’

  ‘What of Barnaby? He was bitten by that dog.’

  ‘He swore he’d never go near the play again. But the injury was very minor, and he began to remember all the rounds of applause that the Clown was given for his dances. Barnaby has agreed to go on.’

  ‘Even without you?’

  ‘He’s never been my closest friend.’

  ‘But he knows how much they depend on you.’

  ‘I think he’ll be reminded of that tomorrow,’ said Nicholas. ‘I wish them well, of course, but there could be problems behind the scenes. George Dart will hold the book and it may well prove too heavy for him.’

  ‘George Dart?’ she said, fondly. ‘What would he do if someone is poisoned onstage or if a dog is let loose again? George would run away.’

  ‘The play may not be ambushed again tomorrow.’

  ‘What if it is?’

  ‘Then I may be in a better position to do something about it, Anne. Instead of being tied up with the performance, I’ll occupy an upstairs room from which I can watch the whole yard. Yes,’ he went on, ‘and I’ll place Leonard where he can receive a signal from me. Between the two of us, we may be able to ward off an attack before it even comes.’

  ‘That’s not the point at issue here.’

  ‘It is for me. I want Hal Bridger’s killer caught.’

  ‘So do I, but I also want justice for Nicholas Bracewell. You’ve given them years of loyal service. All that Master Hibbert has given them is one play. Yet he takes precedence over you.’

  ‘I’ll admit that I was disappointed by that.’

  ‘You’d every right to feel betrayed. This is akin to treachery.’

  ‘Lawrence was put in an impossible situation,’ he said, mildly. ‘I do not hold it against him.’

  ‘Well, I do,’ she returned with vehemence. ‘I’ll never forgive him for this – or the others, for that matter. Did nobody speak in your favour?’

  ‘Owen Elias did, so did Frank Quilter. And I’m sure that Edmund would have pleaded my cause, had he still been there. It was all to no avail. Lawrence overruled them.’

  ‘He’d not overrule me.’

  Nicholas laughed. ‘I think it would take an army to do that, Anne. But do not accept defeat yet,’ he warned. ‘The situation may still change in our favour.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Lawrence has to break the news to his wife.’

  Until that day, Lawrence Firethorn had been a reluctant churchgoer, attending begrudgingly out of a sense of duty rather than because of any Christian impulse. This time, however, he could not wait to get there because it offered him the sanctuary he desperately sought. Having kept the decision about Nicholas Bracewell to himself, he had made the fatal mistake of confiding in his wife on the Sabbath. Margery’s wrath knew no bounds. People six streets away heard her red-blooded condemnation. In full flow, she could even make as strapping a man as her husband quail with fear. Firethorn fled to church with alacrity and prayed that she might forgive him his trespasses.

  On the walk back to Old Street, Margery was quiescent but he knew that it was only the presence of their children, and of the apprentices who lived with them, that held her back from a display of public excoriation. She was saving herself until they were behind closed doors again. The fact that her voice penetrated wood, stone and any other intervening material with ease did not hold her back. Neighbours were compelled to listen to the latest piece of marital discord.

  ‘You made Nick Bracewell stand down?’ she howled.

  ‘It was his decision.’

  ‘You forced him into making it.’

  ‘I could do little else, my angel.’

  ‘Angel me no more,’ warned Margery, ‘for you are on the side of the devil. Only a fiend from Hell could treat Nick the way that you did.’

  ‘He upset Saul Hibbert,’ said Firethorn.

  ‘By rescuing his play from disaster twice in a row?’

  ‘Saul does not see it like that.’

  ‘But you should, Lawrence. You know the truth of it.’

  ‘Nick did handle him very roughly on Thursday.’

  ‘I’m surprised that he did not tear the fellow apart,’ she yelled. ‘Any other man would have done so. One of your lads was murdered and all that Master Hibbert can do is to complain that it spoilt his play. Is human life worth no more than th
at? God’s mercy! In Nick’s place, I’d have strangled him with my bare hands.’

  ‘There’s no point in arguing over it,’ said Firethorn, trying to assert himself. ‘The decision is made and we all have to abide by it.’

  ‘Well, I don’t.’

  ‘You’re not a member of the company.’

  ‘No,’ she retorted. ‘If I had been, this villainy would never have taken place. Remove your book holder to please this testy playwright? I’d sooner get rid of you.’

  ‘Margery!’

  ‘They’ve managed without Lawrence Firethorn before.’

  ‘And very poorly.’

  ‘How much worse has it been when Nick Bracewell was absent? Your enemies set a proper value on him. Have you forgotten the time they had him put in prison?’ she demanded. ‘It was not you or Barnaby they sought to impair. They knew they could cause more damage by taking your book holder away from you.’

  ‘Do not remind me,’ begged Firethorn, hands to his head.

  ‘Somebody has to, Lawrence. Had I not got him released from the Counter, with the help of your patron, Westfield’s Men would surely have foundered. True or false?’

  ‘That was a long time ago, Margery.’

  ‘True or false?’ she shrieked.

  ‘True, all true, utterly and completely true.’

  ‘And is this how you repay Nick for his service to the company?’

  ‘It’s only while Saul’s play holds the stage.’

  ‘That could be a week, perhaps two. What is your book holder supposed to do in the meantime? Sit quietly at home with Anne?’ She gave a grim laugh. ‘I’ll wager that you’d not dare to face her. Nobody understands Nick’s true worth more than Anne. She’ll be disgusted with you, Lawrence, and I share her disgust.’

  Firethorn began to sweat. He felt that he was being roasted on the spit of his wife’s anger. Having married her for her vitality, he had long ago discovered that there was a severe drawback. Turned against him, the zest and vigour that had made Margery such an appealing woman was a potent weapon. He was tempted to run back to church again to hide.

  ‘Well?’ she asked, folding her arms. ‘What do you have to say?’

  ‘Nothing, my love.’

  ‘There’s no love here for you, sir.’

  ‘Running a theatre company is a difficult business.’

  ‘A nasty, scurvy, double-dealing business in your hands.’

  ‘We’d be fools to turn Saul Hibbert and his play away.’

  ‘And knaves to part with Nick so cruelly.’

  ‘It’s only for a time, Margery.’

  ‘Not if this tyrant stays with you,’ she said. ‘What happens when you coax another play out of him? Master Hibbert will make even more demands then. If you lose Nick now, you’ll lose him for good.’

  ‘I couldn’t bear that thought.’

  ‘Then why did you force him out?’

  ‘We are merely resting him, Margery.’

  ‘In order to please a man you’d never heard of six months ago.’

  ‘All London has heard of him now,’ said Firethorn. ‘Everyone is demanding to see his play – Lord Westfield among them, and he’s seen it twice already. We have the success that we need and we must build on it. Would you have me let Saul take his talent to our rivals?’

  ‘Frankly, yes.’

  ‘That’s patent madness.’

  ‘Then you are married to a patent madwoman,’ she said. ‘From where I stand, The Malevolent Comedy is far more trouble than its worth. It’s given you too much malevolence and too little comedy. For there’s not a man in the company – apart from Barnaby, perhaps – who will laugh at Nick’s departure. Yet there are several who’ll weep.’

  ‘I’m one of them,’ he conceded, sadly. ‘Nick is like a son to me.’

  ‘Then behave like an honest father.’

  ‘I dare not, Margery.’

  ‘Renounce this upstart and send him on his way.’

  ‘Saul Hibbert is an important part of our future.’

  ‘Without Nick Bracewell, you’ll have no future. Call him back.’

  ‘It’s too late now. The play has been advertised for tomorrow.’

  ‘Then do not ask me to come and see it.’

  ‘Margery,’ he said, slipping an arm around her waist in an attempt to soothe her. ‘I would not have this happen for the world. Whatever we decided would involve some loss. I did what I felt was right for the good of the company. Come,’ he went on, tightening his hold. ‘Bear with me.’

  ‘Take your hand away.’

  ‘You’re my wife. You swore to love, honour and obey me.’

  ‘That was before I realised what villainy you’d stoop to,’ she said, pushing him off. ‘You deserve neither love, honour nor obedience. I cannot honour a man who behaves so treacherously or obey one who issues such unkind commands. As for love,’ she added with a harsh laugh, ‘you’ve seen the last of that, Lawrence. There’ll be no room in my bed for you while Nick is ousted from his place. You are banished.’

  Most of Shoreditch had heard the dread sentence imposed.

  Chapter Seven

  The house was in a street off Cheapside, close to the Mercers’ Hall, where Linus Opie held high office in his guild. It was less palatial than might have been expected of such a wealthy man, with no conspicuous display of gold plate or rich tapestries, and no gilt-framed family portraits on the walls. Instead, the house reflected its owner’s love of music. The hall could seat thirty people with ease and still leave room for three keyboard instruments and a dais on which musicians and singers could perform. Edmund Hoode was fascinated to see where Ursula Opie lived. When he arrived that evening with Owen Elias, he was given a cordial welcome and shown to a chair at the back of the hall.

  The other guests were largely business acquaintances of their host. They had brought their wives and, in some cases, their children, to hear one of the regular concerts that were put on at the Opie house. Elias had vanished and there was no sign of Bernice or Ursula Opie, so Hoode was left very much on his own. Having nothing whatsoever in common with the obese merchant tailor who sat next to him, he could manage only the most desultory conversation, nodding in agreement to everything that the man said about trade and offering a tentative forecast about the weather on the morrow. Before the concert started, he saw their host conducting the Bishop of London to a privileged position in the front row.

  Hoode was amused. Knowing how promiscuous an existence his friend had led, he was tickled by the thought that Owen Elias would perform only feet away from a Prince of the Church. An actor whose private life would never attract an episcopal blessing was now taking a major role in what was, in effect, a religious service. Hoode admired him for it. Elias had a deep, rich singing voice of considerable range and Hoode had often written songs for him in his plays. Like other members of the company – Barnaby Gill and Richard Honeydew, for instance – Elias was keen to develop his singing talent by taking part in concerts, or giving recitals, whenever he could. It was an alternative source of income when the theatres were closed by plague, or when, during winter months, it was impossible to play outdoors at the Queen’s Head.

  A polite round of applause signalled the arrival of the performers. Bernice and Ursula Opie led the way, followed by Owen Elias and by a callow young man with a lute. They began with a song by Orlando Gibbons, sung by Elias to the accompaniment of the lute. With her sister at the virginals, Bernice Opie then sang one of the three pieces by William Byrd that were in the programme, revealing a pleasing soprano voice with an unexpected power to it. When the lutenist favoured the audience with examples of John Dowland’s genius, he turned out to have a high, reedy voice that grated slightly on the ear.

  Edmund Hoode barely heard him. His attention was fixed solely on Ursula Opie, moving from one instrument to another as she displayed her command of each keyboard, accompanying both Elias and her sister, individually, and during their occasional duets. Ursula was demure but dignified. She w
ore a pale blue gown with hanging sleeves of lawn. Her cambric ruff was lace edged and seemed, to Hoode, to set off her features perfectly. A French hood surmounted her head. To one member of the audience at least, she looked, in the candlelight, a picture of quiet beauty. Hoode was entranced.

  When the concert was finally over, the guests responded with well-mannered clapping and Hoode was struck by the difference between them and the rowdy spectators who filled the Queen’s Head. Drinks and light refreshment were served and people were encouraged to mingle. Hoode tried to ease his way towards Ursula but it was her sister who accosted him, offering her brightest smile to the playwright.

  ‘I was so pleased to see you here, Master Hoode,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you. I thought you sang delightfully.’

  ‘Did you prefer the Byrd or the Tomkins?’

  ‘I found the Thomas Tallis most moving.’

  ‘But I did not sing that,’ she complained with a frown. ‘I was hoping that one of my songs would be to your taste.’

  ‘They all were,’ he reassured her, ‘and they could not have been performed better. The duets, too, were a magical experience, greatly helped by your sister’s accompaniment.’

  ‘Did you think so? I felt that Ursula was not at her best.’

  ‘Every note she played was a joy to hear.’

  ‘And what about the notes I sang?’ she pressed, wanting praise.

  ‘Musical perfection.’

  ‘Were you surprised, Master Hoode?’

  ‘I expected nothing less from you.’

  The compliment broadened her smile. Though she was determined to monopolise him, Hoode kept looking around for her sister. When he saw her in a corner, talking earnestly to the lutenist, he felt a flicker of jealousy. Before Hoode could make his way to her, however, Owen Elias descended on him out of the crowd. The Welshman had dressed with care for the occasion, choosing his best doublet and hose, and investing in a new lawn ruff. He spoke as if they were on consecrated ground.

  ‘Did you enjoy the concert, Edmund?’ he asked.