The Vagabond Clown Page 16

‘Anyone who has seen them perform will have a lasting grudge against them!’

  ‘Giddy talked at length with him.’

  ‘What did he learn?’

  ‘Many things,’ said Nicholas. ‘Lord Conway holds our own patron in disdain. He was shocked when his nephew, Fortunatus Hope, fell out with him and fell in with Lord Westfield. It was an insult that rankled more each day.’

  ‘That spurred him to take revenge on his nephew?’

  ‘It may have done.’

  ‘What evidence is there?’

  ‘Tobias Fitzgeoffrey was at the Queen’s Head that day.’ Firethorn was astonished. ‘When we were halted by the affray?’

  ‘Yes. He was in London for that purpose.’

  ‘What brought him to us? Did he wish to learn from me and see what a great actor can achieve with an audience? Or was he there to steal ideas that he could use behind our backs with Conway’s Men?’

  ‘I believe that he may have been sent by his patron,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘To slide a dagger between the ribs of the nephew?’

  ‘Or to hire an assassin to do the deed. Why else should he be there?’

  ‘The whoreson rogue!’

  ‘His company is on tour yet he found the time to ride to London for one particular event. I call that strange,’ observed Nicholas. ‘Giddy’s friend remembers his return. He was in such good humour that he bought them all a drink, so rare an event that they were quite amazed.’

  ‘Fitzgeoffrey is as mean a man as any in Creation.’

  ‘So what made him spread his bounty? And where did it come from? They have had bare rations here in Kent. Eighteen shillings was all they raised in Maidstone and even less elsewhere. Yet, suddenly, he has money to spare.’

  ‘Blood money!’

  ‘That was my guess.’

  ‘He was paid for his villainy by that goat-faced patron of his.’

  ‘It is more than possible.’

  ‘By heavens, Nick,’ said Firehorn. ‘We’ve enough to hang the pair of them.’

  ‘More proof is needed yet.’

  ‘We’ll cudgel it out of Tobias Fitzgeoffrey.’

  ‘We have to find him first,’ said Nicholas. ‘Giddy and I searched for him all morning but he was nowhere to be found in Canterbury. One of the actors we met said that he had gone to see Lord Conway.’

  ‘To plot another crime!’

  ‘We cannot be certain of that.’

  ‘It is as plain as the nose on my face.’

  Nicholas was cautious. ‘We suppose much more than we know.’

  ‘What more proof do we need?’ asked Firethorn. ‘On the very day that a play was halted at the Queen’s Head and a man stabbed to death, Tobias Fitzgeoffrey is there to enjoy it all. Who else but he was behind that ambush on the road? Who else would try to drown Barnaby in the creek? Do you not see, Nick? He’s bent on destroying us.’

  ‘We need to be on guard. That much I agree.’

  ‘I spy their purpose. They mean to replace us in London.’

  ‘That will never be.’

  ‘Not while I have breath in my body,’ vowed Firethorn.

  ‘Conway’s Men stay in the city for a few days. I’ll go to Canterbury again soon to see if Master Fitzgeoffrey has returned. He holds the key to the mystery.’

  ‘Will you take Giddy with you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘I must. Without him, I would be lost.’

  Giddy Mussett unbuckled the girth and removed the saddle from the second of the two horses. Having put Lawrence Firethorn’s stallion into a stall, he turned his attention to the bay mare that he had borrowed. The animal had been ridden hard and deserved his gratitude. Patting her as he worked, he talked quietly to the mare. When he had put the saddle away, he led the animal into a stall then started to take off the bridle. Freed of her tackle, the mare whinnied then shook her mane to dislodge some of the moisture.

  ‘Hold still!’ said Mussett with a laugh. ‘I’m wet enough, as it is.’

  He collected some hay from the corner and stuffed it into the manger. The mare moved eagerly across to it. Both horses were soon eating contentedly. Mussett went in search of a wooden bucket so that he could give them some water. The farther he went into the stables, the gloomier it got. All he could pick out at first were the outlines of other horses as they shifted their feet in the straw. When he thought he saw an upturned bucket in a corner, he bent down to retrieve it.

  The man moved in quickly. Clapping one hand over his victim’s mouth, he pushed the dagger between his ribs and into his heart. It was over as simply as that.

  Chapter Eleven

  Owen Elias was still standing beside the window of the upstairs room, gazing down idly at the yard below. The rain had stopped now and a burst of afternoon sunshine was making the cobbles glisten. His interest quickened when an attractive young woman came out of a door and he leant out to catch her attention. His cheerful wave was not returned. After giving him a blank look, she crossed the yard and went into a storeroom. Elias’s first instinct was to follow her but he knew that the rehearsal would soon begin again. He felt thwarted. Nicholas Bracewell joined his friend at the window.

  ‘Is there no sign of Giddy yet?’ he asked.

  ‘Not unless he is wearing a green dress and a white bonnet.’

  ‘He should be here by now. It does not take this long to unsaddle two horses.’ Nicholas was about to move away. ‘I’ll see what keeps him.’

  ‘No,’ said Elias, detaining him with a hand. ‘That’s my office. You’ve travelled enough for one day. Let me fetch Giddy.’

  ‘Scold him for keeping us waiting.’

  ‘I hope that the wretch has not sneaked away,’ said Lawrence Firethorn, coming across to them. ‘We have to stop him hearing that call of nature.’

  ‘He’s still in the stables,’ Elias assured him. ‘I’d have seen him leave.’

  ‘Is there no back way out?’

  ‘None,’ said Nicholas. ‘I checked that before I left him alone.’

  ‘Then where is he?’

  ‘I’ll chase him out, Lawrence,’ said Elias, heading for the door. ‘The ride has tired him, I daresay. Giddy is probably asleep in the straw.’

  Eager to make amends for his earlier failure, the Welshman clattered down the winding oak staircase and went along a stone-flagged passageway. As he came out into the yard, the young woman he had seen earlier was retracing her steps with a small sack in her arms. He gave her a respectful bow this time and collected a half-smile. It was progress. Since she worked at the Blue Anchor, it would be possible to make her acquaintance in time. It gave Elias something to build on. Mussett’s intimacy with a kitchen maid was now common knowledge. Elias wanted his own conquest.

  ‘What have you got there?’ he wondered.

  ‘Vegetables, sir.’

  ‘Will you save some for me?’

  ‘If you wish.’

  ‘When shall I come to collect them?’

  He gave her a frank grin and she coloured slightly, but she looked back over her shoulder when she reached the door. Elias was encouraged. He blew her a kiss.

  When he got to the stables, he paused at the door and peered into the gloom.

  ‘Giddy!’ he called. ‘What are you doing in there?’

  There was no reply. He took a few steps inside and called again.

  ‘Where are you, man? Lawrence wants you for the rehearsal.’

  All that he got by way of response was a neigh from one of the horses and a rustling in the straw. There was no sign of Mussett. Elias became mildly alarmed, worried that the clown had somehow slipped past him once more. Yet he had never taken his eyes off the yard. Nobody could leave the stables without being seen. Elias decided that Mussett was playing a game, hiding in one of the stalls to fool him. The Welshman began a thorough search, walking along the line of stalls and expecting Mussett to jump out at any moment. But the clown did not appear. If he had found a hiding place, it was a good one. Elias glanced up, wonderi
ng if the agile Mussett had climbed up into the roof by way of a jest.

  He was still gazing along the beams when a noise from the rear of the stables alerted him. Something fell to the ground with a small thud that was not muffled by straw. Elias became circumspect. Narrowing his eyelids to stare into the shadows, he moved slowly forward.

  ‘Is that you, Giddy?’ he said. ‘What trick are you up to this time?’

  Only the movement of horses could be heard. Elias walked on, heading for the corner from which the noise had seemed to come. A shape was gradually conjured out of the gloom, a large, round lump on the floor against the back wall. Elias swallowed hard.

  ‘Giddy?’ he cried, hurrying forward. ‘What happened?’

  Mussett was in no position to tell him. As soon as he touched his friend, Elias knew that he was dead. His hand brushed against the dagger that was sticking out from Mussett’s back.

  ‘Iesu Mawr!’ he exclaimed. ‘Who did this to you?’

  By way of an answer, a cudgel struck him hard on the back of his head. Unable to stop himself, Elias plunged forward, landing on Mussett and forcing the dagger even deeper into his unprotected back.

  While appreciating the value of the visit to Canterbury, Firethorn was concerned that valuable rehearsal time had been lost. The Loyal Subject was a complex drama that dealt with a number of themes. Everyone else in the company knew the play well and had mastered their roles. The newcomer who most needed to rehearse was the one actor who had not been there. Firethorn consulted his book holder.

  ‘Can he learn yet another part in such a short time, Nick?’

  ‘I am sure that he can.’

  ‘You will have to feed the lines to him on a spoon.’

  ‘I’ll be happy to do so,’ said Nicholas. ‘I’ve already told Giddy the plot of the play and talked about his role. He’s not entirely unprepared.’

  ‘If only we had not brought Barnaby with us!’ sighed Firethorn.

  ‘Does he still complain?’

  ‘Complain, chastise, censure and condemn. Nothing pleases him. He made so many unkind comments during the rehearsal that I had him wheeled away. This room is too small to have both Barnaby and Giddy Mussett inside it.’

  ‘We have neither at the moment,’ said Nicholas, moving back to the window. ‘What is holding Giddy up? He could have unsaddled half a dozen horses by now.’

  ‘Owen should have grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.’

  ‘Why this delay?’

  Even as he spoke, Nicholas was given an explanation. Elias came stumbling out of the stables with a hand pressed against the back of his head to stem the blood from his scalp wound. He used his other arm to beckon Nicholas.

  ‘Come quickly!’ he yelled. ‘All is lost!’

  Nicholas did not wait to hear any details. Taking Firethorn with him, he rushed down the stairs and out into the yard. Elias was still dazed from the blow. He swayed on his feet as he pointed to the stables.

  ‘Giddy is inside,’ he said. ‘Stabbed to death.’

  ‘Murdered?’ cried Firethorn.

  ‘See for yourselves.’

  Nicholas lent him a supportive arm so that he could take them to the spot where Mussett lay. They crouched beside the body and checked for signs of life. It was the second time that Nicholas had seen the handle of a dagger protruding from a victim’s back. Firethorn was aghast.

  ‘Who could have done this?’ he gasped. ‘We are done for!’

  ‘Let’s hear what Owen has to say first,’ suggested Nicholas.

  Elias shrugged. ‘I’ve little enough to report. I called out for Giddy when I got here but there was no answer. I thought he was playing one of his tricks on me so I came in search of him.’ He indicated to the body. ‘This is what I found in the shadows. Before I could raise the alarm, someone struck me from behind. My head is splitting. He must have had a powerful arm.’

  ‘We’ll dress the wound for you.’

  ‘Forget me, Nick. I still live. Giddy is beyond any help.’

  ‘And so are we!’ wailed Firethorn.

  ‘Think back, Owen,’ said Nicholas. ‘You saw us arrive at the inn. You stood at the window all the time that Giddy was in here. Did you see anyone else come in or out?’

  ‘I did,’ replied Elias. ‘One of the ostlers, a young lad, came out and went into the kitchen. A little later,’ he recalled, ‘a man came out of the taproom and walked across to the stables. A bearded man, with something of your build. I paid no heed to him.’

  ‘Did he go into the stables?’

  ‘Yes. I thought he was going to fetch his horse.’

  ‘But you never saw him again?’

  ‘No,’ said Elias, rubbing his head. ‘He saw me.’

  ‘You were lucky that you were not stabbed as well,’ said Firethorn.

  ‘Giddy was the only target,’ decided Nicholas. ‘I suspect that the man who killed him was part of that ambush at the ford. They were after Giddy then but we beat them off. One of them came back to finish the task.’

  ‘And to finish us at the same time. Our clown is dead. That leaves a hole so large that it can never be filled. Westfield’s Men are victims here as well.’

  ‘It was Giddy who paid the greater penalty. He only joined us to help us out.’

  ‘True,’ said Elias, gazing down at the body. ‘And we could not have asked for a livelier companion. Giddy had his faults but they were outweighed by his virtues.’

  ‘This man you saw,’ said Nicholas. ‘Was he wearing a leather apron and a cap?’

  ‘No, Nick. Doublet and hose. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I thought he might have been the one who set Barnaby adrift in the creek.’

  ‘We are all adrift now,’ moaned Firethorn.

  ‘I am looking for similarities,’ explained Nicholas. ‘The company has been attacked by means of its clowns. Barnaby was set upon at the Queen’s Head and here in Faversham. Giddy was murdered at the second attempt.’

  ‘What does this tell us, Nick? Do we search for a man with no sense of humour?’

  ‘I think not. Yet there is one thing we do know about him.’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Elias.

  ‘He has a ready supply of daggers,’ said Nicholas, pulling the weapon from Mussett’s back. ‘This matches the one I found lodged in the body of Fortunatus Hope. I believe that we are dealing with the same assassin. What worries me is this,’ he went on, turning to the others. ‘How many more daggers does he possess and where are they destined to end up?’

  News of the murder caused fear and consternation at the Blue Anchor. Those who worked there were horrified, those staying there were shocked and local people who came into the taproom were so nervous that they kept looking over their shoulders with apprehension. The crime was reported and constables took charge of the dead body. When his scalp wound had been bathed, Owen Elias gave a statement to a magistrate about the circumstances in which he had found Mussett. Nicholas Bracewell, meanwhile, turned his attention to the landlord of the inn. Without realising that he might be looking at an assassin, Elias had seen a man leave the taproom and go into the stables at a time when Mussett was inside. Nicholas hoped that the landlord could give a better description of the man but he added little to what the Welshman said. All that he could remember about the customer was that he sat with a tankard of ale beside a window that looked out on to the yard. There had been other people there at the time but, when Nicholas questioned them, they could only echo the landlord. The bearded man was a stranger to whom they paid scant attention.

  The rehearsal had been abandoned and most of the actors chose to subdue their grief in the taproom. Now that he was dead, they came to see just how much they had liked Giddy. His fall from grace in Maidstone was completely forgotten. What remained in the mind was an image of an affable, vigorous, gleeful man who was a natural clown. Even Barnaby Gill, his old enemy, was moved to admiration.

  ‘Giddy was truly gifted,’ he admitted. ‘I envied his talent far more than I h
ated the man himself. He was a vagabond clown and I’ll miss him.’

  ‘Not as much as we do, Barnaby,’ said Firethorn, downing another cup of wine.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Edmund Hoode. ‘The Loyal Subject is impossible without him. You were right to call off the rehearsal, Lawrence. There is no point in working on a play that we cannot present. Giddy would have given it his own particular glow.’

  ‘I, too, can impart a glow, Edmund.’

  ‘We know, Lawrence,’ said Gill. ‘You can blaze like a beacon. But you are no clown. Giddy Mussett was. We are a rare breed, you see.’

  ‘You sound like a species of sheep,’ said Firethorn.

  ‘If I am, then I mourn the black member of our flock.’

  Gill lifted a cup of wine in honour of the dead man. The three of them were sitting at a table in the taproom, still stunned by the blow that had befallen them and having little idea what to do best. When Nicholas joined them, they were almost maudlin.

  ‘You must speak to the mayor, Nick,’ said Firethorn.

  ‘He’ll have caught wind of the murder by now,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘But he will not understand its effects. Tell him our play must be abandoned. It’s out of the question to perform The Loyal Subject. The town of Faversham will have to forego the delight of seeing Westfield’s Men on stage.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why else, man? We have lost our clown.’

  ‘Then we have to replace him.’

  ‘In the space of a day or so?’ asked Firethorn. ‘It would take a miracle.’

  ‘Common sense will suffice,’ argued Nicholas. ‘The Loyal Subject may be beyond us because Giddy would have danced his way through it, but we’ve other plays to offer an audience.’

  ‘Not if we lack a clown, Nick.’

  ‘But we have one. He sits beside you.’

  Gill was astounded. ‘Do you look at me?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘I am an invalid. My leg is broken.’

  ‘Your talent is still in good repair.’

  ‘This is folly, Nick,’ said Hoode. ‘How can Barnaby perform with his leg in a splint? He is unable to walk, let alone dance a jig.’