The Wanton Angel Page 20

  ‘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 withou
t 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 Nich
olas.

  ‘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.’