The Bawdy Basket Read online

  ‘How does the company feel about Frank Quilter?’

  Firethorn paused. ‘Uncertainly.’

  ‘Would they welcome him back?’

  ‘Not without reservations,’ admitted the actor.

  ‘Then my own place with Westfield’s Men is in jeopardy.’

  ‘Do not be so rash, Nick! Would you turn your back so easily on our years of fellowship and achievement? Think of all we have been through, all that we have accomplished together.’

  ‘I do think about it,’ said Nicholas quietly. ‘I weighed it carefully in the balance. Truly, it would break my heart to leave the company, but I could not stay if it turned on one of its number at a time when his condition is so piteous. All I ask for Frank is simple justice. It was denied his father but it must not be held back from him.’

  ‘I agree, I agree.’

  ‘Yet you declared that there was no place for him in Westfield’s Men.’

  ‘You misheard me, Nick,’ said Firethorn, renouncing his earlier decision. ‘What I was trying to do was to protect Frank from further ignominy.’

  ‘By taking his occupation away from him?’

  ‘No, by removing him from the public gaze. Murder has strong lungs. At present, it is bellowing the name of Quilter throughout London. Some of those raucous knaves you saw at Smithfield will seek their amusement at the Queen’s Head tomorrow. They will be part of our audience. What will happen if they discover that Gerard Quilter’s son is in the company?’ He drank more wine. ‘They will turn their abuse on him and we will all suffer as a result.’

  ‘That is not what you were saying this morning,’ observed Nicholas.

  ‘It is what I am saying now.’

  ‘Then you still mean to expel Frank?’

  ‘No, dear heart. I’d stop well short of that. The plan I’d commend to the others is that we simply rest him for a while, until his name no longer excites unruly elements. When the tumult dies down,’ he said with a persuasive smile, ‘we invite him back to grace our stage. This was my intent all along.’

  ‘Then it accords with my own suggestion,’ said Nicholas, grateful that Firethorn had been forced to change his mind. ‘Frank is resolved to clear his father’s name. Give him leave of absence to do so by releasing him from his contract, and, when he returns, the family name will be a source of pride once more.’

  ‘And you’ll stay with us?’

  ‘All the gunpowder in London would not shift me.’

  ‘Wonderful!’ said Firethorn, slapping his thigh.

  ‘But I’ll hear no disparagement of Frank Quilter,’ Nicholas cautioned. ‘Those who traduce him behind his back will have to answer to me.’

  Firethorn rose quickly from his seat. ‘They’ll feel my wrath first, Nick,’ he promised, grabbing a honey cake to slip into his mouth before washing it down with the remainder of the wine. ‘I’ll ban the very mention of his name.’

  ‘There is no need for that.’

  ‘Great minds think alike. I knew that we could make common cause.’

  Nicholas sampled his own wine before nibbling at the honey cake. He was pleased with the compromise that had been reached, especially as it had required little advocacy on his part. Margery’s intervention had been crucial. She had applied the kind of pressure that her husband was powerless to resist. Nicholas was glad that he had confronted the actor in his own home rather than in the crowded taproom at the Queen’s Head. He recalled an earlier remark made by his host.

  ‘You made mention of Edmund a while ago.’

  ‘Why, so I did.’

  ‘And you say that he alone burgeoned on the stage?’

  ‘He put the rest of us to shame, Nick,’ said Firethorn. ‘Edmund was burning with zeal during the performance today. He was happier than I have ever seen him. I thought at first his elation sprang from the progress he was making on his new play.’

  ‘And it was not?’

  ‘Alas, no. When I asked him about the piece, he looked at me as if he did not understand what I was talking about. His mind was miles away.’

  ‘Oh dear!’ sighed Nicholas. ‘That can only mean one thing.’

  Firethorn grimaced. ‘Who is the poor creature this time?’

  Avice Radley was a comely woman in her late twenties with a buxom figure and a face of quiet loveliness. Still in the dress she wore to the play, she sat on a high-backed chair in the parlour of the house and composed herself for what she believed would be a significant encounter in her life. When the front door was opened to admit the visitor, she heard the sound of voices then footsteps echoed across the oak boards. There was a knock on the door before her maidservant entered. After ushering Edmund Hoode into the room, the girl withdrew as swiftly as she had been ordered. Avice Radley smiled. There was a long silence while the two of them appraised each other. Hoode was transfixed, staring at his admirer with mingled awe and hope. The vision he had glimpsed in the upper gallery at the Queen’s Head now took on corporeal shape and additional lustre. His nostrils detected the same perfume that had enchanted him when it arose from her first letter. Hoode was enraptured.

  For her part, Avice Radley was in no way disappointed. The dramatist whose plays she had watched and whose acting she had applauded could never be described as handsome, but his features were so pleasant and his manner so willing that his outward defects became invisible. After receipt of her invitation, Hoode had repaired to his lodging to put on his finest doublet and hose. Remembering that he had not yet doffed his hat, he whisked it off with a flourish and gave a low bow. She smiled again.

  ‘Thank you for coming, Master Hoode,’ she said.

  ‘Nothing would have kept me away, dear lady.’

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘Apart from sudden death.’

  ‘No wife, no mistress, perhaps?’ she probed. ‘No family obligations?’

  ‘I live quite alone.’

  ‘Then what sustains you?’

  ‘My work,’ he said. ‘But even that is put aside for you, dear lady.’

  ‘Good.’

  She indicated a chair and he lowered himself onto it, putting his hat on the table.

  ‘I feel at a disadvantage,’ he said nervously. ‘While you know much about me, I have precious little information about you beyond the fact that you hold a pen with the most graceful hand, and write words that could charm a bird out of a tree.’

  She laughed. ‘Are birds able to read, then?’

  ‘This one is,’ he said, a hand on his breast. ‘When your first letter came, I dashed off a reply before I realised that I knew neither your name nor your address.’ He glanced around the room. ‘One of those omissions has now been repaired.’

  ‘Not exactly, sir. I only keep this house in the city for those few occasions when I visit London. My principal dwelling is in Hertfordshire, near St Albans.’

  ‘You own two houses, then?’

  ‘Both inherited from my late husband.’

  ‘I see.’

  Hoode’s guess had been confirmed. As soon as he came into the room, he sensed that she was a widow. She was far too attractive not to have married, yet was so patently full of Christian goodness that adultery would never even have been a remote option, let alone a temptation. Also, when he scrutinised her face, he saw traces of sadness around the eyes and mouth. Evidently, she was a woman who had known grief.

  ‘I am sorry to learn of his death,’ he said softly.

  ‘It was a bitter blow. He was the kindest man in the world, Master Hoode, but none of us can choose the time when we are called. I mourned him for two years,’ she confided. ‘Now it is time to live my own life again.’

  ‘I would be honoured to be part of it, dear lady.’

  ‘Then first, know my name.’

  ‘The letter “A” must stand for “angel”, must it not?’

  ‘You flatter me, Master Hoode.’

  ‘Not as much as you flatter me, I assure you.’

  ‘My name is Avice Radley, so another mystery is solved.�
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  ‘That leaves only the greatest mystery of all, Mistress Radley,’ he said. ‘Why should someone like you take an interest in a humble author like myself?’

  ‘There is nothing humble about your work, sir, I assure you. It is the glory of the stage. And so were you this afternoon,’ she went on. ‘You made the other actors look like buffoons beside you. When we quit the inn yard, it was your name that was on the lips of the audience. I was thrilled that I might chance to meet you.’

  ‘It was so with me.’

  ‘You are a magician with words, Master Hoode.’

  ‘Then we are two of a kind,’ he said with a disarming smile, ‘for your letters entranced me. I have never met anyone who could conjure up such sweet phrases and delightful conceits.’

  ‘It is good to hear that we have something in common already.’

  ‘And much else besides, I venture to hope.’

  ‘I share that wish, Master Hoode.’

  ‘Be so bold as to call me “Edmund”, for I feel that we have stepped over the barrier that separates acquaintance from friendship.’

  ‘Very well, Edmund. That contents me.’

  He waited for a similar concession on her side but it did not come. Avice Radley was too conventional to allow ready access to her Christian name so early in a friendship. He admired her for that. It was a right that he would have to earn. Hoode sat there and luxuriated in her presence. The opulence of the house and the quality of her apparel suggested a considerable degree of wealth. Her voice was an indication of her character. Soft and melodious, it spoke of intelligence, tolerance and decency. Avice Radley was obviously not one of the many rich, widowed, promiscuous women who haunted the playhouses regularly in search of random lovers. She was highly selective and her choice had fallen on him. Her poise faltered for a second.

  ‘I am in uncharted territory, Edmund,’ she confessed.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I have never done anything like this before.’

  ‘I suspected as much.’

  ‘Was my invitation too impulsive and unseemly?’

  ‘Far from it, Mistress Radley,’ he said, raising a palm. ‘I too am somewhat adrift here. This is a situation in which I do not find myself every day.’

  ‘Merely once a week, then?’ she teased.

  He became impassioned. ‘No, dear lady. Someone like you will only come along once in a lifetime!’ He checked himself and offered an apologetic smile. ‘Forgive me. I am a trifle overwhelmed at my good fortune.’

  ‘But you hardly know me, Edmund.’

  ‘I know enough to see that you are an answer to a prayer.’

  She was touched by his rejoinder. It restored her aplomb. She studied him for a long time, remembering the pleasure he had given her in various ways on the stage at the Queen’s Head. What surprised her most was his remarkable modesty. He had none of the vanity and ostentation that went hand-in-glove with his chosen profession. Edmund Hoode was a man entirely without airs and graces.

  ‘You carry your talent so lightly, Edmund.’

  ‘It is not a heavy burden.’

  ‘Burden?’ she repeated. ‘Do you see it as a load that you must bear?’

  ‘Sometimes, Mistress Radley.’

  ‘Yet you said earlier that you live for your work.’

  ‘Only because I have to honour my contract.’

  ‘Do you not enjoy writing plays?’

  ‘It is too vexing a business to permit enjoyment,’ he said. ‘Sweat and suffering are my constant companions when I sit at my table. Scenes have to be beaten out of my brain like horseshoes upon an anvil. Uncertainty ever sits on my shoulder. The only play I have worked on with any semblance of pleasure is the latest one.’

  ‘And what is that called?’

  He needed a moment to remember the title. ‘The Duke of Verona.’

  ‘Does it bring you a sense of fulfilment?’ she asked.

  ‘I thought it did, Mistress Radley. Now I have my doubts.’

  ‘What of your work as a player?’

  ‘That is always secondary. There is a certain satisfaction in the applause that we receive but I am conscious that the spectators are rarely acclaiming me. I can never rival the magnificence of a Lawrence Firethorn, or the inspired clowning of Barnaby Gill, or even the skills of lesser mortal like Owen Elias.’

  ‘You outshone all three of them in Mirth and Madness.’

  ‘That was due to their weakness on the day rather than to any superior strength on my part. Besides,’ he acknowledged, ‘I did not eclipse Barnaby. He was in fine form this afternoon and reminded the audience that we were playing a comedy.’

  ‘I saw nobody onstage but you, Edmund.’

  ‘Then I am glad I was worthy of your indulgence.’

  She looked at him quizzically. ‘Writing plays can be onerous, then?’

  ‘Onerous and unrewarding.’

  ‘And you do not take yourself too seriously as an actor?’

  ‘It would be dishonest to do so.’

  ‘Wherein, then, does the pleasure lie?’

  ‘In the fellowship of Westfield’s Men.’

  ‘Is it enough to make you forget the pain of composition?’

  ‘Most of the time, Mistress Radley.’

  ‘And on other occasions?’ she pressed.

  ‘I am close to despair,’ he said, pursing his lips. ‘When a play of mine does not work onstage, or when a performance I give carries no conviction, I wonder what I am doing in the company. I feel as if I am a species of trickster.’

  ‘That is not what I see, Edmund. You are the soul of honesty.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Are you not happy with Westfield’s Men?’

  ‘Life in the theatre is never without its torments.’

  ‘Does that mean that you would consider renouncing it?’

  He shrugged. ‘How, then, would I feed and clothe myself?’

  ‘By doing what you really want to do,’ she urged. ‘By responding to the impulses within your breast. Tell me, Edmund. If you could choose to spend the rest of your life doing one thing, what would it be?’

  ‘That is an easy question.’

  ‘Tell me your answer.’

  ‘I would write sonnets.’

  ‘Sonnets?’

  ‘In praise of you, Mistress Radley.’

  She was deeply moved. Bringing a hand to her mouth, she looked at him with even more intensity. Hoode thought he saw the hint of a tear in her eye. At a stroke, their relationship became markedly closer.

  ‘I think it is time that you called me “Avice”,’ she said.

  Nicholas Bracewell did not waste any time. When he left Shoreditch, he walked swiftly back to the city and called on Francis Quilter at his lodging in Silver Street. The latter was relieved to hear that he had been granted temporary leave of absence from the company while he pursued his investigation. Though he still had obligations of his own to Westfield’s Men, Nicholas pledged his help. They began their enquiries at once. It was the testimony of two witnesses that had brought about Gerard Quilter’s downfall. His son had managed to find the address of one of the men, a merchant name Bevis Millburne. On their way to the house, Nicholas asked for more detail about the case.

  ‘Why did your father hate this Vincent Webbe so?’ he asked.

  ‘Because the rogue betrayed him.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘They were partners at one time, Nick,’ explained Quilter, ‘and my father grew to like and trust Master Webbe. The trust was badly misplaced. He discovered that his partner was guilty of embezzlement. Vincent Webbe denied it hotly, but there could be no doubt of his villainy.’

  ‘Was his crime prosecuted?’

  ‘Alas, no. My father was too soft-hearted to pursue the business. Out of kindness to the man’s wife and family, he drew back from that step. I think it was a mistake to let the malefactor escape scot-free. He should have been sent to prison for what he did.’

  ‘Vincent Webbe should
have been grateful to your father.’

  ‘Any other man would have been,’ agreed Quilter, ‘but he never forgave my father for finding him out. The dissolution of their partnership left him in severe straits. While my father prospered, Master Webbe’s fortunes declined rapidly.’

  ‘He had only himself to blame for that, Frank.’

  ‘That was not how he viewed it. He preferred to blame my father.’

  ‘The enmity was clearly very strong between the two.’

  ‘And it seemed to grow with time,’ said Quilter. ‘It was one of the reasons that my father retired early. While he stayed in London, there was always the fear of a chance meeting with his partner. I was there on one occasion when their paths did cross. It was not a pleasant event, Nick.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Master Webbe had taken drink. No sooner did he set eyes on my father than he began to rant and roar, accusing him of ruining his life and throwing his family into destitution. My father was a mild man but even he was provoked. Had I not pulled him away, I fear that he might have exchanged blows with the man.’

  ‘But the provocation was all on Master Webbe’s side?’

  ‘His language was revolting, Nick.’

  ‘Was he armed?’

  ‘Only with a vicious tongue.’

  ‘What of your father?’

  ‘He never walks abroad with a weapon.’

  ‘How long did this feud between them last?’ asked Nicholas.

  ‘Three years or more.’

  ‘And your father took care to avoid his erstwhile partner?’

  ‘Every possible care.’

  They turned a corner and lengthened their stride. It took them some time to reach Cornhill but they had so much to discuss on the way that it seemed like only a matter of seconds before they reached the abode of Bevis Millburne. The house had an impressive façade. Its owner was clearly a man of wealth. When they knocked on the front door, it was opened by a servant in neat attire. He told them that his master was not at home. They offered to return later but he assured them that it might be several hours before his master came back as he was at supper with friends. Nicholas managed to wheedle out of him the name of the tavern where Millburne had gone. Leaving the grand house, the friends turned their steps towards the Golden Fleece, a place frequented by the gentry and known for its excellent food and high prices. As it came into sight, Nicholas turned to his companion.