The Vagabond Clown Page 7

  ‘You can be none other than Lawrence Firethorn, sir,’ he said.

  ‘I answer to that name,’ replied Firethorn grandly.

  ‘Your reputation precedes you.’

  ‘Is that why you have locked your womenfolk away?’ asked Owen Elias.

  Jowlett rubbed his flabby hands nervously together. ‘The Star is at your disposal, sir. Let us know your needs and they will be satisfied at once.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Firethorn.

  Ostlers and servants were summoned to take care of the horses and to help to unload the wagons. The visitors were glad to stretch their legs. It was only mid-afternoon but they seemed to have been travelling for days. Having lain in the same position for hours, Barnaby Gill was especially stiff and it made him fractious. George Dart had to endure constant criticism as he tried to assist the older man out of his wagon. Nicholas Bracewell made sure that Mussett was kept well away from his rival. When he saw how Gill hopped across the yard, Jowlett showed his compassion.

  ‘Can he put no weight on the other leg?’ he asked.

  ‘Not for some weeks,’ said Firethorn.

  ‘Then it would be a cruelty to give him a bedchamber at the top of the inn. Here’s my suggestion, Master Firethorn. We have a room on the ground floor that we use for storage. It could easily be cleared so that your friend could lay his head there.’

  ‘Barnaby would be most grateful.’

  ‘The room is small, I fear, not fit for more than one person.’

  Firethorn grinned. ‘This gets better and better,’ he said. ‘None of us will have to put up with his bad temper and his snoring.’

  ‘My wife has a cure for snoring, sir,’ confided Jowlett.

  ‘Does she?’

  ‘Every time I snore, she tips me out of bed. Nan would soon cure your friend.’

  ‘Barnaby has a complaint that no woman can remedy,’ said Firethorn, winking at Nicholas. ‘Let’s go inside and inspect the rest of the accommodation.’

  ‘Follow me, good sirs.’

  Jowlett guided them into the building and along a narrow, twisting passageway until they came to the taproom. The welcoming smell of strong ale lifted the spirits of the newcomers. Several customers were enjoying a drink and there was an atmosphere of jollity. Mussett looked round in wonder as if he had just stumbled on his spiritual home. Firethorn was more interested in the buxom wench who was carrying a tray of food across the room. Gill was too busy complaining at Dart for trying to hustle him along too fast. It was left to Nicholas to discuss prices with the landlord. Rooms were then chosen and Nicholas selected the groups who would occupy them, ensuring that Mussett and the apprentices shared their accommodation with him.

  When the actors went upstairs to leave baggage in their respective rooms, Nicholas and the landlord escorted Gill to a tiny chamber at the rear of the premises. An assortment of small barrels stood on the floor while poultry hung in hooks from the low ceiling. Gill was not enamoured of his temporary home.

  ‘God have mercy!’ he cried. ‘I’ll not sleep in a storeroom.’

  ‘It will be emptied at once,’ promised Jowlett.

  ‘What am I supposed to do – lie on the floor or hang from a hook like a dead duck? A pox on the place! I’ll have none of it.’

  ‘A mattress can easily be brought in, sir,’ said the landlord.

  ‘Save yourself the trouble.’

  ‘Would you rather climb three flights of stairs to the attic?’ asked Nicholas. ‘This spares you that labour. Most of us would relish the notion of a room alone. It would be a rare treat. And something else should recommend it to you.’

  ‘The stink of beer?’ said Gill sardonically.

  ‘An open window will soon dispel that. No,’ said Nicholas, pointing to the door. ‘There is a stout bolt. That will keep out any unwelcome visitor.’

  It was an argument that weighed heavily with Gill. In his present condition, he was a sitting target for Mussett and feared an outrage like the one that had been perpetrated at the Shepherd and Shepherdess. He still believed that the other clown was somehow involved in his earlier incarceration. Safety was paramount.

  ‘If the rascal so much as shows his face in here, I’ll crown him with my crutch.’

  ‘You’ll take the room, then, sir?’ asked Jowlett hopefully.

  ‘Empty and clean it first before I decide.’

  ‘Yes, yes. At once.’

  Gill hopped off with the aid of his crutch and left the two men alone. Nicholas felt obliged to apologise for the ill-tempered behaviour of his colleague.

  ‘Forgive him, sir,’ he said. ‘The broken leg has taken his good humour away.’

  ‘We’ll do our best to recover it for him.’

  ‘That may be beyond both of us. Let me repair Master Gill’s omission and thank you for offering this room for his use. It solves more problems than you can know.’

  ‘Then I’m pleased to give it to you.’ Jowlett broke off to call for a servant before turning back to Nicholas. ‘Yours is a larger company than we have had here in the past.’

  ‘We tour with as many players as we can afford.’

  ‘Our last troupe was barely half the size of yours.’

  ‘When did they stay here?’

  ‘No more than ten days ago. Unlike you, they have no home in London and no chance to play before large audiences. They are on the road throughout the year. It was a source of great regret. They spoke with such envy of Westfield’s Men.’

  ‘Did they?’

  ‘Envy and bitterness.’

  ‘I am sorry that we provoke bitterness,’ said Nicholas. ‘Who were they?’

  ‘Conway’s Men.’

  Chapter Six

  Westfield’s Men settled quickly into the Star Inn. Most adjourned to the taproom to sample the ale, others decided to snatch an hour’s sleep after the rigors of their journey, a few chose to explore Maidstone on foot and Edmund Hoode found a quiet corner in which to work on a scene in his new play. Giddy Mussett spent an improving hour with Lawrence Firethorn, being patiently instructed in the roles he would play. Nicholas Bracewell was dispatched on an important errand. Before the company could perform in the town, a licence had to be obtained and that task invariably fell to the book holder. He set off towards the town hall, glad that they had arrived safely and certain that Maidstone would prove a rewarding place to visit.

  After the teeming streets of London, the town seemed curiously empty and Nicholas found that a welcome relief. It enabled him to saunter along and appraise their new home at his leisure. He soon passed a sight that was very familiar in the capital. Seated in the stocks, a forlorn individual was raising both arms to protect himself from the rotten fruit and clods of earth being thrown at him by mocking children. Set out in front of the malefactor were some loaves of unwholesome bread and Nicholas realised that he was looking at a baker who had sold mouldy produce and who was being punished accordingly.

  When he got to the town hall and introduced himself, he was immediately shown in to meet the mayor, a tall, stooping man with an alarming battery of warts on his face. Lucas Broome was surprised to hear that the troupe had already arrived in town.

  ‘We did not expect you for a matter of weeks,’ he said.

  ‘Our hand was forced,’ explained Nicholas. ‘We had to quit London sooner than planned. I hope that we are still able to find an audience here.’

  ‘No question but that you will, my friend. I’ve been waiting a long time to see so illustrious a company as yours visit Maidstone. Whenever I’ve been in London, I’ve made the effort to call at the Queen’s Head.’

  ‘What have you seen of ours?’

  ‘Nothing that failed to delight me. The last time it was Mirth and Madness. Before that it was Vincentio’s Revenge. Another play that I remember,’ said Broome, exposing a row of small, uneven teeth, ‘is Cupid’s Folly. It made me laugh so.’

  ‘We expect to offer it again during our tour.’

  ‘Your clown was worth the pri
ce of entry on his own.’ He scratched his head. ‘Now, what was his name?’

  ‘Barnaby Gill.’

  ‘That was him,’ said Broome, snapping his fingers. ‘Barnaby Gill. I trust that you have brought him to Maidstone with you?’

  ‘Master Gill is with us,’ said Nicholas, ‘but unable to take an active part in our work. A broken leg makes him a spectator on our tour. But have no fear,’ he went on, seeing the disappointment in the mayor’s face. ‘His substitute is just as skilled in the arts of comedy. They are two of a kind and you will not tell the difference between them.’

  ‘I long to see the fellow.’

  ‘Grant us a licence and you will do so.’

  ‘Westfield’s Men are welcome at any time.’ Nicholas reached inside his jerkin to take out some documents but Broome waved a dismissive hand. ‘No need to prove who you are, my friend. I know and respect your patron. Those who wear his livery stand high in my esteem.’

  ‘Do you not wish to see our licence to travel?’

  ‘The quality of your work gives you that. My wife has oftentimes heard me talk of my visits to the Queen’s Head. Now she can enjoy the same pleasure herself.’

  ‘When and where shall we play?’ asked Nicholas, slipping the documents back inside his jerkin.

  ‘The Lower Courthouse will be yours for one performance,’ decided Broome, ‘and it will be filled to the rafters. Of that I can assure you, my friend. However, you will have to wait a couple of days until the assizes come to an end.’

  ‘That will suit us well, sir. We will need that time to rehearse our new clown into his roles. You have a liking for Cupid’s Folly, you say?’

  ‘Why, yes, but I’ll not prescribe your choice. Give me something that I have never seen before and I’ll be equally pleased. Meanwhile, we’ll voice it abroad that you have come to town and bring in a wider audience for you.’

  ‘The landlord wishes us to play at the Star Inn as well.’

  ‘Then so you shall. That will give us two chances to savour your art.’

  ‘We are indebted to you, sir.’

  ‘And we to Westfield’s Men.’

  Nicholas was thrilled with his reception at the town hall. Having been on tour before, he knew that other towns were not always so welcoming and other mayors not so fond of theatre that they sought it out in London. Lucas Broome was a keen admirer of their work. He and his wife would assuredly be there with other civic dignitaries to watch the first performance. Before he left, Nicholas asked if he might have a brief glance at the Lower Courthouse to see how best it could be adapted to their needs. Broome conducted him there in person and they soon found themselves in a long, low, rectangular room with light flooding in from windows along both sides. Two doors in the far wall made that the obvious place where the stage could be set. Having taken note of the proportions of the room, Nicholas thanked his guide.

  ‘Is this where Conway’s Men performed?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Broome, ‘and they made good use of it. They gave but one performance in the town and fortune decreed that it took place here.’

  ‘Why? Was the weather unkind?’

  ‘A torrent of rain fell throughout the whole day. Had they tried to play at the Star, they’d have been washed away.’

  ‘We’ll pray for sunshine when we take over their yard.’

  ‘I’ll join you in your prayers.’

  Nicholas took his leave. Instead of returning directly to the inn, he had a second errand to run and it was of a more personal nature. Anne Hendrik had given him a letter to deliver to a cousin of her late husband’s. Well over a hundred immigrants had come to the town, driven from the Netherlands by persecution and bringing to Maidstone their skills in the manufacture of cloth, Spanish leather, pottery, tile, brick, paper, armour and gunpowder. Pieter Hendrik was one of them and he had hired a house in Mill Street where he had set up two looms. Nicholas found the place without difficulty. Hendrik was a big, hulking man in his forties with a head that seemed too small for the massive body. Both of the large wooden looms were in use inside the house and the noise made conversation difficult so he took Nicholas into the garden at the rear of the property. Hendrik’s mastery of English was not yet complete.

  ‘A frient of Anne’s, you are?’ he said, peering at Nicholas.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Nicholas, handing him the letter. ‘Anne sent this for you.’

  ‘Thenk you, thenk you. Please to excuss me, ha?’

  He opened the letter and slowly read its contents, a fond smile on his lips as he did so. When he had finished, he let out a throaty chuckle.

  ‘Anne speak fery vill of you, Niklaus.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it.’

  ‘The work, it is fery gut.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘Anne has carried on where her husband left off. They never lack for customers. People from all over London wear hats made by one of her men. Preben van Loew is a master at his trade.’

  ‘Preben, I know,’ said Hendrik, folding up the letter. ‘A gut man. I not sin him since Jacob’s funeral. Jacob, my cussin, I miss. Togither, we grow up. Loffly man.’

  ‘Anne has told me all about him.’

  ‘She write nice litter. You tek what I write bek?’

  ‘With pleasure,’ said Nicholas. ‘I’ll be in the town for a few days yet. If you want to reply, I’ll carry the letter with me though it may be some time before I can put it into Anne’s hands. She’ll be delighted to hear from you.’

  ‘Gut, gut.’ He looked quizzically at Nicholas. ‘So why you to Medstun come?’

  ‘I travel with a theatre company called Westfield’s Men. We stay at the Star Inn and mean to perform two plays in the town. I hope that you will come to see us.’

  Hendrik’s face clouded. ‘Mebbe, Niklaus, we see.’

  ‘Do you object to plays?’

  ‘No, no. That not risson.’

  ‘I know that some of your countrymen do.’

  ‘Not me. I like.’

  ‘Then why were you so uneasy when I mentioned the theatre company?’

  ‘It nothing. No fault from you.’

  ‘Fault?’

  ‘I haf little trouble, that all.’

  ‘With a theatre company?’

  ‘Yis.’

  ‘Then it must have been Conway’s Men,’ said Nicholas, his curiosity aroused. ‘They were here not long ago, were they not?’

  Hendrik nodded. ‘Conway’s Men,’ he said ruefully. ‘They here.’

  ‘Did you see them play?’

  ‘Yis. Fery gut. I laugh a lot.’

  ‘Then why are you so wary of theatre companies?’

  ‘I deal with menegar. You know the fillow?’

  ‘Only by reputation. His name is Tobias Fitzgeoffrey.’

  ‘That him.’

  ‘What kind of dealings did you have with Master Fitzgeoffrey?’

  ‘Bad ones, Niklaus.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘We mek fustian, grogram and other cloth. Best in Medstun. This man, Fissjiffry, he come to buy from us.’

  ‘He probably wanted it to make new costumes or repair old ones.’

  ‘This what he say.’

  ‘How much did he have from you?’

  ‘Lot, Nicklaus. But no money. Fissjiffry, he say he pay me nixt day. When I call at Star Inn for money, they gone. It no mistake. They liff at dawn with my cloth. No pay,’ said Hendrik, wounded by the memory, ‘Conway’s Men, thieves.’

  ‘It sounds a fine play,’ said Giddy Mussett with admiration. ‘Yet another worthy piece from Edmund Hoode?’

  ‘A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady did not come from Edmund’s pen,’ said Lawrence Firethorn. ‘It’s the work of a younger playwright, Lucius Kindell.’

  ‘I do not know the name.’

  ‘You soon will, Giddy. He gets better with each play. Lucius came to us to write tragedies but he tried his hand at comedy as well.’

  ‘And a clever hand, it is. If the other scenes are as rich as the ones in wh
ich I appear, then the play is a certain success.’

  ‘It worked well at the Queen’s Head until this last performance. The piece was never allowed to run its course then. When we reached the point where the clown does his jig, the hounds of hell were unleashed upon us.’

  ‘We’ll not have that vexation again.’

  ‘I hope so, Giddy. With all my heart, I do.’

  The two men were in an upstairs room that overlooked the yard of the Star Inn. Firethorn was taking his new clown through the plays that they would perform in Maidstone, explaining the plot of both in detail so that Mussett had some grasp of how his part related to the whole drama. It was when he handed the clown a scene to read aloud that Firethorn encountered an unexpected problem. Mussett was almost illiterate. He pleaded poor eyesight but it was evident that he could make out only one word in four and he could hardly get his tongue around that. To his credit, however, he had a quick and retentive brain. When Firethorn read the lines out to him, Mussett memorised a number of them instantly. At one point, he repeated an eight-line speech without a fault.

  ‘Which play do we stage first?’ asked Mussett.

  ‘That depends on where we perform it,’ explained Firethorn. ‘If it is to be here, then Cupid’s Folly is the better choice. If we play indoors, then we’ll introduce them to the chaste lady. We must wait for Nick to come back.’ He looked down through the open window and saw the book holder entering the yard. ‘Talk of the devil! There he is.’

  ‘Nick promised to school me in my roles.’

  ‘And he’ll do it better than me, Giddy.’

  ‘Am I free to go now?’

  ‘As long as you do not join the others in the taproom,’ warned Firethorn sternly. ‘Remember your contract. No drunkenness, no women, no fighting.’

  ‘Would you have me become a monk?’

  ‘I would have you aim higher than that – at sainthood.’

  Mussett cackled. ‘My hopes of that have already been lost,’ he said. ‘But I’ll not go astray. You have my word on that. I mean to take a walk to remind myself what sort of town Maidstone is.’