The Counterfeit Crank (19 page)

‘Where have you been?’ she wondered.

‘To several places,’ he replied. ‘I began at the lawyer’s office and ended up at the Queen’s Head, where Lawrence had to be pacified. He was incensed because the company has been dealt another bitter blow.’

‘Your old landlord is returning?’

‘No, Anne. We’ve been spared that horror, though it will surely come if our run of bad luck continues. Someone raided our wardrobe and made off with the better part of it. They’ll raise a tidy sum by selling those costumes.’

‘Who would do such a thing?’

‘Rivals. Someone who had a grudge against us. Or simply a thief in search of making a profit. Lawrence is maddened. It took me an hour to calm him down.’

‘What of the lawyer?’ asked Dorothea, impatiently. ‘You said before you left that he might be able to help us.’

‘He did, Dorothea. Sit down again and I’ll tell you how.’ She and Anne resumed their seats. ‘Master Cleaton worked quickly,’ said Nicholas, remaining on his feet. ‘He found out where Joseph Beechcroft and Ralph Olgrave lived.’

‘They have chambers at Bridewell.’

‘Yes, but they also have homes and families.’

Dorothea goggled. ‘Master Olgrave has a
family
? A wife and children?’

‘Judging by the size of his house, I think it very likely.’

‘Then how could he do what he did to me?’ she said in bewilderment. ‘That was not the action of a married man. What of his vows to his wife?’

‘I think that he forgets them when he chooses,’ said Nicholas, ‘and does so without compunction. He boasted
to me that he never felt a twinge of guilt.’

‘You
met
him?’

‘I met the both of them, Dorothea. They are a well-matched pair.’

‘What did they say?’

‘The one assured me that Hywel had gone back to Wales, the other pretended that he had never heard the name. He also denied all knowledge of you.’

‘That’s shameful!’ cried Dorothea. ‘After what he did to me, that’s cruel.’

‘Cruel and disgraceful,’ said Anne, touching her hand in sympathy. ‘What did you do, Nick – confront the villains with their crimes?’

‘No,’ he replied, ‘I merely wished to take their measure. Master Beechcroft was inclined to bluster but his partner kept his feelings under control. I took him to the more dangerous of the two.’

‘Oh, he is, he is!’ said Dorothea with passion.

‘Then you must help me to bring him down.’ He turned to Anne. ‘If you will, please, fetch paper and pen. I want Dorothea to become an artist and draw as much of Bridewell as she can recall.’

‘I’ve no skill with a pen, Nicholas.’

‘But I do,’ said Anne. ‘I sit here and draw pretty hats all day.’ She headed for the door. ‘I’ll hold the pen and you can tell me where it should go on the paper.’

‘But why do you need a drawing of Bridewell, Nicholas?’

‘Because I need to understand where you were when the outrages happened.’

‘I was in the hall at first, then in Master Olgrave’s chamber.’

‘Show me where both of them are on a sketch,’ said Nicholas. ‘They are vile men, Dorothea, but they are also slippery. I’d gain nothing by accusing them to their faces. If I did so in public, they’d bring an action of slander against me.’

‘But I was
there.
I know what sort of men they are.’

‘And so do I, now that I have met the rogues.’

She was aggrieved. ‘Can we not have them arrested and taken to court?’

‘Not until we have more proof, Dorothea,’ he said, ‘and the one certain way of doing that is to get a lot closer to Joseph Beechcroft and Ralph Olgrave.’

Beechcroft paced up and down the room like a caged tiger. Ever since he had arrived at Bridewell, he had been in a state of agitation. Olgrave, on the other hand, was relaxed and cheerful. Reclining in a chair, he sipped a cup of wine.

‘He
knows,
Ralph,’ said his partner with alarm. ‘The fellow knows.’

‘How can he know? There were only two of us there.’ He grinned. ‘Well, three of us to be precise but that turbulent Welshman could not stay. The river called him.’

‘Why did he ask me if Hywel Rees had swum back to Wales?’

‘To see if he could chase the colour from your cheeks, and he succeeded. You are too easily shaken, Joseph. Learn from me to keep a straight face.’

‘When I am accused of a murder?’

‘That’s not what happened,’ said Olgrave. ‘Nicholas Bracewell was guessing. He has a little knowledge, I grant you, and tried to augment it by frightening you. Thanks to your folly, he now has more to bite upon.’

‘My heart pounded when he mentioned swimming.’

‘Only because you rely on your emotions instead of your brain. Think, Joseph. Use your head and you’ll see that we are not in imminent danger.’

‘I believe we are,’ said Beechcroft, stopping beside him. ‘Nicholas Bracewell is on our trail, Ralph. He used that ruse to get into my house then suddenly produced two names out of the air that I hoped never to hear again.’

‘And how do you suppose he did that?’

‘He must have been acquainted with the pair of them.’

‘Yes,’ said Olgrave, ‘but they were both out of his reach inside Bridewell. How could he know that Hywel Rees had been killed and tossed into the Thames?’ Tapping his head with a finger, he stood up. ‘Think, man. Do as I bid you. Use your brain.’

Beechcroft shrugged. ‘It must have been a wild guess.’

‘I fancy not. There is another explanation.’

‘I do not see it, Ralph.’

‘But it stands right before you, man. The only way that Nicholas Bracewell could be aware of the Welshman’s death, was if the body had been washed up out of the river. In short, he was clever enough to go to the morgue in order to check.’

‘And
was
the body found?’

‘I suspect that it might have been. When I’ve calmed you down, I mean to visit the morgue myself in order to be certain. Yes,’ he added, draining his wine, ‘and I shall ask the coroner who else has shown an interest in Hywel Rees. I believe that I know the name he’ll give me.’

‘Nicholas Bracewell,’ said Beechcroft, curling his lip. ‘Who
is
the fellow?’

‘We’ll find out somehow, Joseph, and he will lead us to her.’

‘Who?’

‘Dorothea Tate. He must be working in league with that little scorpion.’

‘We were wrong to discharge her.’

‘We could hardly keep her here to rant and rave. Besides,’ said Olgrave with a cackle, ‘I’d had my sport with her. When we turned her out, I thought she’d end up in the stews of Bankside. Dorothea would make a lively trull now that I’ve introduced her to the trade. She fought like a terrier,’ he recalled. ‘I still have the scratches down my back. Until they heal, I’ll not dare to lie with my wife.’ He cackled again. ‘I only lie
to
her.’

Beechcroft was on the move again. ‘And you believe that she and that man are confederates? That disturbs me, Ralph. They could bring us down.’

‘Not if we keep our nerve.’

‘I lost mine for a second when he called at my house.’

‘He’ll not come again, I warrant you. And he can hardly reach us here,’ Olgrave reminded him. ‘Bridewell is our kingdom. No power in the land can threaten us.’

‘Dorothea Tate might do so, if she has enough help.’

‘Then we’ll have to make sure she does not get it. Nicholas Bracewell paid a visit to our houses. When we find out where he lives, we’ll do the same to him. My guess is that the girl will be staying there as well. Relax, Joseph,’ he said, confidently. ‘We’ll do what we should have done before.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Hit two marks with the same shot.’ His eyes shone. ‘We’ll kill the pair of them.’

Margery Firethorn was smouldering with anger as she sat in the half-dark of her parlour. There was a single lighted candle beside her. It was the second night in succession when she found herself waiting up for an errant husband and that served to sharpen the edge of her temper. Everyone else in the house in Shoreditch had retired to bed but she was determined to sit up for her spouse, no matter how long it might take. Such was the strength of her resolve that there was no danger of her falling asleep. A hundred candles burnt brightly inside her.

At long last, she heard the sound of a horse’s hooves, clacking on the hard surface of Old Street. She blew out the flame and plunged the room into darkness, listening to Firethorn dismount, stable the animal and, after some delay, let himself into the house. Leaving his hat on the wooden peg behind the door, he stole into the parlour on tiptoe,
intending to creep up the stairs with the least possible noise. Firethorn had just reached the first step when a voice shattered the silence.

‘Lawrence!’ snarled his wife.

‘My God!’ he exclaimed, a hand to his chest. ‘Is that you, Margery?’

‘Who else would bother to stay up for a worthless husband like you?’

‘Ah,’ he said, as she was conjured out of the gloom to stand a few inches away from him. ‘There you are, my angel.’

‘Angel me no angels,’ she warned. ‘Where have you been?’

‘Business affairs kept me away from your warm bosom.’

‘That was your excuse yesterday and I did not believe it then. You swore to me that you’d return early this evening so that you could welcome Jonathan.’

‘Jonathan?’

‘Have you forgotten that my brother-in-law was arriving today?’

‘It went quite out of my mind,’ he confessed. ‘I’ve had such a day at the Queen’s Head that all else fled from my busy brain.’

‘So I am left alone to feed the children, the apprentices and our visitor, while you are revelling with the other actors. It’s not fair, Lawrence. It’s not kind.’

‘A thousand pardons, my love,’ he said, reaching out to embrace her, only to have both hands smacked away. ‘Instead of scolding me, you should pity me.’

‘Pity you!’ she echoed. ‘I’d sooner beat you black and blue.’

‘If that relieves your anger, you may do it. I’ve suffered so much today already that I’ll not even feel the blows. I’ve been knocked about until I am quite numb.’

Margery grabbed his beard. ‘What’s her name, Lawrence?’

‘Who?’

‘The woman who has kept you out late for two nights. Who is this jade? Come, sir,’ she demanded, tightening her grip, ‘who is this wanton hussy?’

‘She goes by the name of Dame Fortune,’ he groaned, ‘and she’s battered me harder than you could ever do. It was not enough for her to deprive me of Edmund, Nick and the takings from
The Maid of the Mill.
She also robbed us of our costumes and took away my sanity.’

Margery released him. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘The slow death of Westfield’s Men.’

‘Your costumes were stolen?’

‘All that were of any value,’ he said. ‘Hugh Wegges discovered the theft this morning. The landlord offered us five pounds to cover our loss but we’d need ten times that amount at least. And the worst of it is, Nick Bracewell was not there to help.’

‘Why not?’

‘It would take too long to explain, Margery.’

‘He’s never let you down before.’

‘No, that’s why I summoned him. I knew that he’d call on Edmund at some time so I left a message there about the
loss of our wardrobe. How can we play
Love and Fortune
tomorrow if we have nothing to wear?’

‘Nick is the only person who could answer that question.’

‘He’s promised to try,’ said Firethorn, wearily. ‘And, since we are so embattled, he’s agreed to hold the book for us tomorrow afternoon instead of deserting us.’ He gave a low moan. ‘I never hope to see a day as bad as this again, Margery.’ A mirthless laugh followed. ‘And there’s my wife, thinking that I’m lying in the arms of some buxom wench. Dame Fortune keeps a cold bed, I can tell you. I’ve had no pleasure between her thighs today.’

‘Oh, you poor man!’ she said, embracing him. ‘I misjudged you, Lawrence.’

‘I’ve been bound to Ixion’s wheel.’

‘Why did you not send word of all this trouble? I’d then have been able to explain to Jonathan that you were delayed. He was so anxious to speak to you.’

‘I had anxieties of my own to occupy me.’

‘You can see my brother-in-law tomorrow, and travel with him into the city.’

‘Must I?’ protested Firethorn.

‘Jonathan wishes to go to the Queen’s Head so that he can watch the rehearsal.’

‘When we are in such confusion? Keep him away, Margery. He’ll see us at our worst and take a low opinion of our work back to your sister in Cambridge. Instead of watching
Love and Fortune,
your brother-in-law will see only
Hatred and Misfortune.’

‘You’ll rally somehow.’

‘Even Lazarus could not rise again from this. Help me, my dove. Jonathan Jarrold is a tedious fellow at the best of times. Spare me his company.’

‘Leave we that decision until the morning. Our bed calls us.’

He smiled hopefully. ‘Are we reconciled, then?’

‘No,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘But we soon will be.’

Nicholas Bracewell rode into the yard of the Queen’s Head on the horse that he had borrowed from Anne Hendrik. Across the pommel were several garments that he had managed to collect from Anne and from some of her neighbours. She had also supplied the selection of hats that he had carried in a bag. George Dart came scurrying across to him to take everything he had brought. He took it off to the tireman. Nicholas dismounted and gave the reins to the ostler who stood by. He was pleased to see that their makeshift stage had already been erected but even more delighted to note that Owen Elias was there so early in the morning. The Welshman came across to him.

‘Good morrow, Nick,’ he said. ‘More costumes, eh? That’s good. I’ve loaned a rag or two from my own meagre wardrobe. They’ll serve for a rustic comedy like
Love and Fortune.
But what news of Dorothea?’

‘She frets, Owen.’

‘Who would not, in her position? I long to help the girl but I’m forced to chafe at the bit here. Lawrence sorely needs us.’

‘That’s why I’m here,’ said Nicholas, ‘but I’ve not forgotten Bridewell.’

‘Nor have I.’

‘When we have a moment, I’ll divulge my plan.’

‘I hope that it involves slitting the throats of those two villains.’

‘Joseph Beechcroft and Ralph Olgrave are certainly my targets. But, now that I’ve met the pair, I know that it will not be so easy to hit them.’ He saw Firethorn ride into the yard with a stranger. ‘We’ll talk anon, Owen.’

‘I hope that Lawrence is in a better mood today. He was roaring like a lion yesterday and James told us the reason for his distemper.’

‘Oh?’

‘Lawrence ventured into Master Lavery’s room and lost heavily at cards.’

Nicholas was taken aback. ‘But he spoke so strongly against it.’

‘Temptation got the better of him, Nick. I thought I saw him sneaking off upstairs last night. If he lost again, our ears are in for another roasting.’ He saw Firethorn bearing down on them. ‘Here he is,’ he noted, ‘and his eye is still inflamed. That means he had another defeat at the card table.’ He moved away. ‘I’ll leave him to you, Nick.’

Having given his horse to an ostler, Firethorn abandoned his companion and marched across to the book holder. The actor was torn between fury and resignation.

‘We are doomed,’ he said, waving a hand. ‘Every way I turn, I spy disaster.’

‘Then you have not looked at our wardrobe,’ said Nicholas with smile. ‘Owen and I have brought some new costumes and others have promised to do the like. We’ll have enough to dress the play this afternoon.’

‘But what about tomorrow’s, Nick?
The Knights of Malta
calls for better apparel than we can ever muster, and
The Loyal Subject,
that we play on Friday, needs a queen in all her glory. Are we to put Dick Honeydew on stage in sackcloth when he takes the part? How regal will the lad look in that?’

‘By then, we may have our own wardrobe back.’

‘How can that be? It will already have been sold.’

‘To whom?’

‘To anyone who’ll buy it. Our rivals would seize on such a purchase.’

‘Then they’d be foolish to do so,’ said Nicholas. ‘We’d recognise our wardrobe anywhere. As soon as one of us went to The Curtain, The Theatre or The Rose, we’d know who had our costumes and demand them back. No,’ he went on, ‘they’ll have to be sold singly to individuals. That will take time. No shop would buy such a range of attire. And there’s another thing to remember.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Hugh Wegges showed me the full inventory of what was taken. Some of those cloaks and gowns were heavy to wear. No one man could carry them all away himself.’

‘He had accomplices?’

‘Either that or one man made a number of visits to our wardrobe.’

‘What thief would risk doing that?’

‘One who knew where to hide his booty nearby,’ said Nicholas. ‘It may even be someone who is staying at the inn. Our landlord has opened up more rooms to guests. I mean to ask what their names are.’

‘I’ll do that office, Nick,’ volunteered Firethorn. ‘It never occurred to me that our costumes might be hidden right in front of us. That’s the last place we’d think to look. Let me speak to Adam. I’ll have him search every room.’

‘Cautiously, though. We must not spread commotion.’

Firethorn bristled. ‘I’ll spread much more than commotion if I find that the thief is still here.’ He became aware of a figure standing nearby and gave him a token smile. ‘One moment,’ he said. ‘I’ll just speak to my book holder.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Here’s another scourge for my back, Nick. This fellow is Jonathan Jarrold, a bookseller from Cambridge, the dullest creature on two legs. But he’s Margery’s brother-in-law so I must indulge him.’

‘What does he want?’

‘To watch us at rehearsal. He has appointments with other booksellers this afternoon so he cannot see the performance itself. Margery insisted that I let him view our morning’s turmoil.’

Nicholas was confident. ‘We’ll give a better account of ourselves than you fear.’

‘Get him from under my feet, that’s all I ask. The fellow unnerves me.’ He swung round to beam at the visitor. ‘Come and meet Nick Bracewell,’ he said. ‘He’ll look after you, Jonathan. I must away.’

Firethorn headed for the tiring-house and left the two men to exchange greetings. Nicholas had heard mention of Jonathan Jarrold before and he knew that Firethorn had little time for the man, even though he had great admiration for the actor. Jarrold was short, thin and studious, his nervous eyes glinting behind spectacles, his body hunched apologetically in its plain garb. He rubbed his palms together.

‘I fear that I come at an inopportune moment,’ he said.

‘Rehearsals are always prone to misadventure,’ explained Nicholas, ‘so you’ll have to bear with us. Lawrence will have told you of the troubles we face.’

‘He talked of nothing else over breakfast.’

‘Then you’ll understand our shortcomings.’ Nicholas glanced upwards. ‘The best place to sit is in the lower gallery. It commands a fine view and you’ll have it all to yourself.’ He turned back to Jarrold. ‘Have you seen Westfield’s Men before?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Jarrold, nodding enthusiastically. ‘On my rare visits to London, I always come to the Queen’s Head, and you played at Cambridge last year.’

‘The plague forced us to go on tour.’

‘I’ll not forget your visit. We saw
The Merchant of Calais,
as fine a play as I’ve ever had the privilege to witness. Comedy, tragedy and romance were so sweetly co-mingled. Lawence was kind enough to introduce us to the author.’

‘Edmund Hoode.’

‘I’d hoped to renew the acquaintance today, but I hear that he’s indisposed.’

‘Illness keeps him from us,’ said Nicholas, ‘but we’ve a
new playwright to fill his absence. As it happens, he hails from Cambridge as well.’

‘Oh, what is his name?’

‘Michael Grammaticus.’

‘But I
know
him,’ said Jarrold, clapping his hands together. ‘A true scholar, if ever there was one. When he was in Cambridge, he was always in my shop, searching for Greek and Latin texts. The both of them were.’

‘The both of them?’

‘Michael and his friend, Stephen Wragby. They were never apart. They lived together, studied together and taught together. Michael was the finer scholar but Stephen had the better imagination. I miss him so much,’ he went on, stifling a sigh. ‘He was far too young to die.’

‘Stephen Wragby is dead?’

‘Of the plague. It is not confined to London, alas. It reached out its long hand and snatched him away from us. Michael was utterly destroyed,’ recalled Jarrold. ‘Careless of his own health, he nursed Stephen until the bitter end. One friend died, the other was somehow spared. And I lost two of the best customers I ever had.’

‘Is that why Michael decided to leave Cambridge?’

‘He could not bear to stay without Stephen.’ He adjusted his spectacles. ‘Yet you say that Michael is a playwright now?’

‘Yes,’ replied Nicholas. ‘One of his plays has already been staged and a second will be back from the scrivener any day. It’s a pity you missed
Caesar’s Fall.
It was the work of a brilliant intelligence.’

‘That is an accurate description of Michael Grammaticus.’

‘His new play is called
The Siege of Troy.’

Jarrold laughed. ‘That proves my point. They were like twins. Michael and Stephen did everything together. Their minds coalesced into one.’

‘In what sense, Master Jarrold?’

‘Look at the title of this new play.’

‘
The Siege of Troy
?’

‘I saw a play by Stephen Wragby performed at Cambridge only a few years ago. It was on exactly the same subject,’ said Jarrold. ‘Except that it was written in Greek.’

Ralph Olgrave would never have identified the man on the slab at the morgue if it had not been for the damage to his skull. He moved some yards away from the stink of decay to speak to the coroner.