The Wanton Angel (20 page)

‘I do not know, my lady,’ he said. ‘Nor can I be sure that Sylvester’s assassin was party to the attack on me. The two crimes may yet be unconnected. On the other hand,’ he added, ‘one reason for my reprieve did occur to me.’

‘Well?’

‘If the fire was started by one of our rivals, I may have been recognised and spared on that account. Havelock’s Men and Banbury’s Men are both confident of their future. If it falls, they expect to pick over the bones of Westfield’s Men. I have been approached by both companies in the past,’ he confided modestly. ‘Haply, I was kept alive by someone who purposed to employ me at a later date.’

‘Battering you like that is a strange way to endear you to a new company,’ she observed drily. ‘And if they coveted Nicholas Bracewell, why did they not also let Sylvester live to join their ranks? He was a sharer and you, with respect, are merely a hired man.’

‘That is so.’

‘What then, is the explanation?’

‘Sylvester could transact the loan which could save us and I could not. He was murdered in order to scare off our benefactor. Fortunately, that did not happen. Also …’

‘Be candid,’ she urged. ‘I know what you are about to say. Sylvester would not have been so eagerly sought after by another company.’

‘He was a good actor but he had limitations.’

‘No,’ she said fondly, ‘he was an able actor who was made to look inadequate in the presence of Lawrence Firethorn and Barnaby Gill and the others. I am not blind. I have seen Westfield’s Men perform a number of times, Nicholas, at the Queen’s Head and elsewhere. I know your quality. I did not need to watch you play
The Loyal Servant
in order to judge if you were a sound investment. I was at Court when the same piece was acted there. What drew me to your inn yard that day was the opportunity to watch Sylvester Pryde upon a stage.’

‘You saw him at his best,’ said Nicholas.

‘But his best was several leagues below greatness.’

Nicholas hesitated. ‘Yes, my lady,’ he said at length.

‘The consolation is that Sylvester did not know it. In his mind, he was the next Lawrence Firethorn, another titan of the theatre. Oh, heavens! What a magnificent sight he is at full tilt upon the boards! Firethorn is supreme and a proper man in every respect. I could watch him all day!’ Her fulsome praise was commuted to a sigh. ‘But dear, dear Sylvester! His ambition so far outran his talent but he never lived to face that ugly truth. It may have been a blessing.’

‘I would sooner have him with us, my lady.’

‘So would I, Nicholas. I
loved
the man!’

Her sudden passion took them both unawares and there was a long pause. The Countess went to a chair and lowered herself gently into it while she recovered her poise. Nicholas bided his time and adjusted his view of her. Cordelia Bartram was not the impulsive woman he had imagined, obliging an
intimate friend with a substantial loan on the basis of a single visit to the Queen’s Head. She was a seasoned admirer of Westfield’s Men and – if there had been an entanglement with Viscount Havelock – she would be familiar with the work presented at The Rose as well.

‘What do you want from me?’ she asked calmly.

‘Reassurance, my lady.’

‘You came to give it and to take it away. Well, have no worries about the loan. It will take more than a few charred timbers in Bankside to frighten my money away.’

‘I am deeply grateful to hear that, my lady.’

‘There will be ample recompense for me.’

‘Will there?’ he said with interest.

‘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. His
face 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 without 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.