Edward Marston - The Mad Courtesan

He bought them both wine and acted the role in which Nicholas Bracewell had schooled him. Frances was supremely captivating. She knew how to interest, to tease, to excite and to heighten anticipation. When she finally led him towards the stairs, she gave him a first snarling kiss by way of a deposit on the madness that was to follow and Elias had to fight off the natural surge of his lust. This rustling courtesan was also a cold-blooded killer who would not scruple to send him on the same route to the grave on which she had dispatched his former colleague.

Alone together in her room, he got final confirmation.

‘Your reputation is very high, Frances,’ he said. ‘You were recommended to me by a friend.’

She put her arms around him. ‘I like to please.’

‘My friend spoke of your fingernails.’

‘They are yours tonight, sir,’ she said, putting her hands under his doublet to gouge his back through his shirt. ‘I’ll scratch my name on your back as well.’

‘First, you must give greeting to my friend once more.’

Owen Elias eased her away and took out the portrait of Sebastian Carrick which had been borrowed from the latter’s sister. Holding the picture close to the candle, he grabbed Frances by the neck and thrust her head close to the flame. She recognised the features at once and turned on Elias with a screech of fury, going for his eyes with the fingernails she had just used to tempt him. The Welshman was ready for her. Catching her wrists, he twisted her arms behind her back then forced her across to the window. His foot kicked it open and he pushed her forward long enough for her struggle to be seen from the street. Pulling her back to him, he held her in a firm grip and took the squirming body out of the room and along the passageway.

Nicholas Bracewell was alert and ready. He had seen what he expected. The figures at the window had brought a man out of a doorway opposite the building. He hesitated in the middle of the street and gave Nicholas plenty of time to study his profile and identify it as that of the assailant whom he and Edmund Hoode had disturbed in an alleyway. When he saw the axe dangle from the man’s hand, he knew that he stood close to the murderer of Sebastian Carrick. The book holder drew his sword and approached with care. Owen Elias may have played his role to perfection so far but he was now beyond the realms of his rehearsals. What happened from now on was pure improvisation.

Frances was struggling and biting for all she was worth but the strength of the actor took her down the stairs and off towards the front door. They came out in an explosion of noise and went off down Turnmill Street towards the quaking watchmen who had been posted there. The screaming woman was the ideal bait. Elias had hauled her no more than thirty yards before the accomplice moved in to strike. Nicholas yelled a warning that saved his friend’s life. As the axe was lifted into the air, Elias spun round to hold Frances beneath it and subject her to the horror which her victims had suffered. At the same moment, Nicholas Bracewell pricked the upraised arm with the point of his sword.

The man let out a stream of curses and turned his venom on the newcomer, hurling the axe with such force that it would have split his face in two had it connected. But Nicholas ducked just in time and the weapon thudded into the door of a house behind him like the knock of doom. Elias still held the flailing woman and the two watchmen inched closer to the action. Having lost his axe, the man drew his own sword and closed with Nicholas. It was a short and vicious encounter. Blades flashed then locked tight. Fists and forearms were used, knees and feet inflicted further bruises. The man was a practised street-fighter but he never met opponents on equal terms. In Nicholas Bracewell, he was up against someone who was bigger, stronger and more agile.

As they grappled with increasing ferocity, it was the firmer purpose of the book holder which told. Impelled by a vow to a murdered friend, he found the extra energy to twist the man’s sword from his hand and sent it clattering to the ground. His adversary replied with a kick which sent him down on one knee. Pulling a dagger from his belt, the man hurled himself upon Nicholas with a manic rage that was his own undoing for he impaled himself on the sword that was held up to meet him. With a long, slow, blood-curdling howl of pain, he fell backwards and expired in the filth of Turnmill Street. The killing of Sebastian Carrick was avenged.

‘NO!’ shrieked Frances in despair.

She broke free from her bonds and flung herself down upon the dead man to weep tears of true remorse. Snatching up his dagger, she then leapt up to confront Nicholas, Elias and the two watchmen. She spat her hatred at them then held the weapon in both hands before sinking it into her chest. They watched in silence as she used her last brief seconds on earth to crawl across the man whom she loved so that she could die in his arms. It was a grotesque but not unmoving sight. Full revenge had now been exacted.

Josiah Taplow and William Merryweather trembled.

‘They are yours now, sirs,’ said Nicholas. ‘You have solved a crime and brought malefactors to judgement.’

‘Have we?’ said Taplow nervously.

‘Josiah and I but watched,’ admitted Merryweather.

‘No,’ said Nicholas unselfishly. ‘You are the real spirit of the law here. My friend and I simply helped you to bring these two wretches to account. You must take all the credit, sirs. Make a full report.’

Uncertain smiles spread over the gnarled faces.

They had tamed Clerkenwell at last.

A long night held still further surprises for both Owen Elias and Nicholas Bracewell. After making sworn statements to the authorities — and heaping agreed praise upon the two old watchmen — they went off to a tavern to celebrate their success and to drink to the memory of Sebastian Carrick. It was Elias who pointed out that the fatal brawl in Turnmill Street bore a marked resemblance to the sword fight in which Nicholas had instructed the late actor. Stage violence had anticipated its real counterpart. When his friend was at his most relaxed, Nicholas reopened a crucial debate.

‘Do you still play at The Curtain on Saturday?’

‘Yes,’ said Owen with a scowl.

‘ The Spanish Jew? ’

‘It has brought me acclamation, Nick.’

‘Stolen from Lawrence Firethorn,’ noted the other. ‘No man is great by imitation, Owen. You have talent enough to succeed on your own account. Why ape a fellow actor?’

‘It is … required of me.’

‘In return for the promised contract.’

‘Master Randolph will have it ready by Saturday.’

‘Westfield’s Men have theirs ready now.’

Nicholas slipped a hand inside his jerkin to pull out the contract which Andrew Carrick had drawn up with legal precision. Elias was frankly amazed. He read through the terms by the light of a candle and was touched. It was everything that he had hoped for during his long service with his old company but the contract had a defect.

‘It has not been signed by Master Firethorn,’ he said.

‘It will be.’

‘You give me food for thought here.’

‘See if Banbury’s Men can match those terms.’

‘But if I play in The Spanish Jew …?’

‘Then this will be null and void,’ said Nicholas, taking the contract and secreting it away. ‘Think it over, Owen, and remember one thing. You acted for Westfield’s Men tonight in Clerkenwell and your performance was without fault.’

The Welshman nodded. He was in for another disturbed night. Nicholas took his leave and headed towards the river. He made a slight detour so that his route took him towards Blackfriars. The house of Beatrice Capaldi looked smaller in the darkness and Nicholas walked around it three times as he tried to divine the secrets that lay within. He was about to continue on his way when a vague idea at the back of his mind was given real substance. The front door of the house opened and Beatrice Capaldi herself appeared, wearing a long pink robe over a shift. She stood on bare feet to plant a farewell kiss on the lips of her lover, then she waved a hand as he strode off towards the stables to get his horse. As the couple stood together in the light for those fleeting seconds, Nicholas got a look at the departing visitor.