Edward Marston - The Princess of Denmark

‘In asking that, you presume far too much.’

‘Then I apologise,’ said Elias, holding up two penitent hands. ‘It is just that wine tends to loosen the tongue and it certainly set Will’s free. When he talked of his father, it was not with affection. Will said that he sometimes resorted to violence.’

Rooker’s eyes flashed. ‘Good day to you, sir,’ he snapped.

Turning abruptly, he hobbled away on his walking stick.

‘It is an accident that Heaven provides,’ said Anne Hendrik, taking his hands. ‘By all, this is wonderful, Nick!’

‘It has certainly rallied Westfield’s Men.’

‘No wonder. Instead of being deprived of work, they will be able to win new friends in a foreign country. My only regret is that you will not be able to perform in Amsterdam while I am there.’

‘Denmark will keep us fully occupied.’

‘Your patron, too, by the sound of it. Having outlived two wives, I never thought that he’d take a third.’

‘When he was deep in debt,’ said Nicholas Bracewell, ‘he was in no position to do so. An inheritance has transformed his outlook. The lady in question would enchant any man.’

‘I hope that you were an exception.’

‘Of course — I am already spoken for.’

Anne laughed and brushed his lips with a kiss. It was late evening and they were in her house in Bankside. At the end of a long and eventful day, Nicholas was grateful for some peace and some warm companionship. Anne, too, was able to relax for the first time as they sat side by side in the parlour.

‘Describe her to me,’ she requested.

‘Who?’

‘This paragon whose portrait you saw in miniature. Is she really a princess of Denmark?’

‘Only in Lord Westfield’s mind.’

‘Is she dark or fair?’

‘Fair.’

‘What of her eye, her lip, her cheek?’

‘She has the requisite number of each,’ said Nicholas, ‘but she still does not compare with you, Anne. You have one crucial advantage over Sigbrit Olsen.’

‘And what is that?’

‘I can see you as you really are — a lovely woman in the prime of life with virtues too numerous to name. All that I know of Lord Westfield’s bride is what I gleaned from her portrait. Limners can be deceptive,’ he pointed out. ‘And they are there to please their clients.’

‘You mean that they will hide any blemishes?’

‘And enhance any finer points of a countenance.’

‘This lady still has considerable charm,’ said Anne. ‘The most artful hand cannot turn an ugly face into a beauteous one. What does she know of the man she has agreed to marry?’

‘Only what her uncle has told her. The match has been arranged by him and by a man whom our patron engaged to find a suitable bride.’

‘So she had not seen a portrait of Lord Westfield?’

‘No, Anne. She is taking him on trust.’

‘Then she is in for an unpleasant surprise,’ she said. ‘Of the two of them, Sigbrit Olsen is getting by far the worst of the bargain.’

‘We shall see,’ said Nicholas tolerantly. ‘All that concerns me is that we have been rescued from idleness by this marriage. More to the point, it enables me to spend more time with you.’

‘How so?’

‘I thought that you would sail for Amsterdam alone.’

‘I still intend to do so. I’ve promised to visit Jacob’s family and I will not let them down. My plan is to leave next week.’

‘Stay your hand and we may sail together. A ship that sails for Denmark is likely to visit the Low Countries as well. Indeed, I’ll make sure that it does before I commit us as passengers.’ He smiled fondly. ‘Would you rather go with or without me?’

‘You know the answer to that,’ she said, touching his arm. ‘There’s nobody I would rather have beside me. You are a good sailor, Nick. I am not. You have voyaged around the whole world. All that I managed to do was to sail across the North Sea.’

‘That, too, can have its perils.’

‘Then I’ll gladly share them with you.’

He put an arm around her and she nestled into his shoulder. Dappled by the shadows thrown by the candles, they sat there in restful silence for a long time. Nicholas’s memory was then jogged.

‘How is Preben?’ he asked.

‘Still pretending that there is nothing wrong with him.’

‘He looked as pale as death when I saw him.’

‘That stone all but knocked him senseless,’ said Anne, ‘and he lost a lot of blood. He was so upset that I should see him like that.’

‘Did you report what happened?’

‘Yes, Nick. We gave that document to a constable and charged him to pass it on to the authorities. They will be as angry as we were by that message of hatred. Steps will be taken to find the culprits.’

‘There have been no arrests so far.’

‘The villains have been too cunning.’

‘Then a trap needs to be set for them.’

‘It’s not your place to get involved, Nick.’

‘I gave Preben my word,’ he said.

‘And it caused him great disquiet,’ said Anne. ‘To have anyone acting on his behalf only distresses him. Preben would prefer that the whole matter was forgotten.’

‘His head was cracked open. Retribution is due.’

‘Humour him, please. For his sake, do not pursue the matter. We had a shock this morning and we are over it now. With so much to do before you leave for Denmark, you will not have time to go to the Dutch Churchyard.’

‘I’ll find the time somehow.’

‘What is the point?’ she said. ‘Your chances of success are very slim. It may well be that what we saw was the last of these libels against strangers. Those who put them there know the dire penalties that they face. I think that they will be frightened away.’

The watchmen plodded along side by side in the dark like two old carthorses pulling a heavy load. Broad Street was no less noisome by night than by day. A compound of unpleasant smells hung in the air to assault their nostrils and their feet squelched through all kinds of filthy refuse. But they knew their duty. When they reached the Dutch Churchyard, they paused to look inside, using their lanterns to illumine even its darkest corners. All that they found was a dog, curled up beside one of the gravestones. Dispatched with a kick, it yelped aloud and scurried away. The watchmen were content. Leaving the churchyard, they checked every inch of the wall to see if anything had been hung there again.

‘Nothing,’ said one.

‘We are good scarecrows,’ said the other.

‘Yes, Tom. We frightened them away at last.’

Chuckling quietly, they went on their way, patrolling the streets of the parish at the same slow, tireless, unvarying pace. They were soon swallowed up by darkness. When the distant echo of their footsteps finally died away, someone came out of a doorway opposite the churchyard and trotted across to it. Seconds later, another vile attack on foreigners was attached to the wall.

The villains had struck again.

Margery Firethorn was a gregarious woman who loved to have people around her. Her house in Shoreditch was not merely home to her husband and children, it also contained two servants and the four boy apprentices who belonged to Westfield’s Men. In addition, it was the regular meeting place for certain members of the company so visitors were coming and going all the time. Margery greeted them all with maternal warmth and made sure that refreshment was always on hand. That morning, however, her pleasure at seeing her friends was tempered by the thought that she might not lay eyes on them again for a long time. When the troupe sailed off to Denmark, five people who slept under her roof would disappear along with all of her most cherished callers. The house in Old Street would seem very empty.