Edward Marston - The Princess of Denmark

‘In my experience,’ said the other, ‘your guesses have a habit of being remarkably accurate. How is Owen Elias now?’

‘Fast asleep. He has a bad wound in his scalp.’

‘Will he be able to perform at the wedding?’

‘I hope so,’ said Nicholas. ‘Owen is a strong man. He recovered well from the first attack on him. We trust that he’ll do the same again. There is something I am bid to ask you, my lord,’ he went on. ‘We shall be rehearsing The Princess of Denmark tomorrow. Lawrence wondered if you wished to be present.’

‘No, Nicholas. I prefer to see it for the first time with the lady who inspired it. We will each come to it afresh.’

‘A wise decision.’

‘Is there anything that I can do for Owen?’

‘I think not, my lord. We will all nurse him back to health.’

‘Have you reported the incident to Bror Langberg?’

‘No,’ replied Nicholas, ‘and nor will I. His hands are full with the preparations for the wedding and he already has one murder on his hands. Owen — by the grace of God — survived. There the matter ends until we return to London.’

‘What happens then?’

‘We’ll confront the man who hired those two ruffians. But I am interrupting you, my lord,’ he said apologetically. ‘I’ll withdraw.’

‘Wait a while. I’m glad you came.’ He indicated the chessmen on the table. ‘I’ve something to show you.’

‘I’ve seen them already.’

‘Hear me out,’ said Lord Westfield. ‘Earlier today, I tried to play a game against myself and became so exasperated that I swept the pieces from the table. They went all over the floor. When my temper had cooled, I picked them up again and noticed something that surprised me.’ He lifted up the black king. ‘This had come loose.’ Unscrewing the piece, he held a part in each hand. ‘What do you make of that, Nicholas?’

‘It sorts well with Master Harling’s secretive nature.’

‘There’s a message inside — take it out.’

A tiny scroll had been inserted into the upper half of the black king. It was so small that it could easily have been missed. Extracting it with the utmost care, Nicholas unrolled it. He held it close to read the miniscule hand.

‘It does not make sense,’ said Lord Westfield. ‘Rolfe had a brilliant mind yet that letter is complete gibberish.’

‘It’s not a letter, my lord.’

‘Then what the devil is it?’

Nicholas looked up at him. ‘A code.’

Anne Hendrik was finding the little room irksome. Designed for a servant, it was no more than a cramped box into which no natural light strayed. The mattress was hard and unyielding. After the cosy bed in which she slept at home, it was almost punitive. The one thing that made it bearable was the fact that Nicholas would share it with her for a short time. In spite of all that had happened, she knew that he would keep the assignation. It was hardly the most romantic place for a tryst but it would serve.

Since he would not be able to find the room without guidance, Anne had agreed to meet Nicholas at the top of the main staircase in the west wing. He slept with the others in a hut in the forecourt so it was impossible for them to go there. She longed to see him alone. Anne had spent most of the day at his side but always in the company of many people. It was vexing. She felt that an hour in his arms would atone for everything. When the appointed hour drew near, therefore, she took her candle and left the room, padding swiftly along the corridor towards the main staircase.

In the distance, she heard voices and stepped swiftly into an alcove, covering the flame with her hand to mask its light. Footsteps approached along the corridor and the voices became clearer.

‘Thank you for all that you’ve done, Aunt Johanna.’

‘Your uncle and I love you.’

‘Without you, I could never have gone through with this.’

‘Are you still nervous?’

‘Very nervous.’

‘It will soon pass, Sigbrit.’

Anne could not understand all of the Danish words but she heard the names distinctly. Sigbrit Olsen was talking to her aunt who was carrying a candelabrum. As they went past the alcove, they were within feet of Anne and it was Sigbrit who was closer to her. The candles threw enough light for Anne to see both of them very clearly. Johanna Langberg was a gracious woman who moved with dignity but she attracted no interest from Anne. The person who fascinated her was Sigbrit Olsen, walking along on dainty feet and talking to her aunt with deference. Anne only saw her face in profile but it was enough to give her a mild shock. She backed further into the alcove.

Bror Langberg responded to the request immediately. He conducted Lawrence Firethorn to the ballroom and praised his performance as the Wizard Earl unceasingly. The actor lapped up every word like a cat with a bowl of cream. Having discussed the matter with the others, he said nothing of the drama that had followed the performance. It was a private matter that affected only Westfield’s Men. There was no need for Langberg to be involved in any way.

‘Well,’ said Langberg as they entered the candle-lit ballroom. ‘Here we are, Master Firethorn. We know that your voice carries in here so another demonstration will not be needed.’

Firethorn grinned. ‘A few loud bellows, perhaps!’

‘You would rouse the whole castle.’

‘Then they retire to bed too early.’ He became serious. ‘As I told you, Master Langberg, we wish to rehearse in here tomorrow morning and afternoon.’

‘The ballroom is at your disposal.’

‘I must ask that we are not interrupted, sir. Though we perform in public, we do the best of our work in private. It is there that we can put our mistakes right and polish our performances.’

‘I cannot believe that you are ever in need of polish.’

‘This is a new and untried play,’ said Firethorn, concealing the fact that it was quite the opposite and that it had been rewritten and cleverly disguised by Edmund Hoode. ‘That means there is an element of danger. We never quite know how a new piece will be received.’

‘With thunderous applause, I promise you.’

‘We must first earn that applause.’

‘Westfield’s Men have done so twice in the town square.’

‘They were merry romps, sir — lively comedies to amuse the lower orders. Our audience here will be of higher standing so a more poetic offering is in order.’

‘I would cheerfully watch anything you play,’ said Langberg.

‘Then at least one spectator will admire us.’

Firethorn went on to explain what he would need on the following day and every single request he made was readily granted. Langberg was not only prepared to lend the company various stage properties that they lacked, he even suggested additional items that could help to decorate a scene.

‘Anything in the castle is yours, Master Firethorn,’ he said.

The actor leered. ‘Does that offer include some of the buxom wenches I’ve seen here from time to time?’

‘You can do better than servant girls and you most surely will.’

‘How?’

‘By giving the kind of performance that we saw today,’ Langberg told him. ‘The ladies will be enthralled by you. I’ll warn you now that you’ll have more than one knock on the door of your apartment on Saturday night. And it will not be King Christian, come to bestow an honour upon you, much as you deserve it. You are a famous actor, Master Firethorn. You will thrill and enchant. They will buzz around you like moths around a flame.’ He chuckled. ‘I will have to chain my wife to my side or Johanna will also succumb to your charms.’

‘The lady that intrigues me is the one beyond my reach.’