Edward Marston - The Counterfeit Crank

‘That could be costly if the illness drags on.’

‘It makes no difference to Michael,’ said Nicholas. ‘He told Edmund that nothing was more important to him than finding a cure for this mysterious ailment.’

‘I begin to admire this Michael Grammaticus, after all,’ said Firethorn.

Gill was more critical. ‘He’s too arid a companion for me.’

‘He’ll be relieved to hear that, Barnaby. He’s shown no interest in women but, by the same token, he’d not wish to become one of your pretty boys either. I think the fellow’s taken a vow of chastity.’

‘What’s this about chastity?’ asked the landlord, cheerfully, coming to stand beside their table. ‘If you seek it here, my friends, you are in the wrong place. Chastity’s the one thing that’s not on our bill of fare. Some have lost it here,’ he added with a chortle, ‘but none, I dare swear, have ever managed to find it.’

Firethorn laughed. ‘I cannot even remember what chastity is, Adam.’

‘You were born a rampant satyr,’ taunted Gill.

‘It’s the secret of a happy life.’

‘Happiness comes from having an occupation that you love,’ said Adam Crowmere, complacently. ‘The stage is your kingdom, Lawrence, and I hold court here. As you see,’ he went on, using an arm to take in the whole room, ‘my happiness consists in spreading happiness. Listen to that laughter and merriment.’

‘We had precious little of that under our last landlord. What news of him?’

‘A letter came from Dunstable today. Alexander complains that his brother’s hanging on to life by his fingernails, but will not have the grace to go. It may be weeks before he’s ready for his coffin.’

‘If only they would bury that rogue, Marwood, alongside him.’

‘He’ll not know the Queen’s Head when he returns,’ said Crowmere. ‘We’ve more trade and livelier company in here. Oh, and that reminds me, Nick,’ he added, turning to the book holder. ‘You spoke of two friends in need of work. If they care to come here tomorrow, I’ve places for them now.’

‘You may need to fill them with someone else,’ said Nicholas, accepting the truth of the situation. ‘I fancy that Hywel and Dorothea changed their minds about coming here. They must have found employment elsewhere.’

London was not the ready source of money that they had imagined. Until they arrived in the capital, Hywel Rees and Dorothea Tate had not realised how many beggars were already there. They were competing with a whole army of vagrants, wounded soldiers, disabled children, vagabonds, tricksters and rogues, many of whom had staked out their territory and who were prepared to defend it with brutal force. The newcomers had been repeatedly beaten, cursed, chased, harried and, in one street, had even suffered the indignity of having the contents of a chamber pot emptied over them from an upper window. It left them in low spirits.

‘We should have gone to that inn they told us of,’ argued Dorothea.

‘No,’ said Hywel.

‘Any work is better than this.’

‘Who would employ us, Dorothea? We have neither passport nor licence. We are strangers in the city, with no fixed abode. What innkeeper would look at us?’

‘The one at the Queen’s Head might do so. Those friends offered to speak up for us and I judge them to be as good as their word. That Welshmen liked you, I could see. What was his name?’

‘Owen Elias.’

‘Let’s seek him out and ask for his help.’

‘We’ll manage on our own,’ he said, stubbornly. ‘We are still learning the trade.’

She was sorrowful. ‘Must we spend the rest of our lives like this?’

‘We have each other, Dorothea. I’d endure anything to be with you.’

‘And I with you,’ she said, brightening. ‘I never knew such love until we met.’

Hywel took her in his arms and hugged her. After giving her a kiss, he released her so that he could get himself ready. They were standing in a quiet lane where nobody bothered them except an occasional scavenging dog. Before they began the day’s begging, Hywel required her assistance. When he tucked one leg up behind his buttocks, Dorothea used a piece of rope to tie it into position, pulling his tattered clothing over the leg so that it was concealed. Hywel reached for the crutch that he had fashioned out of a piece of driftwood rescued from the Thames. Dorothea, meanwhile, tied a bloodstained bandage around her head then tucked one arm inside her dress so that it looked as if she had also lost the limb. They were a sorry sight. Composing their features into expressions of great suffering, they went off to take up their position.

The Raven was a small tavern in Eastcheap and it had proved a wise choice on their previous visit. Customers going into the place hardly noticed the two beggars who lurked outside because such people were all too familiar on the streets of London. When they had been drinking, however, some customers became more benevolent, and, as they tumbled out of the tavern in a joyful mood, spared a few coins for the sad-faced girl with one arm and the young man forced to hop through life on a single leg.

While Dorothea collected the money, Hywel always raised his cap in gratitude. If anyone hesitated to give them alms, she told them that her brother had lost his leg while fighting abroad for his country. An appeal to patriotic spirit seemed to loosen the strings on a purse. In the first hour, they had garnered almost a shilling and felt that their luck had changed at last. Hywel was more watchful now. After violent encounters with other beggars, he made sure that he kept an eye out for any rivals who might resent their presence outside the Raven. Fortunately, none appeared.

‘Dorothea,’ he said at length. ‘I need to rest.’

‘Is the leg hurting you?’

‘It does not like being strapped up like this.’

‘Let me help you,’ she offered.

With the crutch under one arm, he put a hand on her shoulder and limped back to their refuge. As soon as they left the main thoroughfare, Dorothea undid the rope so that he could lower the leg that had been tied out of sight. Cramp had set in and he was wincing with pain. He rubbed his leg with both hands.

‘I hate to see you suffer so,’ she said.

‘It was in a good cause, Dorothea. How much did we get?’

‘I’ll need two hands to count it.’

While she struggled to pull out the arm that was hidden beneath her dress, two figures came around the corner with purposeful strides. Hywel saw the constables first and he yelled a warning but, when he tried to run, his weakened leg would not hold him and he fell to the ground. Dorothea bent to help him up but a pair of firm hands pulled her away. The other constable seized Hywel and hauled him to his feet.

‘Ah!’ he said with heavy sarcasm. ‘You’ve grown another leg since you left the Raven, have you? And the little lady now has a second arm. Out of kindness, God has seen fit to restore your missing limbs. It means that there’s more of you to arrest.’

The first sign of trouble came the following morning. When the rehearsal was over in the yard of the Queen’s Head, and the company was beginning to disperse, Hugh Wegges seized the opportunity for a minute alone with the book holder. Nicholas Bracewell had just finished giving some instructions to George Dart about the position of the stage properties in the opening scene of the play. When he saw his friend approaching, he assumed that it was to discuss some aspect of the costumes. Hugh Wegges was the tireman, the person responsible for making, altering, repairing and looking after the large stock of costumes used by Westfield’s Men.

‘A word in your ear, Nick,’ said Wegges.