Edward Marston - The Counterfeit Crank

‘No tyrant from the east shall conquer here.

The Knights of Malta will protect the isle

And fight with God Almighty on their side

To bless their cause and urge them on to feats

Of valour, acts of noble note, triumphing

At the last o’er Turkish hordes, whate’er their

Strength and purpose.’

Firethorn had such spirit and authority that nobody in the yard seemed to notice that the cloak he wore over his armour was only a velvet curtain, borrowed from the house of a friend. Hugh Wegges had worked hard to transform the mass of costumes into something that looked vaguely appropriate to the play, and — apart from occasional moments of sartorial incongruity — nobody’s appearance provoked derision. Barnaby Gill, as the jester, Hilario, was clothed in yellow from head to foot and, because the costume had been tailored to fit him perfectly, he was able to dance and turn somersaults with his usual freedom.

It was clear from the start that here was a performance of exceptional power and commitment. Having seized the attention of their audience, the company did not let it wander for a second. The Knights of Malta moved on with gathering momentum. Owen Elias had two parts in the play. Having first given a vivid portrayal of a Turkish spy, he changed sides to reappear in the final scene as Don Garcia de Toledo, Viceroy of Sicily, the man who raised the siege and liberated the gallant knights. But it was Firethorn who, having spoken the first lines in the play, brought it to a conclusion with a speech that thundered around the yard.

An ovation greeted the actors and everyone in the galleries rose spontaneously to signal their joy. Even Lord Westfield, their sybaritic patron, disentangled himself from the arms of his mistress long enough to get to his feet and applaud. When they surged back into the tiring-house, the actors were in a state of euphoria. Their only disappointment was that Edmund Hoode had not been there to share in the acclaim. Though The Knights of Malta had been written by another hand, it had been so greatly improved by Hoode’s deft touches that he was looked upon as the author. In previous performances, he had always reserved the role of the Viceroy of Sicily for himself.

Firethorn was ecstatic. ‘Did you hear that applause, Nick?’

‘It was no more than you deserved.’

‘Costumes or not, we set their hearts and minds alight today.’

‘You have never played the part better,’ said Nicholas with sincerity. ‘Everyone in the company was inspired by you.’

‘All but Barnaby. He gave us the same stale antics.’

‘The audience loved him, as they should. Nobody can deny that.’

‘True,’ conceded Firethorn. ‘When you’ve heard those jests as often as I have, you are bound to find them barren. I think our clown did very well.’ He leant over to whisper into Nicholas’s ear. ‘But do not tell Barnaby that I said so.’

‘An encouraging word from you would be savoured,’ said Nicholas.

‘That’s why he must never hear it.’ Firethorn’s broad grin suddenly vanished. ‘O woeful day!’ he sighed, putting a hand against a wall for support. ‘What a case I am in, Nick. This afternoon, I was Jean de Valette himself, lately Governor of Tripoli and Captain General of the Order’s galleys, now the Grand Master. Yet this evening,’ he said, lowering his voice, ‘I must creep home to Shoreditch with my tail between my legs and try to make peace with Margery.’

‘Do not call in on Master Lavery on the way,’ counselled Nicholas.

‘I’ll not, you have my word on it!’

Firethorn moved away to take off his costume. Still carrying his sword and wearing his armour, Frank Quilter came over to speak to the book holder.

‘When do you want us, Nick?’ he asked, quietly.

‘When everything has been cleared away.’

‘James and I will be in the taproom.’

‘I’ll find you there,’ said Nicholas.

‘Does Lawrence know what we are about?’

‘No, Frank. Nor must he, until it is all over. Impress that upon James.’

Quilter was puzzled. ‘Why the need for secrecy?’

‘You’ll be told anon.’

It took some time for the yard to empty. Hundreds of spectators had hailed the play and some wanted to remain there to discuss it with their companions. Many people headed for the taproom to slake their thirst or to take the opportunity to have a closer look at the actors who had entertained them so royally. Up in the galleries, several of the gallants and their ladies lingered until the rougher sort had dispersed. Still seated at the rear of the upper gallery, two men watched as George Dart and the other assistant stagekeepers came out to take down the trestles. Ralph Olgrave and Gregory had enjoyed the play more than they expected, even though they had been distracted by the sight of Owen Elias in his contrasting roles. When a burly

figure strode out of the tiring house to take control of the dismantling, Olgrave nudged his friend.

‘That’s him,’ he said. ‘Nicholas Bracewell.’

‘He’s a strapping fellow,’ noted Gregory. ‘Look at those shoulders of his.’

‘A broad back gives you a bigger target.’

‘What of the Welshman, Owen Elias?’

‘Kill him first,’ decided Olgrave. ‘And do it as soon as you can.’

The search was in vain. Though she spent a long time scouring the streets around her home, Anne Hendrik could not find any trace of the girl. Even when she widened the search, it was all to no avail. Anne was accompanied by her apprentice, Jan Muller, a sturdy lad whose muscular presence gave her the protection that she needed, and whose urge to find the missing girl was almost as great as Anne’s own. Though he had only met Dorothea Tate briefly, the apprentice had warmed to her at once and he was distressed to hear that she had gone missing.

‘Why should she run away?’ he asked.

‘I do not know, Jan.’

‘I thought that she liked us.’

‘Yes,’ said Anne. ‘I believe that she did. But Dorothea had a troubled mind. She may have gone somewhere to be alone with her thoughts.’

‘If she had troubles,’ he said, ‘she could have turned to me.’

‘That’s kind of you to say so.’

‘I was fond of Dorothea. We all were, even Preben.’

Anne smiled. ‘Then she was indeed popular, for Preben is too shy even to look at most girls. But he noticed this one and saw how unsettled she was.’

‘I hope she was not fleeing from me ,’ said Jan, seriously.

‘No, no. You are not to blame in any way.’

‘Where would she go?’

‘I wish that I knew, Jan.’

‘Does she not know how dangerous Bankside is, even in daylight?’

‘That did not stop her from taking to her heels.’

‘Let’s move farther on,’ he suggested. ‘Along the river bank.’

‘No, Jan. We’ve hunted long enough. Dorothea is not here.’

He was upset. ‘You are going to stop looking for her?’

‘We have to,’ said Anne, resignedly. ‘We are wasting our time here. I fear that she’s gone back to the city.’

‘Then we’ll never find her.’

‘No, but Nick might.’ She pondered. ‘Can you ride a horse?’

‘Well enough to stay in the saddle.’

‘Let’s go back to the house, then,’ she urged. ‘And quickly. I’ll write a letter and you can bear it to him at the Queen’s Head in Gracechurch Street. Can you manage that?’

The lad stuck out his chest. ‘If it will bring Dorothea back to us,’ he said, bravely, ‘I’ll manage anything. Let’s make haste.’

Joseph Beechcroft had regained much of his accustomed nonchalance. He was wearing his most garish doublet and his hat sprouted no less than four ostrich feathers. As he and Ralph Olgrave walked together around one of the courtyards in Bridewell, he was very encouraged by what he heard.