Edward Marston - The Bawdy Basket

‘You made mention of Edmund a while ago.’

‘Why, so I did.’

‘And you say that he alone burgeoned on the stage?’

‘He put the rest of us to shame, Nick,’ said Firethorn. ‘Edmund was burning with zeal during the performance today. He was happier than I have ever seen him. I thought at first his elation sprang from the progress he was making on his new play.’

‘And it was not?’

‘Alas, no. When I asked him about the piece, he looked at me as if he did not understand what I was talking about. His mind was miles away.’

‘Oh dear!’ sighed Nicholas. ‘That can only mean one thing.’

Firethorn grimaced. ‘Who is the poor creature this time?’

Avice Radley was a comely woman in her late twenties with a buxom figure and a face of quiet loveliness. Still in the dress she wore to the play, she sat on a high-backed chair in the parlour of the house and composed herself for what she believed would be a significant encounter in her life. When the front door was opened to admit the visitor, she heard the sound of voices then footsteps echoed across the oak boards. There was a knock on the door before her maidservant entered. After ushering Edmund Hoode into the room, the girl withdrew as swiftly as she had been ordered. Avice Radley smiled. There was a long silence while the two of them appraised each other. Hoode was transfixed, staring at his admirer with mingled awe and hope. The vision he had glimpsed in the upper gallery at the Queen’s Head now took on corporeal shape and additional lustre. His nostrils detected the same perfume that had enchanted him when it arose from her first letter. Hoode was enraptured.

For her part, Avice Radley was in no way disappointed. The dramatist whose plays she had watched and whose acting she had applauded could never be described as handsome, but his features were so pleasant and his manner so willing that his outward defects became invisible. After receipt of her invitation, Hoode had repaired to his lodging to put on his finest doublet and hose. Remembering that he had not yet doffed his hat, he whisked it off with a flourish and gave a low bow. She smiled again.

‘Thank you for coming, Master Hoode,’ she said.

‘Nothing would have kept me away, dear lady.’

‘Nothing?’

‘Apart from sudden death.’

‘No wife, no mistress, perhaps?’ she probed. ‘No family obligations?’

‘I live quite alone.’

‘Then what sustains you?’

‘My work,’ he said. ‘But even that is put aside for you, dear lady.’

‘Good.’

She indicated a chair and he lowered himself onto it, putting his hat on the table.

‘I feel at a disadvantage,’ he said nervously. ‘While you know much about me, I have precious little information about you beyond the fact that you hold a pen with the most graceful hand, and write words that could charm a bird out of a tree.’

She laughed. ‘Are birds able to read, then?’

‘This one is,’ he said, a hand on his breast. ‘When your first letter came, I dashed off a reply before I realised that I knew neither your name nor your address.’ He glanced around the room. ‘One of those omissions has now been repaired.’

‘Not exactly, sir. I only keep this house in the city for those few occasions when I visit London. My principal dwelling is in Hertfordshire, near St Albans.’

‘You own two houses, then?’

‘Both inherited from my late husband.’

‘I see.’

Hoode’s guess had been confirmed. As soon as he came into the room, he sensed that she was a widow. She was far too attractive not to have married, yet was so patently full of Christian goodness that adultery would never even have been a remote option, let alone a temptation. Also, when he scrutinised her face, he saw traces of sadness around the eyes and mouth. Evidently, she was a woman who had known grief.

‘I am sorry to learn of his death,’ he said softly.

‘It was a bitter blow. He was the kindest man in the world, Master Hoode, but none of us can choose the time when we are called. I mourned him for two years,’ she confided. ‘Now it is time to live my own life again.’

‘I would be honoured to be part of it, dear lady.’

‘Then first, know my name.’

‘The letter “A” must stand for “angel”, must it not?’

‘You flatter me, Master Hoode.’

‘Not as much as you flatter me, I assure you.’

‘My name is Avice Radley, so another mystery is solved.’

‘That leaves only the greatest mystery of all, Mistress Radley,’ he said. ‘Why should someone like you take an interest in a humble author like myself?’

‘There is nothing humble about your work, sir, I assure you. It is the glory of the stage. And so were you this afternoon,’ she went on. ‘You made the other actors look like buffoons beside you. When we quit the inn yard, it was your name that was on the lips of the audience. I was thrilled that I might chance to meet you.’

‘It was so with me.’

‘You are a magician with words, Master Hoode.’

‘Then we are two of a kind,’ he said with a disarming smile, ‘for your letters entranced me. I have never met anyone who could conjure up such sweet phrases and delightful conceits.’

‘It is good to hear that we have something in common already.’

‘And much else besides, I venture to hope.’

‘I share that wish, Master Hoode.’

‘Be so bold as to call me “Edmund”, for I feel that we have stepped over the barrier that separates acquaintance from friendship.’

‘Very well, Edmund. That contents me.’

He waited for a similar concession on her side but it did not come. Avice Radley was too conventional to allow ready access to her Christian name so early in a friendship. He admired her for that. It was a right that he would have to earn. Hoode sat there and luxuriated in her presence. The opulence of the house and the quality of her apparel suggested a considerable degree of wealth. Her voice was an indication of her character. Soft and melodious, it spoke of intelligence, tolerance and decency. Avice Radley was obviously not one of the many rich, widowed, promiscuous women who haunted the playhouses regularly in search of random lovers. She was highly selective and her choice had fallen on him. Her poise faltered for a second.

‘I am in uncharted territory, Edmund,’ she confessed.

‘How so?’

‘I have never done anything like this before.’

‘I suspected as much.’

‘Was my invitation too impulsive and unseemly?’

‘Far from it, Mistress Radley,’ he said, raising a palm. ‘I too am somewhat adrift here. This is a situation in which I do not find myself every day.’

‘Merely once a week, then?’ she teased.

He became impassioned. ‘No, dear lady. Someone like you will only come along once in a lifetime!’ He checked himself and offered an apologetic smile. ‘Forgive me. I am a trifle overwhelmed at my good fortune.’

‘But you hardly know me, Edmund.’

‘I know enough to see that you are an answer to a prayer.’

She was touched by his rejoinder. It restored her aplomb. She studied him for a long time, remembering the pleasure he had given her in various ways on the stage at the Queen’s Head. What surprised her most was his remarkable modesty. He had none of the vanity and ostentation that went hand-in-glove with his chosen profession. Edmund Hoode was a man entirely without airs and graces.

‘You carry your talent so lightly, Edmund.’

‘It is not a heavy burden.’

‘Burden?’ she repeated. ‘Do you see it as a load that you must bear?’

‘Sometimes, Mistress Radley.’

‘Yet you said earlier that you live for your work.’

‘Only because I have to honour my contract.’