Edward Marston - The Wanton Angel

‘What news, George?’

‘None that will please you, alas.’

‘Was Sylvester not at his lodging?’

‘No. He left at first light, it seems.’

‘Where did he go?’

‘His landlord did not know. Nor does he understand why Sylvester Pryde quit the house for good.’

Nicholas was shaken. ‘For good, you say?’

‘When he left, he took his belongings with him.’

‘No word of explanation?’

‘None, I fear.’ Dart wiped an arm across his glistening brow. ‘I am sorry I could not bear happier tidings.’

‘You have done well, George. Change into your costume as a guard in the royal retinue and be ready for the first scene in Act Three. Oh, and one thing,’ cautioned Nicholas. ‘Do not mention to anyone that Sylvester has quit his lodging. It might cause unnecessary alarm.’

Dart nodded and went off to find his costume. Nicholas turned his full attention to the rehearsal and put the disappearance of Sylvester Pryde from his mind. There was no point in worrying over a problem he was powerless to solve while he as engaged in his duties as the book holder. It was only when the play came to an end that the subject took on a new urgency. Having thanked the company for the sterling effort which they had put into the rehearsal, Firethorn dismissed them and sought a quiet word with Nicholas.

‘Well?’ he said.

‘Sylvester is still not here.’

‘Where can the man be?’

‘Not at his lodging, that much is certain. He left at dawn and took his belongings with him.’

Firethorn blenched. ‘Has he fled London?’

‘I hope not.’

‘Why else quit his lodging?’

‘I have no idea,’ confessed Nicholas, ‘What surprises me is that he sent no word to us. Sylvester has always been so considerate. This sudden flight is disturbing.’

‘And may bring all our ambitions crashing down,’ said an anxious Firethorn. ‘Without Sylvester, there will be no money. Without that money, there will be no new playhouse. Did he deliberately raise our hopes in order to dash them, Nick?’

‘That would not be in his character.’

‘What is he playing at?’

‘We will discover that in time,’ said Nicholas. ‘Until then, we must not unsettle the others by telling them he has disappeared. I will devise an excuse which will cover his absence.’

‘Your excuse would not fool me for a moment,’ said a voice behind them. ‘However prettily it was phrased.’

They turned to see Barnaby Gill entering the tiring-house.

‘You were eavesdropping!’ accused Firethorn.

‘I have a right to know the truth, Lawrence.’

‘By lurking outside a door?’

‘Sylvester has fled the sinking ship,’ said Gill wryly. ‘I could have foretold this. He was all noise and pretence, a man of fashion who liked to disport himself upon a stage, a strutting peacock with no real belief in the actor’s art.’

‘That is not so,’ countered Nicholas. ‘Sylvester was keen to study and improve. He was committed to Westfield’s Men.’

‘Where is that commitment now?’

‘We begin to wonder,’ said Firethorn ruefully.

Gill was sardonic. ‘Wonder no more, Lawrence. He has ridden out of London as fast as he can. That promise to secure a loan for us was no more than a vain boast. It gave him a moment of ascendancy over us. Having enjoyed that, he has left the rest of us floundering.’

‘So it seems, Barnaby.’

‘I have more trust in Sylvester,’ said Nicholas.

Gill snorted. ‘Then it is misplaced.’

‘He loved this company.’

‘Until he discovered that there is no longer a company to love. He has gone. Such men are rovers. They never stay long in one place.’ Gill sniffed at his pomander. ‘I wager that we never set eyes again on Sylvester Pryde.’

Nothing more could be said. They went off to the taproom to seek refreshment before the afternoon’s performance. No mention was made of the missing actor but he was clearly on the mind of the whole company. Their sharer had deserted them and the projected playhouse lay in ruins. Everyone sensed it. There was no way that the company itself could raise such a substantial loan on their own. They had tried and failed many times. Their patron, Lord Westfield, was even less likely to come to their aid. Crippled by debts, he was more concerned with seeking loans for his own purse than for any building plans conceived by his troupe. Their plight was hopeless.

Yet they did not surrender to despair. The prospect of dissolution seemed instead to fill them with determination to give a good account of themselves in what might be one of a series of valedictory performances. Westfield’s Men were determined to be remembered, to write their signature boldly and vividly on the memories of London playgoers.

When they returned to the tiring-house, there was a mood of resolution. Firethorn strengthened it with another rousing speech but it was Nicholas who perceived another side to the new sense of purpose. While keen to serve Westfield’s Men to the best of their ability, they also wanted to attract the attention of their rivals. Havelock’s Men and Banbury’s Men were the favoured survivors of the Privy Council’s edict and they would divide the spoils of Westfield’s Men. That being the case, it was highly likely that both companies would have someone in the audience to study the company and select the most likely recruits. Westfield’s Men were auditioning for their individual survival.

The yard was full, the galleries bursting and the actors straining at the leash. The Loyal Subject was a fine play, first performed at Court during the Christmas festivities and a reminder that the company had been favoured with royal patronage. With a mere ten minutes to go before the drama started, the tension was broken in the most unexpected way.

‘I am sorry to keep you all waiting, lads!’

Sylvester Pryde strode cheerfully into the tiring-house to be met by a tidal wave of questions. He raised both hands to silence the company then motioned them in close to him.

‘I went in search of money,’ he explained. ‘That meant an hour’s ride out of London. I left a message with my surly landlord but I see from your faces that he never delivered it. The rogue was too angry at my sudden departure to oblige me. No matter, friends. I am here now and so is our saviour.’

‘Our saviour?’ said Firethorn. ‘Who is he?’

‘That must remain a secret,’ warned Pryde, ‘but this I can tell you. The loan is all but secured but nobody can be expected to advance so much money without some proof of your genuine quality. I brought him to the Queen’s Head to watch you this afternoon. Your saviour sits up in the gallery. My part is done,’ he said with a grin. ‘The money is there but you must show yourselves worthy of it.’

‘God’s tits!’ said Firethorn with a laugh. ‘We’ll dazzle like sunlight. You heard him, lads. It is up to us now. Seize this opportunity with both hands. Follow me!’

Owen Elias and James Ingram gladly relinquished the roles they had taken over from Pryde and the latter quickly changed into his costume for the first scene. Determination now shaded into euphoria. At the eleventh hour, they believed, they had been rescued by the man whom they had all foolishly suspected of deserting them. When the performance commenced, they hurled themselves into it as if their lives depended on the outcome.

It was a sensation. Inspired by Lawrence Firethorn, the whole company shone brilliantly, bringing out every facet of The Loyal Subject and attesting once again their supremacy on the London stage. The audience was alternately harrowed and amused as tragic events were interleaved with comic diversion. Somewhere in one of the galleries was the person whose money could reprieve them and they directed their performance at their invisible saviour. At the end of the play’s final dramatic scene, they were given an ovation which set their blood coursing.