Edward Marston - The Wanton Angel

‘What cure?’ asked the trembling girl.

‘Release from this shame!’ said Sybil.

Rose stood up. ‘You would kill my child!’

‘It is an act of Christian kindness,’ said Mary Hogg. ‘Besides, I cannot kill what is not really alive. I simply prevent it from taking on any shape and form. Do not fret,’ she whispered, easing her back down onto the stool. ‘It will not hurt you, Rose, and my cure has the approval of God or He would not hear the prayers.’

‘I want to go home, mother!’ exclaimed Rose.

‘Not until this is done,’ said Sybil, restraining the girl as she tried to rise again. ‘Not until you take the remedy.’

‘Keep her away from me! She frightens me!’

‘Not as much as that child in your belly frightens me and your father. You have shamed us, Rose, and we are paying to rid ourselves of that shame. Now keep silent!’

Rose struggled to get up but she was held firm. Mary Hogg took something from the pocket of her apron and stepped in close to the girl. Her voice had a gentle persuasiveness.

‘Do not hold her so,’ she said to Sybil. ‘Rose must not be compelled. She knows what must be done. It is in the interests of everyone but, most of all, it advantages Rose herself. When she is wed, she will bear as many children as she wishes. She is clearly fruitful. This first apple will soon be forgotten when it has been plucked down.’ Motioning Sybil back, she bent over Rose and held up the object in her hand. ‘Open your mouth a little so that I may place this on your tongue.’

‘What is it?’

‘The bill of a white duck. It has potent charms.’

‘I do not want it in my mouth.’

‘It will only be for a minute or two.’

‘It offends me.’

‘You will find its taste both sweet and comforting.’

Mary Hogg began to intone a strange prayer, waving the duck bill to and fro in front of Rose’s face until the girl was slowly lulled into a state of relative calm. The old woman used delicate fingertips to part the patient’s lips then carefully inserted the duck’s bill. When it lay on Rose’s tongue, the prayers were replaced by a series of charms which were chanted in a high, lilting voice.

The girl’s mouth stayed open when the duck bill was removed and her eyes stared straight ahead. She seemed to have gone off into some sort of reverie. Mary Hogg dipped a finger in the cup to test the heat of its contents. Nodding her approval, she lifted the cup to Rose’s lips and tipped it gently upwards. Before she was able to resist, the girl had swallowed a mouthful of the hot, black, curdled liquid. Jumping to her feet, she spluttered a protest and held both hands over her mouth as she started to retch.

‘Must she drink it all?’ asked Sybil.

‘No,’ said Mary Hogg complacently. ‘My work is done. Make her say the prayers each morning, as I instructed, on her knees. In nine days’ time, her problems will be at an end.’ She put the duck’s bill back into her pocket. ‘And so will yours.’

Westfield’s Men underwent a complete transformation. In less than a week, their fortunes improved out of all recognition. The loan was secured and the relevant document signed, a site was located, a builder hired and detailed plans drawn up for the immediate construction of The Angel theatre. Jaded actors who feared extinction now became proud members of a company which would have what they believed would be its own permanent home in Bankside. It was the stuff of dreams.

Anne Hendrik was instrumental in finding the site for them. On Sunday morning, therefore, after they had attended church together, Nicholas Bracewell escorted her to the river to take a closer look at the property.

‘I knew that you could do it, Anne,’ he said proudly.

‘Luck played the greater part.’

‘You asked the right people and looked in the right places. Where is the luck in that? Take due credit.’ He gazed around. ‘This site is not ideal but it has virtues which make its defects seem small.’

‘I hope so, Nick,’ she said.

‘Let me tell you how the playhouse will look.’

The Angel theatre was to be built on the site of a disused boatyard which had been badly damaged by fire. Its wharf had collapsed into the Thames. Tenements stood either side of it and a row of houses, inns and ordinaries ran alongside the back of the site. Nicholas ignored the scene of devastation and saw only the tall playhouse which would replace it. One arm around Anne, he drew large pictures in the air with the other hand. The Angel theatre was conjured into existence.

‘It will be one of the delights of Bankside,’ said Anne.

‘That would only be fitting,’ he observed with a grin. ‘For the site was discovered by another delight of Bankside.’

‘Is that what I am?’

‘What else, Anne?’

She gave a little laugh. ‘Would you soil your tongue with flattery on the Sabbath?’

‘I merely express our gratitude,’ he said, squeezing her affectionately. ‘Thanks to you, this old boatyard will have a new lease of life. So, we trust, will Westfield’s Men.’

‘Is your patron in favour of your venture?’

‘He is consumed with delight. When the project was first mentioned to him, he took fright because he thought that we would ask him for money which he simply does not have. As soon as he realised that we could raise our own capital, he gave us his full support.’ Nicholas let his gaze rake the riverbank. ‘Can you not see that wharf when it is rebuilt?’

‘Yes, Nick.’

‘Playgoers will be able to come by boat and alight at the very door of the theatre. The watermen will bless us for the increase we will bring to their trade.’

‘The watermen and the innkeepers of Bankside.’

‘Yes, Anne. All will profit from The Angel.’ He gestured towards the timbers which were stacked on the site. ‘Including this builder you commended. Thomas Bradd has his materials in readiness. Work begins in earnest tomorrow.’

‘He will not fail you, Nick. He repaired my own house and has worked for some of my neighbours as well. We all found Thomas Bradd to be an honest and trustworthy man.’

‘That was my impression of him,’ said Nicholas, ‘but I took the trouble to examine some of the other properties he built in Southwark before we engaged him. He is without question a sound craftsman and is willing to let some of us labour alongside him to keep the costs down.’

‘Us?’ she queried. ‘Does that include you?’

Nicholas chuckled. ‘I was the first to volunteer my services, Anne. Do you think I would miss out on the chance to build a piece of theatre history? Do not forget that I am no raw beginner. When I sailed with Drake, we learnt to turn our hands to anything. That experience will stand me in good stead.’

‘Who else will work here?’

‘Nathan Curtis, for certain. He is our skilled carpenter and lives here in Bankside. Owen Elias is also eager to do his share of sawing and hammering. Edmund Hoode and James Ingram will not be left out. And, of course,’ he added, ‘there is Sylvester Pryde. He is not above earning himself a few blisters from hard labour.’

‘Surely he has done more than enough already?’

‘He insists on being involved in the construction.’

After surveying the site for another few minutes, they turned away and headed back towards Anne’s house. Gulls flew overhead and cried out their hunger. The streets were busy. Entertainments which were curtailed on Sundays within the bounds of the city were permitted outside its jurisdiction. Nicholas was reminded that The Angel theatre would be able to open seven days a week in Bankside, thus increasing their takings and helping to pay off the substantial debt they were taking on.

‘How did Sylvester raise the loan?’ asked Anne.