Edward Marston - The Wanton Angel

‘From an anonymous friend.’

‘Have you no idea who he might be?’

‘We can only guess, Anne. Some people believe that Sylvester himself has given us this money and that this guardian angel of ours is really a member of the company.’

‘Is that what you believe, Nick?’

‘No,’ he said reflectively. ‘On the day that he secured the money, he rode out of London for an hour. Our benefactor dwells in the country.’

‘He must be a close friend indeed if he will advance several hundred pounds to Sylvester at such short notice.’

‘That is my feeling, Anne.’

‘Will you hazard a guess at his identity?’

‘If you wish. I believe, in all probability, that he is a member of Sylvester’s own family.’

‘His family?’

‘Yes, Anne,’ he said firmly. ‘If you press me closer, my guess would be that our guardian angel is his father.’

Sylvester Pryde was in his element. He was honest enough to acknowledge that he would never be lauded for his ability as an actor but there was another way to win plaudits within the company. He had effected a rescue. By arranging a loan on their behalf, Pryde had endeared himself to Westfield’s Men and changed from a being a latecomer to the troupe into its hero. Whenever he arrived at the Queen’s Head, he was met with smiles and words of praise. In the taproom, he was greeted with a round of applause from his fellows.

The play which was performed that afternoon was The History of King John , a stirring chronicle which offered him only two meagre roles, but Pryde was content. Simply to be a member of the company was a joy to him. To be its acclaimed champion gave him a deep gratification. He swept onto the stage as if he were playing the title role and declaimed his few lines with surging confidence. Liberated from their worst fears, Westfield’s Men gave of their best yet again and made an old play vibrate with new significance.

Applause still rang in their ears as they took a final bow and retreated into the tiring-house. Everyone had a kind word or a pat on the back for him. Sylvester Pryde glowed. When they adjourned to the taproom, he was given a privileged position at the same table as the leading sharers and toyed with his cup of wine while rubbing shoulders with Lawrence Firethorn and Edmund Hoode. Barnaby Gill sat opposite him and, when all his chores had been done, Nicholas Bracewell joined them. All but Gill were in a happy mood.

‘What of our unfriendly landlord?’ asked Pryde. ‘Has he been told that we mean to vacate his premises?’

‘Yes,’ said Firethorn, ‘and he was forced to approve. If inn yard theatres are to be closed, his contract with us is null and void. And since he still believes that we all took it in turns to seduce his daughter, he will be glad to see the back of us.’ He slapped Pryde on the thigh. ‘That is another boon you have bestowed on us, Sylvester. You have freed us from the domination of Alexander Marwood.’

‘Has his daughter’s lover been named yet?’

‘No,’ said Firethorn, ‘but I know who he is.’

‘Who?’

‘Why, Edmund here!’

Hoode’s cheeks became tomatoes. ‘I deny the charge!’

‘Then it must have been Barnaby!’ teased Firethorn.

‘Heaven forfend!’ said Gill with disgust.

‘Admit it, man. The night was dark and you mistook Rose Marwood for a pretty boy. It is your thrusts which help to swell that little belly of hers.’ He let out a guffaw. ‘The girl was well and truly Barnabied!’

‘You are gross, Lawrence!’ retorted the other.

‘Then it was not you?’

Gill rose from his seat with dignity and excused himself.

‘You put him to flight, Lawrence,’ said Hoode.

‘He would not have stayed much longer, Edmund. He has been sitting on coals since we arrived. Barnaby has an assignation. That is why he was so eager to quit our company.’

‘An assignation or an invitation?’ wondered Nicholas.

‘What do you mean?’

‘We are still under threat here. Lucius Kindell has already been snared and others in the company approached and blandished.’

‘Nobody has offered me blandishments,’ said Firethorn.

‘Nobody would dare,’ remarked Pryde.

‘Master Gill is an easier target,’ argued Nicholas. ‘I know for a fact that both Banbury’s Men and Havelock’s Men covet him. Since word of The Angel went abroad, they may redouble their efforts to entice him away.’

‘He has a contract with us, Nick,’ said Hoode.

‘We had a contract with the landlord but we are about to be in breach of it if we leave the Queen’s Head.’

‘Barnaby will not leave,’ said Firethorn. ‘He will rant and rave at us but he would never betray us.’

‘Has he confided to you any approaches from our rivals?’

‘No, Nick.’

‘Is not that a form of betrayal?’

‘Only if those approaches took place. My guess is that they did not,’ decided Firethorn. ‘Barnaby is never at ease with red-blooded fellows like us. His pleasures lie elsewhere and I believe he has gone off in search of them.’

Nicholas did not pursue the subject but he had noticed warning signs about Gill’s behaviour which suggested that his commitment to Westfield’s Men was not as absolute as it might have been. It caused him concern. The Angel theatre would be a lesser auditorium without Barnaby Gill to grace its boards.

Pryde was more interested in Rose Marwood’s fate.

‘What has happened to the poor girl?’ he asked.

‘She is kept under lock and key,’ said Nicholas. ‘They have even put a bolt on her window or so Leonard tells me.’

‘How would he know?’ said a jocular Firethorn. ‘Was he in the girl’s bedchamber at the time? That would be a revelation! The lumbering Leonard as the father of her child. Procreation must surely have taken place with the girl astride him for she would else have been suffocated beneath that monstrous body.’

‘Leonard is a good friend to her,’ said Nicholas. ‘No more. I will miss him when we leave here. That bullish strength of his was put at our disposal many times.’

‘Yes,’ said Hoode, ‘I have seen him lift a barrel of beer on his own when its weight would defeat two other men.’

‘It is a pity that he cannot be employed on the site of The Angel,’ said Pryde. ‘Leonard’s muscles are an asset that none of us could provide.’

A cheer went up from a nearby table and Pryde turned to see Owen Elias beckoning him over to join them. Half-a-dozen grinning faces endorsed the invitation.

‘Go on, Sylvester,’ said Firethorn easily. ‘It is their turn to enjoy your company. You are common property now, my friend, and must be shared equally among us all.’

‘Then I take my leave,’ said Pryde courteously.

A yell of delight went up as he crossed to the others and room was immediately made for him on the settle. Elias put a proprietary arm around him and ordered him a drink. Pryde was soon at the centre of the merriest table in the taproom. Firethorn watched with approval then turned to Nicholas.

‘You were right, Nick,’ he said seriously. ‘I did not wish to discuss it in front of Sylvester. He has rendered us a sterling service but we do not have to draw him too close into our affairs. There is still a whiff of mystery about him which I find disturbing.’

‘Mystery?’ echoed Nicholas.

‘We know so little about him.’

‘He found us that money,’ noted Hoode. ‘What else do we need to know, Lawrence?’

‘The name of our guardian angel, for a start.’

‘Sylvester is sworn to secrecy.’

‘That is what irks me,’ admitted Firethorn, ‘but I will bear my irritation. Let us go back to Nick’s comment. I think it was accurate. Barnaby is being courted.’