Edward Marston - The Wanton Angel

‘What if it were withdrawn?’

‘We have written promise, my lady.’

‘A promise may be revoked.’

‘True.’

‘Sylvester was your intermediary, was he not?’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘Without his persuasion, your benefactor would not have parted with a single penny. What reason does that benefactor have to pay the loan now that Sylvester is no longer involved with Westfield’s Men?’

‘But he is, my lady,’ said Nicholas with sudden passion. ‘He is part of our history. We will always revere his memory The Angel theatre will keep that memory alive in the most visible way. He died in its service. It must be built.’

‘You are almost as persuasive as he was.’

‘We need that loan, my lady.’

‘And if it vanishes?’

‘We would have to find the money elsewhere.’

‘That will not be easy,’ she pointed out. ‘People are superstitious. They would take a foul murder on the very site of the playhouse as a bad omen.’

‘We prefer to see it as a sign to carry on.’

‘I admire your courage.’

‘It will be needed in the weeks ahead, my lady.’

She sat back pensively in her chair and subjected him to a careful scrutiny. Nicholas was discomfited. She seemed to know a great deal about him and the company while yielding up little about herself. Sensing his uneasiness, she waved him to an oak bench against the opposite wall.

‘You have been standing too long, Nicholas.’

‘Thank you, my lady,’ he said, sitting down.

‘But I was not quite sure if you would be staying,’ she explained. ‘I had to test you first. I think that you can be trusted. You were honest with me.’

‘I tried to be, my lady.’

‘Sylvester held you in high esteem.’

‘I am flattered.’

‘How well did you know him?’

‘As well as anyone else in the company,’ he said, ‘but that is no large claim to make, my lady. The truth is that none us really knew Sylvester. We saw him as a friend and as a valuable member of the company but we had no notion where he came from or what career he had pursued until he joined Westfield’s Men. He talked little about himself, nor did we press him on the subject. It is not unusual, my lady.’

‘Unusual?’

‘Actors are strange creatures. It is not only vanity which makes them strut upon a stage. Many other motives impel them. Sylvester Pryde was not alone in using the theatre as a kind of refuge, a place where he could hide his true self and be someone else for an afternoon.’

‘And what was that true self, Nicholas?’

‘I am not sure.’

‘Hazard a guess,’ she encouraged. ‘You have been here long enough to make observations and to pass a judgement What have you decided?’ She smiled at his obvious reluctance. ‘Do not be afraid to speak your mind. I will not be offended.’

‘Very well, my lady,’ he said, plunging in. ‘I believe that Sylvester secured that loan from a member of his family. We have long felt that he came of aristocratic stock and noted a prosperity about him which could not be bought with his share of our takings. In short, I think that the money for our playhouse came from someone in this room.’ He turned to indicate the largest portrait. ‘From his father.’

The Countess of Dartford fought hard to contain her mirth. She rose from her seat and walked away from him so that he could not see the smile on her face. When she recovered her poise, she came back to rest a hand on the back of her chair.

‘That is not his father, Nicholas, I do assure you.’

‘Then I am mistaken.’

‘Gravely,’ she said, turning to the portrait. ‘That gentleman has no children nor is he likely to produce any. He is well over sixty years of age and in extremely poor health. You are looking at Charles Bartram, Earl of Dartford,’ she said levelly. ‘He is my husband.’

‘I do apologise, my lady.’

‘Charles would be flattered by the compliment.’

‘I spoke in ignorance.’

‘Only because I urged you on, Nicholas. Let it pass.’ She resumed her seat and became earnest. ‘I will tell you about Sylvester Pryde,’ she volunteered, ‘but I must first extract a promise from you. Whatever I tell you must remain a secret between us. Is that understood?’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘I will have to trust to your discretion.’

‘You will not find it wanting,’ he asseverated.

‘I know.’ She collected her thoughts before continuing. ‘Sylvester hailed from Lincolnshire. His father, Sir Reginald Pryde, had his estate there and hoped that his only son would take it over after him. It was not to be. Sylvester was too free a spirit to spend the rest of his life in Lincolnshire. He and his father fell out. Sir Reginald settled a sum of money on him but left the estate itself to a nephew.’ She gave a wan smile. ‘You can imagine what Sylvester did with his inheritance.’

‘He enjoyed spending it, my lady.’

‘On others as much as on himself,’ she stressed. ‘He was the most generous person I have ever met and not only with money. Sylvester was a beautiful man. It was a joy to know him. As to what he did before he joined your company, I am not entirely certain myself. He dallied with the law. He even toyed with the notion of becoming a Member of Parliament. And there were doubtless other professions that held his attention for a short time. Only the theatre satisfied him,’ she said. ‘He found his true home with Westfield’s Men.’

‘We felt that, my lady.’

‘Though he was never destined for real glory there.’

‘He was a competent actor,’ said Nicholas loyally. ‘Short of the genius which makes a Lawrence Firethorn but an asset to any company. He worked at his trade.’

‘That was a revelation to him,’ she said. ‘It was the only thing he ever dedicated himself to and it gave him rewards of the heart he had never imagined. That was why he was so eager to transact a loan for Westfield’s Men. It was partly a repayment for all the pleasure and excitement you gave him.’

‘He gave us pleasure and excitement in return.’

‘Then you will not forget him?’

‘Never!’ vowed Nicholas.

She was content. She rose from her chair in a manner which indicated that the interview was over. Nicholas stood up and moved towards the door with her. In close proximity, he found her perfume even more alluring. She paused at the door.

‘The loan will be paid.’

‘Thank you, my lady.’

‘Tell Master Firethorn that The Angel can be built.’

‘I will.’

‘But that is all you tell him, Nicholas. There is no need for anyone else but you to know that I provided that money. I have many reasons for maintaining my secrecy.’

‘They are no business of ours, my lady,’ he said, glad that their benefactor had finally been identified. ‘Your kindness is appreciated and your wishes will be respected. But there is one thing I would like to ask before I leave.’

‘What is it?’

‘How did you know that Sylvester had been killed?’

‘One of my servants made enquiries of the coroner.’

‘But what made you send him to the coroner?’

The Countess of Dartford looked him full in the face.

‘Instinct,’ she said simply. ‘Sylvester did not come back here last night. Only death could have kept him away.’

This time she could not hold back the tears.

Rose Marwood’s fever broke in the night. A combination of the doctor’s potion, her mother’s nursing and the anguished prayers of her father eventually worked. Sybil sat beside the bed all night to tend her, trying desperately to atone for the pain and disease she believed she had inflicted on Rose by taking her to Clerkenwell. The doctor’s reproaches had shattered her faith in Mary Hogg and she berated herself for her folly in trusting such a dangerous woman. Alexander Marwood had been given the task of destroying the Roman Catholic Prayer Book and he burnt it on the fire, wishing, as he stared into the yellow flames, that he could consign his daughter’s lover to the same fate.