Edward Marston - The Wanton Angel

‘Has he?’ said Firethorn with interest.

‘Yes, Lawrence. That is what I came to tell you. I was at Court this morning when Sir Edmund Tilney confided in me the latest decision. It seems a just way to proceed.’

‘How so?’

‘The Privy Council have postponed their verdict,’ said Lord Westfield fussily. ‘They are masters of postponement because they can never make up their minds. Tilney feels that they need some help to come to judgement.’

‘What does he recommend?’ asked Nicholas.

‘That the three major theatre companies be viewed alongside each other. This is his plan. Westfield’s Men, Havelock’s Men and Banbury’s Men play at Court in turn. Other companies are not even in the reckoning.’

‘I like this news,’ said Firethorn.

Nicholas sounded a warning note. ‘It may not favour us,’ he said. ‘If everything is to be decided on one performance, the slightest error might tell against us.’

‘There will be no errors, Nick!’

‘That is easier to say than to enforce. The importance of the occasion will make the company nervous and that is when unfortunate mistakes creep in.’

‘It is so with the other companies,’ said Firethorn. ‘I have no fears. We will always outshine Havelock’s Men.’

‘And Banbury’s Men,’ added Lord Westfield truculently. ‘They are nothing but a pack of murderers.’

Nicholas let the two of them enthuse about the plan. He kept his reservations to himself. Though delighted that they would have the honour of another performance at Court, he was deeply worried that the Privy Council’s decision would take no account of their sustained excellence. Judged on their whole season, Westfield’s Men could rightly claim supremacy over their rivals. When they were given only one chance to impress, they entered the realms of doubt.

There was another problem. Westfield’s Men were a diminished force. When The Insatiate Duke was first staged, it was the headiest triumph they had enjoyed for a long time. Since then one of its co-authors had left, the other was profoundly depressed as a result, a sharer had been brutally killed and the company’s resident clown was restless. He wondered how many more depletions there would be before the stipulated appearance at Court.

Firethorn’s optimism knew no bounds. Striking a pose, he began to pluck plays out of the repertoire, nominating those in which he took the leading part and ignoring the contribution that others might make.

‘ Hector of Troy ,’ he concluded. ‘That is our choice.’

‘We should discuss this at greater length,’ said Nicholas tactfully. ‘The other sharers will want their say.’

‘They will follow my lead, Nick.’

The book holder stifled his reply. He knew how outraged Barnaby Gill would be at the choice of Hector of Troy . Not only did it allow Firethorn to dominate the stage for the whole five acts, it confined Gill to two short scenes and one dance. The surest way to drive their clown out of Westfield’s Men was to select a play which blunted his rich talents.

‘What of this new playhouse?’ asked Lord Westfield.

‘It grows by the hour, my lord,’ said Firethorn airily. ‘Our fellows are taking it in turns to put their strong arms at the disposal of the builder. The Angel theatre will soon be a towering landmark on the riverbank.’

‘And the loan?’ said their patron.

‘It is safe.’

‘But was not Sylvester Pryde your intermediary?’

‘That office has been taken over by Nick here.’

‘You know who our mysterious benefactor is?’ said Lord Westfield excitedly. ‘Do tell us, Nicholas.’

‘I am not at liberty to do so, my lord.’

‘You may trust me. I am as close as the grave.’

‘I have sworn an oath, my lord, and may not break it.’

‘There’s an end to it,’ said Firethorn. ‘Nick would not even confide in me. He is too honourable. What does it matter where the money comes from as long as we have it? This loan breathes new life back into Westfield’s Men.’

‘Yes,’ said their patron wearily, ‘but it is not only the company which is in need of a loan. Is our benefactor so wealthy that he can loan six hundred pounds to us at such a favourable rate of interest? Such a man is to be wooed, Nicholas. Cultivate him. Ask him if he would consider making a personal loan to a very dear friend of yours.’

‘I think it unlikely, my lord,’ said Nicholas. ‘But for Sylvester Pryde, we would not have secured this loan. He was the pathway to our benefactor and Sylvester is dead.’

‘Try, Nicholas. Even a small amount would be acceptable.’

‘I understand.’

‘Good.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘Meanwhile, I will continue to work away on your behalf at Court. The factions are already forming. Viscount Havelock has the largest but the Earl of Banbury is busy gathering his forces.’ He gave a grin of self-congratulation. ‘I, too, have assembled friends around me. Sir Patrick Skelton has been won over to our side and several others besides.’

‘These are cheerful tidings,’ said Firethorn.

‘They are, Lawrence. And it is not openly among the men that I have recruited support. Several ladies have indicated a preference for Westfield’s Men. Cordelia Bartram among them.’

Nicholas was taken aback. ‘Cordelia Bartram, my lord?’

‘Yes,’ said the other. ‘The Countess of Dartford.’

‘Is she not a fabled beauty?’ asked Firethorn.

‘And rightly so, Lawrence. She is wasted on that old fool of a husband she married. No,’ said Lord Westfield with a knowing chuckle, ‘I was not at all surprised when Cordelia threw her weight behind us. It is one sure way to strike back at Viscount Havelock.’

‘Why should she wish to do that?’ said Nicholas.

‘Revenge,’ said the other. ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman spurned. Before she was married, it is rumoured, Cordelia was his mistress until he cast her aside. The Countess of Dartford would love to see Havelock’s Men perish.’

Viscount Havelock lived in a style which was the envy of his friends and foes alike. His house in Bishopsgate was palatial, surpassing in extravagance, though not in size, the neighbouring Crosby Place. The Viscount was a man of considerable wealth and a passion for displaying it. His theatre company were not simply a reflection of his devotion to the arts. They were a public statement of his importance, an expression of his vanity and a glittering jewel which he could wear to impress the rest of London. Viscount Havelock never resisted any opportunity to polish that jewel.

‘Well, Rupert?’ he enquired.

‘All things proceed to our advantage,’ said Kitely.

‘I am delighted to hear it.’

‘This latest device of Sir Edmund Tilney’s makes our position ever more secure. We are to play at Court in sequence with Banbury’s Men and Westfield’s Men so that we may be judged side by side. Choice of the fare we select will be critical, my lord, and fortune favours us.’

‘How so?’

‘We have a play, fresh and new-minted, the sprightliest comedy which has come our way in years.’

‘What is it called?’

‘ A Looking Glass for London .’

‘I like the sound of that.’

‘You will like it even more when you see it, my lord,’ said Kitely with pride. ‘It was to have been staged at The Rose on Monday but we will save it for Court. A Looking Glass for London is the ideal piece to set before Her Grace. Our rivals, meanwhile, will have no new offering ready in time. They will have to ferret through their old playbooks to find something fit. Our work will be fresh and lively against their dull, stale, careworn dramas.’