Edward Marston - The Wanton Angel

‘This serves us well, Rupert.’

They were at the house in Bishopsgate and Kitely was extremely flattered to be invited there. At the same time, he was reminded of his position as the servant of his patron by being kept waiting when he first arrived then by being made to stand while his host lounged in a chair. They were in a small but well-appointed antechamber and Kitely could hear the sound of busy preparations in the adjoining dining room. The noble Viscount Havelock would never deign to invite the actor to his table. Though the theatre troupe brought them close, and even permitted a degree of friendship, the social distance between them remained vast.

‘What of Westfield’s Men?’ asked the patron.

‘They are beset by problems,’ said the other complacently.

‘And we will create more to vex them.’

‘Have you been able to raid the company?’

‘We have taken one prisoner so far, my lord. Their young playwright, Lucius Kindell. You saw his work at the Queen’s Head recently.’

‘Saw it and admired it,’ recalled the Viscount. ‘This fellow has talent. But I would sooner you had poached Edmund Hoode from their pantry. They feed chiefly off him.’

‘Hoode will come in time, my lord,’ said the actor. ‘And Lucius will help to bring him there. My calculation was that Hoode would be desolate at the loss of his young apprentice. And so it has proved. Westfield’s Men are a lesser company when their playwright is dejected.’

‘You are a wise politician, sir.’

‘I need to be in my profession.’

‘And Banbury’s Men?’

‘They are of no account, my lord.’

‘Do not dismiss them lightly, Rupert.’

‘You know the terms of the edict better than I, my lord. One playhouse to stand north of the river and one south. Banbury’s Men cannot hurt us while they are in Shoreditch.’

‘But they must also have designs on Westfield’s Men.’

‘Indeed,’ said Kitely, ‘they have set themselves the task of stealing Barnaby Gill away.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Such information can be bought, my lord.’

‘A spy in their camp?’

‘He warns me of all that happens at The Curtain,’ said Kitely with a thin smile. ‘One Henry Quine, an actor with the company, was used to see if Gill could be tempted. It seems that he can be. Gill has met with Giles Randolph.’

‘I would sooner he met with Rupert Kitely.’

‘That, too, will come in time, my lord,’ promised the other. ‘For the moment, I choose to let Banbury’s Men work on our behalf. If they take Barnaby Gill from the Queen’s Head, they disable the company badly and that serves our purpose. It is The Angel which threatens The Rose. Our rivals will help to clip its wings.’

Viscount Havelock rose to his feet to deliver his command.

‘I want this new playhouse strangled in its cradle.’

‘It will be, my lord.’

‘The Rose must have no rival in Bankside.’

‘Nor will it,’ pledged the other. ‘Havelock’s Men will be unchallenged. The Angel theatre is the doomed project of a company which will soon be disbanded. Your company will reign supreme, my lord.’

‘That will please me mightily.’

Viscount Havelock rose from his chair with a smile of satisfaction then gave his visitor a nod of dismissal before going off to join his guests. He would have something to boast to them about now.

Nicholas Bracewell was deeply troubled. His walk home from the Queen’s Head was a series of recriminations. A casual remark from their patron had made him see their situation in an entirely different light. When he left the house in the Strand, he firmly believed that their benefactor was advancing a loan to the company out of fondness for Sylvester Pryde but it now transpired that she might have another motive. Cordelia Bartram, Countess of Dartford, had struck him as a beautiful woman who was grieving over the death of a close friend and Nicholas had sensed that the friendship might well have been of the most intimate nature. He passed no moral judgement on that. It was not his place to do so.

If, however, the lady really was the discarded mistress of Viscount Havelock, and if she was using Westfield’s Men as a weapon against him, then the company’s position was precarious. They were mere pawns in a private quarrel between estranged lovers. When they had served their purpose and brought about the demise of the rival company, the scheming Countess might have no further use for them and the loan which she had so readily supplied might be recalled or laden with crippling additional interest payments. Instead of ensuring their salvation, Sylvester Pryde might unwittingly have loaded them with an intolerable burden.

What made his predicament worse was that Nicholas was unable to discuss it with anyone. Having given his solemn word, he was duty bound to stand by it and that meant holding back from his fellows any knowledge of the threat which their benefactor posed. He could now see all too well why the Countess of Dartford insisted on her anonymity. She did not wish Viscount Havelock to know that she was funding a campaign against his theatre company, nor, Nicholas suspected, did she want her husband to become aware of how she disposed of her money or how she spent her time away from him. Judging by his portrait, the Earl of Dartford was a proud, haughty man with a possessive nature. Had he realised that his wife had been entertaining a young lover at their London home, he would have been justifiably roused.

The more Nicholas reflected on the situation, the more complicated it became. Lord Westfield had his faults but he was a supportive patron. He could be weak, erratic and prone to interfere at times yet he never failed them in a real crisis. Nicholas could imagine how outraged he would be if he knew that one of the people he had recruited to his Court faction was secretly providing the money to build the new playhouse. If her identity were ever revealed, then Nicholas himself would come in for severe criticism from a patron who would not be above demanding his removal from the company. He was shaken by the thought that a vow given to the Countess of Dartford might turn out to be an act of professional suicide.

His meditations carried him all the way down to the river and he engaged a waterman to row him across. As they rode on the choppy water in the falling light, Nicholas recalled that Sylvester Pryde had made a similar journey to Bankside on the night of his murder. He could well understand the emotions which had surged through his friend. To be able to effect the survival of his company would have been deeply gratifying but it was the notion of the new playhouse which had fired him. The Angel theatre would not just be a marvel which Pryde had helped to bring into being. For a rootless actor, an outcast from his family, a wandering soul, a man who had finally discovered his true path in life, it was a spiritual home.

The boat landed him a hundred yards downstream of The Angel but Nicholas felt a sudden urge to view the site himself. Little would be visible in the gloom but he knew that it would impart the same thrill of anticipation which Pryde had sought on his fatal visit. Instead of returning to his lodging, therefore, he walked briskly past the tenements which fringed the riverbank. When a gap in the buildings appeared, Nicholas thought for a moment that he saw figures moving about on the site and he came to a cautionary halt. No work could be done without torches and Thomas Bradd had dismissed his men some hours before. Who then could be trespassing?

Though he strained his eyes against the half-dark, Nicholas could no longer see anyone among the timbers and the piles of bricks. He decided that he had either been mistaken or that his arrival had frightened away any intruders. When he moved forward, he still took the precaution of keeping a hand on his dagger but he did not expect to have to use it. The site of the playhouse seemed deserted. Foundations had been dug and one wall had already been started. When he stood in the centre of the plot, Nicholas could envisage the great, many-sided structure rising up all around him until it matched The Rose in the middle distance. It was an inspiring moment but he was not allowed to enjoy it for long.