Edward Marston - The Wanton Angel

‘I’ll do it, Nick!’ said Hoode. ‘Though I’d prefer to strike him yet will I fall upon him with fond smiles and soft words. Lucius will be too innocent to know what I am about. He will be our intelligencer.’

‘And what of me, Nick?’ asked Elias.

‘You have a more difficult assignment.’

‘I am more than ready.’

‘Then follow Master Gill.’

‘Follow him?’

‘When the play ends,’ said Nicholas, ‘wait until he leaves then act as his shadow. I fear that he is in league with Banbury’s Men and would rather know the truth of it than trust to instinct. You were briefly a member of the company and know its haunts. Trail him. See if Master Gill takes you to one of them.’

Elias grinned. ‘I’ll stick to him like a limpet.’

‘What will you do, Nick?’ asked Hoode.

‘Seek a meeting with our benefactor.’

‘Are we never to be told who he is?’

‘Not until I have permission to release the name, Edmund.’

‘I will kiss him on both cheeks in gratitude.’

Nicholas smiled. ‘I doubt that,’ he said, imagining the incongruity of Edmund Hoode trying to kiss the Countess of Dartford. ‘But let us meet again this evening when you have spoken with Lucius.’

‘And I will join you when I have anything to report,’ said Elias. ‘Shall we meet here at the Queen’s Head?’

‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘In Eastcheap. At the Brown Bear.’

Alexander Marwood truly believed that marriage was an excellent mystery but its excellence proved so elusive that he had ceased to expect it. Every day, however, he was given resounding proof of the mystery of holy matrimony. Sybil’s behaviour was eternally puzzling to her husband. When the dreadful news about their daughter’s child had first been received, they had acted in unison, fearing shame, expressing outrage and punishing the girl with joint severity. Marwood and his wife had together initiated a search, albeit fruitless, for the father of the child.

Without even consulting him, Sybil had then taken the errant daughter off to Clerkenwell after depriving him of a considerable sum of money but all that the journey had produced was a tearful girl who soon fell sick of a fever. Marwood found himself blamed both for her pregnancy and for her illness and had the galling experience of having to part with more money when the doctor was summoned to tend her. More blame was incurred by the bewildered landlord who was accused by his spouse of cruelly locking up their daughter and treating her like a condemned felon.

When the fever broke, Rose improved markedly but Sybil’s behaviour became even more mysterious. Having closeted the girl and badgered her in vain to make a confession, her mother now rediscovered a sweetness and maternal concern which was utterly baffling to her husband. Rose’s door was left open, her window unbolted and food sent to her whenever she called for it. Alternately castigated and coaxed, Marwood was further bemused when he retired to bed on the previous night to be given an absent-minded kiss on the cheek from the dry and normally inviolable lips of his wife.

He was even more befuddled when he went upstairs in search of his capricious partner and found Rose creeping uncertainly along the passageway.

‘Where are you going, girl?’ he said harshly.

‘Mother told me to take exercise,’ she said.

‘Did she?’

‘I have to build my strength up again.’

‘But you are dressed to go out, Rose.’

‘Fresh air is good for me, father. The doctor advised it.’

‘He said nothing about fresh air when he pursued me for his fee.’ A belated paternal concern brushed him. ‘How are you feeling now, Rose?’

‘Much recovered.’

‘That would be good news were it not for the shame that you bear. Are you not penitent?’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘And do you not regret the pain you have caused us?’

‘It grieves me more than I can say.’

‘Then tell us who is the author of our misery.’

‘The author?’ It was her turn to be puzzled.

‘The father of your child!’

His raised voice brought Sybil bounding along the passageway with the ferocity of a lioness defending a cub against attack. She gave Marwood such an earful of rebuke that his head was spinning and all memory of his wife’s nocturnal kiss was obliterated. Pondering once more the mystery of the marital state, he beat a hasty retreat.

‘You told me to stretch my legs, Mother,’ said Rose.

‘I did, Rose,’ said Sybil watchfully. ‘But stay on the premises and do not talk to any of the servants. Confine yourself to a greeting. We have kept them ignorant of your condition and gave out that you were sick.’

Rose nodded obediently but knew that everybody at the Queen’s Head would be aware of what was going on. It made her highly self-conscious. While anxious to meet one member of the staff at the inn, she wanted to keep clear of the others lest she be assaulted with embarrassing questions. Sybil sent her on her way and watched with mixed feelings as her daughter slowly descended the backstairs. Then she went off to confront her husband with another slight change of attitude.

Rose soon found him. Leonard was in the cellar, rolling a barrel of ale noisily into position against the dank wall, his bulk magnified by the low ceiling and the narrowness of the storeroom. Rose shivered in the chill atmosphere.

‘Good day, Leonard,’ she said.

He spun round. ‘Mistress Rose!’ he exclaimed. ‘What are you doing down here?’

‘I came to thank you.’

‘Are you allowed to leave your bedchamber?’ he said, fearing reprisals from her parents. ‘Do not take risks on my account.’

‘But you took them on mine, Leonard.’

‘Did I?’

‘You offered me food.’

‘I was afraid that you were starving. They told me in the kitchen that you had not eaten for a whole day. I thought you might be denied food.’

‘You came to me because you cared,’ she said.

Leonard blushed. ‘I wanted to help.’

‘You did.’

‘But you took no bread and cheese from me.’

‘I saw you there outside my window. That was enough. I knew that I had one friend at the Queen’s Head.’

‘You have many, Mistress Rose,’ he told her. ‘Everyone is talking about you. We think you have been harshly treated. It is not my place to say so,’ he added quickly. ‘I have no right to speak against your parents. Your father gave me a place here when nobody else would look at me and I am grateful to him for that.’ He struggled to find the right words. ‘But I was … worried about you. That was why I came.’

‘It made a big difference.’

‘Did it?’

‘Yes, Leonard.’

A slow smile spread over his face until it shone in the gloom of the cellar. Rose’s gratitude was a bounty in itself. The risks he had taken on her behalf were more than worth it. Her friendship was one of the things which mitigated the grinding hardship and constant unpleasantness of working for Alexander Marwood.

Rose lowered her head slightly and bit her lip.

‘What do they say about me?’ she murmured.

‘Who?’

‘The others.’

‘Kind things, Mistress Rose. Kind things.’

‘They do not laugh at me, then?’

‘No,’ he said earnestly. ‘They would have to answer to me if they did. They are very sorry to hear …’ He cleared his throat and groped for the right words again. ‘To hear … what befell you. The players, too, show sympathy.’

Rose was dismayed. ‘Do Westfield’s Men know of my shame as well?’ she said. ‘It will soon be the talk of the parish.’

‘No,’ he told her. ‘And do not think the players make any jests about you. Nicholas Bracewell makes sure that your name is respected. He will have no foul talk about any young woman. Besides, Mistress Rose, the players have troubles of their own which put you quite out of their mind.’