Edward Marston - The Wanton Angel

‘Why was I not told?’

‘I favoured another strategy.’

‘The only strategy Barnaby deserves is a foot of naked steel between the ribs. Sweet Jesus! I’ll cut him into shreds and hang them up to dry! I’ll boil him in oil! I’ll turn him on a spit over a slow fire.’ He dropped down from the saddle. ‘This will be the death of us, Nick.’

‘I do not think so.’

‘How can you be so cool at such dreaded tidings?’

‘Because I helped him to frame the letter.’

Firethorn quivered. ‘ You were his confederate? You stood by and let him sell his miserable skin to Banbury’s Men?’

‘No,’ said Nicholas, ‘and if you hear me out, you will find that he is not the villain you take him for. And neither,’ he added quickly, smothering Firethorn’s retort with a raised palm, ‘am I. The reason I helped with the letter was that he wished to show it to Giles Randolph before it was sent as proof that he was in earnest.’

‘Then he is not?’

‘Not since I talked to him of loyalty.’

‘What does he know of the word?’

‘A great deal. Do not despair of him. He will return.’

‘My sword will be ready.’

‘Were you a king, you would use it to knight him for his services to you.’ Nicholas grinned. ‘They wooed him hard to get him to Shoreditch and he has gone. But he may not fulfil their high expectations.’

Barnaby Gill arrived early at The Curtain to meet his new fellows and to rehearse the scenes in Richard Crookback in which his comic gifts would be given full rein. A beaming Giles Randolph gave him a formal welcome before introducing him to the others. Henry Quine was delighted to see him there, patting him like a favourite dog, and most of the sharers were honoured to have such a celebrated actor in their ranks but there were some who resented his promotion over their heads and who felt that his links with their rivals was a form of contamination. To bring him in at short notice for such an important performance was a risk but Randolph took it without a second thought. Gill learnt fast and had a tenacious memory. But the core of his art was inspired improvisation.

‘Clear the stage!’ said Randolph. ‘We will begin.’

‘I am ready,’ said Gill.

‘Are you happy with your role?’

‘Very happy, Giles.’

‘The play needed more comedy to brighten its darkness. You will be the silver lining on a dark cloud, Barnaby.’

‘I will strive to please you.’

‘Stand by with the book!’ called Randolph.

But nobody expected that a prompt would be needed by two such experienced players. Randolph had taken the title role many times in the past and could perform it without thinking. Gill had been given a few days to study the scenes in which he featured and would already have mastered his role. It was the first time that two outstanding actors had shared the stage and the rest of the company watched with interest, conscious that they might be witnessing a historic moment.

Richard Crookback began with the coronation of its central character, who had schemed his way to the throne and rejoiced in his villainy while doing so. It was in the second scene of the play that the jester made his appearance. Summoned to entertain the king and his entourage at their banquet, the jester amused the assembly with his antics before engaging with the king in a long argument. Like so many authors, the playwright put wise words into the mouth of a fool but they were disregarded by the impatient Richard who did not wish to be told that his reign would be short.

Trestle tables were set out for the banquet and a few cups placed on them. Richard III and his guests took their place at the banquet and indulged in witty badinage. Gill, lurking behind the arras, awaited his cue. When it came, he made a bold entrance but deliberately hooked his dagger in The Curtain so that he dragged part of it with him. Several of the actors onstage laughed involuntarily but their laughter changed to cries of surprise when Gill appeared to stumble and knocked their table to the ground, sending the wine cups rolling noisily across the boards. Executing a little dance, the jester bowed low before the king and broke wind with such rasping authority that he drowned out his master’s first line and produced some more unscheduled hilarity.

Giles Randolph took his role too seriously to find any humour in the mishaps and quelled his company with a regal glare before repeating his line again.

‘Where have you been, my mad Gurney?’

‘Gurney?’ queried Gill.

‘That is your name.’

‘It is a strange one for a clown.’

‘No matter. Let us proceed.’

‘But I do not like the name of Gurney.’

‘We will talk of it later.’

‘I would rather settle this argument now, Giles, for the name makes me uneasy. Must I Gurney myself for two whole hours in Court? It is a foul name for a fine character.’

‘Nobody has complained before.’

‘I do not complain. I ask merely as a favour.’

‘It will be changed, Barnaby.’

‘Now or later?’

‘At the end of the scene.’

‘But I have the name hurled at me a dozen times or more. Gurneys will come at me from every direction to offend my ears and distract me from my lines. Give me no Gurneys, sir.’

‘What name would you prefer to be called?’

‘Anything you wish, Giles,’ said Gill with an ingratiating smile. ‘I am happy to oblige you.’

‘Morton?’ suggested Randolph.

‘Too upright a name for a clown.’

‘Bernard?’

‘Too French for the jester of an English king.’

‘Call him Will,’ said the other with exasperation, ‘or Arthur, Tom or Robert. Call him what you choose, Barnaby, but let us get on with the rehearsal.’

‘I am deeply sorry,’ said Gill with a show of penitence.

‘What, then, will the jester be called?’

‘Gurney.’

‘But that is the name which annoyed you.’

‘It annoys me less than the others I was offered. Let me be Gurney until the end of the scene then we can baptise the jester afresh. Will that suit?’

‘Yes,’ said Randolph through gritted teeth.

‘Shall we continue or start again?’

‘We will start again, Barnaby.’

‘I am Gurney now, remember.’

‘Let us start again!’

Gill bowed apologetically and withdrew behind the arras again. Controlling his irritation, the king began the scene again with a speech to his subjects, only to be interrupted by the jester who popped his head around The Curtain and smirked.

‘Give me instruction, please.’

‘Well?’ said Randolph, breaking off from his speech.

‘When I bow in front of you?’

‘Yes?’

‘Would you prefer one fart or two, your Grace?’

The intensity of her anguish finally exhausted Rose Marwood and she fell into a deep sleep. Martin had deserted her. It was impossible to reach any other conclusion. The man she had loved so completely that she surrendered her heart, soul and body to him was not the kind and trustworthy person he had pretended to be. Instead of carrying the child of a man whom she adored, Rose was now saddled with the unwanted offspring of a hateful deceiver. A future which once looked so bright now seemed bleak and terrifying. The enormity of her misjudgement made her fear for her sanity.

It happened in the dark, so quickly and silently that she was not even aware of it at first. Nature, in its wisdom, took a decision which Sybil Marwood had tried to bring about by more inconsiderate means. A distant pain brought Rose awake to discover herself in a clammy and uncomfortable bed. When she learnt the reason for it, she shed her drowsiness at once and let out such a cry of fear that half-a-dozen people came running to her bedchamber.