Edward Marston - The Laughing Hangman

‘George has too much to learn in too short a time.’

‘That is because of his stupidity and laziness.’

‘No, it is not,’ said Nicholas reasonably. ‘We overload him, that is all. This season, Westfield’s Men will stage all of thirty-six different plays, seventeen of them, like Jonas Applegarth’s, entirely new. Asking George Dart to remember the plots and properties of thirty-six plays is to put an impossible strain on the lad.’

‘ I know what each play requires,’ said Skillen proudly.

‘You are a master of your craft, Thomas. He is not.’

The old man was mollified. He loved to feel that his age and experience were priceless assets to the company. After discussing the play at greater length with him, Nicholas went off to tackle the multifarious chores that awaited him before the rehearsal could begin. He could spare only a wave of greeting to each new member of the company who drifted into the yard.

Edmund Hoode came first, buoyed up by the thought that his admirer might send him another token of her love or perhaps even reveal her identity. Barnaby Gill shared his mood of elation, though for a more professional reason. The Maids of Honour was one of his favourite plays because it gave him an excellent role as a court jester, with no less than four songs and three comic jigs. Owen Elias and James Ingram arrived together, deep in animated conversation. Three of the boy apprentices came into the yard abreast, giggling at a coarse jest. The fourth, Richard Honeydew, strolled in with Peter Digby, the director of the musicians.

Lawrence Firethorn, predictably, timed his entrance for maximum effect, clattering into the yard on his horse when everyone else was assembled there and raising his hat in salutation. From the broad grin on his face, his colleagues rightly surmised that he had tasted connubial delight that morning with his wife, the passionate Margery, a fact which was corroborated by the sniggers of the apprentices, who lived under the same roof as the actor-manager and who had heard every sigh of ecstasy and every creak of the bed. Silent pleasure was a denial of nature in the Firethorn household.

‘Nick, dear heart!’ he said, dismounting beside the book holder. ‘Is all ready here?’

‘Now that you have come, it is.’

‘Then let us waste no more of a wonderful day.’

He tossed the reins to a waiting ostler, then strode off towards the tiring-house. Nicholas called the rest of the company to order and had the stage set for the first scene.

The Maids of Honour was a staple part of their repertoire, played for its reliability rather than for any intrinsic merits. A sprightly comedy with a political thrust, it was set in the French Court at some unspecified period in the past. The King of France is deeply troubled by rumours of a planned assassination. The Queen dismisses his fears until an attempt is made on his life but thwarted by the brave intercession of the Prince of Navarre, a guest at the Court.

Convinced that someone inside the palace is helping his enemies, the King lets his suspicions fall on the three maids of honour who attend the Queen. She is outraged by the suggestion that her most cherished friends could plot the overthrow of her husband, but the King follows his own intuition. Disguising himself as an Italian nobleman, he tests each maid of honour in turn to see if she can be corrupted by the promise of money. Two of them welcome his advances, proving that they have neither honour nor maidenhead; but the third, Marie, the plain girl matched with two Court beauties, vehemently rejects his blandishments.

The King removes his disguise and returns to his Queen. Presenting his evidence, he expects her to accept his word, but she flies into a rage and accuses him of trying to seduce her maids of honour. She flounces out of the Court and locks herself in her chamber. The Court Jester, acting as a mocking chorus throughout, takes especial pleasure in the marital discord. In his despair, the King confides in the handsome Prince.

Two of the maids of honour conspire with the exiled Duke of Brabant to overthrow the King. A second assassination attempt is planned, but it is foiled by Marie, who raises the alarm. The King is only wounded and the conspirators are captured by the Prince of Navarre. A contrite Queen tends her husband’s wounds and promises that she will never misjudge him so cruelly again. As a reward for her loyalty, Marie, blossoming in victory, becomes the bride of the Prince. The play ends on a note of celebration with honour satisfied in every way.

The rehearsal was halting but free from major mishap. A large audience filled the yard of the Queen’s Head for the performance itself. Jonas Applegarth sat in the upper gallery, paying for one seat but taking up almost three. Hugh Naismith sat where he could keep his mortal enemy in view. Lord Westfield and his cronies emerged from a private room behind the lower gallery to occupy their customary station and to whet their appetites for the play with brittle badinage over cups of Canary wine. Alexander Marwood circled his yard like a carrion crow.

Your pleasure and indulgence, dearest friends ,

Is all we seek and to these worthy ends

We take you to the glittering court of France ,

Where gorgeous costume, music, song and dance ,

Affairs of state and matters of the heart ,

Mirthful jests, a Barnabian art ,

With pomp and ceremonial display

Enhance the scene for our most honourable play

About three Maids of Honour .…

Dressed in a black cloak, Owen Elias delivered the Prologue before bowing to applause and stealing away as a fanfare signalled the entry of the French Court. Lawrence Firethorn and Richard Honeydew made a magnificent entrance as King and Queen, respectively, in full regalia, and took their places at the head of a table set for a banquet. The solemnity of the occasion was soon shattered by the appearance of the Court Jester, who came somersaulting onto the stage to snatch a bowl or fruit and set it on his head like a crown. The Barnabian art of Barnaby Gill was in full flow and the spectators were enthralled.

Firethorn led the company with characteristic brio. James Ingram was a dashing Prince of Navarre, Owen Elias a truly villainous Duke of Brabant, and Edmund Hoode, in a flame-coloured gown, was a resplendent Constable of France. What The Maids of Honour also did was to furnish the four apprentices with an opportunity to do more than simply decorate a scene in female attire. Richard Honeydew showed regal fury as the Queen while Martin Yeo and Stephen Judd were suitably devious and guileful as the two dishonourable maids.

But it was John Tallis who really came to the fore. The boy was a competent actor but his lantern jaw and unfortunate cast of feature ruled him out of romantic roles. The part of Marie was a signal exception. Overshadowed by the external beauty of the other maids, he evinced an inner radiance that finally shone through. Tactfully concealing his lantern jaw behind a fan, he knelt gratefully before his King as the latter joined his hand symbolically with that of the Prince of Aragon.

It was then that the crisis occurred. Until that point, John Tallis had given the performance of his young lifetime. Puberty then descended upon him with its full weight. When the King of France invited Marie to accept the hand of the Prince of Navarre in marriage, he tempted Providence with his choice of words:

Sing out your sweetest answer, soft-voiced Maid ,

And let your music captivate Navarre .

John Tallis put all the sweetness that he could muster into his reply, but what emerged from his mouth was the croak of a giant frog. His voice had broken, and with it broke the spell which had so carefully been woven throughout the preceding two hours. A tender moment between lovers became a source of crude hilarity. The audience rocked with mirth. When John Tallis tried to retrieve the situation with a series of mellifluous rhyming couplets, they came out as gruff entreaties which only increased the general hysteria.