Edward Marston - The Laughing Hangman

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Having piloted another play safely into port, Nicholas Bracewell supervised the unloading of the cargo and the crew. It was not until the last of the properties and the costumes had been safely locked away that he was able to spare the time to listen to Owen Elias’s report of his findings. The two of them were alone in the tiring-house.

‘His name is Hugh Naismith.’

‘Can you be certain, Owen?’

‘As certain as it is possible to be. The fellow was a regular member of Banbury’s Men, a promising actor, secure in the company’s estimation and likely to rise to the rank of sharer.’

‘What happened?’ asked Nicholas.

‘ Friar Francis . By one Jonas Applegarth.’

‘I remember seeing the playbills for it.’

‘Hugh Naismith did not like the piece. Friar Francis was a most un-Christian play, by all account, as full of fury as The Misfortunes of Marriage , and with an even sharper bite. This foolish actor dared to rail against it in the hearing of the author and the two of them had to be held apart for they squawked at each other like fighting cocks.’

‘Was this Naismith his opponent in the duel?’

‘Ned Meares confirms it,’ said Elias. ‘The varlet was so badly injured that his arm was put in a sling for weeks. Banbury’s Men expelled him straight. The fight with Jonas has cost Naismith both his pride and his occupation.’

‘Two strong reasons for him to seek revenge.’

‘One arm was in a sling but he still might throw a dagger with the other. It must be him, Nick.’

‘Where does he dwell?’

‘In Shoreditch. I called at his lodging.’

‘You met him?’

‘He was not there. Out stalking his prey, no doubt. That thought made me straight repair to Jonas’s house, where I found our fat friend, sitting at his desk in the window of his chamber, writing away as if he did not have a care in the world.’

‘You and he arrived here together, I saw.’

‘Yes, Nick,’ said Elias. ‘I felt compelled to go back to his house again this morning. An assassin may strike on the journey to the Queen’s Head just as well as on the walk back home. Four eyes offer better protection than two.’

‘How did Jonas seem?’

‘As loud and irreverent as ever.’

‘Did you mention Hugh Naismith to him?’

‘He affected not to know the man and would not discuss his time with Banbury’s Men except to say that it was a species of torment.’

‘For him or for them?’ asked Nicholas with a wry smile.

‘Both.’

The book holder checked that everything had been cleared out of the tiring-house before taking his friend through into the taproom. It was throbbing with noise. Players and playgoers alike were ready for drink and debate after the stirring performance of Vincentio’s Revenge .

Jonas Applegarth was holding forth in the middle of the room, addressing his remarks to all who would listen. His lack of tact and restraint made the newcomers gasp.

‘It is a miserable, meandering, worm-eaten play,’ he argued.

‘ Vincentio’s Revenge is a sterling piece,’ countered James Ingram. ‘You saw how the audience loved it.’

‘Ignorant fools! What do they know of drama? If you put ten bare arses on the stage and farted at them for two hours, they would applaud you just as wildly. The Maids of Honour was base enough, but today’s offering was putrid.’

‘That is unkind! Unjust!’

‘And untrue!’ added Barnaby Gill, entering the fray. ‘ Vincentio’s Revenge has been a loyal servant to the company. It fires my imagination each time we play it and raises the pitch of my performance.’

‘Then is it time for you to retire,’ said Applegarth with scorn. ‘You were a walking abomination up on that stage. I have seen sheep with more talent and less confusion. Show some benevolence to mankind, Barnaby, and quit the theatre for good.’

‘I was sublime!’ howled Gill.

‘Scurvy!’

‘Unparallelled.’

‘In absurdity!’

‘Barnaby was at his best,’ defended Ingram stoutly.

‘Then I would hate to see his worst,’ retorted Applegarth, ‘for it would beggar belief. Why wave his hands so, and pull his face thus?’ His grotesque mime turned Gill purple with rage. ‘It was a barbarous performance, almost as bad as that of Vincentio himself.’

Lawrence Firetorn came sailing into the taproom.

‘What’s that you say, sir?’ he growled.

‘The play was ill-chosen.’

‘Not as ill-chosen as your words, Jonas,’ warned the other. ‘Have a care, sir. We like Vincentio’s Revenge .’

‘Can any sane man admire such a botch of nature?’

‘Yes!’ challenged Firethorn. ‘He stands before you.’

‘Then I will list my complaints against the piece in order,’ said Applegarth, quite unabashed. ‘Firstly…’

‘Save your strictures for another time,’ insisted Nicholas, diving in quickly to take the heat out of the argument. ‘Master Firethorn is entertaining his wife and does not wish to be led astray by idle comment that smells too strongly of ale. Our play found favour this afternoon and there’s an end to it.’

With the aid of Owen Elias, he shepherded Applegarth to a table in the corner and sat him down on a bench. Barnaby Gill was still pulsating with anger and James Ingram with disgust, but the quarrel was effectively over. Lawrence Firethorn mastered his fury. Reminded that Margery was still waiting for him in the adjoining chamber, he ordered wine and withdrew to the urgent solace of her embrace. An uneasy peace descended on the taproom.

Jonas Applegarth was still in a bellicose mood.

‘I am entitled to my opinion,’ he asserted.

‘Not when it offends your fellows so,’ said Nicholas.

‘Can they not cope with honesty?’

‘Honesty, yes, but this was random cruelty.’

‘I will not praise where praise is not due, Nick.’

‘Then hold your tongue,’ counselled Elias, ‘or you’ll lose every friend you have made in Westfield’s Men. Insult Master Firethorn again and your career with us is ended.’

‘This play was lame stuff.’

‘Why, then, did you force yourself to watch it?’ said Nicholas. ‘If Vincentio’s Revenge is not to your taste, avoid it. That way, you will not have to suffer its shortcomings and your fellows will not have to bear your gibes. How can you expect actors to give of their best in your play when you mock their performances in every other piece?’

‘Stop biting the hand that feeds you,’ said Elias. ‘You have spat out enough fingers already. Respect our work and we might grow to respect yours.’

‘My art demands reverence!’ said Applegarth, slapping the table with a peremptory hand. ‘ The Misfortunes of Marriage is an absolute masterpiece.’

‘Only when it is played,’ reminded Nicholas.

‘Why, so it will be. At The Rose next week.’

‘Not if you talk it off the stage.’

‘Westfield’s Men are contracted to perform it.’

‘We were contracted to perform The Faithful Shepherd by Edmund Hoode until you came along. If one play can be ousted thus easily from The Rose, so can another.’ Nicholas did not mince his words. ‘And if Westfield’s Men do not perform your work, it will remain as no more than words on a page. I gave you fair warning at the start, Jonas. You will be out of the company and we will cheer your departure.’

Applegarth was momentarily checked. ‘But you saw my play, Nick. It blazed across the stage like a meteor. Owen will vouch for its quality. He tasted its true worth from the inside. Would any company be so prodigal as to cast aside a work of art?’