Edward Marston - The Laughing Hangman

‘Our doubts are not about The Misfortunes of Marriage ,’ said Nicholas. ‘It is a rare phenomenon. We all agree on that. But the playwright obstructs our view of the play. In plain terms, you are making us regret the misfortunes of marriage between Westfield’s Men and Jonas Applegarth. Divorce grows daily nearer.’

‘Then let it come!’ shouted the other.

‘Listen to Nick,’ said Elias. ‘You need us.’

‘Not if I must be bound and gagged. Fie on thee!’

‘Sleep on what I have said,’ suggested Nicholas. ‘We would be friends. Why rush to make us mortal enemies?’

‘God’s blood!’ exclaimed Applegarth. ‘I’ll not stand it!’

He rose to his feet and swayed over them. The smell of strong ale was on his breath. Applegarth had been drinking heavily before, during and after the performance. It made him even more pugnacious and fearless of consequence.

‘A turd in your teeth!’ he bawled. ‘Oust me? I spurn you all like the knaves you are! There is a world elsewhere!’

Kicking the bench aside, he lurched towards the door. Owen Elias was outraged by his behaviour but his affection for the playwright won through.

‘Wild words spoken in haste,’ he said.

‘That tongue of his will talk him out of employment.’

‘I’ll after him and see the rogue safe home.’

‘Counsel moderation, Owen.’

‘What I counsel is a bucket of cold water over his foolish head before I deign to speak to him. If Jonas will not see sense, he loses my esteem. I’ll not sew another patch on the torn sleeve of our fellowship.’

As soon as the Welshman left, Nicholas was joined by James Ingram, still in a state of agitation.

‘Applegarth is a menace to us all, Nick!’

‘But chiefly to himself.’

‘Do not ask me to show him sympathy.’

‘Jonas has supped too much ale.’

‘Sober, he is merely obnoxious; drunk, he is beyond excuse. He poured contempt on the whole company.’

‘I heard him, James.’

‘He is one big barrel of arrogance.’

‘His time with us may be very short indeed.’

‘It will be,’ said Ingram with feeling. ‘If he takes the cudgel to us, we will fight back. I tell you, Nick, I’d willingly strike the first blow.’

Nicholas was surprised. James Ingram was not given to fits of anger. With the exception of Edmund Hoode, he was the most mild-mannered person in the company. Yet he was now curling his lip in a sneer of animosity. It was several minutes before Nicholas could calm him down. When he finally did so, he slipped his hand inside his buff jerkin to take out the sketch which Caleb Hay had drawn for him.

‘I have something to show you, James.’

‘What is it?’

‘Blackfriars. Given to me by a friend.’

Ingram examined the sketch with great interest and traced the outline of the theatre with his finger. There was a hint of nostalgia in his voice.

‘It is very accurate.’

‘The artist is a keen historian of the city.’

‘Then here, in this small drawing, is history writ large. Castle and tower are turned into a monastery. Monastery becomes a theatre. And this very week, theatre becomes a place of execution. Master Fulbeck’s death is one more violent change in Blackfriars. God rest his soul!’

‘Amen.’

‘When will you go back there, Nick?’

‘This evening.’

‘Take me with you.’

‘Gladly.’

‘I am ready,’ said Ingram, handing the sketch back to him. ‘Why do we tarry here?’

‘Because I have to pay my respects first.’

‘To whom?’

Nicholas glanced towards a door on the far side of the room and Ingram gave a smile of understanding. The book holder needed to exchange a greeting with Margery Firethorn.

‘I’ll be with you anon,’ said Nicholas.

He crossed to the door and tapped lightly on it.

‘Enter!’ boomed the actor.

Husband and wife were seated at a table when he went in. Both rose to their feet instantly, Margery coming across to embrace the visitor and Firethorn seeing an opportunity to elude her matrimonial vigilance for a few minutes.

‘Is that insolent braggart still here, Nick?’

‘Jonas Applegarth has gone back home.’

‘He is like to stay there if he rail against me. I was Vincentio to the life this afternoon. Was I not, my dove?’

‘Beyond compare,’ cooed Margery.

‘Yet that wrangling malcontent denied my genius. I’ll fetch him such a box on the ears, he’ll not wake until Doomsday! Let me see that he has quit the premises or I’ll not rest.’

Firethorn slipped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Margery was clearly delighted to be left alone with Nicholas. Taking him by the hand, she led him across to a small bench and they sat down together. She spoke in a conspiratorial whisper.

‘Thank heaven that you came to me, Nick.’

‘Why?’

‘You’d else have missed the glad tidings.’

‘Tidings?’

‘She was here.’

‘Who?’

‘Who else, man?’

‘Anne? Here at the performance?’

‘Sitting as close to me as you are now. She loved the play as much as I did and wept almost as many tears. Anne sent a private message to you.’

‘Did she?’

‘I am to give you her warmest regards,’ said Margery. ‘What she really meant me to convey was her undying love but she could not put that into words.’

Nicholas was pleased that Anne had made contact through an intermediary, though disappointed that she had not delivered her message in person.

‘Did Anne come to the Queen’s Head alone?’ he said.

‘No,’ replied Margery with a teasing grin. ‘She was on the arm of the most striking young man I have seen for a long time. Were I not a contented wife, I would have fought her tooth and nail for the privilege of being escorted by so dashing a partner. An exquisite fellow.’

‘What was his name?’

‘Preben van Loew.’

Nicholas laughed with relief. There was no point in trying to hide his love for Anne Hendrik from her. Margery had seen them together in earlier days and never ceased to tax him over their parting. Unwilling and unable to talk about Anne with anyone else, he was now with the one person who had some insight into the relationship.

‘Go to her, Nick,’ she advised.

‘It is not the answer, I fear.’

‘She wastes away without you.’

‘That is not my impression.’

‘I can tell when a woman is grieving.’

‘It is not for me,’ he said with a sigh. ‘When I called on her yesterday, I only managed to upset her. We have lost the way of speaking to each other.’

‘Use deeds instead of words. Embrace her with love.’

He shook his head. ‘My suit is unwelcome.’

‘Press it with more diligence.’

‘I am too late. There is another man in her life.’

‘Ambrose Robinson.’

He blinked in astonishment. ‘She spoke of him?’

‘Not a word.’

‘Then how did you learn of his existence?’

‘From her handsome escort.’

‘Preben van Loew?’

‘Yes,’ she said airily. ‘Anne would not talk of her personal affairs and so I bided my time until I could speak with the Dutchman alone. For some reason, the poor fellow is afraid of me. I cannot think why. I am Mildness itself. Is any woman in London less frightening than me?’

‘I think not,’ said Nicholas tactfully.

‘As we were leaving the gallery, Anne met a neighbour and exchanged a few words with her. I seized my opportunity. Preben was most forthcoming.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He does not like this Ambrose Robinson, I know that.’

‘No more do I.’

‘Anne does, it seems. And with some reason.’

‘What might it be?’