Edward Marston - The Laughing Hangman

***

That was nobly done, Nick. No man could have handled it better.’

‘I wanted to be the one to break the sad tidings.’

‘Thank heaven that you were!’

‘Your presence was a help, Owen.’

‘I said almost nothing.’

‘You were there. That was enough. Mistress Applegarth drew strength from your sympathy.’

‘It was your compassion which sustained her. You delivered the roughest news in the most gentle way. She will ever be grateful to you for that.’

Owen Elias and Nicholas Bracewell had just left the home of Jonas Applegarth. It had fallen to the book holder to inform her that she was now a widow, and he had done so by suppressing all the gruesome details of her husband’s death. Neighbours had been brought in to sit with the woman until other members of the family could arrive to share the burden of the tragedy.

‘She is a brave woman,’ observed Owen. ‘She bore up well throughout that ordeal. It was almost as if she were expecting something like this to happen.’

‘I think she was. Jonas seemed to court destruction.’

‘Yes, Nick. The wonder is not that he is dead but that he lived for so long.’

Nicholas looked back at the house with deep sadness. ‘Jonas Applegarth was a playwright of distinction-we have not seen a finer at the Queen’s Head-but his talent was marred by a perversity in his nature. His work won him friends, yet he thrived on making enemies.’

‘One, in particular!’

‘I fear so.’

‘Let’s after him straight,’ urged Elias. ‘Now that we have done our duty by his widow, we must seek revenge. We know who the murderer was.’

‘Do we?’

‘Hugh Naismith. Late of Banbury’s Men.’

‘I think not.’

‘He has been stalking Jonas for days. You were there when Naismith hurled a dagger at him. And I dare swear that he followed us here last night.’

‘That does not make him our man, Owen.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because he would not go to all the trouble of setting up a gallows at the Queen’s Head when he could dispatch his victim more easily with sword or dagger. You forget something.’

‘What is that?’

‘Naismith was injured in his duel with Jonas. How could a man with his arm in a sling haul up so heavy a load over a beam? It is not possible.’

‘It is if he had a confederate.’

‘I heard one Laughing Hangman, Owen, not two.’

‘Naismith had cause and means to kill Jonas.’

‘Granted,’ said Nicholas. ‘But what cause and means did he have to murder Cyril Fulbeck at the Blackfriars Theatre?’

‘The cause is plain enough, Nick.’

‘Is it?’

‘Fulbeck put those Chapel Children back on the stage to take the bread out of the mouths of honest actors. I am one with Hugh Naismith there. I’d happily wring the necks of those infant players myself and the man who put them there.’

‘You are wrong, Owen.’

‘It has to be Naismith.’

‘Never!’

‘Your reason?’

‘He was too obvious an enemy,’ argued Nicholas. ‘Jonas would be on his guard as soon as he saw the man. Naismith might have forged a letter to lure him to the Queen’s Head, but how did he entice him into our storeroom? The person who killed him was a man he did not fear. Remember the Master of the Chapel.’

‘Cyril Fulbeck?’

‘He also let someone get close enough to strike. A stranger would never have gained entry to Blackfriars.’

‘Then Naismith was not a stranger to him.’

‘He has no part in this, Owen.’

‘But he does,’ insisted the Welshman. ‘You saw a dagger aimed at Jonas’s back. Did that come out of thin air?’

‘No, it was thrown by an enemy. But not by our hangman.’

‘There are two villains here?’

‘Most certainly,’ said Nicholas, thinking it through. ‘One of them haunts the shadows and strikes from behind. The other is a more calculating killer. Why was Master Fulbeck hanged on his own stage? Why did Jonas have to be enticed to the Queen’s Head? There is method here, Owen. And it is way beyond anything that Hugh Naismith could devise.’

Elias nodded reluctantly. ‘You begin to persuade me. Haply, he is not our man.’ His ire stirred again. ‘But that does not rule him out as the street assassin. Naismith trailed Jonas and hurled that dagger at him.’

‘That may yet be true.’

‘It is, Nick. Let’s track him down and beat a confession out of him. Attempted murder must not go unpunished.’

‘Nor shall it. But you must pursue Naismith alone.’

‘And you?’

‘I must to the Coroner to sign a sworn statement of how the body of Jonas Applegarth came to be discovered. Nathan Curtis waits for me there. Then I’ll to the playhouse.’

‘The Curtain? The Theatre? The Rose?’

‘Blackfriars,’ said Nicholas. ‘That is where this riddle first started and where it will finally be solved.’

***

As the finger of guilt pointed at him once more, Edmund Hoode shut his eyes against its silent accusation. He only half-heard the argument that was raging nearby. Barnaby Gill and Lawrence Firethorn were sitting with him in the taproom of the Queen’s Head. Inflamed with drink, they locked horns.

‘Why was the performance canceled?’ demanded Gill.

‘Out of respect for the dead,’ said Firethorn.

‘I was not consulted.’

‘The decision was taken for us, Barnaby. Even you must see that. We could not stage a play in the yard while Jonas Applegarth was dangling from a beam in the storeroom.’

‘He was cut down and carted away hours ago.’

‘His memory remains.’

‘I believe that you did this out of spite, Lawrence.’

‘Spite?’

‘Yes!’ screamed Gill, working himself up into a full tantrum. ‘ Cupid’s Folly should have been played today. A piece tailored to my genius. Audiences clamour for it time and again. You tore it off the stage to spite me.’

‘That is madness!’

‘You know how I rule the roost in Cupid’s Folly . They adore me. They love to see my performance as Rigormortis.’

‘Why, so do I!’ said Firethorn with sarcasm. ‘I would give anything to look upon your rigor mortis .’

‘Spite!’

‘Go rot!’

‘The play was cancelled out of spite.’

‘Is that why Jonas Applegarth got himself hanged? In order to spite you? “Pray, good sir, put that noose around my neck so that I may aggravate Barnaby Gill.” Think of someone else for a change, man. Sigh for the loss of a friend. That is what Edmund does.’ He nudged the playwright hard. ‘Do you not?’

Hoode opened his eyes. ‘What’s that you say?’

‘You are in mourning for Jonas, are you not?’

‘Yes, Lawrence. I mourn and I repent. As God is my witness, I must speak honestly. I writhe with guilt.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I wished the poor fellow dead.’

‘So did I and so did every man,’ said Gill. ‘Why deny it? We hated him. Jonas Applegarth was an earthquake in our midst. See how we shake at his passing.’

‘I would rather remember how the audience shook at his play,’ said Firethorn proudly. ‘They trembled with amazement at the sorcery of his imagination and shook with laughter at the sharpness of his wit. What use is theatre if it be not a two-hour earthquake? Why do the spectators come if not to feel the ground move beneath their feet?’

‘Lawrence is right,’ admitted Hoode. ‘Jonas Applegarth had the power to move mountains.’

‘Yes,’ snapped Gill. ‘He did that every time he opened his bowels. His buttocks were mountains indeed.’

‘Do not speak ill of the dead!’ chided Firethorn.

‘It is unjust,’ said Hoode. ‘In a moment of envy, I may have wished for his death, but I regret his passing now. He brought much to Westfield’s Men. Mark it well. A great value has gone out of our lives.’