Edward Marston - The Laughing Hangman

***

It was an unsatisfactory confessional box. The lane beside the Elephant in Shoreditch was too public for Owen Elias’s liking. Revellers kept arriving at the inn or tumbling out of it. Grabbing his quarry by the neck, therefore, Elias marched him through a maze of back streets until they found a small house which had collapsed in upon itself. The Welshman kicked Hugh Naismith into the ruins and made him sit on a pile of rubble.

‘Peace at last!’ said Elias. ‘Now-talk!’

‘I’ve done nothing to you,’ bleated Naismith.

‘You offend my sight. Apart from that, you have the stink of Banbury’s Men about you and that’s even more revolting. Tell me about Jonas Applegarth.’

A slow smile spread. ‘He’s dead. That’s why I went to the Elephant. To drink to his departure.’

‘Take care I do not drink to yours!’ warned Elias, still brandishing his dagger. ‘Jonas was a friend. Remember that if you wish to stay alive.’

‘He was no friend of mine.’

‘So I hear. You fought a duel. He bested you.’

‘Only by chance.’

‘He should have run you through like the dog you are.’

‘He gave me this,’ said Naismith, holding up the sling. ‘Banbury’s Men had no work for an actor with only one arm.’

‘Is that why you sought to kill Jonas?’

‘No!’

‘Is that why you threw a dagger at his back?’

‘I never did that!’

‘Do not lie to me or I’ll cut your mangy carcass to pieces and feed it to the crows. You stalked him, did you not?’

‘That I do admit,’ grunted Naismith.

‘You followed him home last night and ran away when I saw you. Do you admit that as well?’

‘Yes. It was me.’

‘Hoping for a chance to throw another dagger.’

‘No! That would have been too merciful a death. Jonas Applegarth deserved to be roasted slowly over a hot fire with an apple in his mouth like any other pig.’

‘Enough!’

Elias slapped him hard across the face and the man keeled over onto the ground. The Welshman knelt beside him.

‘Insult his memory again and you will join him.’

‘Stay, sir!’ pleased Naismith.

‘Then tell me the truth.’

‘I have done so. I despised Jonas Applegarth. I wanted him dead but lacked the opportunity to kill him.’

‘You mean, you hurled a dagger and it missed.’

‘How could I?’

Naismith help up his free hand. The bandage was now removed but the hand was still badly swollen and a livid gash ran from the wrist to the back of the forefinger.

‘I can hardly lift a tankard,’ he said bitterly. ‘How could I hope to throw a dagger? It was not me!’

Elias saw the truth of his denial. Naismith was not their would-be assassin. He had been watching Applegarth in order to feed his hatred of the man, waiting until his wounds healed enough for him strike back at his enemy.

‘Why did you fight the duel?’ asked Elias.

‘He challenged me.’

‘Something you said?’

‘And something I did not say,’ explained Naismith. ‘We played Friar Francis at The Curtain. It was a clever comedy but full of such sourness and savagery that it was not fit for the stage. I said as much and he took me to task. I hated the play. It bubbled like a witch’s brew. He cursed the whole world in it. Then came the performance itself.’

‘What happened?’

‘We were all at odds with Applegarth by then. He made Friar Francis a descent into Hell for us. Everyone swore to hit back at him but I alone had the courage.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I changed his lines.’

‘Jonas would not have liked that.’

‘Why speak such slander against mankind when it stuck so in my throat? I wrote my own speeches instead. They had less wit but far more sweetness.’

‘No wonder he wanted to cut your heart out!’

‘Jonas Applegarth put words in my mouth I simply could not say. What else could I do?’

But Elias was not listening. Convinced that Naismith did not throw the dagger at his friend’s back, he was already asking himself a question.

Who did ?

***

Edmund Hoode ascended the staircase at the Unicorn with far more alacrity this time. Summoned that evening by another sketch of the fabled beast, he responded immediately. A day of mourning might yet be redeemed. Bereavement was dragging him down with his fellows. He had sighed enough for Jonas Applegarth. Sighs of a different order were now in prospect.

Only when he reached the landing did he stop to consider how little he really knew of Cecily Gilbourne. Was she married? A lady of her age and beauty was unlikely to have remained single. Was she widowed? Divorced even? And where did she live? In London or beyond? Alone or with her family? He winced slightly. Did she have children ?

‘My mistress is ready for you, sir.’

The maidservant was holding the door of the chamber open for him. All his doubts melted away. Cecily Gilbourne was sublime. Her age, her marital status, her place of abode and her familial situation were irrelevant. It mattered not if she had three husbands, four houses and five children. She was evidently a lady of wealth and social position. More to the point, she was a woman of keen discernment where drama was concerned. One feature set her above every other member of her sex. Cecily Gilbourne was his.

Hoode entered the room to take possession of his prize.

‘You came!’ she said with a measure of surprise.

‘Nothing would have kept me away.’

‘Not even the death of a friend? The performance at the Queen’s Head was cancelled because of him. We were turned away. I feared that you would stay there to grieve for him.’

‘I would rather celebrate with you.’

‘That is what I hoped.’

There was nothing enigmatic about her smile now. It was frank and inviting. Cecily Gilbourne was dressed in a subtle shade of green which matched the colour of her eyes. Perched on a chair near the window, she wore no hat and no gloves. He noted that a single gold band encircled the third finger of her left hand. Seeing his interest, she glanced down at the ring with a wan smile.

‘I was married at seventeen,’ she explained sadly. ‘My husband was a soldier and a statesman. He was killed in action at the Siege of Rouen. No children blessed our union. I have only this to keep his memory bright.’

‘I see.’

‘Have you been married, Edmund?’

‘No. Not yet.’

‘It is something which should happen when you are very young, as I was, or very old, as I will be before I consider a second marriage. A husband should provide either excitement for your youth or companionship for your dotage.’

‘What may I provide for you, Cecily?’

‘You give me all that I need.’

Another candid smile surfaced and she beckoned him over to sit close to her. Hoode was enraptured. The hideous murder at the Queen’s Head that morning was not even a distant echo in his mind. The Laughing Hangman had been obliterated by the smiling inamorata.

‘I spoke with Lawrence Firethorn,’ he told her.

‘About me?’

‘Indirectly. I wanted to fill the one gap in your knowledge of me. You have not seen my Pompey and so I instructed him to put it back on the stage soon for your delectation. It is a work in which I take much pride. Pompey the Great has a true touch of greatness.’

‘Then my delight is assured. And your new play?’

‘ The Faithful Shepherd will be seen at The Rose next week,’ he said, beaming. ‘I insisted that it was. With your permission, I will write a sonnet in praise of you, to be inserted cunningly in one of the longer speeches so that its true meaning may be disguised from the common herd.’