Edward Marston - The Laughing Hangman

‘Admit me and I’ll tell all.’

‘Have you stared at yourself in a mirror today?’

‘I dare not, Margery.’

‘Plague victims look healthier.’

‘Their symptoms are mild compared to mine.’

Concern pushed belligerence aside as Margery brought him into the house and closed the front door. He was shivering all over. She took him into the kitchen and sat him down.

‘What has happened, Edmund?’

‘Armageddon.’

‘Where?’

‘In a lady’s chamber.’

‘Did she reject you?’

‘Worse. She accepted me. Time and again.’

A series of uncontrollable grunts came from outside the door as if a frog with a sense of humour were eavesdropping. Margery darted out to find John Tallis bent double with mirth. She clipped his ear, kicked him on his way, then closed the door firmly behind her. Edmund Hoode’s anguish needed the balm of privacy. A sniggering apprentice would only intensify the playwright’s already unbearable pain.

She sat on the bench beside him and enfolded him in a maternal arm. This was no bold interloper, pounding on the door of her bedchamber. It was the old Edmund Hoode.

‘This tale is for your ears only,’ he insisted.

‘Then it must be worth the hearing.’

‘Lawrence would only mock me cruelly.’

‘He will learn nothing from me. Speak on.’

Hoode needed a minute to summon up his strength before he could embark on his narrative. He was honest. He held nothing back. Margery was attentive and sympathetic. She realised that instant help was needed.

‘When must you see the lady again?’ she asked.

‘This evening at the Unicorn.’

‘Do not go.’

‘That would be ungentlemanly,’ he said. ‘I must go. I owe her that. But I will not submit to another night of seductive exhaustion. My flesh and blood cannot stand it.’

‘Explain that to her.’

‘She would not listen. I know what she would say.’

‘What?’

‘Again!’ he moaned. ‘Again, Edmund, again, again! As if my manhood is a water-wheel that turns and turns with the flow of her passion. Save me, Margery! I drown!’

‘There is only one sure means of rescue, Edmund.’

‘What is that?’

She smiled benignly. ‘You will see.’

***

You have still not told me what took you to Blackfriars.

‘My own folly.’

‘Folly?’

‘Yes, Nick,’ said James Ingram. ‘I thought I knew best. I was convinced that Raphael Parsons was our Laughing Hangman and sought to spy on him. While you were watching the rehearsal, I was hiding up in the gallery.’

‘You sneaked back into the building?’

‘Geoffrey has grown careless. He did not see me.’

Nicholas Bracewell was relieved to learn that Ingram’s presence at Blackfriars had no darker significance. His doubts about his friend were groundless. While Nicholas had a personal reason for hunting the killer of Jonas Applegarth, the actor had a personal reason for catching the man who hanged Cyril Fulbeck. From differing motives, both were searching for the same man.

‘Parsons will no longer bother us,’ said Ingram.

‘True.’

‘Nor will the Chapel Children.’

‘Do not be so sure, James.’

‘Why not?’

‘One manager may have died, but another will soon come to take his place. A private playhouse with a resident company which can stage its work for twelve months of the year. What temptation! It will not be long before a new Raphael Parsons is installed there.’

‘Competing for our audience.’

‘We must take our chances there,’ said Nicholas. ‘We have rivals enough without the children’s companies, but we cannot stop them. Westfield’s Men must find new and more cunning ways to outwit these young thespians.’

They were walking briskly across London Bridge together. Having given sworn statements regarding the killing of Raphael Parsons, the two men were free to leave. They plunged into Bankside and picked their way through its labyrinthine streets. Nicholas stopped outside a house.

‘Whom do we visit here?’ asked Ingram.

‘You go on to another port of call.’

‘Do I?’

‘Yes, James. The Clink.’

‘You are sending me to prison?’

‘Only to make an enquiry.’

‘The place is full of debtors and brothel-owners.’

‘Not entirely. The man in whom I am interested is neither. Do you have money about you?’

‘Sufficient. Why?’

‘You’ll need to bribe the prison serjeant.’

After arranging to meet him back in Gracechurch Street, Nicholas gave Ingram his instructions, then sent him on his way. The book holder then tapped on door of the house. When the servant showed him into the parlour, Anne Hendrik got up from her chair with alacrity and embraced him.

‘I prayed that you might come, Nick!’ she said.

‘Why?’

‘It has been such a trying time since we parted.’

‘In what way?’

‘Ambrose Robinson has been here.’

She took him through the events of the previous day and admitted how frightened she had been of the butcher. Nicholas was deeply upset that he had not been there to protect her.

‘Did he bother you at all today?’ he asked.

‘No. The only time I saw him was at Evensong, and that was not for long. Ambrose got up in the middle of the service and stalked out with his face aflame. It was as if he suddenly had an irresistible urge to go somewhere.’

‘He did, Anne.’

‘Where?’

‘To Blackfriars. I was there when he arrived.’

‘At the theatre?’

‘He came looking for his son.’

‘I feared that might happen. Was there a tussle?’

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas, ‘but not with the boy. He ran away from his father. It was Raphael Parsons who tussled with your neighbour and who came off worst. The butcher had armed himself with a meat-cleaver.’

‘Oh, no!’ said Anne in horror. ‘Murder?’

‘One blow was all it took.’

‘What then?’

‘We overpowered him and constables led him away. Master Parsons did not survive for long.’

‘What of Philip? It must have been a terrible experience for him. Such humiliation! His own father!’

‘Fortunately, he did not witness the killing. I made a point of talking at length with him to explain precisely what had happened and to prepare him for what was to come.’

‘Poor child! He has lost everything!’

‘There are gains as well as losses here.’

‘Ambrose is like to be tried and hanged.’

‘Most certainly.’

‘Philip will have to bear that stain.’

‘He has already foreseen that.’

‘Will there be a place in the Chapel Royal for him after this?’ she asked anxiously. ‘Where will he go if they turn him out? This could blight his young life.’

‘There may be salvation yet for him,’ said Nicholas, touching her arm. ‘But I may not tarry. I came simply to give you the tidings before you heard them from a less well-informed source.’

‘I am deeply grateful, Nick. And relieved.’

‘Ambrose Robinson will never pester you again.’

‘Thank heaven!’ she said. ‘And yet, it did not seem like that at first. He helped me. I must not forget that.’ She glanced towards the adjoining premises. ‘Without his loan, I would have struggled to keep the business afloat. That was an act of friendship, whatever else he hoped to gain by it. Was he a good man with a streak of evil in him? Or an evil man with a vein of goodness?’ She shook her head. ‘Had his dear wife lived, we would not even be asking that question.’

‘Too true.’ He moved to the door. ‘But I must go.’

‘Nick…’

‘Yes?’

‘Now that you have remembered where I live, do not pass my house again without calling.’