Edward Marston - The Laughing Hangman

‘We play at The Rose next week.’

She smiled. ‘Then I will expect you.’

***

Alexander Marwood surveyed the yard of the Queen’s Head with mixed feelings. Instinct told him to sever all connections with Westfield’s Men and thereby liberate himself from the recurring crises which beset the company and the ever present threat of assault upon his nubile daughter by one of the lustful actors. Commonsense whispered a different message in his hairy ear. The troupe paid him a rent and brought in custom. Westfield’s Men also gave his inn a status in the capital which was important to him, and, more decisively, to his wife. The Queen’s Head was recognised as the home of one of the most celebrated theatre companies in London.

Commonsense was still wrestling with instinct when Lawrence Firethorn and Owen Elias sidled up to him. They beamed with delight at a man whom they found unrelievedly loathsome.

‘We need a decision from you,’ said Firethorn.

Marwood grunted, ‘I am thinking, I am thinking.’

‘Is there any way we may aid your thought?’

‘By leaving me alone, Master Firethorn.’

‘You must not delay the verdict any longer. Too much rests on it. Do we play here tomorrow or not?’

‘I do not know, sir.’

‘The company is waiting to be told,’ said Elias. ‘We have lost one performance and would hate to lose another. That would empty your yard for two afternoons next week.’

‘Two?’

‘Yes,’ explained Firethorn. ‘We play at The Rose on Wednesday. There’ll be no crowds thirsting for your ale.’

‘And no ruffians pissing in my stables,’ said the landlord. ‘No lechers ogling my daughter.’

They could see that he was weakening. Firethorn felt that he could handle the negotiations more easily on his own and nudged Elias accordingly. The Welshman moved away and was in time to welcome Nicholas Bracewell as the latter came in through the archway.

‘Nick!’ he called. ‘Where have you been?’

‘I’ll tell you anon,’ said Nicholas, looking across at Marwood. ‘Has our landlord relented yet?’

‘Lawrence is slowly bringing him round.’

‘He must not be rushed. That’s the trick of it.’

‘I tried to help but was shooed away.’

‘Then I’ll borrow you for a weightier purpose.’

‘And what might that be?’

‘I need to hang you, Owen.’

‘Hang me!’

Nicholas laughed at his expression. ‘Come. You’ll find me a gentle executioner.’

He led the way to the storeroom where the dead body had been discovered the previous morning. The noose had been taken away as evidence by the constables, but Nicholas quickly fashioned another out of a length of rope. Elias watched his deft fingers at work.

‘You have done this before, I see.’

‘What you see is a sailor’s hands at work. If you spent as much time at sea as I have, you learn to tie knots of all kinds in a rope.’ He pointed to the floor. ‘Now, Owen. Lie there.’

‘Why?’

‘To please my fancy.’

‘What is this all about?’ grumbled Elias, lowering himself to the floor. ‘Am I the dupe in this little game?’

‘It is no game,’ said Nicholas, placing the noose around his neck. ‘How heavy are you? Half the weight of Jonas?’

‘A third at least. I carried that man home and he was like a ton of iron. A triple Owen Elias.’

‘I’ll make allowances for that. Put your hands inside the rope to stop it cutting into your flesh.’ He flung one end of the rope over the central beam. ‘Are you ready!’

‘ Iesu Mawr ! He really means to hang me!’

‘Hold on.’

Nicholas pulled on the rope until it tightened around the hands and neck of his friend. He applied what he judged to be the correct pressure but could not move the body from the floor. Even when he wound the rope around his waist to give himself a stronger purchase on it, he could not lift the supine Elias.

‘Thanks, Owen. You may get up now.’

‘Good,’ said the other, tugging at the noose.

‘No, leave that on,’ ordered Nicholas. ‘I want to find another way to kill you.’

‘You’ve tortured me long enough.’

‘One more minute. That’s all it will take.’

‘Be quick about it then.’

‘Stand there and do not move.’

Owen Elias was in the middle of the room. Nicholas moved the workbench until it almost brushed his jerkin. Picking up the mallet from the floor, he mimed a blow to the back of the Welshman’s head, then grabbed him by the collar.

‘Fall gently back.’

‘Are you mad?’

‘Go on. The table will catch you.’

Elias did as he was told and Nicholas guided him so that his back was across the workbench. When he tested the other end of the rope this time, he got more response. By applying some real pressure, he lifted the body into a sitting position. Hands inside the noose, Owen Elias gave a dramatic gurgle and pretended to be choking. Nicholas tossed the rope back over the beam. He then brushed the grains of sawdust from his friend’s buff jerkin.

‘Am I dead?’ asked Elias, removing the noose.

‘Completely. And now I know how he did it.’

‘Who?’

‘The Laughing Hangman.’

‘Do you mind if we get out of here, Nick? I’m starting to feel like his next victim.’

They returned to the yard and found Firethorn talking volubly to James Ingram. The actor-manager preened himself as the others approached.

‘I have done it, sirs! We play here tomorrow.’

A concerted cheer went up from the others.

‘Marwood was like wax in my hands. Soft and smelly.’

‘But you moulded him into shape,’ said Owen.

They congratulated him profusely. Firethorn wanted to take them all to the taproom to celebrate, but Nicholas was more interested to hear the news from Ingram.

‘Did you find out what I asked?’ he said.

‘I did, Nick. At a price.’

‘A prison sergeant will do nothing without garnish.’

‘I paid up, then came straight back here.’ He turned to Firethorn. ‘Please give my deepest apologies to your wife.’

‘You’ve been to a prison and seen my wife ?’

‘No,’ said Ingram. ‘It was on my way back. I did not recognise her until it was too late. She must have thought it rude of me to ignore her. Explain that I was in such a rush to get back here.’

Firethorn was perplexed. ‘Margery is in Shoreditch.’

‘Not this evening.’

‘Where else can she be?’

‘Five minutes away at another inn.’

‘An inn? Here in the city?’

Elias cackled. ‘I spy merriment here.’

‘You must have been mistaken, James,’ said Firethorn.

‘When I passed as close to her as I am to you? It was her. I’d swear that on the Bible.’

‘I’m sure that there is a simple explanation,’ said Nicholas with easy tact. ‘Perhaps she is visiting a friend.’

‘What kind of friend?’ nudged Elias.

‘And why did she make no mention of this to me?’ added Firethorn as his suspicions grew. ‘Was she alone, James?’

‘She was.’

‘And how was she attired?’

‘In her finest apparel.’

‘What was the name of the inn?’

‘I did not mean to put you to choler in this way.’

‘What was the name?’

‘I assumed that you knew Margery was there.’

‘The name !’ demanded Firethorn.

‘It was the Unicorn.’

***

Cecily Gilbourne did not waste much time on the formalities. Romantic dalliance was cast ruthlessly aside in favour of more tangible pleasure. As soon as Edmund Hoode was conducted in to her, she gave him a kiss on the cheek and took him through into the next chamber. He looked down at the bed on which they spent their torrid night together and he blenched. There was no resemblance to the Garden of Eden now. It reminded him of the gruesome rack which he had once beheld in the house of Richard Topcliffe, the master torturer. The bed was an instrument of pain.