Edward Marston - The Queens Head

'He took me.'

'It makes no difference, I am the one to suffer. Heavens, Nick, we take risks enough flouting the City regulations. The last thing we need is a brush with the authorities.'

'I've done all that is needful,' assured the other. 'You will not be involved at all.'

'I am involved in anything that touches Westfield's Men,' asserted Firethorn, striking a favourite pose. 'Besides, how are you to hold the book for us if you are hauled off to answer magistrates? Do you see how it all comes back on me? It will severely injure my reputation as a great actor.'

Nicholas Bracewell heaved a sigh. He was mourning the death of a friend but Firethorn was riding roughshod over his feelings. There were times when even he found it hard to accommodate his master's tantrums. He addressed the immediate problem.

'Let us consider Love and Fortune?’ he suggested.

'Indeed, sir. An audience is expecting to see the play this very afternoon. It has always been popular with them.'

'And so it shall be again.'

'Without Will Fowler?'

'There is a solution.'

'There's no time to rewrite the piece,' said Firethorn dismissively. 'We could never unravel that plot at a morning's rehearsal. In any case, Edmund is in no condition to wrestle with such a task. The Armada play is putting him under great strain.'

'Edmund will not be needed.'

'Yet you say there is a solution?'

'Yes, master.'

'Will you raise Will Fowler from the dead, sir?'

'In a manner of speaking.'

'What riddle is this?'

'His name is Samuel Ruff.'

'Ruff!' bellowed Firethorn. 'That wretch who enticed you both into the Hope and Anchor?'

'He's an experienced player,' argued Nicholas. 'The equal of our own man in every way.'

'He could never learn the part in a couple of hours.'

'Samuel believes that he can. He is studying the role even now. I copied out the sides for him myself from the prompt book.'

'You take liberties, Nick,' warned Firethorn. 'Love and Fortune is our property. It is not for the eyes of strangers.'

'Do you wish the performance to take place today?'

'Of course!'

'Then this is the only remedy' I will not hire a man I've never met.'

'With your permission, I'll invite him to the rehearsal. You'll soon be able to judge if he can carry the part. We'll not find a better man at such short notice.'

But the fellow was injured last night.'

A flesh wound in the left arm,' explained Nicholas. 'The surgeon dressed it for him and it's not serious. Lorenzo wears a cloak in every scene. It will hide the injury completely. As for the rest of the costume, Samuel is almost of Will's height and weight so no alternations will be necessary.'

‘Stop thrusting the man at me!' protested Firethorn.

‘He is anxious to help.'

‘But for him, we would not need help.'

Samuel accepts that. He feels guilty about what happened.

‘That's why he wishes to make amends in some small way. Taking over his friend's role would mean so much to him.'

'The idea does not appeal.'

'Will Fowler would have approved.'

'I make the decisions in this company-not Will Fowler.'

'Maybe I should raise the matter with the other sharers,' said Nicholas artlessly. 'They might take a different view.'

'Mine is the view that matters!' snarled the actor.

Lawrence Firethorn prowled his lair like a tiger. When there was an explosion of boyish laughter from next door where the apprentices shared a room, he banged the wall and roared them to silence. When his wife sent word that breakfast was ready, he frightened the servant away simply by baring his fangs. At length, he began to come around.

'Experienced, you say?'

'Several years with good companies, Leicester's among them.'

'He can con lines quickly?'

'It was his trademark.'

'Is he quarrelsome?' demanded Firethorn. 'Like Will?'

'No, master. He's a very peaceful citizen.'

'And why does this worthy fellow lack work?'

'I don't know.'

'He must have some defects.'

'None that I could see. Will vouched for him.'

'Where did Ruff play last?'

'With Banbury's Men,' said Nicholas.. 'Banbury's Men!'

Firethorn's exclamation rang through the whole house. His interest in Samuel Ruff had just come to an end. The Earl of Banbury and Lord Westfield were sworn enemies who lost no opportunity to score off each other. Their respective dramatic companies were major weapons in the feud and they regarded each other with cold hatred. Banbury's Men had been in the ascendant at first but they had now been displaced by Westfield's Men. In the shifting world of London theatre, it was Lawrence Firethorn and his company who now held the upper hand and they were not willing to relinquish it.

'Meet him, at least,' pressed Nicholas.

'He is not the man for us.'

'But he fell foul of Banbury's Men through no fault of his own. He was forced to leave.'

'I will not employ him, Nick. It's unthinkable.'

'Then we must cancel the performance as soon as may be.'

'Hold! I will not gallop into this.'

'The others will be shocked by your decision.'

'It has not been made yet.'

'Give Samuel a chance,' whispered Nicholas. 'He's the man for the hour.'

'Not with that pedigree.'

'Do you know why he left Banbury's Men?'

'I don't care,' snapped Firethorn.

'Shall I tell you what his crime was?'

'Forget him.' He spoke in praise of you.'

There was a pause that was just long enough for the first seed of interest to take root. Nicholas carefully watered it with a few details.

'Giles Randolph took exception to what was said.'

'Randolph is an amateur!'

'He's full of self-love. It's not enough for him to be the leading actor with the company. They have to fawn and flatter at every turn to suit his taste, and Samuel could not bring himself to do that. They were playing Scipio Africanus.

'A miserable piece,' sneered Firethorn. 'Nothing but stale conceits and dribbling verse. I'd not soil my hands with it.'

'Giles Randolph was playing the hero. He had a scene with Samuel in the role of a tribune. It was-' Nicholas broke off abruptly and shrugged his shoulders. 'Ah, well. You've no wish to hear all this.'

‘Go on, go on.'

'It may just be idle gossip.'

'What happened, Nick?'

Lawrence Firethorn was keen to know. He and Giles Randolph were deadly rivals, talented artistes who competed with each other every time they walked on to a stage. Anything that was to the detriment of Randolph would come as welcome news. Curiosity made Firethorn tap his book holder on the chest.

'Come on, sir. They had a scene together.’

‘At an important point in the action.'

'Well?'

Nicholas had worked with actors long enough to learn some of their tricks. He delayed for a few seconds to heighten the tension then he plunged on.

'When Samuel gave of his best, Randolph complained that his performance was too strong. It stole the hero's thunder.'

'Ha! Some hero! Some thunder.'

'Samuel is a forthright man. He told the truth.'

'That Randolph is a babbling idiot!'

'That a leading actor should lead and not surround himself with poor players who would make him look all the better.'

'And me?' said Firethorn, intrigued. 'What of me?'

'Samuel used you as an example, master. You would outshine any company. The finer the players around you, the more you rise above them. They feed your inspiration.'

Firethorn beamed. No praise sweeter than that from a fellow actor. He judged Samuel Ruff to be very perceptive and began to forgive him for his association with Banbury's Men. Nicholas took advantage of his changed mood.

'Samuel is desperate to join us,' he continued. 'He feels it as a duty to Will Fowler. He is so eager to help us that he offered to do so without payment of any kind.'