Edward Marston - The Queens Head

'No.'

'Do not be afraid to tell me, Dick. They will not harm you.

'There is nothing to tell.'

It was true. The others now left him alone. Martin Yeo felt he had reaffirmed his position with Gloriana Triumphant, Stephen Judd had withdrawn, and John Tallis, the lantern-jawed juvenile, had neither the wit nor the bravado to act without the support or his comates. They still did not befriend Richard but the persecution had ceased.

'They are jealous of you,' said Margery.

'I have done so little compared with them.'

'You will do so much more in time,' she prophesied. 'That is what they fear. Your talent.' She turned round to face him. 'Do you have ambitions, Dick?'

'Yes, mistress.'

'What are they?'

'To be a good actor.'

'Not a great one?'

'I could never be as great as Master Firethorn,' he said with humility' not noticing the way that her expression froze at the mention of her husband. 'But I can study to be good. My other ambition is to play at court.'

'That opportunity may not be too far away, Dick.'

'Nothing could compare with that!' he announced with joyful sincerity. 'I was cheated out of my chance to play the role of Her Majesty. I could ask for no greater recompense than to act before her. That is ambition enough for anyone!'

His young face glowed with innocent hope.

Anne Hendrik was grateful for his company at Southwark Market. Not only was Nicholas able to carry what she bought from the stalls, his muscular presence cleared a path through the crowd and spared her the attentions of many undesirables. She was always happy to be in public with him, and felt that their friendship took on a new meaning when they engaged in simple chores together. Anne examined some fruit with a knowing eye, but her mind was on other matters.

‘It is a blessing that the child was safely delivered,' she said. 'I reared that she might miscarry'

‘Because of the shock of Will's death?'

‘Less tragedies have altered the course of nature.'

‘Not in Susan's case, thank God,' he said with a smile.

‘No, mother and daughter are both well.'

Nicholas sighed. 'The pity of it is that Will Fowler never lived to see his bonny child.'

A letter had arrived from St Albans the previous day to tell them of the birth of a daughter to Susan Fowler. Since neither she nor her parents could write, the missive had been penned by the parish priest. Nicholas and Anne had been delighted to hear the news but they were puzzled by one item in the letter. Susan Fowler had thanked them for a gift of a crib.

'We sent no crib,' said Anne. 'Why did she think we did?'

'It must have been left for her to find,' he suggested. 'A secret offering with the sender unnamed. We should feel flattered that she thought of us, Anne. Susan must believe us capable of such kindness.'

'If only we had been. I will send another present for the child It has many needs, I am sure, and few enough of us to care.'

She bought some apples, pears and plums and put them in the already overflowing basket that Nicholas was holding. It was time to head back. As they turned their steps towards home, Anne Hendrik tucked herself in beside him and puzzled over something.

'Nick…'

'Yes?'

'If we did not send that gift-then who did?'

It was a problem which exercised them all the way back.

Because they had set out so early, it was still well before eight when they reached the house. Nicholas took the basket inside and helped her to unload it, then he had a frugal breakfast before going out again. His working day would be another long one.

Taking a boat across the river, he alighted on the north bank and struck off towards Gracechurch Street. There was a Performance at The Queen's Head that afternoon and they were clue to rehearse Marriage and Mischief-a seasoned comedy from their repertoire-until noon. Barnaby Gill would take the central role of a jealous husband who is driven into a demonic rage by the apparent infidelity of his wife. Stephen Judd was cast as his spouse.

In view of what he had seen them doing in the tiring-house, Nicholas felt that the drama would have extra piquancy for him. The actor and the apprentice would act out intimacies in public which would be abhorrent in private. The audience who would laugh and mock the old husband's plight would have no inkling of the poignancy that lay behind it.

Nicholas was still meditating on the layered irony of the^ situation when something claimed his attention with a stunning immediacy. Benjamin Creech was standing in a shop doorway near^ the inn, deep in conversation with a tall, hulking man.

It was Redbeard.

'Hold the villain!'

The shout burst from his lips as he broke into a run. 'Stop him!'

Alerted by the yells, Redbeard looked up to see Nicholas tearing wards him. He reacted swiftly, spinning on his heel and haring off towards Fenchurch Street in a wild panic. Shoppers were scattered, vendors knocked aside, stalls overturned, and dogs sent howling as the tall figure charged recklessly on through the press.

Nicholas chased him at full pelt, oblivious to the irate cries and loud protests he left in his wake. The whole street was now in an uproar.

Redbeard was moving fast but Nicholas found additional speed to close on him. He got within ten yards of his quarry before he came to grief. Sensing that the pursuit was closing in, Redbeard suddenly stopped to grab a low cart and swung it around into

Nicholas's path. Before he could stop himself, the book holder had gone headfirst over the obstacle and landed on the ground in a huge pool of cracked shells and egg yolk. The owner of the cart immediately grappled with him and demanded compensation for his ruined produce. By the time that Nicholas shook him off, it was too late. Redbeard had vanished in the crowd.

Trudging back to The Queen's Head with disconsolate steps, Nicholas threw apologies right and left to the baying multitude. It was only when he reached the inn that he remembered Benjamin Creech. He straightened up and went quickly in through the main gate. Creech was on the far side of the yard, chatting with one of the journeymen. Nicholas hurried over to him, took him aside and pinned him up against a wall.

'Who was that man?' he demanded.

'Take your hands off me!' growled Creech.

'Who was he?' pressed Nicholas, tightening his grip.

'I have never seen the fellow before.'

'That is an arrant lie, Ben!' 'You wrong me, Master Bracewell.' 'I saw you talking with the man even now.' 'He stopped me in the street and asked directions to Islington.' Creech struggled to escape. 'Leave go of me!' 'You know him!' accused Nicholas, 'He was a stranger to me until this day.' tote.

'Well, he is no stranger to me, Ben. I have seen that cur before He is the man who murdered Will Fowler.'

'Then I wish I had shaken the fellow's hand.'

The smirk on Creech's face made Nicholas explode with anger. He banged the actor hard against the wall then hurled him to the ground. Creech slowly picked himself up. All his resentment and bile came bubbling to the surface now and his lip curled in contempt. Lowering his shoulder, he charged into Nicholas and knocked him back several yards. Creech was a powerful man and he would fight to the finish.

But Nicholas was roused now. The insult to Will Fowler made something snap inside him. He closed with Creech again and the two of them wrestled violently, watched by a small knot of people who came running over. Creech got his adversary in a bear hug but Nicholas was strong enough to break it and send the other reeling backwards. As Creech lunged at him again, he met a flurry of punches that stopped him in his tracks. Shaking his head to clear it, Creech swung wild punches of his own but Nicholas eluded them with ease.