Edward Marston - The Queens Head

After taking several bows, the players adjourned to the tiring-house. A communal ecstasy seized them. They had succeeded beyond all expectation. It was a fitting climax to the year's work.

Firethorn swooped down on his book holder.

'Stop hiding away in that corner, Nick!'

'I was merely reflecting on events, master.'

'There is no time for that, dear heart,' urged the other, pummelling his arm. 'Her Majesty wishes to favour us. She has asked to meet the principal members of the company.'

'Who else is there but you?' teased Nicholas gently.

'How profoundly true!' agreed Firethorn without a trace of irony. 'Take charge, Nick. Be swift, sir.'

'Whom should I call?'

'Use your discretion. It has always served us well.'

Nicholas organized a line-up of the principal artistes, making sure that Richard Honeydew was given pride of place. Queen Elizabeth was conducted up on to the stage to be introduced to each one of them in turn by the fawning actor-manager. She praised Edmund Hoode for his play and she congratulated Barnaby Gill on his amusing antics.

When she showered her personal thanks upon Richard, the boy was duly overwhelmed. Being so close to the royal person reduced him to open-mouthed wonder. His performance had helped to save the Queen from the attack yet it now seemed a gross impertinence even to try to impersonate her.

With a becoming lack of modesty, Lawrence Firethorn claimed much of the credit for himself and wished to be remembered as her loyal subject in thought, word and deed. He gave the impression that he alone was responsible for keeping the Queen's head firmly on her shoulders.

Nicholas Bracewell stayed quietly behind the scenes.