Edward Marston - The Queen's Head

'How came she to the Bel Savage?' demanded Firethorn.

'I brought her there.'

'Why?'

'Because she learned of your tryst,' lied Nicholas with convincing sincerity. 'Do not ask me how. Some gossip in the company may have told her. Mistress Firethorn purposed to come to the inn herself last night.'

'Heaven forfend!'

'I took your part in the matter and swore that you were faithful to her. The proof of which, I said, was that it was she who was bidden to supper at the Bel Savage.' He gave a discreet smile. 'The rest, I believe, you know.'

'I do, Nick,' said Firethorn nostalgically.

'Everything was to your taste?'

'Margery was a changed woman,' recalled her husband fondly. 'I played Hector once again and sheathed my sword for lack of argument.' He massaged the other's shoulder. 'Marriage has many pains, Nick, but it has its pleasures, too.'

Nicholas nodded sagely. One night of marital bliss had altered the case considerably. The fever of passion that Lady Rosamund Varley had excited had broken in the arms of Margery Firethorn. He was no longer besotted.

'How did you dispose of my other guest?' said the actor.

'By making your excuses. I told her that you had been struck down by a mysterious illness and that you would not be able to meet her. She was not too pleased, master.'

There was a long, ruminative pause. Firethorn chuckled.

'No matter. There are other ladies in London.'

Barnaby Gill and Edmund Hoode came out of the tiring-house in search of their colleague. Nicholas detached himself and left the three sharers alone on stage.

'Why was I not told first?' said Gill petulantly.

'But you were,' reminded Firethorn. 'No man heard the news before you, Barnaby.'

'What are we to play, Lawrence?' wondered Hoode. That is a question we must address with all speed.'

'Why not Marriage and Mischief?' suggested Gill, choosing a drama that gave prominence to his talents.

Parts of it are too base,' complained Hoode.

'Only those in which Barnaby is involved,' teased Firethorn.

'It has held the stage these three years for us,' argued Gill hotly. 'It has proven its worth.'

'So have many other plays,' countered Hoode.

'My vote is for Marriage and Mischief,' insisted Gill.

'And mine is not,' added Firethorn. 'Tried and tested it may be, Barnaby, but we cannot offer such a tired piece to the Court. Novelty is in request, sir. That is why I will commission a new play for the occasion.'

'By whom?' asked Edmund Hoode cautiously.

The look in Firethorn's eye made him quiver.

*

Outdoor performances were less comfortable as the days got colder and the nights started to draw in. Nicholas Bracewell found that the journeys home were now much quicker as he was hurrying to get in out of the chill. As he made his way back after another day at The Queen's Head, he was conscious of winter's swift approach. The wind bit more hungrily and the flurry of rain stung his face. He pulled his hat down over his brow and lengthened his stride. Bankside was not far away now.

Nicholas was as thrilled as anyone by the invitation to play at Court. It would bring kudos to Westfield's Men. It also gave them an opportunity to perform in conditions which were unique and which would force them to modify their outdoor techniques. Most important of all, it lifted the morale of the company after a succession of setbacks and enabled them to look forward instead of glancing back.

The past still obsessed Nicholas, however. Will Fowler's death had not been avenged and he was still dogged by the memory of the slit throat of Alice at The Cardinal's Hat. He was constantly reminded of the savagery of the men he sought. Creech may have been removed but the company was threatened by more malign forces. He had to be vigilant.

His walk through Bankside took him past the Hope and Anchor and a wash of noise slopped out as he went by the tavern. He thought of the last time he had seen Will Fowler alive, enjoying the company of his two friends, crackling with good humour and infused with a kind of truculent benevolence. Danger had attracted him to his profession and it was danger which had brought him down when he was off guard.

Nicholas determined that he would never be taken unawares. After the earlier attack on him, he was excessively careful when out alone at night. His increased watchfulness now came to his aid. He was no more than twenty yards from the house when he . saw the man. The tall figure was lurking in the shadows behind the angle of the house. Nicholas would not make any rash move this time. He had learned his lesson.

Pretending to have noticed nothing, he went up to the front door and fumbled for his key. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched for movement but none came. Yet the man was still there, still waiting, still exuding a profound menace. Nicholas prepared for attack. Inserting his key in the lock, he suddenly turned away from the door and flung himself at the figure in the darkness.

He met no resistance. The moment he hit the body, it went limp and collapsed against him. He lowered the man carefully to the ground so that he was face down. Between his shoulder blades was the handle of a long dagger.

Nicholas was totally confused.

The dead man was Redbeard.

*

Anne Hendrik was torn between relief at his safety and horror at the murder which had taken place on her doorstep. When officers had been summoned and the body removed, she drew Nicholas into her bed once more for comfort and reassurance.

Afterwards, they lay in each other's arms.

'Who was he?' asked Anne.

'There was no clue to his identity upon his person,' he said. 'We may never know his true name.'

'And was he working with Benjamin Creech?'

'No,' replied Nicholas. 'I am certain of that now. Ben never met him until that day. Redbeard contrived to be seen with him for my benefit.'

'Why?' she wondered.

'To throw suspicion upon Ben. I was meant to come upon them as I did. Redbeard knew that he could escape in that crowd.'

Anne considered the notion then sat up in surprise.

'Then it was all part of some deep plot?'

'I believe so.'

'What about the prompt book?' she reminded him. 'It was in Creech's lodging with some of the other things he stole.'

'I was deceived by that at first,' he admitted. 'It was intended that I should be. I would hazard a guess that Redbeard placed the book at the lodging for me to find. It linked Ben with the attack on me and with the killing of Will Fowler.' He shook his head. 'No, Anne. This is not the work of Ben Creech. We are up against a much more cunning adversary. He has been clever enough to hide his trail and ruthless enough to murder his own accomplice.'

'Redbeard?'

'My belief is that he was killed by his friend.'

She was aghast. 'His friend?.'

'Yes,' he argued. 'Who else would get close enough to a man like that to stab him in the back? Redbeard lived in foul dens and dark alleys. That was his world. Nobody would ever gain an advantage over him there.'

'Unless it was someone he trusted.'

'His accomplice. The man who hit me from behind.'

'Oh, Nick!'

The memory of the assault made her cling to him for a long time. He had to soothe her with kisses and caresses. Three people had now been murdered in gruesome circumstances and she was convinced that he would be the next victim. Nicholas was equally persuaded that he was quite safe. His life had already been spared once and he now realized why.

'He will not kill me, Anne,' he decided.

'How can you be so sure?'

'Because he needs me alive. He needs me in the company.'

'For what reason?'

'I have not fully divined it yet,' he confessed. 'But it has something to do with our appearance at Court. Perhaps that was the desired end all along. Once it had been achieved, Redbeard had served his purpose. He could be cast aside with a dagger in his back.'