‘What is your name, child?’ asked the stranger.
‘Dorothea Tate, sir,’ she whimpered.
‘How old are you?’
‘Seventeen, sir.’
‘Let me see you properly.’
With a finger under her chin, her turned her head towards him and stared at her with an intensity that unnerved her. The frankness of his scrutiny brought a blush to her cheeks. Pulling his hand away, the man let out a soft laugh.
‘We will see more of you, Dorothea,’ he said. ‘I look forward to it.’
One of the many things that Anne Hendrik admired about him was his ability to stick to any task that he set himself. After a full day at the Queen’s Head, he had come back to the house in Bankside that evening with a new play under his arm, determined to read it before he went to bed. She did not disturb him. Seated opposite Nicholas at the table, she studied her designs for new hats while he applied himself to The Siege of Troy. His expression gave nothing away and she could not tell whether the play that Michael Grammaticus had given him was good, bad or a mixture of both. All that she could hear was the crisp rustle of parchment as he turned over each page.
Nicholas was so involved in what he was doing that he did not even notice when the shutters were closed and the candles lighted. Oblivious to all else, he read on by their dancing glow. When he eventually came to the final speech, he studied it for a moment before closing his eyes. Anne thought at first that he had gone to sleep but his lids soon opened once more. He gave her a smile of apology.
‘I did not mean to keep you up so late, Anne,’ he said.
‘I was happy to keep you company.’
‘You must have thought it selfish of me to lose myself in a play like that.’
‘I am interested to hear what you thought about it,’ she said. ‘Do you agree with Lawrence’s opinion of the work?’
‘He has no opinion of it for he has not yet seen it. Lawrence wanted me to be the first to read the play and so did Michael Grammaticus. They value my judgement.’
‘And so they should, Nick. You have an eye for quality.’
‘Indeed, I have,’ he said with a fond smile, ‘and you are the clearest proof that my judgement is sound. I could not have chosen better, Anne. Had you been a play, you would hold an audience spellbound for hours on end. Like me, they would never tire of watching you.’
‘But I would very soon tire of being watched.’
‘Then you will never be an actor. They thrive on attention.’
‘Women are not allowed on the stage,’ she observed. ‘It is a man’s preserve. We have to see ourselves portrayed by the likes of Dick Honeydew and the other apprentices. That is no reproach. We marvel at their skills. But, even if we were invited to play our part, I’d decline the offer. The very thought of it would make me tremble.’
‘Read The Siege of Troy and you might change your mind.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it would make anyone eager to clamber up on stage.’
‘Including you?’
‘I was on fire while I read it.’
‘There was no sign of the flames in your face.’
‘They were crackling within, Anne,’ he explained. ‘I do not know why Michael was so reluctant to let us read this. It’s a stirring piece of work and I’ve no doubt that Lawrence will think the same.’
‘How does it compare with Caesar’s Fall?’
‘Favourably.’
‘That’s high praise.’
‘I’d go further in my commendation,’ he said, gazing down at the sheets of parchment. ‘We hoped to have a new comedy from Edmund Hoode but we are offered a tragedy by Michael Grammaticus in its stead. There is no loss here. I love Edmund dearly and admire his work as much as anyone, but truth must out.’ He looked up at her. ‘I think that The Siege of Troy is a better play than any he could write.’
Chapter Five
Owen Elias was among the last to arrive at the Queen’s Head on the following morning. He was clearly in some kind of distress. His normally jaunty stride was now no more than a gentle shuffle, and he kept putting a weary hand to his head. Instead of greeting the others with his usual affability, he could manage no more than a forced smile of acknowledgment. As soon as he had entered the inn yard, he leant against a wall for support. Nicholas Bracewell noticed the difference in him at once. He hurried anxiously across to the Welshman.
‘What is wrong with you, Owen?’ he asked.
‘Please!’ said the other, recoiling slightly. ‘Not so loud, Nick. Your voice is like a cannon in my ear. It makes my head pound.’
‘Are you ill?’
‘I’m all but ready for my coffin. Place an order for it now.’
‘How do you feel?’
‘Even worse than I must look.’
‘Be more precise,’ said Nicholas. ‘I pray to God that you are not stricken by the same disease as poor Edmund. Where is the pain? Do you have a fever? Why are you so unsteady on your feet today?’
‘It is all my own fault, Nick.’
‘What ails you?’
‘Too much ale ails me most,’ confessed Elias. ‘Add greed and revelry to that and you have the truth about my sorry condition. I went too far.’
‘In what direction?’
‘Pleasure.’ He peered uncertainly at Nicholas through bleary eyes. ‘That’s what you see before you. I suffer the searing pain that follows too much pleasure. It was naked greed that took me to his room again. I had such a lust to win.’
‘Ah,’ said Nicholas, relaxing. ‘I begin to understand. This is no malady. You went to play cards with Master Lavery.’
‘No, Nick. I had a darker ambition. I went to take his money from him.’
‘And did you succeed?’
‘Oh, yes. I got back every penny I’d lost the night before and won another seven shillings. What else could I do but celebrate with friends? We drank until it was late, then I called on a certain lady to share my good news with her.’ He gave a tired grin. ‘You may guess the rest. We revelled the night away in each other’s arms. Had she not shaken me awake this morning, I’d have slept for a week.’
Nicholas was relieved to hear that he was suffering from no disease, but he was disappointed in his friend. He had never seen him in such a state before. As a rule, Elias thrived on long nights with demanding lovers. A single man with a determination to live life to the full, he had the constitution that allowed him to indulge himself. Evidently, on this occasion, even his remarkable vigour had been exhausted.
‘Lawrence will take you to task for this,’ warned Nicholas.
Elias blenched. ‘Keep him away from me, Nick,’ he begged. ‘If Lawrence bellows at me as he is like to do, my eardrums will burst and my head will split asunder.’
‘It’s no more than you deserve, Owen. We play Vincentio’s Revenge today, and you take one of the leading parts. You’ll need to be at your best to carry it.’
‘I look to have recovered my zest by then.’
‘You should not have lost it in the first place.’
‘Blame that on the ale.’
‘I’d sooner blame it on the itch that took you to the card table,’ said Nicholas. ‘That is where this all started. You were so elated by your win that you had to spend the money at once. It was gained too easily to stay in your purse.’
‘Good fortune sat beside me.’
‘Well, it did not do the same for Nathan Curtis or Hugh Wegges. Both of them lost heavily at cards. Others, no doubt, will do the same.’
‘Do not ask me to weep for them,’ said Elias with a hint of truculence. ‘Everyone knows the risk. Like me, they take their chance. Master Lavery makes that clear.’
‘What manner of man is he?’
‘A marvellous strange one, Nick.’
‘In what way?’
‘Look at him and you would not believe that Philomen Lavery had ever seen a pack of cards. You would be more likely to take him for a lawyer, if not a priest. There is a weird innocence about the fellow.’