‘I do not come by accident, Master Beechcroft. I have a purpose.’
‘Tell me what it is.’
For a man who had started as a humble weaver, Beechcroft had a lordly air. He wore a gaudy doublet of blue and red with gold thread looped across the breast. In his buff jerkin and plain hose, Nicholas presented a sharp contrast.
‘Well, sir,’ nudged Beechcroft, irritably. ‘I do not have all day.’
‘How many people do you have inside Bridewell?’ said Nicholas.
‘That’s private information.’
‘I wondered if you had so many that you did not know who they all were.’
‘I know the name of each and every one,’ asserted Beechcroft. ‘When someone works for me, I learn everything I can about them so that I can get the best out of them.’
‘You assign the labour inside Bridewell, then?’
‘What is it to you?’
‘I wondered if you or Master Olgrave was in charge.’
‘If you must know, we share the responsibility. Ralph and I are partners.’
‘I’m told that you run the place with some efficiency,’ said Nicholas with feigned admiration. ‘It was not always the case under your predecessors. They often failed. You must be good administrators.’
‘We are,’ boasted the other. ‘We know how to turn a profit. Is that why you’ve come to me, Master Bracewell? You wish to do some business with us?’
‘That depends on how good your word is.’
‘It’s my bond, sir.’
‘Tell me about one Hywel Rees,’ said Nicholas, watching him carefully.
Beechcroft started. ‘Who?’
‘One of the inmates at Bridewell.’
‘The name is unfamiliar to me.’
‘A minute ago, you claimed to know everyone inside the institution.’
‘Yes,’ said Beechcroft, recovering his composure. ‘And it’s true. We did have a young man by the name of Hywel Rees with us but we discharged him days ago.’
‘May I know the reason?’
‘No, sir. You may not.’
‘But I need to track him down,’ said Nicholas, recalling the ruse that was used by Henry Cleaton’s clerk. ‘I’ve news that will mend his fortunes. Hywel Rees — if he be the man I seek — has been left some money by an uncle back in Wales.’
‘Some money?’
‘A substantial sum. I’m not at liberty to reveal the amount but it would buy the young man out of Bridewell or out of any debtor’s prison. I heard that he had fallen on hard times and was convicted of vagrancy. There’s a record of that, and of the fact that he was sent to you for correction.’
‘No man was more in need of it!’ said Beechcroft under his breath.
‘What happened to him when he left your care?’
‘He disappeared into the crowd.’
‘I find that hard to believe, Master Beechcroft.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Because I understand that he was imprisoned with a friend,’ said Nicholas. ‘The two were arrested together and both were sent to you. Her name was Dorothea Tate. Do you remember her as well?’
‘Yes,’ replied Beechcroft. ‘She, too, was discharged recently.’
‘That seems odd, sir. When vagrants are committed to the workhouse, they expect to stay for some time. That’s what the court enjoins. Do you have the power to override a judicial decision and dispatch any inmate you choose?’
Beechcroft scowled. ‘Bridewell was not the right place for either of them.’
‘So you sent them on their way?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have any idea where Dorothea Tate may have gone?’
‘Back to the streets, I expect.’
‘That means you discharged a beggar so that she could return to begging. What is the point of that, Master Beechcroft?’
‘I’ll not be criticised in my own house,’ exploded the other, rounding on him. ‘Why have you come here and what do you really want?’
‘To learn the whereabouts of Hywel Rees. If you do not know where he is, it is possible that this girl does. Find her and we find the beneficiary of the will.’
‘You are wasting your time, sir.’
‘Am I?’
‘I do not know exactly where he went,’ said Beechcroft, ‘but I can tell you this about Hywel Rees. He’s not in London. Search as much as you like, you’ll not catch sight of him again. He went back to Wales and we were glad to see the back of him.’
‘I can see that you remember him very well.’
‘He was a rebel. A stubborn, awkward, noisy fellow. A thorn in our sides. My partner and I can usually break the spirit of such rogues but he was too wilful for his own good. Hywel Rees had to go.’
‘Back to Wales?’
‘That’s where he said that he was heading.’
‘Without his closest friend, Dorothea Tate?’
‘For all I know, the girl went with him. Good riddance to both of them!’
‘Was she another rebel?’
‘To some degree. Strict obedience is the rule inside Bridewell.’
‘That depends on what people are asked to obey,’ said Nicholas, levelly. ‘Why did she flout your authority, Master Beechcroft? Can you answer that?’
‘No!’ retorted the other, crossing to open the door. ‘I’ve answered too many of your questions, as it is. Hywel Rees is no longer in London, I can assure you of that, so you look in vain.’ He pointed to the door. ‘Good day to you!’
‘Thank you for your help,’ said Nicholas with the faintest hint of sarcasm. ‘You’ve explained a lot to me. And as you say, your word is your bond. I can see now why Bridewell is in such safe hands.’ He crossed to the door. ‘Oh,’ he added, pausing beside the man. ‘You tell me that Hywel Rees went back to Wales.’
‘I’m certain of it.’
‘How would he get there? Do you think he might try to swim?’
Joseph Beechcroft turned pale and his mouth fell open. Nicholas had what he wanted. Before the other man could even speak, the visitor swept out of the house and left him in turmoil.
Chapter Nine
Lawrence Firethorn was in a vile mood that morning. Cantering into the yard of the Queen’s Head, he brought his horse to a halt and glowered at everyone within range. When he dismounted, he tossed the rein to an ostler and barked an order. It was not the choicest moment for Michael Grammaticus to approach him.
‘Good morrow, Master Firethorn,’ he said.
‘What do you want, sir?’
‘Is there any news of the play?’
Firethorn was brusque. ‘Nick has taken it to the scrivener and he is still copying it out. Forgive me, Michael, but I’ve far more important things to worry about than The Siege of Troy.’
‘But I was talking about the other play.’
‘What other play?’
‘A Way to Content All Women. Has Edmund not spoken to you about it?’
‘Oh, that,’ said Firethorn, irritably. ‘You believe that you can write a comedy.’
‘Only with your consent.’
‘Talk to Nick Bracewell. He knows my mind on this.’
‘Edmund is agreeable,’ said Grammaticus. ‘We spoke about it yesterday.’
‘Then why bother me? The only comment I can make on the play is that its title should be changed. Any man who believes that there’s a way to content all women,’ he said with rancour, ‘has never met my wife. Are you married, Michael?’
‘Only to my work.’
‘Then I envy you.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I have learnt a grisly truth,’ he confided. ‘Women are never content. Give them what they want and they’ll put a new demand upon you. Grant them that and they’ll still not find contentment. Ignore their pretty faces and supple bodies. Eschew their blandishments. Women are no more than a breed of shrews and harpies.’
‘If you say so.’
‘I know it to be true.’
And on that sour note, Firethorn turned on his heel and strode out of the yard, leaving Grammaticus in his wake. No rehearsal had been called for that morning but a meeting of the sharers had been summoned. Only two of them were there when Firethorn stormed into the room that had been hired for the occasion. It gave him another excuse to lose his temper.
‘Saints and serpents!’ he howled. ‘Where is everybody?’