‘Good morrow, Nick,’ he said. ‘More costumes, eh? That’s good. I’ve loaned a rag or two from my own meagre wardrobe. They’ll serve for a rustic comedy like Love and Fortune. But what news of Dorothea?’
‘She frets, Owen.’
‘Who would not, in her position? I long to help the girl but I’m forced to chafe at the bit here. Lawrence sorely needs us.’
‘That’s why I’m here,’ said Nicholas, ‘but I’ve not forgotten Bridewell.’
‘Nor have I.’
‘When we have a moment, I’ll divulge my plan.’
‘I hope that it involves slitting the throats of those two villains.’
‘Joseph Beechcroft and Ralph Olgrave are certainly my targets. But, now that I’ve met the pair, I know that it will not be so easy to hit them.’ He saw Firethorn ride into the yard with a stranger. ‘We’ll talk anon, Owen.’
‘I hope that Lawrence is in a better mood today. He was roaring like a lion yesterday and James told us the reason for his distemper.’
‘Oh?’
‘Lawrence ventured into Master Lavery’s room and lost heavily at cards.’
Nicholas was taken aback. ‘But he spoke so strongly against it.’
‘Temptation got the better of him, Nick. I thought I saw him sneaking off upstairs last night. If he lost again, our ears are in for another roasting.’ He saw Firethorn bearing down on them. ‘Here he is,’ he noted, ‘and his eye is still inflamed. That means he had another defeat at the card table.’ He moved away. ‘I’ll leave him to you, Nick.’
Having given his horse to an ostler, Firethorn abandoned his companion and marched across to the book holder. The actor was torn between fury and resignation.
‘We are doomed,’ he said, waving a hand. ‘Every way I turn, I spy disaster.’
‘Then you have not looked at our wardrobe,’ said Nicholas with smile. ‘Owen and I have brought some new costumes and others have promised to do the like. We’ll have enough to dress the play this afternoon.’
‘But what about tomorrow’s, Nick? The Knights of Malta calls for better apparel than we can ever muster, and The Loyal Subject, that we play on Friday, needs a queen in all her glory. Are we to put Dick Honeydew on stage in sackcloth when he takes the part? How regal will the lad look in that?’
‘By then, we may have our own wardrobe back.’
‘How can that be? It will already have been sold.’
‘To whom?’
‘To anyone who’ll buy it. Our rivals would seize on such a purchase.’
‘Then they’d be foolish to do so,’ said Nicholas. ‘We’d recognise our wardrobe anywhere. As soon as one of us went to The Curtain, The Theatre or The Rose, we’d know who had our costumes and demand them back. No,’ he went on, ‘they’ll have to be sold singly to individuals. That will take time. No shop would buy such a range of attire. And there’s another thing to remember.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Hugh Wegges showed me the full inventory of what was taken. Some of those cloaks and gowns were heavy to wear. No one man could carry them all away himself.’
‘He had accomplices?’
‘Either that or one man made a number of visits to our wardrobe.’
‘What thief would risk doing that?’
‘One who knew where to hide his booty nearby,’ said Nicholas. ‘It may even be someone who is staying at the inn. Our landlord has opened up more rooms to guests. I mean to ask what their names are.’
‘I’ll do that office, Nick,’ volunteered Firethorn. ‘It never occurred to me that our costumes might be hidden right in front of us. That’s the last place we’d think to look. Let me speak to Adam. I’ll have him search every room.’
‘Cautiously, though. We must not spread commotion.’
Firethorn bristled. ‘I’ll spread much more than commotion if I find that the thief is still here.’ He became aware of a figure standing nearby and gave him a token smile. ‘One moment,’ he said. ‘I’ll just speak to my book holder.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Here’s another scourge for my back, Nick. This fellow is Jonathan Jarrold, a bookseller from Cambridge, the dullest creature on two legs. But he’s Margery’s brother-in-law so I must indulge him.’
‘What does he want?’
‘To watch us at rehearsal. He has appointments with other booksellers this afternoon so he cannot see the performance itself. Margery insisted that I let him view our morning’s turmoil.’
Nicholas was confident. ‘We’ll give a better account of ourselves than you fear.’
‘Get him from under my feet, that’s all I ask. The fellow unnerves me.’ He swung round to beam at the visitor. ‘Come and meet Nick Bracewell,’ he said. ‘He’ll look after you, Jonathan. I must away.’
Firethorn headed for the tiring-house and left the two men to exchange greetings. Nicholas had heard mention of Jonathan Jarrold before and he knew that Firethorn had little time for the man, even though he had great admiration for the actor. Jarrold was short, thin and studious, his nervous eyes glinting behind spectacles, his body hunched apologetically in its plain garb. He rubbed his palms together.
‘I fear that I come at an inopportune moment,’ he said.
‘Rehearsals are always prone to misadventure,’ explained Nicholas, ‘so you’ll have to bear with us. Lawrence will have told you of the troubles we face.’
‘He talked of nothing else over breakfast.’
‘Then you’ll understand our shortcomings.’ Nicholas glanced upwards. ‘The best place to sit is in the lower gallery. It commands a fine view and you’ll have it all to yourself.’ He turned back to Jarrold. ‘Have you seen Westfield’s Men before?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Jarrold, nodding enthusiastically. ‘On my rare visits to London, I always come to the Queen’s Head, and you played at Cambridge last year.’
‘The plague forced us to go on tour.’
‘I’ll not forget your visit. We saw The Merchant of Calais, as fine a play as I’ve ever had the privilege to witness. Comedy, tragedy and romance were so sweetly co-mingled. Lawence was kind enough to introduce us to the author.’
‘Edmund Hoode.’
‘I’d hoped to renew the acquaintance today, but I hear that he’s indisposed.’
‘Illness keeps him from us,’ said Nicholas, ‘but we’ve a new playwright to fill his absence. As it happens, he hails from Cambridge as well.’
‘Oh, what is his name?’
‘Michael Grammaticus.’
‘But I know him,’ said Jarrold, clapping his hands together. ‘A true scholar, if ever there was one. When he was in Cambridge, he was always in my shop, searching for Greek and Latin texts. The both of them were.’
‘The both of them?’
‘Michael and his friend, Stephen Wragby. They were never apart. They lived together, studied together and taught together. Michael was the finer scholar but Stephen had the better imagination. I miss him so much,’ he went on, stifling a sigh. ‘He was far too young to die.’
‘Stephen Wragby is dead?’
‘Of the plague. It is not confined to London, alas. It reached out its long hand and snatched him away from us. Michael was utterly destroyed,’ recalled Jarrold. ‘Careless of his own health, he nursed Stephen until the bitter end. One friend died, the other was somehow spared. And I lost two of the best customers I ever had.’
‘Is that why Michael decided to leave Cambridge?’
‘He could not bear to stay without Stephen.’ He adjusted his spectacles. ‘Yet you say that Michael is a playwright now?’
‘Yes,’ replied Nicholas. ‘One of his plays has already been staged and a second will be back from the scrivener any day. It’s a pity you missed Caesar’s Fall. It was the work of a brilliant intelligence.’
‘That is an accurate description of Michael Grammaticus.’
‘His new play is called The Siege of Troy.’