‘But not good enough for you?’
‘That was not my meaning.’
‘Then why do you spurn me?’
‘I do not,’ she said, standing and crossing to the window. ‘I am just not ready to consider…what you wish to propose, that is all.’
‘Not ready now?’ he said, brightening. ‘But one day…’
‘I make no promises.’
‘One day…’
‘My life is happy enough as it is.’
‘A husband and a son will make it even happier.’
‘No,’ she said, turning to face him. ‘We are friends. I like to think that we are close friends. You helped me when others would not and I will always be grateful to you for that. It made me want to help you to bring Philip home.’
Robinson stared at her. A resentful note intruded.
‘It is him, is it not?’
‘Who?’
‘Your precious Nick Bracewell. He is the canker here.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It has all changed,’ he said bitterly. ‘Until he came back into your world, you had time for me and interest in my affairs. We talked together, supped together, even walked to church together on a Sunday. All golden times for me. Then this friend, this Nick Bracewell, appears again and my chances go begging.’
‘That is not true.’
‘He changed everything.’
‘No, Ambrose.’
‘But for him, you would have been mine. I know it.’
‘Nick changed nothing!’
The force of her rejection was like a slap in the face. His body tensed and his eyes blazed but he made no comment. Swinging on his heel, he went out of the house and slammed the door behind him.
***
Lawrence Firethorn was just about to climb into bed when he heard the thunderous knocking on his front door. Margery was already lying among the pillows in her nightgown with a smile of lustful anticipation on her face. Vincentio’s Revenge had sent them early to their bedchamber and they knew that nobody in the house would dare to interrupt them.
When more knocking came, Firethorn stamped a bare foot on the floor to signal to the servant below.
‘Whoever that is, send them on their way!’ he yelled.
‘Ignore them, Lawrence,’ purred his wife.
‘When you lie before me like that, my sweet, I would ignore the Last Judgement. Was ever a man so blessed in his wife? Was ever lover so well matched with lover?’ He moved in to bestow a first tender kiss on her lips. ‘Was ever an actor given such a fine role as this that I play now?’
He embraced her with fiery passion and buried his head between her generous breasts. Digging her fingers into his hair, she pulled him close and urged him on with cries of delight, groaning with even more pleasure when his hands slipped under her nightgown to explore her warm thighs. The bed soon began to creak rhythmically but a louder noise rose above it. Somebody was actually pounding on their door.
Ecstasy froze on the instant. Firethorn could not believe it. At a time when he and his wife most wanted to be alone, they were being rudely disturbed. It was unforgivable. Leaping from the bed half-naked, he stalked across the room, determined to castigate the servant in the roundest of terms before hurling her out into the street. When he snatched open the door, he fully expected the girl to be cowering in terror. Instead, he was met by the improbable sight of Edmund Hoode, hands on hips, standing there with his legs set firmly apart.
‘I have come to speak with you, Lawrence,’ he asserted.
‘Now? Must it be now? Must it be here?’ Firethorn stepped outside the bedchamber and pulled the door shut after him. ‘Do you know what you have just interrupted?’
‘I care not.’
‘Margery is waiting for me within.’
‘I will not keep you from your sleep much longer.’
‘Sleep was the least of our concerns!’
‘I had to see you.’
‘Well, see me, you do. So turn tail and leave my house before I speed you on your way!’ His eyes glowed in the half-dark. ‘Come not between the dragon and his mate!’
‘Who is it?’ called Margery from within.
‘Edmund!’
‘At this hour?’
‘Begone, sir!’ snarled Firethorn. ‘You hold up destiny.’
‘That is why I am here,’ said Hoode calmly. ‘To discuss my own destiny. When I sensed danger in the person of a rival, my impulse was to shrink away and yield up my place. Not any more, Lawrence. I intend to fulfil my destiny. I am here to fight for my place in Westfield’s Men.’
Firethorn exploded. ‘If you tarry any longer, you will be fighting for your life! God’s tits, man! The most wonderful woman in the world is waiting for me in that bed.’
‘Not for ever,’ cautioned Margery. ‘I grow weary.’
‘Come back tomorrow, Edmund!’
Firethorn tried to push him away, but Hoode held his ground with a determination that was unprecedented in so reserved a man. Five minutes alone with Cicely Gilbourne had transformed him. He was loved. His plays were admired. His life had purpose after all. What thrilled him most was her appreciation of his work. It was this which had restored his confidence in himself and made him reflect on the shabby treatment he had been accorded by Westfield’s Men. With fire in his belly, he walked all the way to Shoreditch to beard Firethorn in his own den. Margery’s presence was a minor disadvantage.
‘Will you box his ear or will I?’ she shouted.
‘I will, my pretty one,’ cooed Firethorn before glowering at the intruder. ‘Leave now while your legs still carry you or I’ll not be answerable for my actions!’
‘If I leave now, Lawrence, I leave for good!’
‘That will content us.’
‘Who will pen your plays then, I wonder?’
‘Still there?’ wailed Margery. ‘Throttle the idiot!’
‘I talk of my place,’ continued Hoode, unruffled. ‘I talk of my destiny. Westfield’s Men are contracted to perform The Faithful Shepherd at The Rose yet I am thrust aside to make way for Jonas Applegarth.’
Firethorn gasped. ‘You have invaded my bedchamber in order to talk about a paltry play?’
‘That paltry play means much to me. Thus it stands. Perform it at The Rose and I remain in the company. Supplant me with another playwright and I will henceforth offer my talent to Banbury’s Men. Do you understand, Lawrence?’
The other was so stunned that all he could offer was a meek nod. Hoode’s fearless manner and dire threat robbed him of the organs of speech. Panting on the bed, Margery Firethorn was more concerned with other organs.
‘Lawrence!’ she bawled. ‘Get in here now! Your kettle is no longer boiling, sir. It needs more heat to make it sing. Light my fire again. Where are you, man?’
Hoode tapped politely on the door and inched it open.
‘We are done now, Margery,’ he said. ‘I’ll send him in.’
***
Unable to sleep for more than a few hours, Nicholas Bracewell rose before dawn and strolled down to the edge of the Thames. The river lapped noisily at the wharf and vessels bobbed in the gloom as they lay at anchor. Born and brought up in a seaport, Nicholas felt at home beside the dark water as it curled between its banks with lazy power. When the first specks of light began to dapple the river, he inhaled the keen air and was at peace with himself. Gulls cried, a winch squealed into life, the plash of oars could be heard in the distance.
His eye then travelled across to Bankside and the demons returned to plague his mind. The Thames did not just snake through London on its way to the sea. Its broad back kept Anne Hendrik and him far apart. They would need more than a bridge to join themselves together again.
Nicholas was still brooding by the quayside when the river was teeming with boats and flanked by scores of people about their daily work. Kneeling down low, he cupped his hands to scoop up some water and let it run over his face. As he began the noisy walk to the Queen’s Head, he felt refreshed and ready to begin his own day.