When he got to his feet, he swayed slightly and bade his farewells. Meares and the others sent him on his way with shouts and laughs. It was early evening when Naismith came reeling out of the inn, adjusting the sling around his neck. His lodging was only a few streets away but he did not get much closer to it.
As soon he passed the lane beside the Elephant, a strong hand reached out to grab him by his jerkin and swing him hard against a wall. All the breath was taken out of him and his wounded arm was jarred. The point of a dagger pricked his throat and made him jerk back his head in terror.
‘Leave me alone!’ he begged. ‘I have no money!’
‘That’s not what I want,’ growled a voice.
‘Who are you?’
‘A friend of Jonas Applegarth’s.’
‘That rogue!’
‘Yes,’ said Owen Elias. ‘That rogue.’
He let the blade of his weapon caress the man’s neck.
‘Tell me why you tried to kill him.’
Chapter Ten
An air of gloom hung over the Queen’s Head like a pall. The murder of Jonas Applegarth changed a haven of conviviality into a murmuring tomb. There was desultory movement in the yard with few guests seeking a bed for the night once they heard about the crime on the premises. The atmosphere in the taproom was funereal. Westfield’s Men sat over their ale with a sense of foreboding. Superstitious by nature, they were convinced that a curse had descended on their company and that a violent death presaged an even worse catastrophe.
Alexander Marwood was in his element. A man whose whole life was agitated by imaginary disasters now had a real one to make him truly despondent. Revelling in his misery, he circled his premises like a lost soul, chanting a monologue of black despair and pausing each time outside the storeroom where the horror had occurred to wonder if it should be exorcised, boarded up or torn down completely. Partnership with a theatre company had visited many tribulations upon his undeserving head but this, he felt, was easily the worst. The ghost of Jonas Applegarth would haunt him for ever.
When Nicholas returned from Blackfriars, the landlord was still perambulating the yard with enthusiastic grief. He swooped on the book holder at once, bony fingers sinking into his arm like the talons of a bird of prey.
‘Why have you done this to me?’ he groaned.
‘It was not deliberate.’
‘My trade blighted, my womenfolk prostrated, my happiness snatched away! Ruination, sir!’
‘A cruel twist of Fate,’ said Nicholas. ‘Westfield’s Men cannot be blamed. You must see that.’
‘Who brought that heretic to the Queen’s Head? Who staged his blasphemy in my yard? Who permitted him to fetch the wrath of the Lord down on my inn?’
‘Jonas Applegarth was a brilliant playwright.’
‘His brilliance has destroyed me!’
‘It cost him his own life, certainly,’ admitted Nicholas. ‘Had he not written The Misfortunes of Marriage, he would still be with us. It was too powerful a piece for its own good. Someone was deeply offended by it.’
‘Yes!’ howled Marwood. ‘God Almighty!’
‘Jonas was killed by a human hand. I can vouch for that.’
Another torrent of self-pity gushed from the landlord but it washed harmlessly over the book holder. He was diverted by the sight of the woman who had just come hurrying in through the archway of the yard. Detaching himself from Marwood, he ran to greet Anne Hendrik. There was a spontaneous embrace. She hugged him with relief.
‘I am so glad to see you safe, Nick!’
‘What brought you here?’
‘The grim tidings,’ she explained. ‘I met with Nathan Curtis as he was returning home to Bankside. He told me of the murder here this morning and I had to come. I feared for you.’
‘But I am in no danger, Anne.’
‘If you pursue a killer, you must be. He has two victims already. Do not become the third, I beg you. Nathan told me how determined you were to avenge this death. Why put yourself in such peril?’
Nicholas soothed her as best he could, then led her across to the tiring-house, unlocking it with his key to give them some privacy. As they stepped into the room, Nicholas felt a pang of remorse. Jonas Applegarth had been hanged in the adjoining chamber and his unquiet spirit hovered over the whole building.
‘Nathan was still trembling at what he saw.’
‘It was a grisly sight indeed. The mere thought of it has thrown the company into chaos. Jonas Applegarth was one of us.’
‘Why was he murdered?’
‘To silence his voice.’
‘I do not understand.’
‘He was a man of strong opinions, who used his art to express them and his wit to belabour his enemies. Jonas was killed for something that he wrote.’
‘But what of Cyril Fulbeck?’ she asked. ‘Did you not tell Nathan that he was killed by the same fell hand? The Master of the Chapel was a gentle man with quiet opinions. He made no enemies. Why was his voice silenced?’
‘I will find out in time,’ he said confidently. ‘But you are wrong about him. Meek as he was, Cyril Fulbeck did make enemies. You introduced me to one of them in this very inn.’
She gave a sigh. ‘Ambrose Robinson.’
‘He would cheerfully have practised his butchery on the Master of the Chapel.’
‘That is not so.’
‘Your friend has too much anger swilling inside him.’
‘He has a temper but is learning to govern it.’
‘The wonder is that he has not descended on Blackfriars in a fit of rage and seized his son by force. How have you prevented him from doing so?’
‘I urged him to proceed by legal means. That is why I brought him to you, Nick. I hoped that you could help.’
‘I have tried, Anne.’
‘What have you found?’
Nicholas hesitated. Delighted to see her and touched by her concern for him, he was anxious not to provoke another quarrel. He took her hand and led her to a bench against the wall. They sat down together.
‘We parted unhappily the last time we met,’ he said.
‘That was as much my fault as ours.’
‘I was unmannerly with you, Anne.’
‘You could never be that.’
‘Too bold in my enquiries, then.’
‘They carried the weight of accusation,’ she explained. ‘That was what distressed me. Your tone was possessive.’
‘I can only beg forgiveness.’
‘You harassed me, Nick. I am not bounden to you. In my own house, I am entitled to make my own decisions.’
‘I accept that.’
‘To choose my own friends without first seeking your approval. Is that so unreasonable a demand?’
‘No, Anne,’ he conceded. ‘I am justly rebuked.’
‘I deserve some censure myself for being so harsh.’
‘The fault is mended.’
‘You were only drawn into this business because of me. I should have borne that in mind. You did not choose this situation. I did, Nick, and I was wrong to foist another man’s domestic problem on to you.’
‘I embrace it willingly if it makes us friends again.’
She smiled and kissed him softly on the cheek.
‘This you must know,’ she said quietly, ‘and then we may put it aside so that it does not come between us again. Ambrose Robinson is a kind and generous man. Thefts and damage to my property left me in difficulty. Many offered sympathy but he alone offered me the money I needed at that time. It saved me, Nick. It let me rebuild. I cannot forget that.’
‘Nor should you.’
‘It brought us close. When his son was taken into the Chapel Royal, he was distraught. I could not deny him my help. That brought us even closer. And yes, you were informed correctly, I have been to church with Ambrose-but only to pray beside him on my knees and not for any deeper reason.’
Nicholas took both comfort and regret from her words.
‘Why did you not confide your troubles in me, Anne?’
‘You were not there.’
‘And he was.’
‘Yes.’
He lowered his head in dismay. The thought that she had been in dire financial straits was upsetting, all the more so because he was unaware of her predicament. It was a disturbing reminder of how far apart they had drifted. If the butcher had come to her aid, the man deserved gratitude. Nicholas felt slightly ashamed. He squeezed her hand in apology.