The old man raised a shaggy eyebrow in surprise. ‘Since when has Lawrence Firethorn taken much note of authors?’
‘A good question, Doctor Mordrake.’
‘He has a reputation of being a law unto himself.’
‘A well-earned reputation,’ said Nicholas, fondly, ‘but he paid the playwright more attention in this case and abided by his every request. What the audience saw is what Saul Hibbert asked for and received.’
‘So he is indirectly responsible for the murder.’
‘Nobody would ever be able to convince him of that.’
‘Have I been of any use?’ asked Mordrake, handing the cup and phial back to him. ‘I like to feel that I’ve earned the exorbitant fee I might have asked from you.’
‘The names of renegade apothecaries would not come amiss.’
‘There are not many. Most are proud to uphold their standards.’
‘What of those who do not? There are villains in every profession.’
‘One moment, my friend.’
Mordrake sat on a stool at one of the tables and reached for a piece of parchment that was already half-covered with abstruse drawings. After chewing meditatively on the end of his quill, he dipped it into the inkwell and wrote down some names. Without bothering to dry the ink, he handed the list to Nicholas.
‘The first man has a shop in Trigg Alley,’ he said. ‘Find him and you’ll find the others, for he’ll direct you to them. They are all of them men who have sadly fallen from grace in their time.’
‘I can’t thank you enough,’ said Nicholas, studying the list.
‘Preparing a fatal poison does not make a man a killer. Bear that in mind. If it did, I’d have been hanged long ago, for I’ve made up some venomous concoctions to rid a house of vermin. At least,’ he went on, ‘that was what I was told when it was purchased from me. How would I know if the potion was instead used to remove a shrewish wife or send a troublesome husband to his Maker?’
‘I’m only after the person who bought the poison.’
‘Take great care. He’s an evil man.’
‘He must be called to account,’ said Nicholas, gravely. ‘I’ll track him down somehow. I owe it to Hal Bridger to do that.’
Sobbing quietly, George Dart and Richard Honeydew sat side by side on the bottom step of a staircase at the Queen’s Head and hugged each other for comfort. They looked so small and insignificant that most of those who went in and out of the taproom did not even notice them. Edmund Hoode saw them at once as he was leaving. Taking pity on them he sat between the pair and enfolded them gently in his arms.
‘What’s this, what’s this?’ he said, softly. ‘Crying will not bring Hal Bridger back to us. You must bear his loss with courage.’
‘But we killed him,’ whined Dart.
‘Away with that silly thought!’
‘We did,’ said Honeydew. ‘George made up that potion and I handed it to Hal in the cup. We are accomplices in a murder.’
‘You are nothing of the kind,’ said Hoode, ‘and, were he here now, Hal would be the first to tell you that. George did not put the poison in the phial any more than you, Dick, knowingly poured it into the cup. You loved Hal and would not harm him for the world.’
‘That’s true,’ said Dart, offering evidence in his defence. ‘I was his friend. I taught him how to duck under Thomas’s blows and keep out of Master Firethorn’s way when his temper was up. I tried to save Hal from any pain and not inflict it.’
‘You’d never hurt anyone, George,’ soothed Honeydew.
‘The same is true of you, Dick.’
‘You’re the kindest two lads in the company,’ said Hoode, giving them an encouraging squeeze. ‘George is a martyr to endure all the teasing that he gets, and Dick is the one apprentice who never stoops to silly mischief. I’d trust my life with either of you.’
‘That’s what Hal thought,’ said Dart, tears forming again.
Honeydew sniffled. ‘And he paid dearly for his mistake.’
‘We’ll never be able to forgive ourselves.’
‘Hal Bridger will haunt me in my dreams.’
‘And so will I, if we have any more of this,’ said Hoode, adopting a sterner tone. ‘Neither of you bears any blame. You might just as well blame Saul Hibbert for writing the play, or Lawrence for deciding to commission it, or the landlord for allowing it to be staged here. If you want to find a culprit, there’s a great long line of them to choose from and it includes me.’
‘You?’ they said in unison.
‘Yes. The Malevolent Comedy was only bought because I was unable to supply a new play myself. Had my rustic tale been deemed worthy enough, then that would have been staged here today, and Hal would still be alive. No, lads,’ Hoode continued. ‘There’s only one true culprit and we must all help to find him.’
‘How can we do that?’ asked Dart.
‘By keeping your eyes and ears open. If he’s struck once, he may do so again. We must be on our guard.’ The others began to shiver. ‘The search for the villain has already begun. I’ve just spoken with Nick Bracewell, who managed to get the poison identified. We know exactly what killed Hal now. Tomorrow, Nick will try to find the apothecary who mixed the lethal potion.’
Honeydew was frightened. ‘And you think the killer is still here?’
‘It’s a possibility that we must consider.’
‘Then none of us is safe!’
‘We are, if we stay together, Dick — and take care what we drink.’
‘I’ll be afraid to touch a drop of anything.’
‘So will I,’ said Dart, querulously.
Hoode smiled. ‘You’ll drink when you get thirsty enough,’ he said. ‘The main thing is that you absolve yourselves of any blame. Nobody is pointing the finger at you. We understand your fears and want to help you overcome them. The worst is over, lads. Bear up.’
‘But the worst is not over yet,’ said Honeydew.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Hal has a family and they will want to know how he died. They are bound to come looking for George and me. You may say that we were not at fault,’ he went on, biting his lip, ‘but his parents may think that we are the murderers. I’m terrified to face them, Edmund.’
‘We both are,’ said Dart.
‘Then let me put your minds at rest,’ said Hoode, discreetly. ‘Nick spoke to Hal’s father and told him of the tragedy. For personal reasons, the parents will not come anywhere near the Queen’s Head. Shed that anxiety as well, lads. You are safe.’
‘Disowned his own son?’ asked Anne in a tone of disbelief. ‘Surely not.’
‘It is sad but true.’
‘Sad and reprehensible, I’d say. What sort of father turns his back on a boy who has been murdered? It’s bad enough if a child dies by natural means, but a calamity when he’s poisoned to death. Do the parents have no hearts?’
‘I only spoke with the father,’ said Nicholas, ‘and his heart was made of stone, hewn, I suspect, from some Puritan quarry. Theatre is anathema to him. Left to himself, he’d tear down every playhouse in London. Hal was very brave to defy such a man, braver still to join Westfield’s Men.’
‘Why?’
‘He left a secure trade as a saddler to trust his luck with the most precarious profession in the city. His bravery verges on heroism, Anne. And it cost him his young life.’
After the rigors of the day, Nicholas was glad to get back to the haven of his lodging in Bankside, and to relax in its welcoming parlour. Anne Hendrik, the English widow of a Dutch hatmaker, was a handsome woman in her thirties with skills she did not even know that she possessed until she was forced to run her late husband’s business in the adjoining premises. During the early months of struggle and financial restraint, she took in a lodger to defray expenses and found, in Nicholas Bracewell, a man who became her friend, confidante and, in time, her lover. Married in all but name, they shared a closeness that was a source of continual solace during times of strife. Nicholas could always rely on her support and sympathy.