‘Barnaby Gill is one,’ said Hibbert.
‘And that testy Welshman, Owen Elias, another. Close your eyes and he’s Firethorn with a Celtic lilt. They are the only two actors that Banbury’s Men would like to poach.’
‘You spoke of three a moment ago.’
‘Three people — not three actors.’
‘The third person is their book holder,’ said Vavasor. ‘Nicholas Bracewell is the man at the tiller there. He’s steered them safely through every tempest. You must have noticed him.’
‘Oh, yes,’ replied Hibbert, scowling. ‘I noticed him.’
‘Was that your device or his?’
‘What?’
‘I know that he’s wont to arrange their fights and invent clever effects for them. Is that what he did in The Malevolent Comedy?’
‘I do not follow you.’
‘During the last act,’ explained Vavasor. ‘When the servant died.’
‘Ah, that.’
‘It was a stroke of genius to have him thresh around and knock over all the furniture as if he were felling so many trees. The boy looked to be dying in earnest. Tell me, Saul, was that your doing?’
‘Yes,’ lied Hibbert. ‘Everything that you saw was mine.’
When she heard his footsteps outside her front door, Anne Hendrik was doubly grateful. She was not only pleased that Nicholas had returned earlier than she had expected that evening, she was relieved that he had not been killed in a duel. Opening the door to him, she received a kiss and took him into the parlour. Nicholas looked weary.
‘A tiring day?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘but not without its rewards.’
‘What of your quarrel with Master Hibbert?’
‘Oh, that’s behind me Anne.’
‘Good.’
‘We met to discuss our differences in private and I left him with a dagger through his black heart.’
‘Never!’ she exclaimed. Then she realised that he was teasing her and beat him playfully on the chest with both fists. ‘That was cruel of you, Nick.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, embracing her. ‘Forgive me.’
‘Then let’s have no more jests.’
‘As you wish.’
By way of apology, he gave her another kiss. They sat opposite each other and she disposed of her own day in a couple of sentences. Nicholas then told her about the visit to the apothecary in Clerkenwell, and how Simeon Howker’s well-dressed customer had sounded very much like the man who had questioned Leonard at the Queen’s Head. Anne was more interested to hear about the conversation with Hal Bridger’s mother, reassured by the sign of what she took to be pure maternal affection.
‘I think that it was a mixture of motherhood and Christian duty,’ said Nicholas. ‘I can see where Hal got his bravery from. Only a very brave woman could stand up against Mr Bridger.’
‘Is that what she was doing?’
‘She was expressing grief in her own way, Anne.’
‘A peculiar way to me.’
‘I admired her. Mrs Bridger was sincere enough in her beliefs to tell me to my face that the Queen’s Head was a den of iniquity. It must have rankled that Hal was working so close to home and yet so impossibly far from his parents.’
‘At least, they’ll be reunited now, albeit briefly.’
‘Let’s hope so.’
‘Meanwhile, you have a killer to track down. How can you possibly find him in a city as large as London? There are so many places to hide.’
‘I fancy that we may bring him out into the light.’
‘How?’
‘By performing Master Hibbert’s play again tomorrow.’
‘I thought that A Way to Content All Women was advertised.’
‘It’s being set aside, Anne. There’s been such a clamour for the new play that we simply must present it again. That will at least assuage its author and, perhaps, entice along the villain who tried to ruin its first performance.’
‘Do you think he’ll resort to poison again?’
‘We’ll not give him the opportunity.’
‘What makes you think he’ll come back?’
‘Instinct,’ said Nicholas. ‘Having failed to stop us the first time, he’ll want to try again and The Malevolent Comedy is his target. Had the company itself been the mark, he might have aimed at us again today but the performance went unmolested. His grudge seems to be against Saul Hibbert’s play. It’s stirred up real malevolence.’
‘What is there in it that could cause such offence?’
‘Nothing in the play itself,’ replied Nicholas. ‘The playwright is another matter.’ He became thoughtful. ‘I wonder if I might ask you a favour, Anne?’
‘Granted before you even put it into words.’
He smiled gratefully. ‘Come to the Queen’s Head tomorrow and watch the play from the gallery. I need a keen pair of eyes in the audience. You can see things from up there which are invisible to me.’
‘Including this Master Hibbert I’ve heard so much about.’
‘Even in a crowd, you’ll have no difficulty picking him out,’ said Nicholas with asperity. ‘He dresses to be seen and lets everyone know that he’s the author. Saul Hibbert is extremely vain.’
‘How unlike Edmund Hoode,’ she commented. ‘He’s modest and unassuming about his plays. How has Edmund taken this change of plan for tomorrow? He wrote A Way to Content All Women. Does he mind his work being substituted by another comedy?’
‘He’s bound to, Anne. It must make him feel he’s been cruelly elbowed aside. Lawrence is showing some sympathy for him at last. To make amends, he’s taking Edmund to supper this evening.
There were five of them at the table. Edmund Hoode sat beside Lawrence Firethorn while Owen Elias was opposite with the two young ladies in their finest attire. They were in a private room at the Queen’s Head and Firethorn was amusing his female guests with anecdotes from his long and tempestuous career as an actor. Bernice and Ursula Opie were sisters, young, bright and nubile. Owen Elias had got to know them during his visits to their house. Linus Opie, their father, was a wealthy mercer with a passion for music and the Welshman had been engaged to appear at his evening concerts on a number of occasions. Neither Opie nor his daughters realised that the man who sang religious songs with such fervour led a private life that would be frowned upon by any church. Elias hoped to maintain the illusion.
Firethorn turned his broadest smile on the two young ladies.
‘Have you ever seen Westfield’s Men perform?’ he asked.
‘Once or twice,’ replied Bernice. ‘Father brought us here for the first time last year. I remember the play well. I loved every second of it.’
‘And so do I,’ said Ursula. ‘It was called The Faithful Shepherd.’
‘Then you are sitting opposite the man who wrote it,’ said Firethorn, indicating Hoode. ‘Do you hear that, Edmund? You have two admirers at the table.’
‘Admirers?’ echoed Hoode with a pallid smile. ‘I was beginning to forget that such people ever existed.’
‘There are four of us in this very room,’ said Elias, heartily. ‘Though the two prettiest are sitting opposite you.’
‘I endorse that,’ said Firethorn with a chuckle of approval.
Bernice Opie smiled but Ursula was slightly embarrassed by the compliment. Though they shared a similarity of feature, the sisters were very different to look at. Both had dark hair, a pale complexion and full red lips. Bernice, however, the younger by two years, had a natural beauty while Ursula was undeniably plain. Their demeanour seemed to match their appearance. Bernice was confident, vivacious and aware, whereas her sister was shy, hesitant and solemn. When Ursula did finally speak at length, it was clear that she was the more intelligent of the two, but the attention of the men was lavished on Bernice.
‘You have such a lovely name, Bernice,’ said Firethorn.
‘Thank you,’ she replied.
‘Biblical, I take it?’
‘Bernice was the daughter of Herod Agrippa.’
‘Not to be confused with her great-grandfather, Herod the Great,’ put in Ursula, pedantically. ‘Agrippa sat in judgement on Paul, with Bernice present at the time, and they both treated him with respect and dignity. Bernice is later thought to have married King Ptolemy of Sicily.’