‘I’ll kill that mangy cur if I get my hands on it!’ he yelled.
‘Do not blame the animal,’ advised Nicholas. ‘The fault lies with the person who released him onto the stage.’
‘And who the devil was that, Nick?’
‘The same man who poisoned Hal Bridger.’
Firethorn blinked. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely sure,’ said Nicholas, ruefully. ‘He’s back.’
Chapter Six
With the performance safely behind them, Westfield’s Men were relieved but badly shaken. An atmosphere of quiet terror filled the tiring-house. The death onstage of Hal Bridger had been a more horrifying event but only the furniture had been in danger on that occasion. The dog had preferred human targets, biting at the heels of anyone within reach and sinking its teeth into the Clown’s unprotected rear. Barnaby Gill was in despair as he rubbed his sore buttock.
‘He tried to eat me alive!’ he cried.
‘Only because you are such a tasty morsel,’ teased Owen Elias.
‘I may never be able to walk properly again.’
‘Sit in a pail of cold water and you’ll be as good as new.’
‘I need a doctor.’
‘We’ve always said that,’ mocked the other.
‘How can you laugh, Owen? I’m in agony.’
‘There’s no blood to be seen through your hose.’
‘That beast of Hades bit me to the bone.’
‘He was letting you know what he thought of your performance,’ said Firethorn, enjoying Gill’s discomfort. ‘As soon as you started your jig, the dog decided that it could bear no more.’
‘Why did you not come to my rescue?’ demanded Gill.
‘I did. I was about to run the animal through with my sword when Nick saved me the trouble by throwing that cloak over him.’
‘The problem is,’ said Elias, pulling a face, ‘that everyone in the audience will talk about that dog to their friends. Spectators will come to the next performance, expecting to see the same wanton havoc.’
‘We’ll never stage this damnable play again!’ yelled Gill.
‘You were the one who insisted that we revive it today, Barnaby.’
‘I’d not have done so if I realised that my life would be at risk.’
‘Try to remember Hal Bridger,’ suggested Firethorn. ‘He really did lose his life during The Malevolent Comedy. All you have to suffer is a blow to your dignity and a bruised bum.’
‘I might have known I’d get no sympathy from you, Lawrence.’
‘My sympathy goes to the entire company. When that animal was unleashed upon us, the whole performance might have ended in turmoil. Evidently, someone bears us ill will.’
‘Only when we perform this play,’ said Edmund Hoode, quietly. ‘Black Antonio gave us no trouble. It’s only Master Hibbert’s work that brought misfortune upon us.’
‘We cannot blame Saul for this.’
‘Well, the blame must lie somewhere.’
‘Edmund is right,’ said Elias, summing up the general feeling. ‘The Malevolent Comedy is cursed. Stage it again and Barnaby’s other buttock may serve as dinner for a hungry dog.’
‘Never!’ wailed Gill, massaging the injured area harder than ever.
‘I think that we should forget Saul’s play for a while.’
‘And so do I,’ agreed Hoode.
‘That’s rank cowardice,’ declared Firethorn, raising his voice so that everyone in the room could hear him. ‘Nothing will frighten us from doing what we choose. You heard that applause out there. The play is a palpable triumph. We’ll stage it on Monday and every other day next week.’ There was a loud murmur of protest. ‘Would you walk away from certain success?’ he challenged. ‘The Malevolent Comedy will line all our pockets. We must be brave enough to seize the opportunity.’
‘All next week?’ groaned Gill.
‘And the week beyond that if interest holds. Yes,’ Firethorn went on above the noise of dissent, ‘I know that you all have fears and doubts, but there’s one sure way to remove them.’
‘I do not see it, Lawrence.’
‘We’ve almost forty-eight hours before we stage the play. That’s two whole days in which to find the villain who poisoned Hal Bridger and who set that dog upon us. Catch him and our troubles are over.’
‘Supposing we do not?’ asked Hoode.
‘We will,’ affirmed Elias. ‘We’ll find the lousy knave somehow.’
‘And if we fail?’
‘Then we’ll play The Malevolent Comedy regardless,’ said Firethorn.
‘That’s suicide,’ complained Gill.
‘It’s courage, Barnaby. Together, we’ll face up to anything.’
‘You’d not say that if the dog had bitten you.’
‘I agree with Barnaby for once,’ said Hoode. ‘Two performances of this play have so far brought two vicious attacks upon us. We’ve one lad dead and our clown savaged by a dog. Before you commit us to stage the play again, Lawrence,’ he urged, ‘ask yourself this. What kind of peril awaits us next time?’
Nicholas Bracewell took no part in the discussion. There were too many jobs for him to do. The actors were justifiably upset by the unscheduled interference from the dog, but he knew that Saul Hibbert would be even more outraged. For the second time in a row, his play had teetered on the edge of doom. The playwright would demand to know why, and Nicholas accepted that he would be blamed as a matter of course. Confrontation was unavoidable. Before it happened, he had to supervise the dismantling of the stage and the storing of its constituent parts. By the time that task had been completed, the yard was more or less clear and only a few stragglers left in the galleries.
Seeing that he was free at last, two of the spectators came across to him. They made an incongruous couple. Anne Hendrik was smiling happily but Preben van Loew, in his dark, sober apparel, was as lugubrious as ever. Even the frenzied antics of the dog had failed to convince him that theatre was something from which he might take a degree of pleasure.
‘Did you enjoy the play, Preben?’ asked Nicholas.
‘No. I could not follow it.’
‘But your English is excellent.’
‘It is not the way they speak,’ said the Dutchman, ‘but the way they think. You would not find anyone like Lord Loveless in my country. We would never search for a wife like he did.’
‘I can confirm that,’ said Anne, pleasantly. ‘My husband certainly did not woo me by making me take a potion in my wine. I loved the play, Nick,’ she added. ‘I thought it a wild, wonderful, madcap romp. You never told me that there was a dog in the cast.’
‘There was not supposed to be one,’ said Nicholas. ‘He joined us unawares. I still do not know where he came from.’
‘Nor me. The animal seemed to pop up out of thin air.’
‘No,’ said the Dutchman. ‘It was from the stable.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because I was not always watching the play. Its manners were too strange for a foreigner like me to understand. So I let my eye wander.’
‘And you saw the stable open?’ asked Nicholas.
‘Just a little. Someone tossed the dog out.’
‘Did you see the man?’
‘No, Nicholas. Only the dog.’
‘That’s one mystery solved, anyway. The animal all but brought the play to a halt. I simply had to get him off the stage.’
‘And you got a round of applause for doing so, Nick,’ noted Anne.
‘Barnaby Gill did not join in the clapping,’ said Nicholas. ‘His hands were too busy rubbing his injury. But did you see anything apart from the play, Anne?’
‘I saw Master Hibbert. He was sitting on a bench in front of us. He was very much as you described — young, handsome, conceited and almost as ostentatious as Barnaby. When the play was over, he was showered with congratulations by everyone.’
‘What else did you see?’
‘Nothing,’ she admitted, ‘I was too absorbed in the play.’
‘I was not,’ said her companion.