‘Just as well, Preben. I was supposed to be Nick’s pair of eyes in the gallery, but it was you who saw the one thing of real consequence.’
Nicholas chatted with them for a few minutes until he became aware of Saul Hibbert, bearing down on him. Instead of detaching himself from his friends, he introduced them to the playwright, knowing that their presence would force him to moderate his language. The playwright’s fury was accordingly suppressed. Ignoring the Dutchman completely, he favoured Anne with a dazzling smile.
‘Did you like the play?’ he asked, fishing for praise.
‘Hugely,’ she replied. ‘Let me add my congratulations.’
‘Thank you.’
‘It was truly a marvel.’
‘I tried to write a comedy with some depth to it.’
‘And you succeeded, Master Hibbert. Behind the laughter, there was much to provoke thought.’
‘It’s good to know that I had such an appreciative spectator.’
‘What I appreciated most,’ confessed Anne, ‘was the scene with the dog, but Nick tells me that that was entirely unrehearsed.’
Hibbert glowered. ‘Unrehearsed, uncontrolled and unwanted.’
‘Thanks to Preben here,’ said Nicholas, ‘we do at least know where the dog came from. It slipped out of the stables, it seems.’
‘How could that be allowed to happen? Did you not check the stables before the play began?’
‘Of course, Master Hibbert. I make it my business to do so. If there are horses in there, I have the stables locked as a precaution. Finding the stalls were empty today, I simply closed the doors.’
‘There was no dog there?’
‘Not when I looked.’
‘No dog in a manger?’ asked the Dutchman, releasing a high-pitched wheeze of a laugh. His face clouded in apology. ‘Oh, I am sorry.’
‘You should have searched the stables more thoroughly, Nicholas,’ chided Hibbert. ‘That animal jeopardised my work.’
‘Barnaby Gill was the real victim. He was bitten.’
‘What’s a mere bite to the loss of a whole play?’
‘Your play was saved by Nick,’ said Anne, coming to his aid. ‘Had he not captured the dog when he did, it might have done far more damage. As for searching the stables, no man would have done it more thoroughly. Nick is very conscientious.’
‘Thank you, Anne,’ said Nicholas.
‘Conscientious or not,’ Hibbert went on, testily, ‘he missed that dog and it was free to bite at my reputation as a dramatist. Be warned, Nicholas. I’ll be complaining to Lawrence about you.’
‘Do not be surprised if there are complaints against you as well.’
‘Against me?’
‘From most of the company, I suspect.’
‘How could they object to me?’ asked Hibbert with a look of injured innocence. ‘I’ve given them the finest play they’ve had in years.’
‘But look what it brought in its wake.’
‘Yes,’ said Anne. ‘A death in the first performance and a dog on the loose in this one. Actors have enough problems onstage as it is without having to cope with unforeseen hazards like that.’
Hibbert was taken aback. ‘You seem to know a lot about the theatre,’ he said, staring at her. ‘Have you seen many plays here?’
‘Dozens of them over the years.’
‘Yes,’ explained Nicholas. ‘Anne is a close friend of Westfield’s Men. You might say that she knows the troupe from the inside.’
‘Then she’ll accept that you were at fault today,’ said Hibbert, ‘for not looking carefully enough into the stables.’
‘Indeed, I’ll not,’ rejoined Anne with spirit. ‘Nick is no culprit. If anyone should bear the blame Master Hibbert, it must be you.’
‘Me?’
‘For writing a play that clearly offends someone deeply.’
‘Yes,’ said Nicholas in support, ‘it may not be the play that caused resentment but its author. That’s the only conclusion I can reach.’
Hibbert was caught on the raw. ‘I resent that accusation!’
‘Others are starting to make it.’
‘Then they are cruelly misled.’
‘Are they, Master Hibbert?’ asked Nicholas, meeting his glare. ‘We have rivals but none that would lower themselves to such shameful devices as we’ve suffered during The Malevolent Comedy. It’s not our enemies we should look to, therefore, but yours.’
‘I have no enemies,’ denied the other.
‘One of them has followed you to London. He was the man who bought that poison and arranged for the dog to be released during the play. Who would hate you enough to do such things?’
‘Nobody.’
‘Think hard, Master Hibbert.’
‘I do not need to.’
‘If we’re to catch this rogue,’ said Nicholas, earnestly, ‘we’ll need your help. There must be someone in your past who holds a grudge against you. Tell me his name.’
‘How can I, when there is no such person?’
‘Are you certain of that?’
‘Quite certain.’
‘Since you’ve been with us,’ said Nicholas, pointedly, ‘you’ve shown little interest in making friends — among the men, that is. Among the ladies, I gather, it’s another matter.’ Hibbert glowered again. ‘Has it never occurred to you that someone who does not make friends is bound to create foes instead?’ The playwright shifted his feet uneasily. ‘There is someone, isn’t there?’ pressed Nicholas. ‘Give me his name. Who is this sworn enemy of yours?’
Hibbert spluttered but no words came out. Wanting to upbraid the book holder, he was inhibited by Anne’s presence and by Preben van Loew’s mournful expression. Sensing that he had the playwright on the run, Nicholas repeated his demand.
‘This man poisoned Hal Bridger,’ he reminded. ‘Who is he?’
Saul Hibbert did not pause to reply. Pulsing with rage, he swung on his heel and headed for the taproom. He refused to admit that he was the target for the attacks on his play. Only one enemy preoccupied him at that moment and his name was Nicholas Bracewell.
The book holder, meanwhile, was bidding adieu to Anne Hendrik and Preben van Loew, sending them off on the journey back to Bankside. He was grateful that the Dutchman had been there. The hatmaker’s indifference to the play had allowed him to see the stable door being opened. It was a valuable piece of evidence. Nicholas was about to go into the building when that evidence was confirmed.
A small boy had been lurking in the shadows, waiting until Nicholas was on his own. After licking his lips, the boy scuttled over.
‘Please, sir,’ he asked, nervously, ‘are you Nicholas Bracewell?’
‘Yes, lad. How can I help you?’
The boy swallowed hard. ‘Can I have my dog back, please?’
While Barnaby Gill’s wound was being examined in private by a doctor, the rest of the company were in the taproom. Disconcerted by the second mishap with the play, all that most of them wanted to do was to steady their nerves with strong drink. Owen Elias was therefore puzzled when he saw one of the cast trying to leave.
‘You are going already, Edmund?’ he said in surprise.
‘Yes, Owen.’
‘The rest of us will carouse for hours.’
‘Too much wine only befuddles my brain,’ said Edmund Hoode.
‘That’s the attraction of it, man. Come, join with your fellows.’
‘Not today.’
‘You’re no priest now, Edmund. The play is over.’
‘The Malevolent Comedy may have finished but another play has already begun.’ Elias looked baffled by the remark. Hoode became inquisitive. ‘Do you think that she was here today, Owen?’
‘Who?’
‘Ursula, of course. Ursula Opie.’
‘The sisters were both here.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because I saw them when we took our bow,’ replied Elias. ‘They were in the upper gallery with their father, clapping their hands with the rest. They liked the play.’
‘What did Ursula think of my performance, I wonder?’
‘Ask her when you meet her again tomorrow.’
‘Oh, I will.’
‘But spare a moment to look at her sister as well,’ suggested the Welshman. ‘Have you ever seen such a merry twinkle in a woman’s eye? And, oh, those ruby lips! Bernice Opie has the lips of a cherub.’