‘I am merely his ghost,’ said the playwright with a sigh.
‘We put too much upon you,’ argued Nicholas. ‘You are not only obliged to provide us with a steady flow of new plays, but to keep old ones in repair, and to lend your guidance to novice authors. And if that were not enough, you also hold your own as an actor.’
‘My duties wore me down. I am posthumous.’
‘Drink up, man,’ said Firethorn. ‘Enough of this nonsense about the death of your art. All you need is a good rest. If your pen has molted, give it time to grow its feathers again.’
‘That’s sound advice,’ said Nicholas, sampling his wine.
‘Watch and pray.’
‘But what do we do meanwhile?’ asked Hoode, taking a welcome sip of his own drink. ‘Novelty is ever the life-blood of theatre. While our rivals can assuage the demand for new plays, our offerings are bent with age and covered with dust.’
‘I may have the answer to that,’ said Firethorn, reflectively.
‘Oh?’ Nicholas was very surprised. ‘It’s the first I’ve heard of it. Are you talking about a new play?’
‘A new playwright. Since we were in such straits, I took it upon myself to commission a comedy from him. Yes, yes,’ he went on, quickly, before Hoode could interrupt, ‘I know that I exceeded my powers. Before a new play is accepted, it must be read by you and Barnaby as well.’
‘And by Nick,’ said Hoode. ‘He may not be a sharer but there’s no shrewder judge of a play in the whole company. Why did you not at least take him into your confidence?’
Nicholas was disconcerted. ‘I could ask the same thing,’ he said. ‘You made no mention of this new playwright before Edmund arrived.’
‘I wanted you both to hear the news together,’ claimed Firethorn. ‘And I look to one of you to pass it on to Barnaby because I know he’ll have a tantrum when he realises that he was kept in the dark.’
‘Like the rest of us.’
‘Do not censure me, Nick. Nobody is better placed than you to know what a parlous state our finances are in. To reduce our commitments, we had to part with three hired men last week and manage without them. Desperate situations call for desperate measures.’
‘So what have you done?’ asked Hoode with unaccustomed sarcasm. ‘Written a play yourself?’
‘No,’ returned Firethorn, ‘I relied on my instinct. I met a fellow, lately come to London with an ambition to be a dramatist. Most who entertain that dream will never have it fulfilled but Hibbert is different.’
‘Hibbert?’
‘That’s his name, Edmund. Mark it well. Saul Hibbert.’
‘I’ve never heard of him,’ said Nicholas.
‘You soon will,’ prophesied Firethorn, ‘and so will all of London. He has a rare talent and we must harness it. All that he was able to show me were three acts of his comedy but they were enough to make me offer him a contract. Saul Hibbert is our man.’
‘How did you meet him?’
‘He wrote to me and asked if we would consider his work.’
‘And we would have done so,’ said Hoode, peevishly, ‘had you had the grace to ask us. This is most irregular, Lawrence. We’ve always discussed new work before and not proceeded with a commission until all three of us — Nick, too, of course — were thoroughly satisfied.’
‘I think I can guarantee satisfaction in this case.’
‘Yet you only saw three acts of the play?’ said Nicholas, worried.
‘One was enough to tell me that he is a true dramatist.’
‘And when will his comedy be finished?’
‘By the end of next week,’ said Firethorn. ‘Why these long faces?’ he went on as the others exchanged an apprehensive glance. ‘You should be rejoicing with me. I’ve found a second Edmund Hoode.’
‘The first one has not departed yet!’ yelled Hoode, indignantly.
‘A moment ago, you were talking from the grave.’
‘I’ve climbed out again.’
‘Be still, Edmund,’ said Nicholas with a calming gesture. ‘These tidings may yet lead to our salvation. If this fellow can furnish us with a new play, we should bid him welcome to the company. He’s no threat to your position,’ he emphasised. ‘There’s only one Edmund Hoode.’
‘Lawrence would do well to remember that.’
‘It’s graven on my heart,’ said Firethorn, a hand on his chest.
‘I’ve a play or two left in me yet.’
‘A dozen, at least,’ said Nicholas, delighted to hear the pride in Hoode’s voice. ‘Rest awhile and the words will come teeming out of you. In the meantime,’ he added, turning to Firethorn, ‘it seems that we have to take Saul Hibbert on trust. What is his comedy called?’
Firethorn opened his mouth to reply but, before he could speak, there was a pounding on the front door that made all three of them look in the direction of it. The knocking continued until Margery opened the door. After a brief conversation, she ushered the visitor into the parlour.
‘This is Master Hibbert,’ she said, clearly impressed by the newcomer. ‘He claims that he has urgent business with you, Lawrence.’
Firethorn was on his feet. ‘Why, so he has!’ he confirmed. ‘Come in, Saul. Come in, come in.’
Though he gave a smile of thanks, Saul Hibbert preferred to stay framed in the doorway where he had struck a pose. Tall, slim and flamboyantly attired, he had a natural elegance that would make him stand out in a crowd. He also had an actor’s assurance and charm. Seeing that Margery wished to leave, he stood back and gave her an elaborate bow. With a little giggle, she went past him. Hibbert came into the room to be introduced to the others.
Hoode was slightly unnerved to see that the man who had been compared to him was ten years younger and twenty times more good-looking. Nicholas’s first impression was that Hibbert was too fond of outward show but he reserved his judgement on his character. Beaming at Firethorn, the newcomer thrust a sheaf of papers into his hand.
‘Finished at last!’ he boasted.
‘But your play was not due for another week,’ said Firethorn.
‘I was enjoying the act of creation so much that I could not break off. I’ve worked night and day to complete it.’
‘That’s heartening news!’
‘It is, indeed,’ said Nicholas. ‘Tell me, Master Hibbert, is this the first play you have written?’
‘No, Nick,’ replied the other, familiarly, ‘it’s the third. One was performed at Norwich and the second at Oxford.’
Hoode was suspicious. ‘Oxford. You’re a University man, then?’
‘I am, Edmund. I started my learning in the gutter and took my degree in the university of life. Oxford?’ he said with a sneer. ‘Why waste time in a cap and gown that could be better spent elsewhere?’
‘Quite so,’ said Firethorn, starting to read the first page.
‘I have enough Latin to get by and enough Greek to show that I have a gift for languages. On my travels, I’ve also picked up a tidy amount of German, French and Italian. The necessities of courtship, you might say.’ Firethorn let out a guffaw. ‘Ah, you’re reading the scene in the apothecary’s shop?’
‘Reading it and loving it,’ said Firethorn, turning to a new page.
‘Welcome to the company, Master Hibbert,’ said Nicholas.
‘We’re delighted to have you,’ added Hoode, guardedly.
‘You certainly need me,’ said Hibbert, tossing back his long, wavy black hair. ‘When I saw you perform last week, I could not believe how much Westfield’s Men had declined since my last visit to London. The play was billed as a comedy but it did not raise a smile from me. Whoever thought that such a tame piece could be offered as entertainment?’
‘Which play did you see?’
‘A Way to Content All Women.’
Hoode gurgled as he realised that his own work was being vilified. His discomfort was intensified by another burst of laughter from Firethorn. While Hoode was being ridiculed, Hibbert was being lauded. Nicholas came to his friend’s defence.
‘You may not have smiled, Master Hibbert,’ he said, ‘but the rest of the audience was shaking with mirth for the whole two hours.’