‘Dare to bite me and I’ll choke you to death.’
Firethorn laughed. ‘You know so well how to court your husband.’
‘No husband of mine would play false with Nick Bracewell.’
‘That’s why I have set all right,’ he boasted. ‘I not only insisted that he be brought back, I put Saul Hibbert in his place and won the applause of the whole company. You see before you a conqueror.’
Margery was suspicious. ‘Is this some trick of yours, Lawrence?’
‘Since when have I descended to trickery?’
‘Whenever it suits the occasion.’
‘Well, this is an occasion for honesty and atonement.’
‘You wish to apologise to me?’ she said, slightly mollified.
‘No,’ he replied with a grand gesture, ‘but I’m prepared to accept your apology.’
‘For what?’
‘Misjudging your husband. Calling me names that should never have been uttered on the Sabbath, and raising your voice to such a pitch that my disgrace was spread far and wide.’
‘You deserved every vile syllable.’
‘Did I deserve to be made a stranger to your bed?’
‘Yes,’ said Margery, ‘and you’ll remain so.’
‘But I’ve made amends. Nick is back and Saul chastised.’
‘So you say.’
Firethorn was dismayed. ‘Do you doubt your husband’s word?’
‘Frankly, I do.’
‘Then you’ll hear it from Nick’s own mouth. He’s on his way here with other members of company. I galloped ahead to warn you, Margery, and to bury our differences.’
‘Coming here?’ she said. ‘Why?’
‘Thus it stands. The performance this afternoon was jaded but at least we suffered no setback. Until, that is, we had all moved off to the taproom. George Dart, who acted as Nick’s deputy, did not, alas, have Nick’s common sense. In short,’ he said, ‘he let his attention wander and the book of The Malevolent Comedy was stolen.’
‘By whom?’ she gasped.
‘The villain who has dogged this play from the start.’
‘How can you perform again without the prompt copy?’
‘That’s why they are all heading for Shoreditch. If our memories are good enough, we can recall the words and have them set down by our scrivener. Westfield’s Men will create a new play.’
‘It’s a pity you cannot create a new author as well.’
‘Saul has been duly humbled by me.’
‘Not before time.’
‘When I told him of the theft,’ said Firethorn, ‘he ranted wildly and threatened to set a pack of lawyers on us. But I soon imposed my authority on him when I pointed out that only Nick Bracewell could save us and brought him — by my own cunning, Margery — as close to begging for Nick’s help as could be expected. All is therefore well.’
‘You’ve still got five acts of a play to pluck out of your memories.’
‘We’ll do it somehow.’
‘And this is all due to you, Lawrence?’
‘You would have been proud of your husband.’
‘I always am,’ she said, fondly.
‘Does that mean I’ll not sleep on the floor tonight?’
‘I’ll join you there, if you do.’
‘Come here, my songbird!’ he said, throwing his arms around her and planting a kiss of reconciliation on her lips. ‘As I rode out of the city, I thought so much about this moment.’
‘How much time have we got?’ she asked, wickedly.
‘Enough.’
And sweeping her up in his arms, he carried her swiftly to their bedchamber and flung her down on the pillows like an eager bridegroom.
Nicholas Bracewell had been to Hoode’s lodging so many times that he did not need the landlady to conduct him to the room. Instead, he knocked on the door, waited for the summons then went in. Edmund Hoode was surprised to see him. He stood up from his table.
‘Nick,’ he said, ‘what are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come to collect you.’
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘All the way to Old Street,’ replied Nicholas, ‘and we must pick up Matthew Lipton on the way.’
‘Our scrivener?’
‘We’ve work that needs his flowing hand.’
Anxious to get back to his lodging, Hoode had left the Queen’s Head before the theft of the prompt copy had been discovered. Nicholas therefore gave him a brief account of what had taken place. Hoode was dumbfounded. A playwright himself, he knew that nothing could distress an author as much as the theft of his work. Plagiarism was one thing, but the removal of the one complete copy of a drama was a heinous crime. On the occasion when it had happened to him, Hoode had been mortified. Fortunately, he had been able to retrieve the situation with the help of Nicholas and the company’s regular scrivener. Other heads would be used to reconstruct a missing play this time.
‘How did Saul Hibbert receive the news?’ asked Hoode.
‘Badly.’
‘At least he could not lay the blame on you this time.’
‘He tried hard to do so,’ said Nicholas. ‘From what I can gather, he first pointed the finger at me as the thief. Lawrence spoke up for me.’
‘His show of loyalty is long overdue.’
‘But no less appreciated for that.’
‘And you’re back with us?’
‘Happily, yes. That was the concession that Lawrence demanded of him,’ said Nicholas, ‘though I daresay it was made with reluctance.’
‘Some good has yet come out of this reversal, then.’
‘We still face a problem, Edmund.’
‘Do we?’
‘The man who stole the book thinks that he’s made it impossible for us to perform the play again. When he sees The Malevolent Comedy back onstage tomorrow, he’ll be very angry.’
‘We’ll have confounded him.’
‘Only for a while,’ Nicholas pointed out. ‘He’s still free to maim us in some other way. Next time, his measures may be more desperate.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ll tell you on the way.’
‘Then let’s go to Matthew’s Lipton’s house.’
Nicholas glanced at the table. ‘I’m sorry to drag you away from your work, Edmund,’ he said. ‘Is this the new play you’ve mentioned?’
‘I’d have moved on to that in due course.’
‘What were you penning when I came in?’
Hoode gave a wan smile. ‘A sonnet.’
‘Ah, you’ve felt the warm glow of passion again.’
‘What I feel are the pangs of unrequited love. And the worst of it is, they seem to have dulled my brain. Tell me, Nick,’ he said, opening the door, ‘can you think of a clever rhyme for Ursula?’
Ursula Opie believed in the dictum that practice makes perfect. Seated at the keyboard, she studied the music in front of her and tapped out the notes with care and precision. She was so absorbed in her work that she did not hear the sound of her sister’s footsteps, coming up behind her in the hall. Bernice recognised the solemn music at once.
‘Why are you so attached to William Byrd?’ she asked with a note of complaint. ‘The house is filled with him all day long.’
‘Master Byrd is the finest composer alive,’ said Ursula, serenely.
‘Father tells me that he’s a devout Roman Catholic.’
‘Music is above denomination, Bernice.’
‘How can it be?’
‘You only have to listen.’
‘I’d rather hear something more lively,’ said Bernice, clapping her hands together. ‘Play a galliard so that I may dance.’
‘I’d never do anything so vulgar.’
‘Then let me hear a stately pavane. Anything is better than church music all the time. Oh, if only we had a house in the country!’
‘Why?’
‘Because there is so much more merriment there, Ursula. Country people know how to enjoy themselves. Do you remember that first play we saw at the Queen’s Head?’
‘It was The Faithful Shepherd, written by Edmund Hoode.’
‘It contained a whole host of dances,’ recalled Bernice. ‘The names alone were a delight to hear. There was Mopsy’s Tune, Dusty My Dear and the Bishop of Chester’s Jig.’
‘They were amusing enough in their place,’ said Ursula, primly.