He glanced down at the grave. ‘We kept away from the funeral.’
‘I was grateful for that.’
‘What about Mr Bridger?’
‘My husband will give you no thanks, sir,’ she said, brusquely. ‘He believes that we lost our son twice. Hal died when he left us, then he was murdered because of you.’
‘Simply because he joined a theatre troupe?’
‘It’s an ungodly profession.’
‘Then why are we not all struck down, Mrs Bridger?’ asked Nicholas, gently. ‘If our sin is so unforgivable, how have we and the other theatre companies in the city escaped retribution?’
‘You are trying to mock me again.’
‘No, I respect anyone who lives by the tenets of their faith.’
‘Even though you do not have a faith yourself?’
Nicholas hunched his shoulders. ‘It was wrong of me to come so soon,’ he said, ‘and I apologise for that. I should have let more time elapse so that feelings were not so fresh and raw. Think what you wish of us, Mrs Bridger, but be sure of one thing. The prayer I said over Hal’s grave came with Christian humility. God save his soul!’
‘Wait!’ she said, touching his arm as he turned to go.
‘Yes?’
‘You told me how Hal died but you did not tell me in what pain he must have been. The coroner was more honest.’
‘I wanted to spare you such details.’
‘I understand that now. It was a kindness on your part.’ Her lips began to quiver. ‘Will they catch the man who poisoned him?’
‘That’s a task we’ve set ourselves, Mrs Bridger.’
‘What can you do?’
‘Much more than any officers,’ he replied. ‘I’ve already found the apothecary who sold the poison. The customer he described was seen at the Queen’s Head, talking to one of the servants. If he dares to come again, he’s certain to be recognised.’
‘He’ll not return, surely.’
‘He already has, I fear.’
‘When?’
‘On Saturday last. He paid a boy to set loose his dog during our performance so that it would harry the actors. And yesterday,’ said Nicholas, patting his satchel, ‘the same man — or his confederate — stole our prompt book.’
‘Why did he do that?’
‘To stop the play being staged.’
‘I do not understand how.’
‘That’s because you’ve never ventured into a playhouse, Mrs Bridger. There’s only one complete copy of any play and it’s used to prompt the actors if they lose their lines. It’s also the only way that the book holder can follow the progress of a performance.’ He patted his satchel again. ‘I’ve a new copy of our play right here.’
‘Which one?’
‘The Malevolent Comedy.’
‘Was that not the play that cost Hal his life?’
‘Unhappily, it was.’
She was rueful. ‘So his murder was part of a comedy?’
‘His murder was part of an attempt to stop this play from being seen. It’s happened three times in a row now. Someone had such a violent grudge against the piece that he’s determined to sweep it forever from the stage.’
‘Oh dear!’ she cried, tears coursing down her cheeks.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Bridger. I did not mean to upset you.’
‘It’s so cruel, so very cruel!’
‘What is?’
‘You say that this man wants to wipe a play from the stage?’
‘By any means.’
‘Then I find myself in sympathy with him, for I’d stop every play from being performed and spreading its corruption. Can you not see the awful cruelty of that?’ she went on, tears still flowing. ‘I am at one with the man who murdered my only child?’
There was no rehearsal that morning. After three recent performances, it was felt that the cast were sufficiently confident to need no extra time spent on their lines. In any case, the hasty conference that had taken place at Lawrence Firethorn’s house the previous day had involved all the leading actors and been in the nature of an intensive rehearsal. They now knew The Malevolent Comedy better than ever before. Instead of working on the play again, therefore, they were deployed to search the premises to make sure that no danger was lurking at the Queen’s Head. Keeping the satchel with him, Nicholas Bracewell took care that he never once lost sight of the prompt book.
Richard Honeydew was curious. When the actors were starting to gather in the tiring-house that afternoon, he went over to Nicholas.
‘Where did you keep the book last night?’ he asked.
‘Under lock and key.’
‘How many plays do you have in your chest?’
‘Fifty or sixty at least, Dick.’
‘What would happen if they were all stolen?’
‘Do not even conceive of such a tragedy,’ said Nicholas. ‘We would be bereft. There’s no way that we could rebuild each play, brick by brick, as we did with Master Hibbert’s comedy. Most would be lost forever. The company would wither for lack of anything to play.’
‘I’d hate to lose The Loyal Subject.’
‘Is that your favourite?’
‘Along with The Merchant of Calais.’
‘Both plays by Edmund Hoode.’
‘Hal Bridger thought our best play was Cupid’s Folly.’
‘That will please Barnaby for he steals all the laughs in it.’
‘Hal giggled whenever he thought of the play.’ Honeydew’s face darkened. ‘He’ll not see it ever again, Nick.’
‘I know.’
‘When they buried him yesterday, I wanted to be there.’
‘So did we all,’ said Nicholas. ‘Hal’s stay with us was short but he made many friends among Westfield’s Men. The pity of it is that his parents bear us such ill will.’
‘He rarely spoke of them. They cast him out.’
‘Yet they grieve for him now, Dick — at least, his mother does.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I met her in the churchyard this morning when I went to pay my respects at the grave. Mrs Bridger was there.’
‘Does she still blame us for what happened?’
‘She blames the whole notion of theatre. It’s abhorrent to her.’
‘We do no harm,’ said Honeydew, innocently.
‘We do, in her eyes, Dick, and you are one of the chief culprits.’
‘Me?’
‘Boys dressing up as women, painting their faces, flaunting themselves on stage. Making lewd gestures and exciting improper feelings in the spectators. That’s how Hal’s parents view us,’ said Nicholas, sadly. ‘We are purveyors of sin.’
‘All that we strive to do is to entertain people.’
‘Puritans do not believe in entertainment, Dick.’
‘Then I’m glad we do not have any of them in our audiences,’ said the boy. ‘But, since the church is so close, I’ll try to say a prayer for Hal myself as I go past.’
‘Do that.’
Honeydew went off to put on his costume and Nicholas cajoled two of the other apprentices who had arrived late. There was a distinct tension in the tiring-house. Superstition had taken its hold. About to embark on a fourth performance of a play, the actors all felt in their hearts that it would be prey to some mishap again. The general unease was even shared by Lawrence Firethorn.
‘Is all well, Nick?’ he asked.
‘I think so. We’ve taken every precaution.’
‘We did that last time.’
‘The book will not go astray this afternoon, I warrant you.’
‘There are other ways to damage us.’
‘We’ll be ready for them, whatever they are,’ said Nicholas.
‘I hope so. Margery is in the audience today.’
‘After last night, I’d have thought she’d heard enough of The Malevolent Comedy. It invaded your house for hours.’
‘That only served to increase her interest,’ said Firethorn. ‘For her sake, I want the performance to go well. If we get safely through the play today, it may even cheer Saul up.’
‘Is he still surly?’
‘Surly and critical. He’s not forgiven me for making him accept you as book holder again. That festers with him.’
‘Did he thank you for our efforts to rewrite his play?’
‘No, Nick. He still wants George Dart dismissed for losing it.’