‘It shows how easily pleased the fools were.’
‘Include me in their folly. I admire the play immensely.’
‘Thank you, Nick,’ said Hoode.
Firethorn waved the manuscript. ‘Wait until you read this,’ he said, grinning broadly. ‘It’s the very essence of wit.’
‘I’ll leave you to relish it,’ decided Hibbert, putting his hat on at a rakish angle. ‘When you have read it through, I’ll hold you to your contract. Send my fee to the Queen’s Head. I lodge there at the moment.’ He gave another bow. ‘Gentlemen, it was a pleasure to meet you. Together, I am sure, we can lift Westfield’s Men above the mundane.’
He swept from the room and let himself out of the house.
‘Above the mundane!’ echoed Hoode, puce with anger. ‘Did you hear what he said about A Way to Content All Women? It was insulting.’
‘He’s entitled to his opinion,’ said Firethorn, tolerantly.
‘But not to express it so rudely before the author,’ said Nicholas.
‘Saul meant no harm.’
‘It was felt, nevertheless,’ said Hoode.
‘Read his play and you’ll forgive him everything.’
‘I doubt that, Lawrence. I found him boorish and arrogant.’
‘He has the confidence of his genius, that’s all.’
‘And what has that genius actually produced?’ asked Hoode, waspishly. ‘Does this hilarious new play of his have a name?’
‘Of course. It’s called The Malevolent Comedy.’
‘An apt title for such an author,’ observed Nicholas, drily.
Chapter Two
Opinion about the company’s new playwright was sharply divided. When the actors adjourned to the taproom of the Queen’s Head after the first rehearsal of Saul Hibbert’s comedy, they had all reached a very firm conclusion about the author and his work. The taproom was filled with noise and tobacco smoke as Barnaby Gill joined Owen Elias and Francis Quilter at their table. Gill was a walking paradox, a morose, brooding, self-centred man offstage, he turned into a comic delight in front of an audience, genial, outgoing and full of energy. Some of that energy had been put to good use during the rehearsal.
‘It’s a fine play,’ he said, reaching for his Canary wine, ‘and it enables me to be at my finest. I’m grateful to Master Hibbert for that.’
‘He’ll not get my gratitude,’ warned Quilter. ‘I think that Saul Hibbert is an arrant popinjay and that his comedy, like him, is neat and trimly dressed without any real essence. A hollow piece of work.’
‘I fill the void with my dances.’
‘They are mere distractions, Barnaby. Every time our author runs short of ideas, he brings the Clown on to perform a jig. You are simply there to conceal the fact that the play lacks substance.’
‘I disagree, Frank,’ said Elias, keen to take part in the argument. ‘The Malevolent Comedy is the best new offering we’ve had for months. Where I do side with you, however, is in the matter of Saul Hibbert’s character. I found the fellow haughty and irritating.’
‘I like him,’ said Gill.
‘I hate the jackanapes,’ asserted Quilter.
‘Saul has a sharp eye for talent.’
‘You only say that because he applauded you today.’
‘And you only decry him because he said your performance was too shallow and weak-willed. And I’m bound to confess,’ added Gill, waspishly, ‘that I felt the very same. You struggled badly, Frank.’
Quilter was hurt. ‘No, I did not!’
‘We were all floundering at a first rehearsal,’ said Elias, quaffing his ale. ‘I know that I was. Even Lawrence lost his footing in the role a few times. You were better than most, Frank.’
‘I was as good as the play allowed me to be, Owen.’
Quilter was a tall, lean, sharp-featured young man of considerable talent. Proud of belonging to Westfield’s Men, he was dedicated to the troupe. He was also fond of reaping the benefits of appearing in major roles with such an important company, and was never short of female admirers. Elias realised that Quilter’s dislike of Saul Hibbert was partly based on jealousy. No sooner had the handsome playwright moved into the Queen’s Head than he began to capture the attention that formerly went to actors like Francis Quilter. Elias did not feel the threat in quite the same way. A stocky Welshman with a natural ebullience, he was inclined to take people on trust. Hibbert was an exception to the rule. From the moment that they met, Elias knew that he could never befriend the conceited newcomer.
‘He showed no respect for Edmund,’ he complained.
Gill was sour. ‘Edmund does not deserve any at the moment.’
‘That’s a terrible thing to say!’
‘Truth is often painful.’
‘So is a punch on the nose,’ said Elias, roused by the insult to his friend, ‘and that is what you’ll get if you disparage Edmund Hoode. Have you so soon forgot all the wondrous plays that he has given us over the years? More than any of us, you have cause to get down on your knees to thank him. His comedies made you.’
‘I’ll bear witness to that,’ said Quilter. ‘Without Edmund, there would never have been a Barnaby Gill.’
‘Calumny!’ howled Gill.
‘Truth is often painful,’ goaded Elias.
‘My art is unique and irreplaceable, a jewel that would shine in any setting. I bow to no playwright. It is I who make their reputations by enhancing their work with my very presence.’
‘No wonder you like Saul Hibbert,’ said Quilter. ‘The two of you are blood-brothers to Narcissus. Each of you has fallen in love with his own image. You spend so much time courting a looking glass that you can no longer see anyone but yourselves.’
‘I recognise bad acting when I see it,’ replied Gill, loftily, ‘and that is what you inflicted on us today, Frank. Learn from my example. Study your part with more diligence and play it with more spirit.’
‘If the role were in any way worthy of me, I’d do so.’
‘Follow in my stead and rise above your role.’
‘You malign Frank unfairly,’ said Elias with truculence, ‘and you were equally unkind about Edmund. Who else will feel the lash of that wicked tongue of yours?’ He bunched a fist. ‘Take care, Barnaby. I’ll not suffer any of your reproaches. Carp and cavil at me and I’ll make that ugly face of yours even uglier.’
Gill was unruffled. ‘Why are the Welsh always so needlessly bellicose?’ he asked with a sigh.
‘Pour scorn on my nation and you’ll answer for it!’
‘Leave off, Owen,’ advised Quilter. ‘Unless he is boasting about himself, Barnaby is ever full of slights and slurs. The wonder is that he has such words of praise for Saul Hibbert.’
‘He has written an excellent play,’ said Gill.
‘Yet when you first caught wind of The Malevolent Comedy, you shrieked like a turkey with a butcher’s hand around its neck.’
‘With good cause. Lawrence chose the play entirely on his own, in direct violation of our policy. Neither Edmund nor I was asked for an opinion.’
‘Nor was Nick Bracewell.’
‘An even more serious omission,’ Elias put in.
‘Nick is only a hired man with the company,’ said Gill, petulantly, ‘and not a sharer like us. His approval does not count.’
‘It does with me.’
‘The point is that Lawrence — not for the first time — exceeded his authority. He went over our heads and I rightly chastised him for doing so, especially as there was another instance of his tyrannical behaviour. He rejected Edmund’s new comedy without even raising the possibility with me. The one person in whom he did confide on that occasion,’ he went on, bitterly, ‘was our book holder.’
‘I have no quibble with that,’ affirmed Elias.
‘Nor me,’ said Quilter. ‘Nick Bracewell can see the defects in a play more acutely than any of us.’
‘You value his judgement, then?’ asked Gill.
‘Above that of anyone else in the company.’