‘What do you want?’ asked Hibbert, haughtily.
‘Payment, sir.’
‘I paid you last week.’
‘There have been several other charges since,’ said Marwood, holding up the bills. ‘On Sunday, for instance, you dined in your room with a young lady.’ He read from the first piece of paper. ‘Item, a dish of anchovies. Item, a bottle of Canary wine. Item-’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Hibbert, nastily. ‘I know what we ate and drank.’
‘Then perhaps you’ll settle the bill.’
‘All in good time, my man.’
‘No more credit can be extended to you.’
Hibbert stiffened. ‘Are you deaf as well as demented?’ he said. ‘Surely, the applause out there reached even your ears. It went on for an eternity. Anyone who was in the yard today will tell you that I’m the finest playwright in the whole of London. I bring fame and honour to the Queen’s Head. You should be paying me to stay here.’
‘That’s what I am doing.’
‘Be off with you!’
‘Not until this business is resolved.’
‘Do you dare to hound me with these petty amounts?’
‘In total, the bills amount to almost two pounds.’
‘Then I’ve been ruinously overcharged.’
‘Every item has been recorded with care,’ said Marwood, wounded by the accusation of fraud. ‘My wife keeps the accounts and Sybil does not make mistakes.’
‘Well, she made one when she married you! I’ve never seen such an ugly visage. How can your wife bear to look at someone who belongs in a menagerie with the other animals?’
Marwood was indignant. ‘I’ll stand for no insults, Master Hibbert.’
‘Then you’d best get out of my way or you’ll hear a hundred of them. Begone, you pestilence!’ shouted Hibbert. ‘Go back to your kennel before I reach for my sword.’
‘What about these bills?’
‘A pox on them!’
Grabbing the bills from Marwood, he tossed them into the air to create a minor blizzard. He picked up his hat then walked out of the room. The landlord dropped to his knees and gathered up the bills before pursuing Hibbert quickly down the steps. At the bottom of the staircase, Lawrence Firethorn was talking to Nicholas Bracewell. They looked up as the two men descended, guessing at once why Marwood was on the heels of his guest. Hibbert adopted a lofty tone.
‘Ah, Lawrence,’ he said, ‘I crave a boon. Remove this leech of a landlord from me before he sucks my blood.’
‘I’ve more important concerns than that,’ said Firethorn.
‘What’s more important than indulging me? I’ve brought laughter back to the Queen’s Head with my play. That deserves a reward.’
‘It would if laughter was all that you brought,’ said Nicholas, trenchantly. ‘But disaster has come in its wake.’
‘Yes,’ retorted Hibbert, indicating the landlord. ‘Here he is.’
‘I’m no disaster,’ protested Marwood.
‘You’re a sly, wrangling, squirrel-faced, cheese-eating knave!’
‘Do you hear that, sirs?’
‘You’re a green-sickness carrion!’
‘Enough of this, Master Hibbert!’ said Nicholas, forcefully. ‘You’ve no cause to abuse the landlord. Before he speaks to you, we must have private conference.’
‘You will have to wait,’ said Hibbert, ‘for I’m going out.’
‘Not until we’ve said our piece,’ warned Firethorn.
‘What about these bills?’ said Marwood, waving them in the air.
‘They’ll be paid in time,’ Nicholas told him, moving the landlord gently aside. ‘There’s another account to be settled first.’ He fixed his eye on Hibbert. ‘Shall we return to your room?’
‘No,’ retorted Hibbert, trying to leave.
‘Then we’ll have to insist,’ said Firethorn, blocking his way.
‘I’ll not be treated like this, Lawrence.’
‘You’ll be treated as you deserve.’
‘Do you not recognise me?’ demanded Hibbert. ‘I’m your saviour. I’m the difference between success and failure. Thanks to my play, the yard was filled and Westfield’s Men have been made famous.’
‘We were famous long before you came, Saul, and will be so long after you leave us. Before that happens,’ said Firethorn with quiet menace, ‘we need a word alone with you.’
‘It’s not a convenient time.’
‘Then we’ll make it convenient,’ said Nicholas, taking him by the scruff of his neck and pushing him back upstairs. ‘You’ll not leave this inn until we’ve heard the truth.’
Spluttering with rage, Hibbert tried to break free but Nicholas had the superior strength. The playwright was forced back into his room and pushed towards the bed. Following them in, Firethorn closed the door behind him. Saul Hibbert’s face was red and the veins on his temples were standing out like whipcord.
‘What is going on?’ he yelled at Firethorn.
‘We are hoping that you’ll tell us,’ said Nicholas.
‘I was talking to Lawrence.’
‘Then I’ll give you the same reply,’ said Firethorn. ‘We are hoping that you’ll tell us, Saul. In fact, we’ll not leave this room until you do.’
‘Are you threatening me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you’d best beware,’ said Hibbert. ‘Bear in mind that I have the power to withdraw The Malevolent Comedy. Browbeat me and you’ll not put on my play tomorrow or any other day.’
‘It’s already been cancelled,’ said Nicholas.
‘And may never be performed by us again,’ added Firethorn.
Hibbert was shaken. ‘Why not?’
‘Because we have no Mistress Malevole, and the play is impossible without her. Dick Honeydew has been kidnapped.’
‘Kidnapped?’
‘Earlier on,’ explained Nicholas. ‘When he was visiting a churchyard to pay his respects at the grave of Hal Bridger — another victim of your play, Master Hibbert. One murder, one dog, one stolen prompt book, a lost apprentice. You may be proud of your play but it’s brought us nothing but misery.’
‘That’s not my fault.’
‘We believe that it is.’
‘And we want to know why,’ said Firethorn, clenching his fists. ‘The Malevolent Comedy is nothing more than a malevolent tragedy to us. It’s aroused someone’s ire and we’ve suffered badly as a result. Tell us why or — by Jupiter — we’ll beat the truth out of you.’
Instead of staying at the Queen’s Head with the others, Edmund Hoode had left early so that he could pay a visit to the home of Ursula Opie. She had not been out of his thoughts since he had first met her, and, as time had passed, she had assumed an even greater magnitude in his life. In his hand was the scroll on which his sonnet was written. The moment had come to deliver it to the woman to whom it was dedicated, but Hoode could not be seen to do that himself. Anonymity had to be preserved.
When he got to the house, therefore, he lurked in a lane opposite and kept watch on the building, hoping against hope that Ursula might make a providential appearance. Since she did not, he looked around for someone to carry his poem to her, confident that its honeyed lines and uninhibited passion would find a positive response. A stringy youth strolled towards the lane. Hoode stepped out to intercept him and offered him money to deliver the scroll to the house. The youth was only too ready to accept the commission.
‘Shall I say who it’s from, sir?’ he asked.
‘No, no,’ replied Hoode. ‘Simply give it to the servant who answers the door and ask him to set it on the keyboard of the virginals.’
The youth sniggered. ‘Virginals?’
‘Do as I tell you or I’ll find someone else.’
‘I’ll do it, sir, if you pay me.’
‘Here, then.’ Hoode slipped some coins into his palm.
‘Thank you.’
‘Obey my instructions and the young lady will receive it.’
‘Does she have a name?’
‘The most beautiful name in Creation. Away with you.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The youth nodded and ran off. Concealing himself in the lane once more, Hoode watched until he saw that his orders had been carried out then he headed for his lodging. The sonnet had been safely delivered. It would soon be winging its way into Ursula’s heart. He felt elated. Keen to resume work on the new play that she had unwittingly spurred him to write, he broke into a trot and laughed all the way back to his lodging.