Every available man was involved in the search. Nicholas Bracewell took control and sent them off in small groups. The first quartet was dispatched to the churchyard itself and told to stop passers-by, asking them if they had seen someone being carried away earlier on. Others combed all the side streets in the vicinity of the church, looking for clues, questioning anybody they met. George Dart was sent off to fetch Edmund Hoode, who would be deeply upset if he was excluded from the hunt. Lawrence Firethorn, Barnaby Gill and Francis Quilter all had horses so they could conduct their search from the saddle.
At his own insistence, Leonard was also involved, risking the landlord’s wrath to help in tracking down the missing boy. Nicholas went with him because Leonard was the only person who had met the man and woman presumed to have been the kidnappers. He could identify them. Owen Elias made up the trio, wearing his sword and yearning for a chance to use it against the kidnappers.
‘Saul Hibbert should be here as well,’ said Elias.
‘Hatfield,’ corrected Nicholas. ‘His name is Paul Hatfield.’
‘I don’t care if his name is Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon. He should be here to help.’
‘He’d be more of a hindrance, Owen.’
‘Do you think he told you the truth?’
‘Part of it.’
‘What did he leave out?’
‘Far too much.’
‘He has sworn enemies, after all,’ said the Welshman, ‘that’s clear. What puzzles me is why they attack his play and not him. If they’ll go to the lengths of poisoning someone, why not pour it down his throat?’
‘Because that would let him escape too easily.’
‘Easily? I’d hardly call Hal’s death throes easy.’
‘They want to keep him alive to suffer,’ said Nicholas. ‘We know how much this play means to its author. He’s pinned everything on its success. Somebody is set on taking that success away from him.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know and I’m not sure that he knows.’
‘In his position, I’d know at once who the culprits were.’
‘That’s because you have many friends and few enemies, Owen. It’s the other way round with Master Hibbert, or Hatfield, or whatever his real name is. Few friends and so many enemies to choose from that it’s impossible to know where to start.’
‘I’d start with Rosamund, Chloe and Eleanor.’
‘He swears it must be someone else.’
‘A woman scorned can become a wild virago,’ said Elias, soulfully. ‘I can tell you that. Even the softest of them can turn termagant in a second. Last year, one such meek and mild lady tried to deprive me of something I hold most dear and send my singing voice much higher.’
‘Lead a more wholesome life.’
‘And lose all the excitement? That I’ll never do, Nick.’
They walked on up Gracechurch Street until they saw Edmund Hoode, running towards them with George Dart beside him. The two newcomers were panting for breath.
‘Have you found him yet?’ asked Hoode.
‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘There’s no sign.’
‘This play will be the death of us.’
‘As long as it’s not the death of Dick Honeydew.’
‘I think we should burn the prompt book,’ Elias put in. ‘The sooner The Malevolent Comedy goes up in smoke, the better.’
‘I’d rather put the torch to its author,’ said Hoode. ‘I hate to say it of a fellow playwright but he must go. He’s like the seven plagues of Egypt all in one.’
‘Forget him for the time being,’ urged Nicholas. ‘The only person we need to think about now is Dick Honeydew. He’s the youngest of us and the one least able to look after himself.’
Elias nodded. ‘We’ve been hit at our weakest point,’ he said. Putting back his head, he roared his question to the bustling street. ‘Where are you, Dick?’
Richard Honeydew did not hear him. There were so many competing noises filling his ears and he was, in any case, too far away from Owen Elias to catch the slightest sound of his question. The gag around his mouth prevented him from giving an answer to anyone and the ropes were starting to dig into his wrists, arms and legs. Honeydew was in great discomfort. Propped up against a wall, he was aching in every limb. When he heard footsteps approaching, he tensed himself, afraid that his kidnapper was returning to kill him.
A rusty bolt was drawn back on the top half of the door and it was opened a few inches. Someone looked in to check that he was still there. Minutes seemed to pass before the lower half of the stable door was unbolted. Honeydew swallowed hard and tried not to show the dread that was gnawing away at his stomach. The door opened and the young woman he had met in the churchyard stepped inside with a cup of water. She looked sternly down at him.
‘If I give you this to drink,’ she cautioned, ‘you must promise not to cry out. Do you understand?’ He nodded obediently. ‘Nobody would hear you but we’d have to punish you hard. Do you want to be punished?’ He shook his head. ‘Sit still while I undo this.’
Putting the cup down, she used both hands to untie the gag and remove it. Honeydew gave a gasp of relief and coughed. She held the cup to his mouth. The water was cold and refreshing. He sipped it greedily. When he had drunk it all, she used the gag to wipe away the moisture around his mouth. It was a gesture of almost maternal kindness. Yet the woman seemed far from kind. He could not believe that someone so beautiful could also look so hard-faced and forbidding.
‘Where am I?’ he asked.
‘Where your friends cannot find you.’
‘How long will you keep me here?’
‘We shall see.’
‘Who are you?’
‘The important thing is who you are,’ she said, coldly. ‘Mistress Malevole. You do not look so cruel and cunning now, do you?’
‘Why do you hate me so?’
‘I only hate what you represent, Richard.’
He was surprised. ‘You know my name?’
‘Your name and your significance to Westfield’s Men.’
‘They’ll come after you for this,’ he said, bravely. ‘Let me go or Nick Bracewell and the others will follow you to the ends of the earth until they catch you.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard of this book holder of yours.’
‘He’ll find you somehow.’
‘He will not get the chance.’
‘Will you hurt me?’
‘Not if you do as we tell you.’
‘Must I stay here all night?’ he bleated.
‘You’ll do what we decide.’
‘Who was that man in the churchyard?’
‘You ask too many questions, Richard Honeydew.’
‘Why did he say that he’d kill me?’
She gave no reply. Instead, she tied the gag back in position and picked up the cup. After glancing round, she went out again and bolted both halves of the door after her. Honeydew was alone again. He was to be imprisoned all night, far away from the house he knew and the friends he loved. It was getting colder. He fought back tears.
Bernice Opie was unable to keep the news to herself. After reading the sonnet dozens of times, she felt such an upsurge of love inside her that it could not be contained. Her joy had to be shared. She found her sister in the parlour, still reading a book and lost in a world of contemplation. Bernice came up behind her and snatched the book from her hands. Ursula was outraged. She jumped up from her chair.
‘Give that back to me, Bernice,’ she demanded.
‘Not until you hear what I’ve been reading.’
‘That book is mine.’
‘You shall have it in a moment,’ said Bernice. ‘First, listen to my tidings. I’ve received a declaration of love, Ursula.’
‘What?’
‘A poem was delivered to the house earlier. It’s a sonnet in praise of me and it has made my head spin.’
‘I can see that,’ said Ursula. ‘Who wrote this poem?’