‘Why did they pick on you?’
‘Because that’s what they were paid to do.’
Leonard was aghast. ‘Someone hired them?’
‘I think so, Leonard.’
‘To kill you?’
‘To give me a beating I’d remember. That’s why they used cudgels. When I stabbed one of them in the wrist, he lost his temper and pulled his dagger on me. He meant to use it.’
‘I should have been here to help you.’
‘They’d not have shown their hand with you here, Leonard.’
‘I’ll not leave your side again, Nick.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Who set these bullies on to you?’
‘I mean to find out,’ said Nicholas, slinging the satchel around his neck again. ‘This is what saved me,’ he went on, patting the leather. ‘After bringing so much misery, The Malevolent Comedy has finally done us some good. I told you that it was worth its weight in gold.’
Owen Elias and Edmund Hoode fared no better in their search. After futile visits to a whole variety of inns, they ended up halfway down Cheapside. By mutual agreement, they decided to abandon the hunt for the night. Elias was full of remorse.
‘This has been like a penance to me, Edmund,’ he said.
‘A penance?’
‘Yes. We’ve been to over thirty alehouses and I’ve not been able to take a drink in any of them. I’m like a sultan in a harem, who looks upon his array of gorgeous wives but is unable to touch any of them.’
‘Searching for Dick Honeydew has kept both of us sober.’
‘If we could get him back safe, I’d not drink for a month.’
‘I may remind you of that,’ said Hoode with a weary smile. ‘I hope that Nick and Leonard have had more success. If not, we’ll search again in the morning.’
‘I’ll go back to the Queen’s Head. I said I’d meet Nick there.’
‘Then I’ll off to my lodging.’
‘One moment,’ said Elias, detaining him with a hand. ‘You’ve not told me who sent that letter yet. I know that you’ve been dying to read it all night, but held off doing so.’
‘That was my penance.’
‘It must be from a lady, then.’
‘I’m indebted to you for that, Owen. Until you brought her into my life, I did not know that such a paragon existed.’ He clapped Elias on the shoulder. ‘Farewell — and a thousand thanks.’
They parted company and Hoode hurried back to his lodging. It was too dark to read the letter in the street and, in any case, he felt that it deserved the utmost privacy. Hoode was convinced that it was a response to his sonnet and would therefore offer encouragement. Had his declaration been rejected, he would have been met by a stony silence yet he been favoured with an instant reply. Ursula had spoken. It was more than he had dared to expect.
When he got back to his room, he lit the candle on the table and sat down to read his letter, first inhaling the bewitching aroma that the paper gave off. Breaking the seal, he unfolded the missive and studied the contents, written in a neat, modest, feminine hand that, to him, symbolised the character of the young lady who had sent it. The message was short and unsigned but it was enough to make him let out a cry of joy. Hoode was not only thanked for the gift of his sonnet, he was invited to meet its recipient. Time and place were specified. His heart began to pound. He had never dreamt that Ursula would be so bold and so ready to meet him alone. Her letter was a poem in its own right. He kissed the paper softly then read the words again. Hoode almost swooned.
A tryst had been arranged.
‘God’s mercy!’ exclaimed Lawrence Firethorn. ‘What happened to you?’
‘I met with trouble.’
‘Serious trouble, by the look of you.’
‘They came off worse than me, Lawrence.’
‘They?’ said Owen Elias
‘There were two of them,’ explained Nicholas Bracewell. ‘Both armed with cudgels. They surprised me in the dark.’
‘Then where was Leonard? He kept you company. Two against two puts the matter beyond doubt. You and Leonard could see off half a dozen ruffians between you.’
‘Leonard was busy elsewhere.’
Nicholas had got back to the Queen’s Head to find both his friends awaiting him. They were alarmed to see the extent of his injuries. By the light of the candles, they saw the bruised face, the swollen lips and the dried blood on his temple. His buff jerkin had been badly scuffed in the course of the fight and his hose torn. Both sets of knuckles were raw. Nicholas gave them a shortened account of what had befallen him, not wishing to let his problems deflect them from the fate of the missing boy.
Firethorn’s sympathies, however, were with his book holder.
‘These are grim tidings, Nick. You might have been killed.’
‘I think their orders were to break a few bones.’
‘And they’d have done so if you’d not fought back,’ said Firethorn. ‘And where was Leonard all this while — pissing against a wall!’
Nicholas was tolerant. ‘The call of nature had to be answered.’
‘My concern is with the wants of Westfield’s Men.’
‘So are mine,’ said Elias, bitterly. ‘We’ve lost Dick Honeydew. We could not bear to lose you as well, Nick.’
‘I’ll make sure that it never happens,’ said Nicholas.
He was disappointed that Elias had returned empty-handed, but he resolved to widen the hunt on the following day. After helping in the early stages of the search, Firethorn had turned his mind to the question of what the company could stage in place of The Malevolent Comedy. An audience needed entertainment and, whatever straits the troupe was in, the actor-manager would never consider turning spectators away. After going through the available costumes and scenery in their store-room at the inn, he had reached a decision.
‘We play Cupid’s Folly tomorrow,’ he announced.
‘Why not Black Antonio again?’ asked Elias. ‘I have a leading role in that. In Cupid’s Folly, all eyes will be on Barnaby.’
‘This is no time to put yourself first, Owen. For my own part, I’d sooner play the tragedy but I feel that we should substitute a comedy for a comedy. All that we lack is a maypole.’
‘That’s easily made,’ said Nicholas. ‘You’ve chosen well, Lawrence. It’s not only a rustic caper for a hot afternoon, it’s a play we’ve done so often that it needs no rehearsal. George Dart can hold the book and I’ll be free to carry on the search.’
‘That was my reasoning.’
‘Good.’
‘I’ve spoken to the printer, George will collect the playbills first thing in the morning. Those anxious to see The Malevolent Comedy will be displeased but at least we have something to set before them.’
‘And at least we know the real name of the author,’ said Elias. ‘We cannot say that of Saul Hibbert or Paul Hatfield or whatever he chooses to call himself today.’
‘His name no longer matters,’ said Firethorn, harshly. ‘His play has done for us. We’ll never perform it again.’
‘Then he’ll want it back,’ said Nicholas, ‘to take elsewhere.’
‘It’s our property now, Nick. We have a contract.’
‘No, you only have a contract with Saul Hibbert and he, it appears, did not write the play. Paul Hatfield is the author. The contract is void. On the other hand,’ he said with a grin of satisfaction, ‘it was signed in the presence of a lawyer so the playwright committed a crime. We were the victims of wilful deception. That entitles us to keep the play.’
‘Possession is everything in law,’ said Firethorn, ‘and it will stay in our possession to stop anyone else from gaining profit from it. There is no way that the author can get his hands on it.’
A thought struck Nicholas. ‘Yes, there is,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Elias.
‘Those men were not simply there to give me a beating tonight.’
‘Why else?’