Nicholas used his dagger to cut the cord and pulled the cloak away. Honeydew did his best to smile but it was impossible with the gag in his mouth. Nicholas tore it away.
‘Did they harm you, Dick?’ he asked.
‘No, no.’ He saw the woman, edging towards the door. ‘Look out or she’ll get away!’
Nicholas put out a leg to trip her up and she went down in an undignified heap on the floor. It was the work of a second to cut through Honeydew’s bonds. While the boy rubbed his aching limbs, Nicholas helped the woman up from the floor. Another horse arrived at speed outside and its rider dismounted. Lawrence Firethorn stepped into the stable and, seeing Honeydew, rushed across to embrace him. He turned on the woman.
‘You kidnapped Dick and killed Hal Bridger,’ he said, angrily.
‘We simply wanted to stop the play,’ she replied.
‘Why?’
‘Because she is Mistress Malevole,’ Honeydew piped up. ‘My role was the counterfeit of her. Saul Hibbert put her on the stage.’
‘He did more than that,’ she said, baring her teeth. ‘He married me under his real name and swore to love me. But as soon as I was quick with child, he left me and went to Norwich. Months later, a letter came from him.’
‘I can guess at its contents,’ said Nicholas. ‘Your husband told you that he was dying and begged you to discharge your debts. How much did he want?’
‘Thirty pounds.’
‘Did you pay?’
‘Like a fool, I did so,’ she admitted. ‘Then I learnt the truth.’
‘How did you track him to London?’
‘Quite by chance.’
‘Where’s your confederate?’
‘I came alone.’
‘She’s lying,’ cried Honeydew. ‘There’s a man with her. He went to fetch his horse from the blacksmith. They were going to take me with them. The man is dangerous. He’ll be back at any moment.’
‘Then he’s all mine,’ said Nicholas, sheathing his dagger. ‘Will you take care of the lady, Lawrence?’
‘Gladly,’ replied Firethorn. ‘Dick.’
‘Yes?’
‘How do you feel now?’
‘All the better for seeing you and Nick.’
‘Pass me a piece of that cord, will you? I think that this Mistress Malevole is one that Lord Loveless must reject. She’s liable to scratch. I’ll bind her wrists before we deliver her up.’
A horse trotted up outside. The woman screamed a warning.
‘Fly, Robert!’ she shrieked. ‘They’ve caught me!’
Nicholas dashed out of the stable to confront the mounted rider, only to face a swishing rapier. As the man hacked madly at him, he moved back out of the way. He ducked as the sword was hurled at him. Wheeling his horse, his attacker then kicked the animal into life and sped off down the nearby street. Nicholas was in the saddle of his own horse at once, using his heels to take him at full gallop in pursuit of the other rider. People were scattered by the headlong race, diving for safety as the two horses clattered past them, protesting loudly and wondering why two men were riding hell for leather in such a busy street.
Heedless of danger, Nicholas pressed on, jabbing his heels hard to get more speed out of his mount. He began to close the gap between the two horses. The man’s only thought was of escape but Nicholas was driven on by sharper demands. He wanted to avenge the death of Hal Bridger, the kidnap of Richard Honeydew, the theft of the prompt book and the accumulated damage that had been inflicted on Westfield’s Men. He wanted blood.
The first horse powered on but the second was steadily gaining on it. When the man looked over his shoulder, he saw that Nicholas was only yards behind. It made him curse and kick his horse even harder but he could not outrun Nicholas. In a matter of moments, the other horse drew level and the man was knocked from the saddle by a flying body. Nicholas was determined to catch him, whatever the cost in cuts and bruises. The two of them fell heavily to the ground, momentarily winded.
Nicholas was the first to recover, getting to his feet and hauling the man upright before punching him in the face then throwing him against the nearest wall. Watched by a crowd of onlookers, the man responded by kicking out with a foot to keep Nicholas at bay while pulling out his dagger. Nicholas wanted him alive. Instead of taking out his own weapon, he spread his arms and waited for the attack. Both men were covered in dust and bleeding from gashes they had picked up during the fall. Nicholas could feel a pain in his shoulder but it did not hold him back.
‘What was Saul Hibbert to you?’ he asked.
‘A cheat and a liar,’ replied the man, breathing hard.
‘Why make us suffer for his faults?’
‘Because his play was like a child to him. In killing that, we could make him suffer in the way that my sister suffered. He murdered her child so we wanted revenge.’
‘Is that why you poisoned an innocent boy?’
‘I’d have done anything to destroy that play of his.’
Pushing himself from the wall, the man lunged at him with the dagger. Nicholas danced out of the way and circled him slowly. Voices in the crowd started to urge them on as people took sides. Nicholas watched the other man’s eyes, seeing the mixture of fear and bravado in them. Another lunge was dodged then he ducked beneath a sweep of the blade. As the man came at him again, Nicholas swayed inches out of reach as the point of the dagger went for his face. His hand shot out, grabbing the man by the wrist and swinging him against the wall with such force that the weapon was dashed from his hand.
It was Nicholas’s turn to attack. After pummelling away with both fists at the body, he gripped him by the neck. The man spat in his face and tried to grapple with him but most of his strength had been drained away. Nicholas forced him back, banging his head repeatedly against the wall until blood ran freely down the stonework. A final uppercut sent his opponent slumping to the ground. Retrieving the fallen dagger, Nicholas dusted himself off. The fight was over.
Westfield’s Men received the news of the release of Richard Honeydew, and of the arrest of his two captors, with complete rapture. They had something to celebrate at last. George Dart was, for once, the hero of the hour, having trailed the woman to the inn where she had stayed with her brother, then brought back the information to the Queen’s Head. They were quick to acknowledge Leonard’s assistance as well. Instead of sweeping dung out of the stables, he was invited into the taproom and plied with ale. Even the landlord felt that it was a deserved reward.
Edmund Hoode stayed long enough to enjoy the festivities, pleased to hear that one of his own plays, A Trick to Catch a Chaste Lady, would return to the stage for the rest of the week. He was on the point of leaving when he noticed that Owen Elias was lifting a tankard to his lips. Crossing to the Welshman, he put a hand over his drink.
‘You swore to stay sober for a month, if Dick was released.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Elias, ‘but I did not say which month.’
‘I might have known there’d be a trick involved,’ said Hoode as the other quaffed his ale. ‘Drink deep, Owen. I must away.’
‘Another tryst already?’
‘No, Owen. I’m eager to spend more time on my new play.’
‘Would you rather scribble than hold a woman in your arms?’
‘When I write my tragedy,’ said Hoode, ‘I can do both. Ursula was my inspiration. Though I work alone at my lodging, I feel that she stands close beside me as I do so.’
‘I’d not want that long face of hers too close to me,’ said Elias, ‘but I’m happy that she has made you want to write again, Edmund. Only a woman can make you feel the spur that you need.’
‘There was such a difference between the two sisters.’
‘One was lively and gorgeous, the other was ill-favoured.’
‘No,’ explained Hoode. ‘One was childish, the other was mature. One was full of silly laughter, the other was reserved and thoughtful. One sister lived for the moment, the other had a more purposeful existence. In short,’ he went on, ‘Bernice Opie was mere comedy while Ursula had elements of tragedy. That was what drew me to her, Owen.’