After such an exultant performance, the tiring-house was usually a Bedlam of revelry and congratulation. There was no hint of celebration this time. Hushed by the death of Hal Bridger, the actors moved around in bruised silence, all too aware of the fact that the poison might have been given to one of them instead. In meeting his grisly end, the youth had saved someone else from the identical fate. It was only when the body was removed that most of the company felt able to talk. They drifted away to the taproom in a sombre mood.
Lawrence Firethorn stayed behind to consult his book holder.
‘How could this happen, Nick?’ he wondered.
‘Someone put poison into one of the phials.’
‘Then why was nobody struck down during this morning’s rehearsal? We drank the same liquid then as this afternoon.’
‘No,’ said Nicholas, thinking it through. ‘After the rehearsal, I told George Dart to refill the phials and watched him as he did so. They were set out on the table so that Mistress Malevole could use them during the performance. Before that happened,’ he concluded, ‘one of the potions was poisoned. Some knave must have sneaked in here.’
‘Why? Did he have reason to hate Hal Bridger?’
‘He had no idea that he would be the victim because he could not possibly know which of the potions Hal would drink. It could just as easily have been Owen, Frank or Edmund who took the fatal dose.’
‘Or even me!’ said Firethorn in alarm.
‘The obvious intent was to commit a murder that would interrupt the play and bring it to an untimely end.’
‘Villainy!’
‘We were fortunate,’ Nicholas pointed out. ‘That particular potion was not used until late in the play, and our actors were sufficiently alert to cope with the situation. Thanks to your example, the play was saved.’
‘At what great cost, though! I’d rather lose a dozen plays than sacrifice the life of one member of my company. The Malevolent Comedy has been fringed with tragedy. It makes me sick to my stomach, Nick.’
‘I’ll find the man behind all this,’ vowed the other.
‘At least, you’ll know where to start looking.’
‘Will I?’
‘Of course,’ said Firethorn with growing fury. ‘Go to the Curtain. I’ll wager all I own that it was Giles Randolph who hired this killer.’
‘I doubt that,’ said Nicholas.
‘Naked envy is at work here. He heard about our new play.’
‘That would not make him stoop to murder. The best weapon that Banbury’s Men have is their own success. That hurts us most.’
‘I still believe that Randolph is behind all this somehow.’
‘And I’m just as certain that neither he nor his company is involved in any way. If they wanted to inflict real harm on Westfield’s Men,’ Nicholas pointed out, ‘they would strike directly at you and bring us to our knees. Why use a poison that might only lead to the death — as it did, in this case — of a mere hired man? I mean no disrespect to Hal,’ he added, quietly. ‘A willing lad and a pleasure to work beside. I’ll miss him sorely. But we’d all miss Lawrence Firethorn much more.’
Firethorn pondered. ‘Perhaps my wager was a little hasty,’ he said.
‘You stand to lose everything you have.’
‘Margery would skin me alive if that happened. Let me retract at once. But, if it was not one of Giles Randolph’s minions,’ he went on, scratching his beard, ‘then who, in God’s name, was it?’
‘Who and why?’ said Nicholas. ‘I think that motive is important here. The person we want most probably has a grudge against the company, against Master Hibbert or against the Queen’s Head itself.’
‘If we talk of grudges against the Queen’s Head, then add me to the list of suspects. I have a thousand grudges against that miserable reptile of a landlord. Come, Nick,’ urged Firethorn, ‘I saw you put those phials aside. Give me the one that contained the poison and I’ll push it down Marwood’s throat until he chokes on it.’
‘What purpose would that serve?’
‘My satisfaction.’
‘We search for a more dangerous enemy than our landlord,’ said Nicholas, briskly. ‘I’ll take the phial, and the cup into which the liquid was poured, to Doctor Mordrake. One sniff of either will tell him what poison was used. That must be our starting point.’
‘What of Hal Bridger?’
‘When the body is examined, they’ll reach the same conclusion.’
‘Then why not apply to the coroner?’
‘Because he will only decide the cause of death,’ said Nicholas. ‘Doctor Mordrake does business with every apothecary in the city. He’ll know where that poison can be readily bought. I’ll try to trace its origin. Before that, alas,’ he went on, shaking his head, ‘there’s a prior duty that calls.’
‘A prior duty?’
‘Hal’s family must be informed of his death.’
‘I’ll send them a letter,’ suggested Firethorn, anxious to evade the responsibility of delivering the bad tidings in person. ‘Fetch me pen and paper. I’ll write it now.’
‘They deserve better than a few choice words scribbled down,’ said Nicholas with reproach. ‘I’ll take on the office. His parents will want a full account of what happened.’
‘Thank you, Nick. You knew the lad better than me.’ He nodded in the direction of the taproom. ‘Will you take a cup of wine before you go?’
‘No, I’ll clear up here then slip quietly away.’
‘So be it.’ Firethorn stepped forward to embrace him warmly. ‘We are indebted to you once again, dear heart. Had you not made that entrance and carried the body away, we would all have faltered. You came to our rescue.’
‘Too late for Hal Bridger, alas.’
Firethorn nodded then left the tiring-house. Nicholas put all the phials on the table and sniffed each one until he found the offending bottle. It went into the pocket where he had concealed the cup from which the potion had been drunk. He was still tidying things away when Saul Hibbert came swaggering into the room.
‘What?’ he asked. ‘Are my actors all fled?’
‘You’ll find them in the taproom,’ replied Nicholas.
‘Then I’ll buy them their beer. They brought my play to life this afternoon and made me famous. A hundred people must have fought to shake my hand. I have only now been able to shake off my admirers.’
‘The congratulations were deserved, Master Hibbert.’
‘I’ll share the kind words with Lawrence and the others. Most of them, anyway,’ he said, curling a lip, ‘for there’s one idiot who’ll get no praise from me. That wretched servant to Lord Loveless did his best to ruin my work by pretending to have the falling sickness. I’ll make him fall in earnest when I catch up with him. What was the fool doing?’
‘Dying from poison.’
‘What?’
‘Hal Bridger was not acting out there,’ said Nicholas. ‘What you saw was a foul murder. The poison that he drank killed him within a matter of minutes. Officers took details of the crime and the body has been now removed. You’ll not be laying a finger on the lad.’
‘Can this be so?’ said Hibbert in amazement. ‘You believe that there was deliberate murder?’
‘We kept the truth of it from the audience.’
‘Thank heaven that you did, or my play would have been ruined!’
‘Can you not spare a sigh of regret for the victim?’
‘I am the real victim here,’ said Hibbert, angrily. ‘Someone set out to halt my work when it was at the very zenith of its power. I would’ve have been robbed of my triumph.’
‘Hal Bridger was robbed of his life,’ Nicholas reminded him.
‘I care nothing for that. How can you compare the death of a stripling to the violation of my art? You heard that acclaim out there. The Malevolent Comedy has made me the talk of London.’
‘Is that all that matters to you?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then it’s high time you learnt to feel some compassion,’ said Nicholas, squaring up to him. ‘Because of your play, a blameless lad lost his life in front of a baying audience. He stepped onto that stage to serve you and your ambition. You might at least show thanks.’