‘It is big enough for you and him and me besides.’
‘For shame, girl!’
‘You cannot think this room an accident.’
‘Master Firethorn is a gentleman.’
‘Then he will say a proper thank you afterwards.’
‘Prudence!’
‘Why else have we come all this way, mistress?’
‘To dine with my love.’
‘Meat before supper. You are that supper.’
‘I will not hear this vulgarity!’
But Matilda Stanford had heard it in a way that had not impinged upon her consciousness before. Infatuation had made her deceive a kind husband and drive miles to her assignation. What had sustained her all this while was the thought of being alone with the man she loved and admired so that she could feel once again those wonderful sensations that he elicited from her. To dine alone with Lawrence Firethorn was an end in itself to her and she was distressed by the idea that it might only be a means for him. It was a long wait in the upstairs room and the bed seemed to get larger all the time.
Westfield’s Men journeyed to Richmond at a slower pace than the coach. Lawrence Firethorn, Barnaby Gill, Edmund Hoode and the other sharers rode their own horses but most of the company travelled on the waggon that was carrying their costumes, properties and scenic devices. George Dart and some of the other menials trotted at the cart’s tail and dodged any messages left up ahead by the two carthorses. The imminent departure from the Queen’s Head had lowered them all and Nicholas Bracewell tried to lighten the mood of dejection by ordering the musicians to play. Country air and lively ditties soon dispelled the city gloom.
Nicholas drove the cart with Owen Elias beside him.
‘You have strange friends, sir,’ said the Welshman.
‘I would not call you that strange, Owen.’
‘Not me, man. That mountain who accosted you as we left Gracechurch Street. Diu! I thought that you would harness him and let him pull the waggon alone.’
‘And so he might. That was Leonard.’
‘What did he want?’
‘To show his friendship in the kindest way.’
‘One giant sends us off to find the other nine.’
‘He did more than that,’ said Nicholas, recalling the warning that Leonard had given about the plot against his life. ‘We met in peculiar lodgings, he and I. Imprisonment binds two such men together.’
‘Do not speak of imprisonment!’ moaned Elias. ‘I am chained hand and foot in this company.’
‘Master Firethorn would release you.’
‘’Tis he who keeps me in bondage. He takes all the leading roles and I serve my sentence as a galley-slave.’
‘The Wise Woman of Dunstable offers you a hope.’
‘In some small way,’ said Elias. ‘I have a part in which I may briefly shine but it is not enough, Nick. I would be in the centre of the stage. Look at my Jupiter, sir. I was taken for Master Firethorn himself.’
‘No man is great by imitation.’
‘I have skills that are all my own but they wither on the vine. Give me the role I covet above all others and I will prove my worth!’
‘What role is that, Owen?’
‘A Welsh one, sir.’
‘Henry the Fifth?’
‘Aye, man — Harry of Monmouth!’
Lawrence Firethorn had to mix desire with diplomacy in a way that irked him. The company reached the Nine Giants a mere half an hour after the two ladies and his first impulse was to bound up to his room to claim the favours of his mistress. But Edmund Hoode’s sensibilities had to be borne in mind. If he were to learn of Matilda’s presence at the inn — let alone of her tryst with Firethorn — he would be uncontrollable. It was important, therefore, to settle him and the rest of the company down before its leading man could slip away to enjoy the spoils of war.
What he did do — while the others were being shown to their accommodation — was to make contact with his beloved to reassure her that all was well.
Matilda Stanford jumped up with a mixture of joy and alarm when he let himself into the room. He showered her hand with kisses and told her that he would return within the hour to dine alone with her, making it very clear that Prudence was expected to withdraw tactfully to the next chamber. He was at once inspiring and frightening, a noble knight with high ideals of chivalry and a lecher in search of a lay. Matilda was thrown into confusion. He swung open the door and paused for effect.
‘When I come back, my love,’ he said softly, ‘I will tap on the door like this.’ He knocked three times. ‘That is my password to paradise. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘How many times?’
‘Three.’
‘At least!’ he said under his breath. ‘Admit no other to this chamber until I knock thrice.’ He blew her a kiss and withdrew. ‘Out, then, into the night.’
The door closed and Matilda clutched at her breast to stop her heart pounding. She wanted him more than ever but not in the way that he had implied. Her plan had been to dine with him alone before being driven on to spend the night near Wimbledon with her cousin, who had been advised by letter in advance of the visit. Firethorn evidently had ideas for her sleeping arrangements and the anxious Matilda did not know how to cope with them. Part of her wanted to flee, another part urged her to stay. A wild suggestion sprang from Prudence.
‘To save your honour, I will change places with you.’
‘How so?’
‘Lend me that dress,’ she said, ‘and blow out some of the candles. If the room be dark enough, I’ll make him think I am you, mistress.’ She giggled again. ‘And when we lie abed together, he will not know the difference.’
‘Prudence!’
‘I do it but as an act of sacrifice.’
‘Leave off these jests.’
‘This way, all three get satisfaction.’
‘I will not hear another word,’ said Matilda firmly. ‘Both of us will stay here. Your presence will shield me from any danger.’
‘I beg leave to doubt that.’
Before they could debate it further, they heard footsteps outside the door and craned their necks to listen. There were three loud knocks on the door. They exchanged an astonished look. Firethorn had talked about a delay before his return. Obviously, he had dealt with his business much faster than expected. The three knocks were repeated. Matilda gave a signal and Prudence rushed to throw the door wide open.
‘Welcome again, good sir!’
The man with the black eyepatch smiled slyly.
‘Thank you.’
Westfield’s Men were given excellent hospitality by mine host and found another treat in store. Staying at the inn with them were several who were due to be guests at the wedding on the morrow. It was as part of the nuptials that the company were to present their play. Hearing of this, the wedding guests called for some entertainment in advance and were quickly answered. Peter Digby and his musicians played for them, Richard Honeydew sang sweet madrigals, Barnaby Gill made them guffaw with his comic dances and Firethorn obliged with a speech or two off the cuff from his extensive repertoire. Westfield’s Men were not only given free cakes and ale. The wedding guests each tossed in a few coins to make their gratitude more substantial. With one exception, the company was thrilled.
That exception was Owen Elias, an eager talent who was proud of abilities that were just never given an opportunity to display themselves. It was others who won the plaudits from the guests. He lurked somnolently on the fringes and drank too much beer. When Gill was asked to perform his jig for a fourth time, Elias could take no more and slunk quietly out into the yard in search of his own audience.