The Queen's Head

Edmund Hoode had been saved for the second time. Margery Firethorn and Roger Bartholomew had born the brunt of an attack which he had thought was aimed at him. He did not wish to press his luck again. Patience was his strong suit. He waited until Firethorn had poured further bile upon the Oxford scholar.

The meal was served, they began to eat, then the verdict was at last pronounced. Firethorn held up his fork like a sceptre and beamed with royal condescension.

'It's magnificent, Edmund!'

'You think so?' stuttered Hoode.

'Your best work without a shadow of a doubt.'

'That is very heartening, Lawrence.'

'The action drives on, the poetry soars, the love scenes are divinely pretty. If Nicholas can devise a way to bring those ships on and off the stage, we will be the talk of London!'

They fell to discussing the finer points of the drama and an hour sneaked past without their noticing its departure. Firethorn suggested a few alterations but they were so minor that Hoode was glad to agree to them. Long days and even longer nights had gone into the creation of Gloriana Triumphant but the comments it was now receiving made all the suffering worth it.

'There is just one small thing...'

Edmund Hoode tensed as the familiar phrase sounded. Was there to be a total reworking of the play, after all? His fears proved groundless.

'Who will play the part of Gloriana?'

'I assumed that it would be Martin Yeo.'

'So did I until I read it.'

'Martin has the maturity for the role.'

'I am wondering if that is enough, Edmund,' said Firethorn. 'He is our senior apprentice, yes, and brings a wealth of experience but...well, he does have a hardness of feature that is more suited to an older woman.'

'Gloriana is in her fifties,' reminded Hoode.

'Only in your play. Not when she sits upon the throne of England. An affectionate chuckle came. 'All women are the same, Edmund. They try to defy time. In her heart, Elizabeth is still the young woman she was when she was first crowned.'

'What are you saying, Lawrence?'

'I think we should alter her age. Let her shed some twenty or thirty years. A Virgin Queen with the glow of youth still hanging upon her. It will strengthen the role immeasurably and make her love scenes with me much more convincing.'

'You have a point. It might work to our advantage.'

'It will, sir.'

'In that case, we must cast John Tallis in the part.'

'Indeed we must not.'

'But he has such presence.'

'So does that unfortunate jaw of his,' returned Firethorn with a low moan. 'John has talent but it is seen at its best when he is a witch or a lady-in-waiting. We cannot have a queen with a lantern jaw.'

'That leaves Stephen Judd. I would settle for him.'

'You're forgetting someone, Edmund.'

'Am I?' He sat up in surprise. 'Dick Honeydew?'

'Why not?'

'The boy has not been with us long enough. He still has much to learn. And he is so young.'

'That is exactly why I would choose him. He has a quality of frail innocence that is perfect. It enlists the audience's sympathy at once. They will not see a termagant queen who flings the gauntlet down to her enemies. They will have a vulnerable young woman who will touch the heart.' He snorted aloud. 'If John Tallis addresses the troops at Tilbury with his lantern jaw, he will look like a recruiting sergeant in female attire.'

'We have not talked about Stephen Judd.'

'He always has that knowing look. It was ideal for Love and Fortune but not here. I go for Dick.'

'You really believe he could bring it off?'

'I do. It may be the title role but it does not involve many speeches. Gloriana exists largely as a symbol. It is her grizzly sea captains like myself who carry the burden of the dialogue.'

Edmund Hoode tapped his fingers on the table and pondered.

'The other boys will not like this, Lawrence.'

'I don't care two hoots about them!' said Firethorn. 'It will put them in their place. They've been hounding poor Dick on the sly since he came here. If he lands the title role over them, they will be duly chastised.' He pushed his chair back so that he could stretch himself out. 'Well? What do you think, Edmund?'

'I'm not entirely persuaded.'

'He'll not let us down--I'm certain of it.'

'We'd have to spend a lot of time on him.'

'As much as you wish. You agree, then?'

'I agree.'

'Dick Honeydew as Gloriana!'

The two men lifted their cups in toast.

(*)Chapter Six

When Nicholas got back to the house late that night, Anne Hendrik was waiting for him with a smile of welcome. Her pleasure at seeing him home again was mingled with relief that he had come to no harm. Nicholas had been working his way through the Bankside stews once more and she feared for his safety in an area that swarmed with low life. His task was fraught with dangers because it took him to some of the most notorious criminal dens in London.

'How did you fare?' she asked.

'Not well,' he admitted. 'Someone at the Antelope remembered a tall man with a red beard but he was not sure if our sketch bore any likeness to him. The hostess at the Dog and Doublet thought she recognized the face in the drawing but she insists that his beard was black.'

'Did you call at the Cardinal's Hat?'

'Yes,' he said, rallying, 'and there was better news. Alice will be discharged from the hospital soon. She's recovered well and got her wits back, by all accounts. I have great hopes that she will be able to give me more details about Redbeard.'

'What of Samuel Ruff?'

'He continues to search as diligently as me,' he said. 'We will run our man to earth in the end.'

Apprehension flitted across her face and she stepped in close to give him a brief hug. Her eagerness to see the killer brought to justice was tempered by a natural anxiety.

'If you do find him, Nicholas...'

'No question but that we will.' !

'You will have the utmost care?' she pleaded.

'Have no fear, Anne,' he soothed. 'I go armed. Redbeard will not have the chance to stab me unawares.'

He took her in his arms and gave her a reassuring kiss.

Susan Fowler was no longer staying in his room but he still did not return to it. He and Anne went upstairs together to her bedchamber at the front of the house. It was a large, low room with solid pieces of furniture, tasteful hangings and a small carpet over the shining oak floorboards. Paintings of Dutch interiors hung on the walls as a memento of her late husband's homeland. Like all parts of the house, it was kept spotlessly clean.

The four-poster was soft and comfortable, and they made love with a languid tenderness under its linen. Afterwards, they lay in the dark with their arms entwined. Nicholas Bracewell and Anne did not share a bed often. Neither of them was ready to commit themselves to any full or permanent relationship. He was far too independent and she was still wedded to memories of a happy marriage with Jacob Hendrik. It suited them both to drift in and out of their moments of intimacy, and to see them as occasional delights rather than as a routine habit. The magic was thus retained.

'Nick...'

'Mm?'

'Are you asleep?' .

'Yes.'

They both laughed. She dug him playfully in the ribs.

'I was thinking about Will Fowler,' she continued.

'So was I.'

'Maybe that is the reason he was drawn to the theatre.'

'Reason?'

'It's a kind of refuge,' she argued. 'Actors have to be seen but only as somebody else. Do you understand me? Will Fowler went into the theatre to hide. Just like you.'

'Is that what I did?' he asked with amusement.

'You tell me, sir.'

But she knew that he would not. Anne Hendrik had enquired about his past life many times but he had yielded only the barest details. Born and bred in the West Country, he was the son of a well-to-do merchant who ensured that Nicholas had a sound education then took him into the business. It gave him the chance to travel and he made many voyages to Europe.