The Queen's Head

'Because I say so, sir!'

'We need more than that, Barnaby.'

'The man has the wrong attitude.'

'I disagree,' said Hoode. 'Samuel Ruff is probably the only hired man we have with the right attitude. He takes his work seriously and fits in well with the company.'

'Not with me, Edmund.'

'He's an experienced actor.'

'London is full of experienced players.'

'Not all of them are as reliable as Ruff.'

'He must leave us.'

'On what pretext?'

'I do not like the man!'

'He will be relieved to hear that,' said Firethorn with a wicked chuckle. 'Come, Barnaby, this is too small a matter to waste any more breath on.'

'I want him dismissed,' said Gill, holding firm.

'This is a mere whim.'

'I mean it, Lawrence. He has crossed me and he must suffer.'

'Why not challenge him to a duel?' suggested Hoode.

Gill cut short their mirth by lifting a chair and banging it down hard on the floor. His nostrils were flaring now and his eyes were rolling like those of a mare caught in a stable fire.

'I would remind you of just how much this company owes to me,' he began. 'In the face of constant temptation, I have remained faithful to Lord Westfield's Men. Others have approached me with lucrative offers many times but I always refused them, believing--in error, it now seems--that I was needed and appreciated here.'

'We have heard this speech before,' said Firethorn petulantly, and it does not grow more palatable.'

'I am serious, Lawrence! He has to go.'

'Why? Because he mastered you in a bout with foils?'

'Because he unsettles me.'

'We all do that to you, Barnaby,' joked Hoode. 'Are we to be put out as well?'

'Do not mock, sir. This is in earnest.'

Then let me be in earnest as well,' decided Firethorn, putting It is hands on his hips as he confronted the smaller man. 'We both know what lies behind all this. Young Dicky Honeydew.'

'Have care, Lawrence.'

I do--for the boy.' He wagged a warning finger. 'I am not one to pry into a man's private affairs. Live and let live, say I. But there is one rule that must always hold in this company, Barnaby, and you know it as well as I do. You understand me?'

'Yes.'

'Not with the apprentices.'

'This has nothing to do with the matter, Lawrence.'

'I have said my piece, sir.'

'And I must support it,' said Hoode. 'As for Samuel Ruff, you are out on your own. Everyone else is happy with the fellow. We have fared much worse with our hired men.'

Barnaby Gill was profoundly offended. He walked slowly to the door, opened it, drew himself up to his full height, and put every ounce of disdain into his tone.

'I will contend no further!'

'Then what have you been doing all this while?' asked Firethorn 'You have argued for argument's sake.'

'The choice is simple, gentlemen,' said Gill.

'Choice?'

'Either he goes--or I do!'

He slammed the door behind him with dramatic force.

*

George Dart was much given to reflections upon the misery of his lot. As the youngest and smallest of the stagekeepers, he was always saddled with the most menial jobs, and everyone in the company had authority over him. One of the tasks he hated most was being sent out with a sheaf of playbills to put up around the City. It was exhausting work. He would be chased by dogs, jeered at by-children, jostled by pedestrians, harangued by tradesmen, frowned on by Puritans, menaced by thieves, solicited by punks and generally made to feel that he was at the mercy of others.

His latest errand introduced him to a new indignity. With the playbills of Gloriana Triumphant fresh from the printers, he set off on a tortuous route through Cheapside, using every post and fence he could find along the way as a place of advertisement. With the market sprawled all around him, he had to push almost every inch of the way and his size was a real disadvantage. Hours of persistence, however, finally paid off as he posted up his last playbill outside the Maid and Magpie.

George Dart slowly began to retrace his short steps, wondering, as he did so, if anyone led such a pitiable existence as he did. They were always sending him somewhere. He was continually on the move, shuttling between this place and that, for ever heading towards or away from somewhere, never settling, never being allowed to dwell at the centre of action. He was one of nature intercessaries. Every arrival was a departure, every halt was merely to pick up instructions for the next journey. He was nothing but a carrier pigeon, doomed to fly in perpetuity.

His reverie was rudely checked and he turned a corner and walked along a street where he had put up a number or his playbills. Most of them had gone and those that remained had been defaced, He shuddered at the prospect of having to report the outrage. They would send him out again with fresh bills to endure fresh torments.

When he looked around the crowded street, he saw dozens of suspects. Any one of them could have ruined his work. As he studied a playbill that had been scribbled upon, he decided that it was the work of a drunken ruffian who wanted a morning's sport.

George Dart wept copiously. Watching him from a shop doorway on the opposite side of the street was a young man with a complacent smile. It was Roger Bartholomew.

*

The apprentices were still mystified. They had no idea who could have loosened the other beams in the attic chamber, nor could they understand the motive that lay behind it all. Was it some malign joke? Had the intention been to cripple Richard Honeydew permanently? Or were they themselves the target? Could someone have tried to implicate them in a much more serious business than the one they devised? If the apprentice had been badly injured--even killed--suspicion would naturally have fallen on them.

As it was, the luck which had saved Richard worked to their advantage as well. Margery Firethorn railed at them but they were able to swear, with the light of truth in their eyes, that they had not been responsible for loosening the beams around the dormer. Martin Yeo, John Tallis and Stephen Judd were off the hook but one fact remained. Richard Honeydew would still play Gloriana.

Shedding their fears about the person who had exploited their first plan, they set about concocting another. This one was foolproof. It would be put into operation the next day and the venue was the yard at The Queen's Head.

Here's a fine chestnut,' admired Yeo, leaning over the stable door. 'Come and see, Dick.'

'Yes,' agreed Richard, looking at the horse. He is a fine animal. See how his coat shines!'

'Would you like to ride him?' asked Tallis.

'I'd love to, John, but I am no horseman. Who owns him?'

'We have no notion,' said Tallis with an artful glance at Yeo. 'He must have arrived last night.'

They had come into the yard when the stage had been taken down to make way for a coach and a couple of wagons. The horses had been stabled. Knowing Richard's fondness for the animals Yeo and Tallis had invited him over to inspect them all, casually stopping at the last of the loose boxes to inspect the chestnut stallion. It was a mettlesome beast some seventeen hands high, and Yeo had watched it trot into the yard the previous afternoon. He had also overheard the instructions which the rider had given to the ostler.

A second trap had been set. Stationed in the window of the rehearsal room was Stephen Judd. He waved a hand to confirm that both Nicholas Bracewell and Samuel Ruff were fully occupied. Richard was now shorn of his guardians.

'He looks hungry,' noted Yeo.

'I've an apple he can have,' decided Tallis, pulling it out from his pocket. 'Here, Dick. You give it to him.'

'Not me, Stephen.'

'He won't bite you, lad,' said Yeo. 'Hold it on the palm of your hand like this.' He demonstrated with the apple. 'Go on.'

'I'm afraid to, Martin.'