Firethorn nodded. ‘He must have influential friends.’
‘We need to know who they are. Only when we identify our enemies can we hope to prevail against them. Then there is another point.’ He scratched his beard in contemplation for a moment. ‘The play was interrupted well before Sir John Tarker was unmasked. How could Edmund be accused of libel when none took place? Do you follow me here, gentlemen?’
‘No,’ admitted Firethorn.
‘I do not even bother to listen,’ said Gill.
‘Well, we do, Nick,’ said Elias. ‘Attentively. Continue.’
‘The Roaring Boy was swept from the scaffold because a certain person knew that he would be revealed as a partner in the murder of Thomas Brinklow. What we believe is naked truth, he describes as libel. In other words, he must have had foreknowledge of the rest of the play. Why else attack it?’ Nicholas looked around at his three companions. ‘How did he find out? We closed ranks against all enquiry. We lived on top of each other to ensure our mutual safety. Yet he knew. Who taught him the innermost workings of the company? To speak more plain-who betrayed us?’
The question produced a flurry of speculation from Lawrence Firethorn and Owen Elias along with a vigorous self-defence from Barnaby Gill, who was sensitive to any charge of indiscretion. Nicholas soon interrupted them.
‘The fault may not be ours,’ he pointed out. ‘Before the play came into our hands, it was housed at Greenwich. Someone there may have gained improper access to it and been warned of its contents. On the other hand, no plans for any performance had then been made. The manuscript was harmless until it came alive on a stage. For that reason, I suspect a member of the company is involved.’
‘I’ll tear him apart limb by limb!’ vowed Firethorn.
‘Let us find him first.’
‘That will be my office,’ volunteered Elias.
‘No, Owen,’ said Nicholas, ‘I have more taxing work than that. You must track a more difficult prey with me.’
‘Say but his name and I’ll run him to earth.’
‘Maggs.’
‘My part in the play?’
‘The same. Freshwell was hanged but Maggs escaped.’
‘The law could not find him, how shall we?’
‘By searching more assiduously,’ said Nicholas. ‘The law had scapegoats enough in Cecily Brinklow and Walter Dunne. With Freshwell to dance at the end of a rope beside them, they could spare Maggs. We may not.’
‘How do we know he is still alive?’
‘If he was cunning enough to evade capture, he will have the wit to survive. Find out where he is, Owen. The two of us will then have conference with him. There are hidden facts about this case that only Maggs knows.’
Elias chuckled. ‘One Maggs will hunt another.’
‘While you are about that,’ said Firethorn, ‘I’ll engage the services of Lord Westfield on our behalf. We’ll see if he can find the key to Edmund’s cell.’
‘And what must I do,’ asked the peevish Gill.
‘Nothing,’ said Elias. ‘That’s contribution enough.’
Nicholas reviewed the situation and reached a decision.
‘I’ll to Greenwich tomorrow at first light,’ he said. ‘This latest business may force a more complete story from Master Chaloner. I fear that something was held back from us and I will pursue him until I learn why.’
Action dispersed anxiety. Instead of bemoaning their fate, they could now take positive steps to amend it. Barnaby Gill still wallowed in pessimism but the others were eager to vindicate the name of Westfield’s Men, and that could be done only if they found out the full details surrounding the murder of Thomas Brinklow. Since The Roaring Boy could not prosecute their case, they had to marshal their evidence in a different way. After further lengthy discussion, Nicholas Bracewell and Owen Elias bade farewell to their hosts and set off down the street.
They did not get very far. Someone waited at a corner ahead of them and leapt out into their path with a sheepish smile. Peter Digby was trembling with embarrassment.
‘I must speak with you, Nicholas,’ he said.
‘Is the matter so urgent?’
‘I fear that it may be.’
‘Then it touches on this afternoon’s affair?’ Digby nodded and threw an anxious glance at the Welshman. ‘Speak freely in front of Owen,’ said Nicholas. ‘Though he is famed for babbling tongue, he knows when to hold it.’
‘Would that I did!’ said the musician.
He took the two friends down a quiet lane so that their conversation could be neither witnessed nor overheard. Peter Digby was so conscious-stricken that perspiration broke out on his forehead. He gave a shamefaced grin of apology.
‘What ails you, Peter?’ said Nicholas. ‘Tell us.’
‘I may be wrong,’ said the other. ‘Pray God that I am! I would never forgive myself if I was lured into treachery. The company is my life. Westfield’s Men are my family.’
‘They will always remain so,’ assured Elias.
‘Not after today.’
‘Why, man? What have you done?’
‘Nothing with intent to cause harm.’
Nicholas put an arm around the musician’s shoulders. With the exception of the much-maligned George Dart, there was not a more decent and innocuous member of the troupe than Peter Digby. Any damage or inconvenience he had caused his fellows must be inadvertent.
‘Do not tell Master Firethorn,’ pleaded Digby.
‘We will not,’ promised Nicholas.
‘He would expel me straight.’
‘The matter begins and ends here, Peter.’
‘Then hear the worst.’ He licked his lips and glanced nervously around. ‘When the play went into rehearsal, we were all enjoined to reveal nothing of its substance to anyone outside the company. Nor did I, Nicholas. Not wittingly, I swear. But an old friend came to see Mirth and Madness. One Orlando Reeve with whom I once studied.’
‘Was his visit unusual?’
‘Most unusual. Orlando looks down upon the theatre. Yet this was his second appearance at the Queen’s Head in weeks.’
‘Second appearance?’
‘Yes,’ said Digby. ‘On the first, he bought me wine and teased me about a falling off in our work. He mocked us so much that I had to defend Westfield’s Men. I told him that we would assert ourselves with a wonderful new play.’
Nicholas sighed. ‘The Roaring Boy?’
‘Even so.’
‘What did you disclose of its contents?’
‘Little beyond its characters and theme.’
‘And this second unexpected visit?’
‘Orlando bought me more wine,’ confessed Digby. ‘He flattered me and wriggled inside my guard. Playbills had been posted up for The Roaring Boy and he affected interest. Before I knew it, I was singing him snatches of the ballad.’ The old face was contorted with apprehension. ‘Tell me that I did no harm, Nicholas. Assure me that I could not possibly have betrayed my fellows in such a foolish way.’
‘You did well to confide in me,’ said Nicholas. ‘This Orlando Reeve is a musician, you say?’
‘A virtuoso of the keyboard.’
‘For whom does he play?’
‘Her Majesty. Orlando is a Court musician.’
‘Where does he dwell? Here in London?’
‘Sometimes,’ said Digby. ‘But he also owns a house which is the merest walk from the palace. Much of his time is spent there when Her Majesty is in residence.’
‘Which palace?’ asked Nicholas.
‘Greenwich.’
***
Sir Godfrey Avenell was a genial host. He ate supper in his apartment at Greenwich Palace with Sir John Tarker and listened with amusement to the latter’s account of the commotion at the Queen’s Head that afternoon. Tarker soon won back the good opinion of his friend and patron.
‘I congratulate you,’ said Avenell with a smirk. ‘You contrived the perfect ending for The Roaring Boy. I like to see revenge spiced with a modicum of wit.’