‘I will speak with him. Stay here with your mistress.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Let nobody else into this room.’
‘I will not.’
Nicholas crossed to the door. Emilia got up and tried to go after him. He restrained her gently and shook his head.
‘Not now. Take your leave of him at another time.’
***
George Dart could not believe his ears. Sitting in Lawrence Firethorn’s house, he was actually being praised for once. The lowliest and most misused member of Westfield’s Men was being congratulated on his performance by the greatest actor in London. The humiliation in Bankside was now being followed by acclaim in Shoreditch. It was all too much for him. Dart became light-headed and almost keeled over. Owen Elias was just in time to catch him.
‘The lad is tired, Lawrence,’ he said. ‘Rightly so.’
‘Yes,’ added Firethorn. ‘You have done a worthy deed this night, George, and it has exhausted you. Go home, boy. Sleep in the knowledge that you have rendered Westfield’s Men a wondrous service.’
‘Is that it, Master Firethorn?’
‘Your bed awaits you.’
‘Will I have to play the part of his son again?’
‘That little drama is done.’
He escorted the assistant stagekeeper to the door and showed him out into the street before returning to his other guest. Firethorn was delighted with the progress that they had made even though Maggs still had to be confronted. At least, they now knew where to find him. Lucy had more than repaid the money that Elias had spent on her.
Left alone together, the two men could now talk more freely. The Welshman gave a much fuller account of the visit to the Red Cock than was tactful in front of George Dart and the actor-manager laughed royally. When it was time for him to take up a tale, however, his mirth evaporated.
‘Lord Westfield has busied himself at Court,’ he said.
‘Without success, I fancy.’
‘Our patron succeeded in getting the information that we needed, Owen, but it brings little joy. Nick Bracewell was right. A more powerful voice than Sir John Tarker’s had to put Edmund in prison.’
‘Say on.’
‘He was arrested at the suit of Lord Hunsdon.’
‘The Lord Chamberlain himself!’
‘No less. Henry Carey, first Baron Hunsdon.’
‘But he is not even mentioned in The Roaring Boy.’
‘That makes no difference,’ said Firethorn. ‘When a member of the Privy Council takes out a suit, the law jumps to obey him. If Hunsdon wanted to arrest your grandmother on a charge of treason, he could do so.’
‘Not without a spade and a peg on his nose. We buried the old woman thirty years ago.’
‘You take my point, Owen.’
‘Indeed, I do.’
‘The injunction against us also serves Hunsdon well. He has his own troupe of players vying with us for fame and advancement. With our company becalmed, Lord Chamberlain’s Men can steal a march on us.’
‘It is iniquitous!’
‘It is politics.’
‘Is there no remedy?’
‘None, sir. Lord Westfield’s writ cannot contest that of a Privy Councillor. When Nick was wrongfully imprisoned in the Counter, our patron had influence enough to haul him out again. With some help from my dear wife, Margery, if I recall aright.’
‘Can he not also free Edmund from gaol?’
‘The Lord Chamberlain is too big a padlock.’
‘How has he become involved, Lawrence?’
‘Because it is to his advantage.’
‘There must be deeper workings than that,’ said Elias. ‘Is Sir John Tarker so close with the Lord Chamberlain that he can demand such large favours from him?’
‘Sir John served under him in the north.’
‘And fawns upon his old commander.’
‘They are both enamoured of jousting.’
‘That gives them interest in common but not complicity in a murder.’ Elias was mystified. ‘Will a man as eminent as Lord Hunsdon stoop to protect such a guilty man from punishment?’
‘It is not what he is doing, Owen. I doubt if the Lord Chamberlain knows any of the fine detail. A friend makes a demand on him, he obliges. And since there is gain for his own company in our disappearance, he is happy to do so.’
Owen Elias sat back on his chair to scratch his head.
‘Something is missing,’ he decided.
‘Any whiff of hope for us.’
‘A stronger link.’
‘Link?’
‘Between Sir John Tarker and Lord Hunsdon,’ said Elias. ‘I return to Nick’s argument. Sir John is but on the outer fringe of the Court. He would not have the ear of the Lord Chamberlain. Someone else is involved here.’
‘Who?’
‘Someone whose name does have enough substance.’
‘Who, Owen?’
‘Someone who does his devilry behind the scenes.’
‘I agree, man,’ said Firethorn. ‘But who on earth is he!’
‘We must find the rogue.’
***
Sir Godfrey Avenell held the ball-butted pistol up to the light of a candle so that he could study it in detail. He was in his apartment at Greenwich Palace. Delighted with the news he had received, he was equally pleased with the present which Sir John Tarker had just offered him.
‘Thank you,’ he said, fondling the butt. ‘It is a most welcome addition to my collection.’
Tarker sniggered. ‘I can vouch for its efficiency.’
‘Good. I am only interested in weapons of death.’
‘This pistol proved itself but hours ago.’
‘And it is of German design,’ said Avenell. ‘That is a happy coincidence. It lends a symmetry to this adventure.’
‘It put an end to Master Chaloner’s interference and that is all I am concerned with. He came to play the hero and went away as the victim. He will trouble us no more.’
‘What about Mistress Emilia Brinklow?’
‘I will pay my respects to her one of these fine days.’
‘That was not my meaning.’
‘She will lose all heart now.’
‘Can you be certain of that?’ said Avenell, putting the pistol on the table and turning to him. ‘She has Brinklow blood in her, remember. You know how stubborn her brother could be. Thomas would not be moved.’
‘Emilia will be. Chaloner was her right arm.’
‘She still has a left one to hold you at bay.’
‘Not for long,’ said Tarker. ‘I am too used to having my own way to be baulked. It is only a question of time.’
‘You may have met your match in her.’ Avenell flicked the matter from his mind. ‘We have both had a good day. You have removed the largest thorn in our flesh and I have done excellent business. What more could we ask?’
‘The position of Queen’s Champion.’
‘That is beyond even my gift!’
‘I wish to earn it, not be granted it as a boon.’
‘Shine in combat and it may one day be yours.’
‘I have no peer in the saddle.’
Avenell grinned. ‘No man wears more expensive armour, I know that. Be worthy of it and I will forget the cost.’ He picked up the pistol again. ‘This weapon has a deadly voice but it lacks the beauty of a lance. You should have killed Chaloner in a joust. There would have been a poetry in that.’
‘He is gone,’ said Tarker. ‘Why care by what means? Master Chaloner’s brains are hanging out and all is well.’
‘Not quite, sir. You are remiss.’
‘How so?’
‘I called for the name of an author.’
‘That is in hand.’
‘The Roaring Boy was too sharp a piece for comfort. Find the man who wrote it and silence his tongue as well.’
‘Master Hoode is my assistant here.’
‘He has revealed his co-author?’
‘He will do in the morning,’ said Tarker with another snigger. ‘I used your name with the Lord Chamberlain to secure another favour. He was quick to oblige you.’
‘So I should hope. We have always been close friends.’
‘He has arranged for Master Hoode to have a meeting.’
‘With whom?’
‘Someone who is practised in the art of digging the truth out of even the deepest shafts. He is the ablest miner in London and uses only the sharpest pick.’