‘That may be beyond both of us. Let me repair Master Gill’s omission and thank you for offering this room for his use. It solves more problems than you can know.’
‘Then I’m pleased to give it to you.’ Jowlett broke off to call for a servant before turning back to Nicholas. ‘Yours is a larger company than we have had here in the past.’
‘We tour with as many players as we can afford.’
‘Our last troupe was barely half the size of yours.’
‘When did they stay here?’
‘No more than ten days ago. Unlike you, they have no home in London and no chance to play before large audiences. They are on the road throughout the year. It was a source of great regret. They spoke with such envy of Westfield’s Men.’
‘Did they?’
‘Envy and bitterness.’
‘I am sorry that we provoke bitterness,’ said Nicholas. ‘Who were they?’
‘Conway’s Men.’
Chapter Six
Westfield’s Men settled quickly into the Star Inn. Most adjourned to the taproom to sample the ale, others decided to snatch an hour’s sleep after the rigors of their journey, a few chose to explore Maidstone on foot and Edmund Hoode found a quiet corner in which to work on a scene in his new play. Giddy Mussett spent an improving hour with Lawrence Firethorn, being patiently instructed in the roles he would play. Nicholas Bracewell was dispatched on an important errand. Before the company could perform in the town, a licence had to be obtained and that task invariably fell to the book holder. He set off towards the town hall, glad that they had arrived safely and certain that Maidstone would prove a rewarding place to visit.
After the teeming streets of London, the town seemed curiously empty and Nicholas found that a welcome relief. It enabled him to saunter along and appraise their new home at his leisure. He soon passed a sight that was very familiar in the capital. Seated in the stocks, a forlorn individual was raising both arms to protect himself from the rotten fruit and clods of earth being thrown at him by mocking children. Set out in front of the malefactor were some loaves of unwholesome bread and Nicholas realised that he was looking at a baker who had sold mouldy produce and who was being punished accordingly.
When he got to the town hall and introduced himself, he was immediately shown in to meet the mayor, a tall, stooping man with an alarming battery of warts on his face. Lucas Broome was surprised to hear that the troupe had already arrived in town.
‘We did not expect you for a matter of weeks,’ he said.
‘Our hand was forced,’ explained Nicholas. ‘We had to quit London sooner than planned. I hope that we are still able to find an audience here.’
‘No question but that you will, my friend. I’ve been waiting a long time to see so illustrious a company as yours visit Maidstone. Whenever I’ve been in London, I’ve made the effort to call at the Queen’s Head.’
‘What have you seen of ours?’
‘Nothing that failed to delight me. The last time it was Mirth and Madness. Before that it was Vincentio’s Revenge. Another play that I remember,’ said Broome, exposing a row of small, uneven teeth, ‘is Cupid’s Folly. It made me laugh so.’
‘We expect to offer it again during our tour.’
‘Your clown was worth the price of entry on his own.’ He scratched his head. ‘Now, what was his name?’
‘Barnaby Gill.’
‘That was him,’ said Broome, snapping his fingers. ‘Barnaby Gill. I trust that you have brought him to Maidstone with you?’
‘Master Gill is with us,’ said Nicholas, ‘but unable to take an active part in our work. A broken leg makes him a spectator on our tour. But have no fear,’ he went on, seeing the disappointment in the mayor’s face. ‘His substitute is just as skilled in the arts of comedy. They are two of a kind and you will not tell the difference between them.’
‘I long to see the fellow.’
‘Grant us a licence and you will do so.’
‘Westfield’s Men are welcome at any time.’ Nicholas reached inside his jerkin to take out some documents but Broome waved a dismissive hand. ‘No need to prove who you are, my friend. I know and respect your patron. Those who wear his livery stand high in my esteem.’
‘Do you not wish to see our licence to travel?’
‘The quality of your work gives you that. My wife has oftentimes heard me talk of my visits to the Queen’s Head. Now she can enjoy the same pleasure herself.’
‘When and where shall we play?’ asked Nicholas, slipping the documents back inside his jerkin.
‘The Lower Courthouse will be yours for one performance,’ decided Broome, ‘and it will be filled to the rafters. Of that I can assure you, my friend. However, you will have to wait a couple of days until the assizes come to an end.’
‘That will suit us well, sir. We will need that time to rehearse our new clown into his roles. You have a liking for Cupid’s Folly, you say?’
‘Why, yes, but I’ll not prescribe your choice. Give me something that I have never seen before and I’ll be equally pleased. Meanwhile, we’ll voice it abroad that you have come to town and bring in a wider audience for you.’
‘The landlord wishes us to play at the Star Inn as well.’
‘Then so you shall. That will give us two chances to savour your art.’
‘We are indebted to you, sir.’
‘And we to Westfield’s Men.’
Nicholas was thrilled with his reception at the town hall. Having been on tour before, he knew that other towns were not always so welcoming and other mayors not so fond of theatre that they sought it out in London. Lucas Broome was a keen admirer of their work. He and his wife would assuredly be there with other civic dignitaries to watch the first performance. Before he left, Nicholas asked if he might have a brief glance at the Lower Courthouse to see how best it could be adapted to their needs. Broome conducted him there in person and they soon found themselves in a long, low, rectangular room with light flooding in from windows along both sides. Two doors in the far wall made that the obvious place where the stage could be set. Having taken note of the proportions of the room, Nicholas thanked his guide.
‘Is this where Conway’s Men performed?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Broome, ‘and they made good use of it. They gave but one performance in the town and fortune decreed that it took place here.’
‘Why? Was the weather unkind?’
‘A torrent of rain fell throughout the whole day. Had they tried to play at the Star, they’d have been washed away.’
‘We’ll pray for sunshine when we take over their yard.’
‘I’ll join you in your prayers.’
Nicholas took his leave. Instead of returning directly to the inn, he had a second errand to run and it was of a more personal nature. Anne Hendrik had given him a letter to deliver to a cousin of her late husband’s. Well over a hundred immigrants had come to the town, driven from the Netherlands by persecution and bringing to Maidstone their skills in the manufacture of cloth, Spanish leather, pottery, tile, brick, paper, armour and gunpowder. Pieter Hendrik was one of them and he had hired a house in Mill Street where he had set up two looms. Nicholas found the place without difficulty. Hendrik was a big, hulking man in his forties with a head that seemed too small for the massive body. Both of the large wooden looms were in use inside the house and the noise made conversation difficult so he took Nicholas into the garden at the rear of the property. Hendrik’s mastery of English was not yet complete.
‘A frient of Anne’s, you are?’ he said, peering at Nicholas.
‘Yes,’ replied Nicholas, handing him the letter. ‘Anne sent this for you.’
‘Thenk you, thenk you. Please to excuss me, ha?’
He opened the letter and slowly read its contents, a fond smile on his lips as he did so. When he had finished, he let out a throaty chuckle.
‘Anne speak fery vill of you, Niklaus.’