‘Why does he not bring an action against them?’
‘How can he when he has no idea where they are?’
‘The company is touring Kent.’
‘Then we must be the magistrates here, Owen,’ said Nicholas. ‘If we chance to catch up with them, they can be arraigned on three charges. Theft is one. Inciting an affray at the Queen’s Head may well be another.’
‘What is the third?’
‘Conspiring in the murder of Fortunatus Hope.’
Barnaby Gill was in a quandary, not knowing whether to watch or spurn the performance that evening. Loyalty to Westfield’s Men made him wish them success but hatred of Giddy Mussett induced a hope of failure. He could not bear the notion of seeing his rival cheered to the echo by an audience. At the same time, however, he was so possessive about the role that he had created that he did not want to miss its appearance on a stage. On the way back to the Star Inn, his mind was in turmoil. There was a practical problem to be faced as well. He had ridden to the Lower Courthouse in the wagon that carried the scenery but he had to walk back. Even with George Dart’s assistance, it took him almost twenty minutes to reach the inn, leaving him with a bare half-hour before he would have to set off again for the performance. It was a painful journey. The crutch dug into an already bruised armpit and his broken leg ached every time he swung it forward. Dart offered a tentative solution.
‘Would it not be easier to use that wheelbarrow, Master Gill?’ he asked.
‘Never!’
‘I could move you to and fro much faster in that.’
‘But without a shred of dignity,’ said Gill.
‘Nick Bracewell has disguised it so well. It does not look like a wheelbarrow.’
‘It does to me, George, and I’ll have none of it.’
Dart knew better than to pursue the discussion. When they reached the inn, he was dismissed and went off to seek refreshment with the others. Gill felt out of place in the taproom, especially as everyone was saying kind words to Mussett about his performance during the rehearsal. Exhausted by the walk, Gill made his way to his room, questioning the wisdom of attending a play that would commit him to another arduous journey. The wagon might bring him back after the performance but he would still have to get to the Lower Courthouse on foot. It was a frightening prospect. Common sense urged him to remain at the inn that evening in order to spare himself the agonising walk and the discomfort of watching someone else play the role of Bedlam.
Still unable to reach a decision, he let himself into his room. A shock awaited him. Standing beside his mattress and taking up much of the space was the wheelbarrow that Nicholas Bracewell had mended. Gill was incensed. His first instinct was to call the landlord to have the object removed but something made him pause. When he looked more closely at the wheelbarrow, he saw how artfully Nicholas had fashioned it. The board would offer good support for his back and, as he had seen, provision had been made to hold up the leg that was in splints. A large piece of fustian had been draped over the cushions to add more comfort and to disguise the outline of the wheelbarrow. Only the wooden wheel proclaimed its earlier function. Gill’s objections began to weaken. He was even tempted to try sitting in it.
What held him back was the fear that Mussett might be playing a trick on him. If the wheelbarrow had been tampered with, he might get into it then find that it collapsed. Yet it seemed sturdy enough when he shook it and it looked more inviting with each moment. Gill put the crutch aside. Using a hand to steady himself against the wall, he lowered himself into the wheelbarrow and sank back into the cushions. When he lifted his broken leg onto the piece of wood that had been put there for the purpose, he felt strangely comfortable. Gill smiled for the first time since they had left London.
Lucas Broome had not exaggerated. A large audience squeezed itself into the Lower Courthouse, excited by the notion of watching a celebrated London theatre company at work. Wearing his mayoral robe and regalia, Broome sat in the front row with his wife, surrounded by members of the town council with their respective spouses. Three rows of chairs gave way to several rows of benches with standing room at the rear for those arriving too late to secure a seat. It was early evening with ample natural light for the performance, though candles had been set out in case they were required later. There was a buzz of anticipation as the spectators awaited A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady, a title that was already provoking amusement in some quarters. Convinced that they were about to witness a remarkable event, Broome settled back complacently in his seat.
Behind the scenes, there was far less confidence. Instead, there was a gathering sense of doom. Giddy Mussett had failed to return from the Star Inn. Lawrence Firethorn was close to panic. Eyes blazing, he turned to his book holder.
‘Where the devil is he this time, Nick?’ he demanded.
‘I wish I knew.’
‘You were supposed to watch him at all times.’
‘Yes,’ said Nicholas, ‘but I stayed here while the rest of you went back to the inn. There were some repairs I had to make to the scenery for the last act. I asked Owen to keep watch over Giddy.’
‘And so I did,’ said Elias defensively. ‘Giddy was as anxious as the rest of us to get back here on time. But when we set out, he remembered something that he forgot and ran back to the inn to fetch it.’
‘Did you not think to go with him?’ asked Firethorn.
‘No, Lawrence. He said that he’d catch us up within minutes.’
‘This was some device.’
‘I blame myself for being taken in,’ confessed Elias. ‘When we got here and Giddy failed to appear, I hurried all the way back to the inn to search for him.’ He spread his arms in a gesture of helplessness. ‘The bird had flown.’
‘That may not be the case,’ said Nicholas.
‘What else can explain his absence? Giddy has deserted us.’
‘At a moment to embarrass us the most,’ observed Firethorn. ‘We cannot stage the play without Bedlam or it will turn into Bedlam itself. Listen to those people out there. They want us. What will they think when they hear that the performance will not take place? There’ll be uproar.’
‘Think back, Owen,’ suggested Nicholas, keen to find an explanation for the disappearance of their clown. ‘Could he have been taken ill? Did he eat something that may have upset him? What did Giddy drink at the Star?’
‘There was nothing wrong with his health, Nick.’
‘Then he may have been prey to sudden fear.’
‘That’s my prerogative,’ said Firethorn sourly. ‘I shake with terror. Call off the play and we lose any money the mayor will give us. It will also limit our numbers at the Star tomorrow. Who will want to see a theatre company that lets its audience down?’
‘Yes,’ said Elias, ‘and how could we even dream of offering Cupid’s Folly without the man who takes the leading part? Giddy has ruined our visit to Maidstone.’
‘They’ll probably drive us out of town with stones.’
‘Giddy would not let us down without a good reason,’ insisted Nicholas.
‘It’s in his nature,’ said Firethorn darkly, ‘and that is reason enough.’
‘Could he have lost his way here?’
‘We are the ones who lost our way when we employed the rogue.’
‘Yet he has worked so hard to master his part. Why would he do that?’
‘To lead us astray,’ concluded Elias. ‘Giddy Mussett won our friendship in order to fend off our suspicions. He meant to betray us from the very start. The one consolation is that Barnaby is not here to see our humiliation.’
‘Why not?’ asked Firethorn.
‘When George Dart went to fetch him from his room, he had fallen asleep in the wheelbarrow. George thought it best to leave him there.’
‘What was the wheelbarrow doing in his room?’