‘And you say that he is much more than an acquaintance?’
‘Yes,’ said Frant. ‘He was Lord Conway’s nephew.’
Rehearsals of Cupid’s Folly took up all of the morning and most of the afternoon. The performance was not due to begin until early evening when people had finished their work for the day and could allow themselves some entertainment. The play was a staple drama in the repertoire of Westfield’s Men and that was one of the arguments in favour of staging it at the Star Inn. So familiar was it to the actors that many scenes needed scant rehearsal. The bulk of the time could therefore be devoted to the sections that involved Giddy Mussett. Aided by Nicholas, he had conned the part well but his grasp on the character was still unsure. Rigormortis was a longer and more complex role than that of Bedlam and, while there were shared values between them, there were also significant differences. It was left to the book holder to explain what those differences were.
One aspect of the play was mastered instantly by Mussett. Shunned by Dorinda, a beautiful shepherdess, Rigormortis urged his suit again and chased her around the stage so wildly that he blundered into a conical beehive. Immediately, he was attacked by a swarm of angry bees. In an effect devised by Nicholas, he knocked over the hive, tossed a handful of black pepper into the air to suggest the swarm, then jumped, twitched and smacked himself as the bees, apparently, stung him all over. The actors had seen Barnaby Gill play the scene so often that it had ceased to divert them but Mussett’s version made them hoot and clap. Once again, Gill did not share their approval. He watched from his room, writhing with a mixture of envy and regret.
They were emotions experienced by Lawrence Firethorn as well. Even from casual observers who wandered into the yard, Rigormortis was getting more response than Lord Hayfever, the role taken by Firethorn. He envied the clown’s capacity to amuse with a gesture or gain a laugh with a facial expression, and he began to regret the selection of a play that cast him in a subordinate role for once. At the same time, he was forced to admire Mussett’s extraordinary skills. For a man who had never seen the play before, he was making exceptional progress. It remained to be seen if he could sustain that progress in front of an audience.
The success of A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady brought spectators flocking to the inn. Lucas Broome and his wife were among them but this was no formal occasion for the civic worthies and their families. The warm, dry evening lured people from all levels of society. Gatherers had been hired to take money at the door. The mayor and his party were allowed in free but everyone else was charged and they paid willingly. Most of those who came were happy to stand in the yard in front of the stage. By paying extra, people could also occupy the benches in the gallery and make their stay even more comfortable by hiring a cushion. Refreshments were on sale, carried around on trays by servingmen. The beaming Jonathan Jowlett, who took his own seat in the gallery, stood to make a handsome profit from the performance.
Westfield’s Men were delighted with the huge audience that they attracted. It was almost as if they were back at the Queen’s Head. That was their natural home. They had performed at The Theatre and The Curtain, the two playhouses in Shoreditch, and they had trodden the boards at The Rose, the new Bankside theatre, but they preferred their inn yard to all other venues. The Star Inn suited them much more than the Lower Courthouse. Given the number of country folk in the audience, Cupid’s Folly, with its pastoral setting and rustic humour, was an ideal choice. Up in the gallery, Sebastian Frant explained the plot to his daughter, Thomasina, but took care to give nothing away that would spoil the recurring surprises that made the piece so popular. Thomasina, who had inherited both her father’s intelligence and his reserve, was an attractive young woman in a pale blue dress, who sat upright with her hands folded in her lap. Like everyone else in the yard, she was gripped by a sense of anticipatory pleasure.
Cupid’s Folly did not let them down. From the moment he entered as Lord Hayfever, the pompous landowner, Firethorn held sway over the spectators. Females of all ages craned their necks to get a closer look at the striking figure in his finery. There was abundant romance as well as humour and Edmund Hoode, in a part he had written for himself, was very touching as a lovesick shepherd. It was a role that mirrored a private life that was littered with rejection and unrequited passion. Owen Elias shone as a rapacious farmer while James Ingram was the dashing hero who elopes with the farmer’s daughter and rescues her from parental tyranny. The rest of the company supported the principals loyally.
Rigormortis was the only disappointment. Mussett collected plenty of laughs and his encounter with the beehive earned him an ovation but he was tentative with his lines and uncertain about his movements. It was only when he was on stage alone, dancing, singing or jesting with the audience that he really blossomed. The play concluded with a spirited dance around the maypole that had been set up in the middle of the stage. All the characters joined in and the collisions between Lord Hayfever and Rigormortis were a source of continual hilarity as their respective ribbons became hopelessly intertwined. When Firethorn brought the play to an end with a rhyming couplet, applause reverberated around the yard. This time, he knew, his position as the star had not been threatened by the clown. Mussett had been merely good where he might have been superb. Conscious that he would once more be the cynosure, Firethorn was lavish in his praise.
‘You excelled yourself, Giddy,’ he said, as they left the stage.
‘I made too many mistakes.’
‘Nobody noticed a single one of them.’
‘I did,’ said Mussett, ‘and I’m sure that Barnaby did as well.’
‘Let’s go back out and drink the sweet nectar of applause.’
As Firethorn swept out on stage the whole cast followed to bask in the acclaim. Mussett smiled as broadly and bowed as low as any of them but he was not content.
‘I need something stronger to drink than this,’ he murmured.
Nicholas Bracewell had controlled the performance from behind the scenes but his work was not over when the play had run its course. While the actors changed out of their apparel in the room that was used as their tiring-house, Nicholas had to gather up the properties, put the costumes back in their baskets and, with the help of George Dart, clear the stage. Once that was done, and when the crowd had dispersed, they could begin the process of dismantling it. Nicholas was heaving one of the boards off its trestle when a shadow fell across him. He turned to see the bulky frame of Pieter Hendrik standing there. The weaver was still chuckling at what he had seen.
‘Fery gut, Niklaus,’ he said. ‘Fery funny.’
‘Thank you for coming.’
‘The pleasure, it is mine. I like it more than the others.’
‘Is that because we did not steal your cloth like Conway’s Men?’
‘No, no. Wistfield’s Men is gooder than them. I like fery much.’
‘I’ll pass on your comments to Master Firethorn.’
‘Ah, yis,’ said Hendrik, his memory jogged. ‘Something else you pass on, please.’ He took a letter from his pocket and handed it to Nicholas. ‘This you give to Anne, will you?’
‘When we get back to London,’ said Nicholas. ‘And if we do catch up with Conway’s Men, I’ll be sure to mention your name.’
‘Yis, yis. They owe much money. Thank you.’
After shaking Nicholas’s hand, Hendrik ambled off with happier memories of a theatre troupe. Cupid’s Folly would make him smile all the way back to Mill Street. As one contented playgoer left, two more came over to the book holder. Sebastian Frant introduced his daughter then gave his own verdict.