‘He’s nimble enough to have climbed through the window,’ said Firethorn. ‘We all saw that fall he pretended to have at the White Hart.’
Nicholas was not persuaded. ‘I locked the shutters myself. They creaked with age. Giddy could not have opened them without rousing the whole room.’
‘Well, someone did the deed. Barnaby had scratches on his face.’
‘What hurts him more are the scratches on his reputation.’
‘Did he watch us this evening?’ asked Hoode.
‘Yes,’ said Nicholas, ‘but it was more punishment than pleasure for him. The sight of Giddy as Rigormortis must have curdled his blood but he had some compensation. Good as he was, Giddy came nowhere near Barnaby in the role.’
‘That’s why I think we should let the people of Faversham see the play,’ said Firethorn, pleased at the way he had dominated the performance. ‘It will soothe Barnaby’s feelings. However many times he dances around the maypole, Giddy will never threaten him as Rigormortis.’
‘He will as Bedlam,’ argued Hoode. ‘Giddy even put you in the shade at the Lower Courthouse. I say that we play A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady again.’
Firethorn looked at Nick. ‘You be the judge.’
‘Neither would be my choice,’ said Nicholas.
‘Why not?’
‘Because both place such a mighty weight on Giddy.’
‘He has carried it lightly in both cases.’
‘The effort is bound to tell on him. I’d choose a play that did not rest so much upon our clown. Vincentio’s Revenge is one such piece. The Loyal Subject might be even better for our purposes.’
‘But Giddy has already conned two parts,’ said Hoode, running a hand across his smooth chin. ‘Why force him to learn a third?’
‘We cannot offer a mere two plays, Edmund.’
‘Even when they work so well?’
‘We have a reputation to protect. Do you want the people of Kent to think of us as capable of nothing more than low comedies? Think of yourself. Do you wish to be remembered solely as the author of Cupid’s Folly when we have finer dramas of yours to set before an audience?’
‘Nick is right,’ said Firethorn, adding more wine to his cup from the jug. ‘We must be bold enough to show the very best of ourselves. Vincentio’s Revenge enables us to do that. Giddy will have only a small part beside mine.’
‘But he is a jewel we should polish up,’ said Hoode.
‘He’ll have his chance to sparkle.’
‘Yes,’ said Nicholas, ‘we have a long way to go yet, Edmund.’ He sipped his wine. ‘I wonder when we shall overtake Conway’s Men.’
Firethorn inflated his chest. ‘In all that matters, we overtook them years ago.’
‘Sebastian said they had played in Dover and Rye.’
‘And here in Maidstone,’ said Hoode.
‘Where does that leave? Rochester, perhaps? Faversham? Canterbury?’
‘There’s not room for two companies in one town.’
‘Then we’ll drive them out like dogs,’ said Firethorn.
‘Not until we have put some questions to them,’ said Nicholas. ‘I still feel they were implicated in the affray at the Queen’s Head. Even if they were not there in person, they could have incited those young rascals. Then there is the murder to consider. Their patron’s nephew betrays them by going over to Westfield’s Men. I do not think Lord Conway would have sent best wishes to Fortunatus Hope.’
‘Conway’s Men are scoundrels!’
‘But they’d stay their hand at murder, surely?’ said Hoode.
‘I’d believe anything of Tobias Fitzgeoffrey.’
‘We need more proof,’ said Nicholas solemnly, ‘or our accusations are empty. Sebastian knows the county better than we. Let’s ask him to find out where the company will next be. Then we can stalk them.’
Firethorn gave a ripe chuckle. ‘I’d rather stalk Sebastian’s daughter.’
‘She’s old enough to be your own child, Lawrence,’ said Hoode.
The comment went unheard. Into the taproom had come three men, bearing the body of a third. They did not stand on ceremony. After flinging their burden down on the floor, they stamped out again. Nicholas was the first on his feet, horrified at what he saw. Lying flat on the floor, covered in blood, caked in filth and positively reeking of ale was Giddy Mussett. He raised himself up on one elbow.
‘Who wants a fight?’ he challenged.
Then he passed out.
Chapter Nine
When they set out early next morning, Westfield’s Men were downcast. Maidstone had been kind to them. It had enabled them to stage two highly successful performances that had brought in the money that would help to pay for their tour. The Star Inn had been an amenable hostelry and they had warmed to the town itself. Yet they left the inn yard in a state of despondency. One reckless act threatened the future of their work. In the space of a couple of hours, Giddy Mussett had changed from being the saviour of the company into its potential destroyer. Having seen him at his best on stage, they now had a glimpse of Mussett at his worst. A drunken evening in the arms of a prostitute ended with a tavern brawl that he had almost certainly started. When he was dragged unceremoniously back to the Star and dumped in their midst, the actors were reminded how slender was the thread from which their continued success hung. On the slow journey to Faversham, their new clown provided no laughter.
Nicholas Bracewell was afflicted by pangs of guilt. He was the one who had advised that Mussett be employed and he had promised to keep the latter under control so that he would not indulge his well-known vices. Nicholas had failed in his duty. Mussett had sneaked off when the book holder’s back was turned. He had been so badly beaten at the Black Eagle that he could not even make his own way back to his friends. It had fallen to Nicholas to clean the blood from his face and bind his wounds. A strip of linen around his head, Mussett now dozed in the back of the leading wagon, surrounded by George Dart and the four apprentices, who stared with horror at the bruised face and the hideously swollen lip. The clown was not the man he had once been. They felt that they had lost a friend in exchange for a troublesome stranger.
As if to match the mood of the travellers, steady drizzle was falling, moistening the backs of the horses and making the occupants of the wagons huddle together. Mussett was oblivious to it all, still trying to sleep off the effects of the beating. Every time that Nicholas glanced over his shoulder, he saw that the man lay in the same position with a weary smile on his battered face. What had happened at the Black Eagle on the previous night was not yet clear. While he was being doctored, Mussett was too inebriated to give a coherent account of events and Nicholas was determined to drag the truth out of him in due course. He had also come to an agreement with Owen Elias and Edmund Hoode that each of them in turn would keep their clown under observation. They could not risk another escapade like the one in Maidstone.
There was one source of consolation for Nicholas. After refusing even to consider the notion of using the wheelbarrow, Barnaby Gill had become reconciled to it. Except as an alternative bed, Gill had not actually used it but he consented to have it loaded on to the wagon with the rest of the baggage. Nicholas had every hope that he would soon agree to be moved about in the wheelbarrow, making it much easier for Dart to transport him from place to place, and, more importantly, keep him apart from his rival. Gill was the one person to derive pleasure from Mussett’s fall from grace and he predicted that it would only be the first of many such lapses. Most of the actors were inclined to agree with him. It was largely up to Nicholas to confound the prophecy.
When Mussett finally opened his eyes, he looked up to see a lattice-work of branches above him as they passed through a small wood. The drizzle had stopped but not before it had bathed and soothed the wounds on his face. He saw the anxious eyes of the apprentices, staring down on him, and tried to give them a reassuring smile but his bruised jaw ached and his swollen lip throbbed violently. It was minutes before he worked out where he was and what had occurred during the preceding night. His conscience pricked him mercilessly. As soon as could summon up enough strength, he hauled himself up and clambered onto the seat beside Nicholas. They were back in open countryside now, wending their way along a twisting track that climbed a hill.