Nicholas went back to the inn and peered in through the window. The taproom was packed with customers but Giddy Mussett was not among them. Chiding himself for trusting the man, Nicholas hurried down an alleyway to the rear of the property. The Crown had a small garden with a bay tree at its centre and some of its patrons had spilt out into the fresh air. Mussett was there. Sitting on a wooden bench, holding a tankard in his hand, he was talking to a bedraggled individual of middle years with unkempt hair sprouting out from the edges of his cap. Nicholas came to a halt. If the man was Martin Ling, he was visible proof that a touring company like Conway’s Men paid their book holder far less than could be earned by someone with a London troupe. Nicholas was suddenly grateful to be employed by Westfield’s Men. He had seen lean times with them but had never endured the kind of suffering that was etched on Ling’s face. Chastened, he withdrew quietly to his former vantage point near the gate.
When Mussett finally emerged from the inn, Nicholas beckoned him over.
‘Was your friend there, Giddy?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ sighed the other. ‘Martin is older and sadder than ever.’
‘What did he have to say?’
‘Nothing good of Tobias Fitzgeoffrey. The man is a tyrant.’
‘Then why does the book holder stay with him?’
‘Why do you stay with Westfield’s Men when you have a tyrant called Lawrence Firethorn in charge and a monster of vanity like Barnaby Gill to irritate you?’
‘I love the company.’
‘Martin loves to hate his. And he has nowhere else to go.’
‘Did you find out anything of interest?’
‘I found out that they have been struggling their way around Kent all summer, and with poor results. We earned five pounds in Maidstone. The mayor only gave them eighteen shillings for their pains.’
‘What of the attacks upon us?’
‘Martin knew nothing of those,’ said Mussett. ‘Tobias does not confide in him. There exists a kind of truce between them but I doubt that it will last much longer. There was one nugget that I dug out of my old friend, however.’
‘Oh?’
‘It concerns the day that you last played at the Queen’s Head.’
‘Go on.’
‘Tobias Fitzgeoffrey left his troupe in Kent and went off to London that day.’
‘Why?’
‘He wanted to see the work of a particular rival,’ said Mussett. ‘When he came back, Martin told me, he was all smiles for a week afterwards, as if he was celebrating a private triumph. Do you know what play he saw when he was in the capital?’
‘I think that I can guess.’
‘A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady.’
The decision to stage The Loyal Subject in Faversham made it possible to rehearse many of its scenes. While the role of the clown was important, it was not as critical as in the plays so far performed in Kent. Firethorn had the title role, ably supported by Richard Honeydew as a regal Duchess of Milan. The play’s author, Edmund Hoode, took the part of the judge who condemned Lorenzo, the loyal subject, to an undeserved death. The rehearsal took place in an upstairs room at the Blue Anchor. It was a little cramped for their purposes but it was all that the inn could offer. Rain was now falling outside. A rehearsal in the yard was impossible.
Though not directly involved, Barnaby Gill insisted on being there, sitting in his wheelbarrow, propped up on cushions like an eastern potentate and making summary judgements on performances. During a break, Firethorn tried to persuade him to leave.
‘You’ve no need to be here, Barnaby,’ he said.
‘Where else can I be? Alone in my room, at the mercy of another attacker?’
‘You unsettle us. Your comments are too harsh.’
‘Honesty is all that I offer,’ said Gill.
‘A bruising honesty that causes too much pain. Not to me,’ added Firethorn with a touch of arrogance. ‘My skills fortify me against your gibes but it is not so with the others. They lack my armour. You even upset Edmund.’
‘He needed to be upset.’
‘What purpose did it serve?’
‘It made him strive harder.’
‘I’ll not have you here when Giddy Mussett returns.’
‘But that is when I most want to watch,’ insisted Gill. ‘He takes my role in the play, Lawrence. I wish to see how badly he mangles it.’
‘Your only wish is to distract him, and I’ll not allow it.’
‘I have certain rights.’
‘Not when you sit in your wheelbarrow. I can have you moved at will.’
‘They are back!’ called Elias, looking through the window. ‘Nick and Giddy have just ridden into the yard.’
‘At last!’ sighed Firethorn.
‘They look wet and weary from their travels.’
‘It matters not if they are safe returned.’
‘Let me stay, Lawrence,’ said Gill, almost pleading. ‘I swear I’ll not interfere.’
‘There’ll be no opportunity for you to do so.’
‘I’ll sit in the corner and be as silent as the grave.’
‘Your very presence would speak volumes.’
‘I may be able to help.’
‘You do that best by being absent,’ said Firethorn peremptorily. He snapped his fingers. ‘George!’ he called. ‘Come here.’
‘Yes, Master Firethorn,’ said Dart, trotting over.
‘Wheel Barnaby into the other room and stay with him for company.’
‘My place is here,’ argued Gill. ‘With my fellows.’
‘We can spare you. George, do as I bid.’
Dart moved to the wheelbarrow. ‘Yes, Master Firethorn.’
Taking it by the handles, he wheeled the protesting Gill out of the room and along the corridor. The atmosphere suddenly cleared. With their lone spectator out of the way, everyone began to relax. Gill had been far too censorious. The actors had even more cause for delight when Nicholas Bracewell came in a minute later, his hat, jerkin and face moistened by the light rain. Everyone greeted him warmly but it was Firethorn who took him aside for a private word.
‘Where is Giddy?’ he asked.
‘Stabling the horses. He’ll join us soon.’
‘Was the visit a profitable one?’
‘I think so. Giddy spoke to their book holder, Martin Ling, an old friend with a lasting grudge against Conway’s Men.’
‘Anyone who has seen them perform will have a lasting grudge against them!’
‘Giddy talked at length with him.’
‘What did he learn?’
‘Many things,’ said Nicholas. ‘Lord Conway holds our own patron in disdain. He was shocked when his nephew, Fortunatus Hope, fell out with him and fell in with Lord Westfield. It was an insult that rankled more each day.’
‘That spurred him to take revenge on his nephew?’
‘It may have done.’
‘What evidence is there?’
‘Tobias Fitzgeoffrey was at the Queen’s Head that day.’ Firethorn was astonished. ‘When we were halted by the affray?’
‘Yes. He was in London for that purpose.’
‘What brought him to us? Did he wish to learn from me and see what a great actor can achieve with an audience? Or was he there to steal ideas that he could use behind our backs with Conway’s Men?’
‘I believe that he may have been sent by his patron,’ said Nicholas.
‘To slide a dagger between the ribs of the nephew?’
‘Or to hire an assassin to do the deed. Why else should he be there?’
‘The whoreson rogue!’
‘His company is on tour yet he found the time to ride to London for one particular event. I call that strange,’ observed Nicholas. ‘Giddy’s friend remembers his return. He was in such good humour that he bought them all a drink, so rare an event that they were quite amazed.’
‘Fitzgeoffrey is as mean a man as any in Creation.’
‘So what made him spread his bounty? And where did it come from? They have had bare rations here in Kent. Eighteen shillings was all they raised in Maidstone and even less elsewhere. Yet, suddenly, he has money to spare.’
‘Blood money!’
‘That was my guess.’
‘He was paid for his villainy by that goat-faced patron of his.’