‘Does he still complain?’
‘Complain, chastise, censure and condemn. Nothing pleases him. He made so many unkind comments during the rehearsal that I had him wheeled away. This room is too small to have both Barnaby and Giddy Mussett inside it.’
‘We have neither at the moment,’ said Nicholas, moving back to the window. ‘What is holding Giddy up? He could have unsaddled half a dozen horses by now.’
‘Owen should have grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.’
‘Why this delay?’
Even as he spoke, Nicholas was given an explanation. Elias came stumbling out of the stables with a hand pressed against the back of his head to stem the blood from his scalp wound. He used his other arm to beckon Nicholas.
‘Come quickly!’ he yelled. ‘All is lost!’
Nicholas did not wait to hear any details. Taking Firethorn with him, he rushed down the stairs and out into the yard. Elias was still dazed from the blow. He swayed on his feet as he pointed to the stables.
‘Giddy is inside,’ he said. ‘Stabbed to death.’
‘Murdered?’ cried Firethorn.
‘See for yourselves.’
Nicholas lent him a supportive arm so that he could take them to the spot where Mussett lay. They crouched beside the body and checked for signs of life. It was the second time that Nicholas had seen the handle of a dagger protruding from a victim’s back. Firethorn was aghast.
‘Who could have done this?’ he gasped. ‘We are done for!’
‘Let’s hear what Owen has to say first,’ suggested Nicholas.
Elias shrugged. ‘I’ve little enough to report. I called out for Giddy when I got here but there was no answer. I thought he was playing one of his tricks on me so I came in search of him.’ He indicated to the body. ‘This is what I found in the shadows. Before I could raise the alarm, someone struck me from behind. My head is splitting. He must have had a powerful arm.’
‘We’ll dress the wound for you.’
‘Forget me, Nick. I still live. Giddy is beyond any help.’
‘And so are we!’ wailed Firethorn.
‘Think back, Owen,’ said Nicholas. ‘You saw us arrive at the inn. You stood at the window all the time that Giddy was in here. Did you see anyone else come in or out?’
‘I did,’ replied Elias. ‘One of the ostlers, a young lad, came out and went into the kitchen. A little later,’ he recalled, ‘a man came out of the taproom and walked across to the stables. A bearded man, with something of your build. I paid no heed to him.’
‘Did he go into the stables?’
‘Yes. I thought he was going to fetch his horse.’
‘But you never saw him again?’
‘No,’ said Elias, rubbing his head. ‘He saw me.’
‘You were lucky that you were not stabbed as well,’ said Firethorn.
‘Giddy was the only target,’ decided Nicholas. ‘I suspect that the man who killed him was part of that ambush at the ford. They were after Giddy then but we beat them off. One of them came back to finish the task.’
‘And to finish us at the same time. Our clown is dead. That leaves a hole so large that it can never be filled. Westfield’s Men are victims here as well.’
‘It was Giddy who paid the greater penalty. He only joined us to help us out.’
‘True,’ said Elias, gazing down at the body. ‘And we could not have asked for a livelier companion. Giddy had his faults but they were outweighed by his virtues.’
‘This man you saw,’ said Nicholas. ‘Was he wearing a leather apron and a cap?’
‘No, Nick. Doublet and hose. Why do you ask?’
‘I thought he might have been the one who set Barnaby adrift in the creek.’
‘We are all adrift now,’ moaned Firethorn.
‘I am looking for similarities,’ explained Nicholas. ‘The company has been attacked by means of its clowns. Barnaby was set upon at the Queen’s Head and here in Faversham. Giddy was murdered at the second attempt.’
‘What does this tell us, Nick? Do we search for a man with no sense of humour?’
‘I think not. Yet there is one thing we do know about him.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Elias.
‘He has a ready supply of daggers,’ said Nicholas, pulling the weapon from Mussett’s back. ‘This matches the one I found lodged in the body of Fortunatus Hope. I believe that we are dealing with the same assassin. What worries me is this,’ he went on, turning to the others. ‘How many more daggers does he possess and where are they destined to end up?’
News of the murder caused fear and consternation at the Blue Anchor. Those who worked there were horrified, those staying there were shocked and local people who came into the taproom were so nervous that they kept looking over their shoulders with apprehension. The crime was reported and constables took charge of the dead body. When his scalp wound had been bathed, Owen Elias gave a statement to a magistrate about the circumstances in which he had found Mussett. Nicholas Bracewell, meanwhile, turned his attention to the landlord of the inn. Without realising that he might be looking at an assassin, Elias had seen a man leave the taproom and go into the stables at a time when Mussett was inside. Nicholas hoped that the landlord could give a better description of the man but he added little to what the Welshman said. All that he could remember about the customer was that he sat with a tankard of ale beside a window that looked out on to the yard. There had been other people there at the time but, when Nicholas questioned them, they could only echo the landlord. The bearded man was a stranger to whom they paid scant attention.
The rehearsal had been abandoned and most of the actors chose to subdue their grief in the taproom. Now that he was dead, they came to see just how much they had liked Giddy. His fall from grace in Maidstone was completely forgotten. What remained in the mind was an image of an affable, vigorous, gleeful man who was a natural clown. Even Barnaby Gill, his old enemy, was moved to admiration.
‘Giddy was truly gifted,’ he admitted. ‘I envied his talent far more than I hated the man himself. He was a vagabond clown and I’ll miss him.’
‘Not as much as we do, Barnaby,’ said Firethorn, downing another cup of wine.
‘Yes,’ agreed Edmund Hoode. ‘The Loyal Subject is impossible without him. You were right to call off the rehearsal, Lawrence. There is no point in working on a play that we cannot present. Giddy would have given it his own particular glow.’
‘I, too, can impart a glow, Edmund.’
‘We know, Lawrence,’ said Gill. ‘You can blaze like a beacon. But you are no clown. Giddy Mussett was. We are a rare breed, you see.’
‘You sound like a species of sheep,’ said Firethorn.
‘If I am, then I mourn the black member of our flock.’
Gill lifted a cup of wine in honour of the dead man. The three of them were sitting at a table in the taproom, still stunned by the blow that had befallen them and having little idea what to do best. When Nicholas joined them, they were almost maudlin.
‘You must speak to the mayor, Nick,’ said Firethorn.
‘He’ll have caught wind of the murder by now,’ said Nicholas.
‘But he will not understand its effects. Tell him our play must be abandoned. It’s out of the question to perform The Loyal Subject. The town of Faversham will have to forego the delight of seeing Westfield’s Men on stage.’
‘Why?’
‘Why else, man? We have lost our clown.’
‘Then we have to replace him.’
‘In the space of a day or so?’ asked Firethorn. ‘It would take a miracle.’
‘Common sense will suffice,’ argued Nicholas. ‘The Loyal Subject may be beyond us because Giddy would have danced his way through it, but we’ve other plays to offer an audience.’
‘Not if we lack a clown, Nick.’
‘But we have one. He sits beside you.’
Gill was astounded. ‘Do you look at me?’
‘Yes,’ said Nicholas.
‘I am an invalid. My leg is broken.’