Lawrence Firethorn played the local magistrate, taken in at first by the friar’s plausible tales and allowing him and the other friar to live under his own roof. It was only when the magistrate’s daughter — Richard Honeydew at his most enchanting — aroused the lust of the lecherous friar that their guest was revealed in his true light. Using his supposedly broken leg as a means of gaining sympathy, the friar had no disability once he had enticed his prey into a bedchamber. To expose the man, and to get his revenge, the magistrate encouraged his daughter to agree to an assignation and then, at midnight, went to the friar in her place. Firethorn had made his name playing tragic heroes but he proved that he could disguise himself as a woman just as effectively as any of the apprentices. Donning a cloak and covering his beard with a veil, he worked the friar up into such a passion that the man confessed his base desires. It was left to the magistrate to beat him, arrest him and push him swiftly around in circles in the wheelbarrow before tipping him into the river.
The splash that the audience heard was nothing more than a bucket being dropped offstage into a barrel of water by Nicholas Bracewell but it was so well timed that it sounded very convincing. Instead of being tipped out, the friar was, in fact, lifted from his wheelbarrow by Elias and Hoode, who were stationed behind the scenery for the purpose. It was only one of many effects that the book holder had devised and, like all the others, it worked remarkably well. The audience went into ecstasies. A comedy with darker undertones, The Foolish Friar was hailed as something that was infinitely superior to the play given earlier by Conway’s Men. Even the mayor was impressed. He still had reservations about the whole notion of drama but they did not prevent him from joining in the laughter with everyone else.
Nicholas was relieved that the performance had gone so well and congratulated Gill on his ability to improvise so brilliantly. Firethorn actually embraced the invalid and everyone in the company agreed that the foolish friar had been hilarious. Gill was happy at last. He was the undisputed clown once more. It appealed to his vanity that the person the mayor first wanted to meet was the friar. Firethorn, for once, did not bristle with jealousy. The reputation of Westfield’s Men had been upheld and that is what mattered most to him. They had also earned some money in the process. He was very conscious of the main reason for their success. He took his book holder aside.
‘We owe it all to you, Nick,’ he said.
‘It was a victory for the whole company.’
‘Only because you suggested a play that could entice Barnaby back on stage.’
‘I’ve never seen him better,’ said Nicholas.
‘Nor I. Perhaps we should keep him in that wheelbarrow in perpetuity. That device gained more laughs than I did,’ he complained good-humouredly. ‘You’ll have to make one for me as well, Nick.’
‘Barnaby would prefer to have two good legs rather than a single wheel.’
‘He’s back with us and for that blessing I must thank you.’
‘Edmund did his share, so did Sebastian Frant.’
‘Yes,’ said Firethorn. ‘It was good to have our old scrivener back again. I must go and speak to him — and to that beautiful daughter of his.’ He gave a ripe chuckle. ‘I’m sure that Thomasina would prefer a handsome magistrate like me to a foolish friar with his leg in splints.’
He left the room that they had been using as their tiring-house and went out into the hall to receive plaudits from all sides. Most of the audience had dispersed but a number of spectators still lingered. When he followed the actor-manager, Nicholas was touched to see that Pieter Hendrik was waiting to see him.
‘I did not expect to see you here in Faversham,’ said Nicholas in surprise. ‘Did you enjoy the play?’
‘Fery much,’ replied Hendrik, grinning broadly. ‘The friar, he make me laugh. But ver is the other man, the one I see in Medstone?’
‘Giddy Mussett was unable to appear today, I fear.’
‘Fery sorry to hear that.’
‘What brings you to Faversham?’
‘Vork, my friend. I hev customers here so I deliver what they buy. Then I hear that these actors will put on a play, so I stay to vatch.’
‘I’m glad that you did,’ said Nicholas.
Hendrik’s grin vanished. ‘Ver is Conway’s Men?’
‘Still in Canterbury, I hope. We travel there tomorrow morning.’
‘You speak to Master Fizzgoffrey?’
‘Oh, yes,’ promised Nicholas. ‘Tobias Fitzgeoffrey and I have more than one thing to discuss. Your bill is among them. I’ll remind him of the money that he owes.’
‘Fery good, I thenk you. Give my luff to Anne.’
‘I’ll give her your letter as well.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Hendrik, waving a farewell. ‘That, I forget.’
Nicholas watched him go then switched his gaze to Firethorn, who was being introduced to David Frant and his wife. While lapping up their praise, the actor’s chief interest was in Thomasina and he took her hand to kiss it. Nicholas could see that she was not sure how to react. He went to her aid.
‘A whole bevy of Frants,’ he observed. ‘We are honoured.’
Frant smiled. ‘We came in force to support you, Nick.’
‘You did more than that, Sebastian. You provided me with the only pieces of the play that I could read clearly.’ He turned to Thomasina. ‘Your father claims that his hand no longer has its former neatness but that’s not true.’
‘I know,’ she said fondly. ‘Father has lost none of his accomplishments.’
‘What are your accomplishments?’ asked Firethorn, smiling at her ‘Apart from a lovely face and a graceful carriage, that is. What hidden talents do you have?’
‘None, Master Firethorn.’
‘Come, come. I’ll not believe that.’
‘Thomasina is too modest,’ said Frant with paternal pride. ‘She has many accomplishments. She sings well and plays upon the virginals. But her greatest talent lies in the way that she looks after her father.’
‘I’d love to hear you play something,’ said Firethorn, catching her eye. ‘I, too, have a keen interest in the virginals.’
The remark embarrassed Thomasina and made her father wince slightly. David Frant and his wife did not seem to notice Firethorn’s double meaning. They looked at him in awe, still dazzled by the wonder of his performance.
‘Did you enjoy the play?’ Nicholas asked them.
‘Oh, we did,’ said David Frant. ‘We’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘What about you, Sebastian?’
‘You know my opinion of Westfield’s Men,’ said Frant affably. ‘They are the King Midas among theatre companies. Whatever they touch, they turn to gold.’
Firethorn gave a token bow. ‘Thank you, Sebastian.’
‘Do you agree with your father?’ asked Nicholas, turning to Thomasina.
‘Yes,’ she replied.
‘You have seen us twice now. Which of the plays did you prefer?’
‘Cupid’s Folly, I think.’
‘Why?’
‘I liked its merriment.’
‘But there was merriment in The Foolish Friar,’ argued Nicholas, ‘and a sharper edge to its plot. Did you not approve of the play?’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Thomasina brightly.
‘I sense a reservation.’
‘There is none. It was truly wonderful.’
Though she spoke with enthusiasm, Nicholas somehow did not believe her.
The funeral of Giddy Mussett was held on the following morning. After the heady success of the previous afternoon, the actors were brought back down to earth again, reminded that their substitute clown had been killed by an assassin and that they themselves might now be under threat. As they gathered at the little church, they were racked by anguish and troubled by superstition. Every member of the company attended, including Barnaby Gill, who made some gracious comments about his former rival. It seemed a fitting end for a vagabond like Mussett that his bones should be laid to rest during a tour of a county far removed from the place in which he had been born. When the earth was tossed upon the coffin, the actors bade farewell to a remarkable man who would leave a trail of vivid memories behind him.