It was Thomasina Frant.
From her attire and manner, Nicholas guessed that her companion must be a maidservant. He waited until Thomasina caught sight of him. Her face brightened with recognition and she tripped across to him. The maidservant stayed apart from them.
‘Good day to you,’ she said pleasantly.
‘I did not expect to find you here at the harbour,’ he observed.
‘Ordinarily, you would not have done so. I came to bid farewell to a friend who sails for Calais today. Margaret came with me,’ she said, indicating her companion. ‘It’s not wise for a woman to be alone in this part of the town.’
‘I wonder that your father did not escort you.’
‘Father has business elsewhere in Dover.’
‘I thought that Sebastian was retired.’
‘He is,’ she replied, ‘but old acquaintances petition his help and he’s too soft-hearted to refuse. That was ever his fault.’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘But I hear that Westfield’s Men are in Dover and have already given one performance.’
‘Your father was in the audience.’
‘So he tells me. Should you play again, I intend to sit beside him.’
‘Then you must repair to the Guildhall tomorrow afternoon,’ counselled Nicholas, ‘for we are to stage a comedy called A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady. It was the play that you missed in Maidstone.’
‘In that case, I’ll make every effort to be there.’
‘I think that it will be more to your taste than The Foolish Friar.’
‘But I liked that play, Master Bracewell.’
‘I sensed that it displeased you in some way.’
‘Then you were deceived,’ she assured him. ‘Father will tell you how much I laughed at Master Gill in his wheelbarrow. Will he be your clown again tomorrow?’
‘Yes, he’ll be there.’
Her face clouded. ‘I was sad to learn what happened to your other comedian.’
‘We were all shocked by his death.’
‘It must have come as a fearful blow.’
‘It did,’ conceded Nicholas. ‘We are still reeling from it.’
‘Yet you are able to continue with your tour. That shows great courage.’
‘Master Gill has shown most, for he is in constant pain from his broken leg. It takes both courage and skill to play any role in his condition, let alone one that is so important. We are indebted to him.’
‘He is fortunate to have such fine actors around him.’
‘None better.’
‘Especially the renowned Lawrence Firethorn.’
‘A gift to any theatre company.’
‘He’s without compare,’ said Thomasina with polite enthusiasm. ‘My father warned me that Master Firethorn was a very Titan of the stage. Every role he takes, he makes his own. I trust that he’ll be there tomorrow.’
‘Yes,’ replied Nicholas, concealing his disquiet behind a bland smile. ‘Lawrence Firethorn will certainly be there.’
He could neither see, nor speak, nor move. All that he could feel was the searing pain at the back of his head and the dull ache in his limbs. As he regained his senses, Firethorn was slow to realise what had happened to him. Gagged and blindfolded, he was tied to a stout chair that scraped along the floor when he struggled to get free. He had been duped and that fact only served to increase his discomfort. Firethorn was annoyed that he had let down both himself and his company. Anger built steadily inside him. When it reached its peak, he made a supreme effort to break free of his bonds, twisting violently and straining at the thick ropes.
Someone grabbed his beard and held the point of a dagger at his throat.
‘Sit still!’ ordered the man. ‘Or I’ll send you where I sent Giddy Mussett!’
It was impossible to keep the news from them indefinitely. Westfield’s Men had to be told the truth. Nicholas Bracewell waited until the whole company assembled in the Guildhall. Then, after consulting Hoode and Gill, he made his announcement.
‘Grim news, friends,’ he said, looking around their faces. ‘Master Firethorn is missing.’ There was a general murmur of disbelief. ‘He’s not been seen since he left here after the morning rehearsal. Somewhere between the Guildhall and the Lion, he vanished. I’ve searched high and low for him but he’s nowhere to be found.’
‘God help him!’ cried James Ingram, speaking for all of them. ‘Has Lawrence been stabbed in the back as well?’
‘I can only tell you what I know, James. He’s not here.’
‘Where else could he be?’
‘I wish that I knew.’
‘Only death would keep him away from a rehearsal.’
‘Or an attack of pox,’ said Gill, still unwilling to believe the worst. ‘I think that Lawrence wandered off into the stews and lost track of time.’
‘He would never do that, Barnaby,’ said Hoode mournfully. ‘The ugly truth has to be faced. He’s disappeared. The likelihood is that he was ambushed.’
‘Never!’ shouted Owen Elias. ‘An army would not dare to ambush him in the middle of a town. He’d fight them all off, and create such a din in doing so that there would be scores of witnesses to tell us what occurred.’
‘There are none,’ said Nicholas. ‘I’ve spoken to dozens of people.’
‘Are they all blind? They must have seen something.’
‘If only they had, Owen!’
The Welshman squared his shoulders. ‘I think we should go out in search of him,’ he said firmly. ‘Let’s turn Dover upside down until we find him.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Ingram.
‘Why stand here and do nothing?’ asked Frank Quilter, another of the actors. ‘We should be out there now, looking for Lawrence.’
‘Wait,’ said Nicholas, holding up both hands. ‘Do not be so rash. We do not even know if Lawrence is still in Dover or if — God willing — he’s still alive. The question we must ask ourselves is what he would want us to do.’
‘Rescue him!’ asserted Elias.
‘Yes,’ said Quilter. ‘And punish those who dared to touch him.’
Ingram was keen to leave. ‘Let’s track him down,’ he urged.
‘Nicholas has already tried to do that,’ argued Hoode, ‘and we all know how thoroughly he would have gone about the business. Bear this in mind. We came to Dover to display our work. Are we going to let someone prevent us from doing that?’
‘How can we perform any play without Lawrence?’ asked Gill.
‘How can we perform one without Barnaby Gill?’ countered Nicholas. ‘It is simple. We hire Giddy Mussett as a substitute. And when Giddy is removed from our ranks? How do we manage then? By changing our plays to make room for a clown with a broken leg. There’s always a way out.’
‘Not this time, Nick,’ sighed Ingram.
‘It’s hopeless,’ decided Elias. ‘Who could possibly replace Lawrence?’
Nicholas smiled. ‘You could, Owen.’
‘Me?’
‘Your brain is agile enough to learn the part in time.’
‘I’m no match for Lawrence.’
‘You like to think that you are,’ said Nicholas, ‘and this is your chance to prove it. For whatever reason, someone is determined to drive us from the stage. They thought to do it by killing Giddy Mussett but they failed. Their next target, as it seems, is our leading actor. Are we going to let them achieve their end?’
‘No,’ said Quilter. ‘We’ll get Lawrence back from them.’
‘All in good time, Frank. First, we must make a decision. Do we abandon the performance here tomorrow? Or do we honour our commitment and show that Westfield’s Men will not be frightened out of their occupation?’
There were no immediate answers. Everyone needed a few moments to reflect on the dilemma facing them. Their first impulse was to institute a search but Nicholas’s words made them pause. There was no certainty that Firethorn was still alive. If someone had been clever enough to lead the actor astray, they would know how to conceal his whereabouts. Combing the town of Dover might relieve their sense of frustration but it would make it virtually impossible to present A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady on the following afternoon. Forced to make changes to their play, they needed some serious rehearsal. Nicholas suggested a compromise.