‘Let’s divide our forces,’ he said calmly. ‘The scenes we have to work on most are those that involve Lackwit and Bedlam. In short, only half of you will be called upon this afternoon. While we stay here,’ he went on, indicating Quilter, ‘Frank will lead a search of the town. I’ll teach him the best way to do that. This covers both our needs. Dover will have a play to watch tomorrow and Lawrence will not be abandoned.’
‘We’ll find him,’ said Quilter confidently.
‘I hope so, Frank,’ added Hoode. ‘But if you fail, the rest of us will lend our eyes to the search when we’ve finished here at the Guildhall. I say that Nick has hit on the answer to our woes. Is everyone agreed?’
‘Yes,’ said Elias. ‘Nobody will scare me from the stage.’
‘Are we all of the same mind?’ asked Nicholas.
‘No,’ said Gill, waving a dissentient palm.
‘Why not?’
‘Because I do not think the play is possible without Lawrence.’
‘It is, if Owen takes his part.’
‘But who will take Owen’s part?’ said Gill, nodding towards the Welshman. ‘He was to have been my legs, wheeling Bedlam around the stage. Everyone else has a role of his own to play. Nobody is left, Nick. How can we even contemplate a performance when I have no strong hands to push me to and fro?’
‘I had already thought of that,’ said Nicholas.
‘There’s no remedy.’
‘Yes, there is.’
‘Who will be in charge of my wheelbarrow on stage?’
Nicholas put a hand to his chest. ‘I will,’ he said.
The rehearsal went badly. Unnerved by the loss of their manager and confused by a change to the play’s main character, they stumbled from one scene to another. Elias felt his way uncertainly into his new role, Gill was at his most petulant and George Dart, deputising for Nicholas whenever the latter was on stage, had great difficulty following the play from the copy that he held in his trembling hands. Too quiet and too late, his prompts were often directed at the wrong actor. It took Nicholas almost three hours to establish a semblance of control over A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady. His own role as Bedlam’s companion was the only one played with a measure of confidence. He wheeled the clown around the stage at breakneck speed, drawing loud protests from a dizzy Gill yet managing to produce from everyone else the few laughs of the afternoon.
When the long catalogue of mistakes finally came to an end, Elias was agitated.
‘That was truly a nightmare!’
‘Our minds were on other things,’ said Nicholas.
‘We cannot present a play in that state.’
‘Nor will we, Owen. You have a whole evening to master the part and there’ll be long hours at our disposal in the morning. At the next rehearsal, you’ll see a new play.’
‘It wants a new cast as well,’ said Elias bitterly, ‘for none of us was worthy of it. Least of all,’ he added, raising his voice so that Dart could hear him, ‘an ass of a book holder who held the book upside down and who could not tell the difference between a prompt and a whisper.’
‘I crave your pardon,’ whispered Dart.
‘George gave of his best,’ said Nicholas defensively.
‘But I achieved the worst results.’
‘You should have let him push the wheelbarrow instead,’ decided Elias.
‘No, no!’ exclaimed Gill. ‘Spare me that. It calls for someone with a strong pair of hands. Nicholas at least kept me on the stage. George is so weak and nervous that he’d have tipped me out of the wheelbarrow.’
Dart was distraught. ‘I cannot stop thinking of Master Firethorn,’ he said.
‘It is so with the rest of us, George,’ said Nicholas softly.
When they had stored everything away, they were ready to leave the Guildhall. Nicholas sent the four apprentices back to the Lion in the company of Edmund Hoode. Wheeled along by Dart, the peevish Gill went with them. The clown was as disturbed as any of them by the disappearance of Firethorn and his fears expressed themselves in the form of a heightened irritability. Dart suffered a verbal whipping every inch of the way back. Nicholas and the others, meanwhile, met up with some of those who had spent the afternoon hunting for the missing man. He could see from the gloomy expressions of James Ingram and Frank Quilter that their search had so far yielded nothing.
‘Where have you been?’ asked Nicholas.
‘Where you told us to go, Nick,’ replied Ingram. ‘We’ve looked under every stone between the Guildhall and the Lion.’
‘Yes,’ said Quilter. ‘We’ve tried all the taverns and ordinaries but nobody remembers seeing Lawrence, and he’s hardly a man you would easily forget. The only place we haven’t tried so far is the harbour.’
‘Owen and I will scour that now,’ resolved Nicholas. ‘You and James can start at the other end of King Street.’
Quilter nodded then set off with Ingram. The others turned in the direction of the harbour. It was early evening and the place was still seething with people. Elias noted the tavern at the edge of the harbour.
‘Let me try my luck in there,’ he said, moving off. ‘I’ll catch up with you later.’
‘Do not get distracted,’ warned Nicholas.
‘At a time like this, even I can stay sober.’
While his friend strode towards the tavern, Nicholas weaved his way along the crowded wharf. His eyes were everywhere, searching each new face, appraising each building and pausing beside anything that might be construed as a hiding place. He was halfway along the harbour when he noticed the ship he had earlier seen at anchor in the bay. Moored behind a larger vessel, the Mermaid now stood at the quayside. It looked even more neglected at close quarters, its hull in need of attention and its decks in need of a good swabbing. Nicholas felt sorry that his old shipmate could find no better means of employment. John Strood had been evasive when questioned about the Mermaid because he was ashamed of it. After serving under one of the greatest seaman of the day, and sailing around the world with him, Strood was now condemned to routine voyages in a vessel that was as pitiful as the man himself.
Nicholas decided to take a closer look at the ship, walking along the quay from stem to stern then gazing up at the rigging. The Mermaid creaked noisily as it rode on the dark green water. Since there was nobody on deck, he went up the gangplank to explore. Even at its best, the ship had never been anything more than serviceable. It was now approaching the end of its days and Nicholas wondered how much longer it would remain seaworthy. He went across to the open hatch and looked down.
‘Is anyone aboard?’ he called, cupping his hands.
There was no reply. Some of the cargo had already been loaded and covered with a sheet of canvas. Nicholas knelt down to study it. Peeping out from one corner of the canvas was a piece of beautifully carved oak. He wondered what it could be. Before he could even begin to speculate, he heard a harsh voice ring out behind him.
‘You’re trespassing, sir!’ shouted John Strood.
Nicholas rose to his feet and turned. ‘It’s me, John.’
Strood’s manner changed at once. ‘Nick?’ he said in surprise. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Inspecting the Mermaid, that’s all.’
‘It will hardly bear inspection.’
‘Curiosity brought me aboard.’
‘There’s little enough to see.’
‘You’re carrying cargo on this voyage.’
‘Yes,’ said Strood. ‘We’re sailing for Boulogne in due course.’
‘Was that furniture I saw in the hold?’
‘No, Nick. Merely some timber that we take to France.’
‘Then it’s timber that’s profited from the attentions of a wood-carver.’