Nicholas and Elias were in luck. When they called at the larger of the two inns, they discovered that several members of Conway’s Men were there, drinking in the taproom and complaining about their lot. They were a disconsolate crew with none of the vigour or good fellowship of their competitors from the Queen’s Head. Nicholas was relieved to see that the company was not performing that evening. If the majority of them had come into Walmer, then Fitzgeoffrey would only have a handful of his actors around him. Nicholas and Elias would not be hopelessly outnumbered. Following the directions given by Sebastian Frant, they rode towards the estate owned by Sir Roger Penhallurick.
‘What if he refuses to see us, Nick?’ asked Elias.
‘Let’s run him to earth first.’
‘I could always sneak into the house and drag him out by the throat.’
‘There must be a simpler way than that,’ said Nicholas.
The estate consisted of three hundred acres of rolling parkland, dotted with trees and fed by a gurgling stream. Herds of fallow deer could be seen grazing but they quickly fled when the two riders approached. Game birds were also plentiful. The most arresting feature of the house was its façade, large, elegant and symmetrical with a stone balustrade along the roof and around the square towers at either end of the frontage. Elias was impressed by the sheer size and opulence of the place. Lord Conway clearly had a very wealthy friend.
Nicholas was more interested in some outbuildings off to the right, noting the two empty wagons that stood outside them. The chances were that they belonged to the visiting theatre troupe. When he drew Elias’s attention to them, the Welshman reached the same conclusion. Skirting the house, they made straight for the outbuildings. Loud banging noises greeted them. When they got closer, they saw a thickset young man, using a hammer to repair a wooden throne.
‘Good even, friend,’ said Nicholas.
The man stopped hammering. ‘Good even,’ he said pleasantly.
‘You must be one of Conway’s Men.’
‘The lowliest of them, sir. I’m actor, stagekeeper, carpenter and anything else that is needed. As you see, my work is never done.’
‘We are looking for Master Fitzgeoffrey.’
‘Then you’d best try the house,’ said the man, ‘for that’s where Tobias dwells. Most of us make do out here with nothing but straw to lie on at night. Only our manager has a soft bed on which to rest his bones.’ He looked up at them. ‘What business do you have with him?’
‘We’re from London,’ said Nicholas, dismounting from his horse. ‘We wish to speak to Master Fitzgeoffrey about a performance in the capital.’
‘Indeed?’ The man grinned hopefully. ‘Conway’s Men may play in London?’
‘That’s something we need to discuss with him.’
‘Tobias will be interested, sir, no question of that.’
‘Do you think that you could fetch him for us?’ asked Nicholas with a disarming smile. ‘If we go to the house, we’ll have to meet Sir Roger and his other guests. The only person we need to speak to is Master Fitzgeoffrey.’
‘I’ll bring him to you, sir. May I give him your name?’
‘Thomas Christopher.’
The man scampered off towards the house. Elias stared at his friend.
‘Christopher? Why did you pluck that name out of the air?’ he wondered.
‘Because my own might be recognised, Owen. Think on it. St Christopher is the patron saint of travellers and who are we, if not travellers?’
Elias dismounted. ‘We are certainly in need of a patron saint!’
‘Tether the horses,’ said Nicholas, handing him the reins of his own mount. ‘I’ll be with you in a moment.’
He took a swift inventory of the outbuildings. Costumes, properties and scenery had been stored in one of them but the others were given over to accommodation. Through an open window, he could see three other members of the company, squatting on the floor as they played cards on an upturned wooden box. They were so engrossed in their game that they did not even look up. No sooner did Nicholas go back to his friend than two figures emerged from the house. Tobias Fitzgeoffrey studied the visitors before beckoning them across with a lordly gesture. The young man who had carried the message trotted back to his carpentry.
When they got nearer to him, Fitzgeoffrey’s suspicion was aroused.
‘I’ve seen you before,’ he said, pointing a finger at Elias. ‘You are one of Westfield’s Men, are you not?’
‘And proud to be so,’ replied Elias.
‘I saw you play at the Queen’s Head.’
‘That’s the performance we came to discuss with you, Master Fitzgeoffrey,’ said Nicholas. ‘I’m the book holder with the company.’
Fitzgeoffrey was contemptuous. ‘I’ve nothing to say to you.’
‘I think you have.’
‘You brought me out here under false pretences.’
‘And we mean to keep you here,’ said Elias, brandishing his dagger, ‘until we get the truth out of you. Be warned, my friend. Call for help and you’re a dead man.’
‘What do you want of me,’ said Fitzgeoffrey, eyeing the weapon nervously.
‘First,’ said Nicholas, ‘there is the small matter of six shillings and fourpence, owed to Pieter Hendrik, weaver in Maidstone. You had cloth from him that was never paid for. Do you recall the transaction?’
‘I had no ready money at the time,’ lied the other, ‘and meant to settle the debt as soon as we visited the town again. Did he appoint you as his bailiffs?’
‘It’s an office I willingly embraced. But we’ll return to that when we’ve attended to more serious concerns. Why did you visit the Queen’s Head recently?’
‘For the same reason as everyone else in the audience.’
‘No,’ said Nicholas, ‘they came to enjoy a play. You were there to witness our humiliation. The performance was halted by an affray.’
‘Not before time, in my opinion,’ rejoined Fitzgeoffrey with a show of bravado. ‘It was a weak comedy that was weakly acted by your fellows.’
‘Watch your words,’ growled Elias. ‘I was on that stage.’
‘Yes, you ranted and raved like a madman.’
‘Insults are not required,’ said Nicholas, jumping in quickly before Elias lost his temper. ‘Our reputation is adamantine proof against your slurs. We would not expect a rival to admire his superiors.’
Fitzgeoffrey wrinkled his nose. ‘I know of none.’
‘When our performance was stopped that day, the whole audience fled.’
‘I was among them and glad to flee from such an abominable play.’
‘One spectator was unable to leave,’ said Nicholas. ‘Fortunatus Hope. During the commotion, he was stabbed to death in the gallery.’
‘Yes, I heard tell of that,’ said Fitzgeoffrey with a cold smile. ‘Do not expect me to mourn for the fellow. He treated my patron shabbily and we are well rid of him.’
‘I believe that you and Lord Conway may have incited the murder.’
‘That’s a monstrous accusation!’
‘Then let me add another,’ said Elias, holding the dagger on him. ‘You had Giddy Mussett killed as well.’
Fitzgeoffrey looked surprised. ‘Giddy is dead?’
‘Do not give us any counterfeit sympathy.’
‘Nor will I. Giddy Mussett was no friend of mine. I came to despise the little devil. When he was neither drunk, nor quarrelsome, which was rare because he was usually both at the same time, he was doing and saying more than was set down for him in a play. Sympathy? Ha!’ said Fitzgeoffrey with disdain. ‘There were times when I’d gladly have wielded a dagger myself.’
‘But you hired someone else to do the deed.’
‘No!’
‘The same man who dispatched Fortunatus Hope,’ said Nicholas. ‘The two men were killed with matching daggers. Thanks to the work of an assassin, two enemies of Conway’s Men were removed.’