‘Spare me this flattery, my lord. It is not needed.’
‘I merely wished to show you the high esteem in which I hold you, Sir Patrick.’
‘Your praise is gratefully accepted. Now speak out.’
‘What is going on?’
‘Going on, my lord?’
‘Something is in the wind concerning my theatre company and I have a strong feeling that Westfield’s Men will suffer as a result. I would like some warning of what exact form the threat takes.’
‘How do you know that there is a threat?’
‘Because of the way the Earl of Banbury looked at me.’
‘That is all the evidence you have?’
‘It is enough in itself.’
‘Hardly.’
‘Then add to it the fact that his friends were clearly in on the conspiracy and enjoying themselves at my expense.’
‘Conspiracy? Too strong a word, surely?’
‘I think not. The Master of the Revels is involved in it.’
‘Why,’ said the other softly, ‘what is Sir Edmund Tilney’s crime against you? Has he, too, been guilty of looking at you in a certain way?’
‘He ignored me, Sir Patrick.’
‘That is unlikely in so courteous a gentleman.’
‘When I tried to speak with him, he mumbled an excuse and walked away. That was scarcely an act of courtesy.’
‘The Master of the Revels is a busy man with extremely wide responsibilities. It was not rudeness which made him behave thus but pressure of work. I happen to know that, at this very moment, he has a private audience with her Grace. He was no doubt hurrying off to attend her.’
‘What is the subject of their discussion?’
Skelton shrugged. ‘I can only hazard a guess.’
‘My guess is that it touches on Westfield’s Men.’
‘Perhaps, my lord, but then again, perhaps not. And even if your troupe does come into the conversation, it may not be a cause for apprehension. The only time I heard her Grace mention Westfield’s Men by name was to praise the quality of their performances.’
‘Is that true?’ said the other, snatching up the crumb of comfort. ‘When was this? What were her precise words? Did her Grace mention me?’
‘You and your company earned favourable comment. That is all I can remember, my lord. And Sir Edmund Tilney is even more aware of your pre-eminence. The Master of the Revels reads every new play you intend to perform to ensure that it is fit to receive his licence. He knows the high standards to which your players have always adhered.’
‘Then why does he ignore me?’
‘Her Majesty, the Queen, had prior claims, alas.’
‘That still leaves the Earl of Banbury.’
‘And, if I may remind you, Viscount Havelock.’
‘He has no part in this.’
‘But he does, my lord,’ said Skelton. ‘Banbury’s Men are your closest rivals, it is true, but your company also has to compete with Havelock’s Men. Viscount Havelock is as much a sworn foe of yours as the good Earl. Did you receive hostile glances from the Viscount?’
‘No, I did not.’
‘Did he spurn you in any way?’
‘Far from it,’ admitted the other. ‘He smiled civilly at me and exchanged a polite word. Viscount Havelock is a man of true breeding — unlike a certain Earl.’
‘Does not one rival cancel out another?’
‘I do not follow.’
‘Courtesy from one balances conspiracy from the other. Take heart from that, my lord. Viscount Havelock is far closer to the centre of power than the Earl. His uncle sits on the Privy Council. The Viscount would be the first to learn of anything which adversely affected Westfield’s Men and, by implication, which advantaged his own company.’ Skelton gave another shrug. ‘You are chasing moonbeams here. You have invented a conspiracy which may not even exist.’
‘I know the Earl of Banbury.’
‘He was merely trying to slight you.’
‘He was gloating, Sir Patrick.’
‘Over what?’
‘I dread to think.’
‘But calm thought is exactly what is required here,’ said the other. ‘Your imagination has got the better of you, my lord. Apply cool reason. The Earl may have been savouring a personal triumph which has nothing whatsoever to do with his theatre company. A new mistress, perhaps? A banquet he is due to attend? An inheritance which will help to defray the massive debts he faces? Some small sign of favour from her Grace? The possibilities are endless.’
‘I am somehow involved.’
‘Only if you let yourself be, my lord.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘This is a mere game. You and the earl have played it for years. There have been many times when you have been able to score off him and you savoured those occasions. I have been in Court to witness them. Might he not simply have been trying to get some small revenge today? Seeking to unsettle you out of sheer mischief. Come, my lord,’ he said with a smile. ‘It is not like you to be so needlessly upset by your rival. Do not give him the pleasure of ruffling your feathers.’
‘Nor will I,’ vowed Lord Westfield.
‘Hold fast to that resolve.’
‘I defy the earl and his ragged band of players.’
‘He is envious of the success of Westfield’s Men.’
‘With justice.’
‘Then no more of these phantom fears.’
‘They are banished forthwith,’ said Lord Westfield firmly but he immediately succumbed to another tremble of fright. ‘Just tell me this, Sir Patrick, for I know you will be blunt and candid. It is the last question with which I will plague you, I promise.’
‘Then ask it, sir.’
‘Have you heard anything from the chambers of power that will be to the detriment of Westfield’s Men?’
Sir Patrick Skelton gave an easy smile.
‘No, my lord,’ he said confidently.
The courtier excused himself and slipped away to join the stragglers. Lord Westfield was glad that he had sought his information from such a dependable source but he was worried that he did not feel more reassured. As he made his way out of the Palace of Westminster, it was the gloating Earl rather than the comforting courtier who stayed uppermost in his mind. When he came out into the early evening sunshine, Lord Westfield was suddenly struck by another thought.
Something did not ring true. Was it conceivable that Sir Patrick Skelton had deliberately misled him? Could a man who was renowned for his frankness and moral probity have lied to him?
It was the most worrying development of all.
The Cross Keys Inn was less than fifty yards away from the Queen’s Head but the distance between the two establishments seemed more like a mile to the discontented refugees from the latter. Westfield’s Men wandered up Gracechurch Street in a daze, wondering what they had done to get themselves so swiftly evicted from their own theatre at the very moment when they had secured tenure of it for another year. It was both bewildering and humiliating.
Lawrence Firethorn smouldered, Edmund Hoode puzzled, Lucius Kindell was dismayed, Owen Elias was outraged and Sylvester Pryde was highly annoyed. Predictably, it was Barnaby Gill who led the chorus of protest, rounding on Nicholas Bracewell and wagging an accusing finger at him.
‘This is your doing,’ he spluttered.
‘I simply advised caution, Master Gill.’
‘You forced us to quit the premises.’
‘That is not true,’ said Nicholas.
‘At the instigation of the landlord, you threw us out of the Queen’s Head as if we were drunk and disorderly.’
Nicholas was patient. ‘All I did was to try to take the heat out of this altercation, and that could only be done by getting out of his sight. Alexander Marwood was implacable. Why stay there to enrage him with our presence? It is much more sensible to withdraw awhile in order to allow his lawyer time and space in which to calm him down.’
‘I’ll calm him down!’ said Firethorn. ‘With my dagger.’
‘That would be too quick a death for him,’ added Elias. ‘I’d rather roast him over a slow fire and cool him down from time to time by dipping him in a barrel of his own beer.’