The Vagabond Clown (11 page)

Cupid’s Folly
did not let them down. From the moment he entered as Lord Hayfever, the pompous landowner, Firethorn held sway over the spectators. Females of all ages craned their necks to get a closer look at the striking figure in his finery. There was abundant romance as well as humour and Edmund Hoode, in a part he had written for himself, was very touching as a lovesick shepherd. It was a role that mirrored a private life that was littered with rejection and unrequited passion. Owen Elias shone as a rapacious farmer while James Ingram was the dashing hero who elopes with the farmer’s daughter and rescues her from parental tyranny. The rest of the company supported the principals loyally.

Rigormortis was the only disappointment. Mussett collected plenty of laughs and his encounter with the beehive earned him an ovation but he was tentative with his lines and uncertain about his movements. It was only when he was on stage alone, dancing, singing or jesting with the audience that he really blossomed. The play concluded with a spirited dance around the maypole that had been set up in the middle of the stage. All the characters
joined in and the collisions between Lord Hayfever and Rigormortis were a source of continual hilarity as their respective ribbons became hopelessly intertwined. When Firethorn brought the play to an end with a rhyming couplet, applause reverberated around the yard. This time, he knew, his position as the star had not been threatened by the clown. Mussett had been merely good where he might have been superb. Conscious that he would once more be the cynosure, Firethorn was lavish in his praise.

‘You excelled yourself, Giddy,’ he said, as they left the stage.

‘I made too many mistakes.’

‘Nobody noticed a single one of them.’

‘I did,’ said Mussett, ‘and I’m sure that Barnaby did as well.’

‘Let’s go back out and drink the sweet nectar of applause.’

As Firethorn swept out on stage the whole cast followed to bask in the acclaim. Mussett smiled as broadly and bowed as low as any of them but he was not content.

‘I need something stronger to drink than this,’ he murmured.

Nicholas Bracewell had controlled the performance from behind the scenes but his work was not over when the play had run its course. While the actors changed out of their apparel in the room that was used as their tiring-house, Nicholas had to gather up the properties, put the costumes back in their baskets and, with the help of George Dart, clear the stage. Once that was done, and when the crowd
had dispersed, they could begin the process of dismantling it. Nicholas was heaving one of the boards off its trestle when a shadow fell across him. He turned to see the bulky frame of Pieter Hendrik standing there. The weaver was still chuckling at what he had seen.

‘Fery gut, Niklaus,’ he said. ‘Fery funny.’

‘Thank you for coming.’

‘The pleasure, it is mine. I like it more than the others.’

‘Is that because we did not steal your cloth like Conway’s Men?’

‘No, no. Wistfield’s Men is gooder than them. I like fery much.’

‘I’ll pass on your comments to Master Firethorn.’

‘Ah, yis,’ said Hendrik, his memory jogged. ‘Something else you pass on, please.’ He took a letter from his pocket and handed it to Nicholas. ‘This you give to Anne, will you?’

‘When we get back to London,’ said Nicholas. ‘And if we do catch up with Conway’s Men, I’ll be sure to mention your name.’

‘Yis, yis. They owe much money. Thank you.’

After shaking Nicholas’s hand, Hendrik ambled off with happier memories of a theatre troupe.
Cupid’s Folly
would make him smile all the way back to Mill Street. As one contented playgoer left, two more came over to the book holder. Sebastian Frant introduced his daughter then gave his own verdict.

‘You could not have chosen a better play for the occasion, Nick,’ he said.

‘That is what we felt.’

‘I expected to miss Barnaby Gill but your new clown filled his place admirably. The man was familiar. Did I not see him once with Conway’s Men?’

‘With them, with Rutland’s Men, with Banbury’s Men, even with Viscount Havelock’s company, for a short time. Giddy has played with them all.’

‘I’m glad that he’s added Westfield’s Men to his list.’

‘As are we, Sebastian,’ said Nicholas. He smiled at Thomasina. ‘I hope that you enjoyed the performance as much as your father.’

‘Yes, I did,’ she said demurely.

‘Who caught your eye? Rigormortis? Or did you prefer Lord Hayfever?’

‘I like them both, sir, but I loved the shepherd even more. He sighed so.’

‘That was Edmund Hoode,’ said Frant. ‘You must meet him, Thomasina.’

‘I would like that, Father.’ Her eyes flicked to Nicholas. ‘I am told that you are the most important person in the company.’

‘Oh, no,’ replied Nicholas, ‘that is too gross a claim.’

‘Not in my opinion,’ said Frant. ‘The actors would be helpless without you behind the scenes. You all but run the company. Who pays the rent to the Queen’s Head on behalf of them? Nick Bracewell. Who employs a scrivener like me to produce a neat copy of a new play? Nick Bracewell. Who keeps all the play books safe? Who collects all the money from the gatherers at the door? Who devises many of the
tricks that are used on stage? And who spreads contentment among the others simply by being there?’

Nicholas was modest. ‘Your father overstates his case,’ he said.

‘I think not,’ she said. ‘He was close to Westfield’s Men at one time.’

‘It was a sad day when we had to lose him, Miss Frant.’

‘Come,’ said Frant. ‘There are plenty of scriveners in London.’

‘But none with anything to rival your experience, Sebastian. Before you came to us, you held an exalted position.’

Frant gave a wan smile. ‘Hardly that, Nick! I was secretary to the Clerk of the Privy Council. Have you any idea how tedious it is to copy out edicts and statutes and memoranda? I all but died of boredom,’ he went on. ‘Working for a theatre company was excitement itself after that. When I first set eyes on
Cupid’s Folly
, I could not stop laughing, and that was before it ever graced a stage.’

He broke off as Firethorn and Elias came striding out of the tiring-house. Both had changed out of their costumes but they still cut an impressive figure. Holding a position in the middle of the stage, Firethorn gazed at Thomasina.

‘Where have you been hiding this divine creature, Sebastian?’ he asked. ‘This surely cannot be your daughter. She is too beautiful to be sired by humankind.’

Thomasina blushed. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, bowing her head.

‘Well,’ said Elias, staring at her. ‘Introduce us to this angel, Sebastian.’

Frant did as he was bidden and both men claimed the privilege of kissing her hand. Nicholas observed how unused she was to flattery. Some of their fulsome comments brought a fresh tinge of colour to her cheeks. He stepped in to fend off any further embarrassment for her.

‘I think that you have not watched a theatre troupe very often, Miss Frant.’

‘Not at all,’ she confessed. ‘I did not know what to expect.’

‘Why have you neglected your daughter’s education, Sebastian?’ asked Firethorn. ‘You should have taken her to every play that you could.’

‘Opportunities to do that are few in number,’ said Frant. ‘Conway’s Men have been to Dover but they are nothing beside you. I’d not make Thomasina sit through their barren performances.’

‘Giddy Mussett has a low opinion of them as well,’ noted Elias.

‘So does Pieter Hendrik,’ said Nicholas. ‘A weaver in the town who supplied them cloth that they took without paying.’

Frant nodded. ‘They’ve made many enemies in Kent, I fear.’

‘Unlike your lovely daughter,’ said Firethorn, inclining his head towards her in a token bow. ‘Thomasina will only ever leave admirers in her wake.’

After praising the performances of both men, Frant decided that it was time to leave but he promised to watch the company perform in Faversham, and his daughter was
eager to see them again as well. As the visitors walked out of the yard, Nicholas waved to their old scrivener. All that his companions could see was the daughter.

‘
Diu!
’ exclaimed Elias. ‘Have you ever seen such a lovely face as hers?’

‘Forget her, Owen,’ warned Firethorn with a grin. ‘Thomasina is
mine.
’

‘Edmund was her choice in the play,’ Nicholas told them.

Firethorn was aghast. ‘What? A lovelorn shepherd is preferred over me?’

‘At least, it was not Rigormortis,’ said Elias with a laugh. He looked around. ‘By the way, where is Giddy? We need to celebrate.’

‘Was he not in the tiring-house with you?’ asked Nicholas.

‘No, Nick. He left some time ago. I thought he came out here.’

Nicholas sensed trouble. Mussett was on the loose.

The Black Eagle was a tavern that was situated down an alley that led off the High Street. It was a low, ugly, lopsided building with an air of dilapidation about it. Even in broad daylight, the interior was dark and gloomy. There was a musty smell that was intensified by the tobacco smoke that curled up from a dozen pipes. Yet when Giddy Mussett stepped over the threshold, he breathed in deeply as if inhaling fresh air. The fetid atmosphere of the Black Eagle was like the breath of life to him. The taproom was almost full, every table occupied by shadowy figures playing with
dice or cards. Mussett ordered a tankard of ale and quaffed half of it in a single guzzled mouthful. Then his eyes became accustomed to the fug. Having slaked his thirst, he wanted pleasure. He went through into the smaller room at the back and saw Bess Roundel, sitting beside a bearded man who was playing familiarly with her hair. Mussett strolled over to them.

‘Good even, Mistress Roundel,’ he said, raising his tankard to her.

‘Giddy!’ she cried with delight.

‘Get rid of that foul toad beside you.’

‘Who is this?’ demanded the bearded man, glaring at Mussett. ‘Bess is mine for the night and I’ll stand no interference.’

‘If you’d interfere with Bess, then I’ll interfere with you, sir.’

‘Away with you, you pie-faced rogue.’

Mussett tossed the remains of his ale in the man’s face then struck him on the head with the tankard. Before he could recover, a flurry of punches hit him from all angles and the man slumped off his chair and on to the floor. A ragged cheer went up from the others in the room. Bess looked alarmed but Mussett cackled in triumph.

‘Come,’ he said, grabbing her by the hand. ‘He’ll not be needing you now.’

‘I can see why Sebastian never mentioned his daughter before,’ said Firethorn. ‘He wanted to keep the girl away from temptation.’

‘
You
sound like the one who is tempted, Lawrence,’ remarked Edmund Hoode.

‘As never before.’

‘Is this the moment to remind you that you are a married man?’

‘Marriage vows dissolve in the face of so much beauty.’

‘Sebastian is our friend,’ said Nicholas. ‘For his sake, you must not even consider such a thing. The girl is young and innocent.’

‘Youth, innocence and beauty. Thomasina has all three.’

‘So did Margery when you first met her,’ Hoode reminded him.

They were sitting in a corner of the taproom in the Star Inn, enjoying a drink as they reflected on the performance they had just given and looked forward to the one they would next offer. Barnaby Gill would have sat in on such a discussion as a rule but he had withdrawn to his room once more.

‘Who
did
throw that cat on to Barnaby’s chest?’ wondered Firethorn.

‘Not me,’ said Hoode. ‘Barnaby has endured enough as it is.’

‘Are we certain that it was not Giddy?’

‘Yes. Nick and I retired to the room with him. He did not leave it at all.’

‘He’s nimble enough to have climbed through the window,’ said Firethorn. ‘We all saw that fall he pretended to have at the White Hart.’

Nicholas was not persuaded. ‘I locked the shutters
myself. They creaked with age. Giddy could not have opened them without rousing the whole room.’

‘Well, someone did the deed. Barnaby had scratches on his face.’

‘What hurts him more are the scratches on his reputation.’

‘Did he watch us this evening?’ asked Hoode.

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas, ‘but it was more punishment than pleasure for him. The sight of Giddy as Rigormortis must have curdled his blood but he had some compensation. Good as he was, Giddy came nowhere near Barnaby in the role.’

‘That’s why I think we should let the people of Faversham see the play,’ said Firethorn, pleased at the way he had dominated the performance. ‘It will soothe Barnaby’s feelings. However many times he dances around the maypole, Giddy will never threaten him as Rigormortis.’

‘He will as Bedlam,’ argued Hoode. ‘Giddy even put
you
in the shade at the Lower Courthouse. I say that we play
A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady
again.’

Firethorn looked at Nick. ‘You be the judge.’

‘Neither would be my choice,’ said Nicholas.

‘Why not?’

‘Because both place such a mighty weight on Giddy.’

‘He has carried it lightly in both cases.’

‘The effort is bound to tell on him. I’d choose a play that did not rest so much upon our clown.
Vincentio’s Revenge
is one such piece.
The Loyal Subject
might be even better for our purposes.’

‘But Giddy has already conned two parts,’ said Hoode,
running a hand across his smooth chin. ‘Why force him to learn a third?’

‘We cannot offer a mere two plays, Edmund.’

‘Even when they work so well?’

‘We have a reputation to protect. Do you want the people of Kent to think of us as capable of nothing more than low comedies? Think of yourself. Do you wish to be remembered solely as the author of
Cupid’s Folly
when we have finer dramas of yours to set before an audience?’

‘Nick is right,’ said Firethorn, adding more wine to his cup from the jug. ‘We must be bold enough to show the very best of ourselves.
Vincentio’s Revenge
enables us to do that. Giddy will have only a small part beside mine.’