The Vagabond Clown (21 page)

‘Do you miss being a sailor?’ said Hoode.

‘Sometimes.’

‘Have you never wanted to go back to sea?’

‘In the past,’ admitted Nicholas wistfully, ‘the temptation was very strong. Then I met Anne.’

‘Ah, yes. Anne would be a firm anchor for any man.’

‘Westfield’s Men also help to keep me ashore.’

‘Even when we expose you to peril?’

‘There’s no peril greater than a tempest at sea, Edmund.’

‘Then I’ll keep two feet firmly on dry land.’

As they sauntered along the line of ships, Nicholas pointed out their salient features. The vessel around which a crowd had formed now started to let its passengers aboard. They carried their baggage up the gangplank and had their passports checked before they stepped on deck. The two friends paused to watch them, wondering where all those people were going and what was taking them there. Nicholas was still speculating on the ship’s destination when he caught sight of someone out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see a sailor walking briskly past. A slim, sinewy man of middle height, he wore clothing that had been patched too often and a cap that was pulled down over his forehead. Yet there was something about his
gait that was arresting. Putting the man’s age around thirty, Nicholas started to make some calculations. Hoode became aware of his interest in the sailor.

‘Do you know the fellow, Nick?’

‘I begin to think that I do.’

‘Go after him, if you must.’

But it was already too late. Before Nicholas could even move, the man was swallowed up in the crowd. Nicholas went off to search for him but it was a futile exercise. The man had vanished from sight. Hoode caught up with the book holder.

‘Who is he?’

‘A friend,’ said Nicholas. ‘An old and dear friend.’

Lawrence Firethorn did not believe in wasting time. Since the Guildhall had been put at their disposal for rehearsal, he assembled his company there shortly after breakfast and worked them hard. Three comedies had been performed on tour so far. To introduce variety, and to give Firethorn the role of a tragic hero,
A Loyal Subject
was chosen as the play to set before their first audience in Dover. With its clown, Malvino, confined to a wheelbarrow, radical changes had to be made so that Gill could still offer some comic relief in an otherwise serious and, on occasion, solemn play. Songs replaced dances and the fluent pen of Edmund Hoode created new soliloquies for Gill. Owen Elias was once more engaged as the man who pushed the wheelbarrow around the stage.

Though showing the signs of age, the Guildhall was
ideal for their purposes with a balcony that could be used by the musicians, and where some of the more intimate scenes could be played. The stage was erected beneath the balcony, thereby making use of two doors in the back wall as exits. Light was more than adequate and the indoor venue rescued them from the dependence on the weather that made performances at the Queen’s Head such a risky proposition. The long, low, rectangular hall was also kind to their voices. By midday, Westfield’s Men had shrugged off most of their fear and dejection. They had good accommodation, an excellent arena in which to perform and the possibility of staging three different plays in the town. They felt wanted.

Nicholas Bracewell was as industrious as ever. Before the others had even risen for breakfast, he was up to repair some of the scenery that was needed in the play. Holding the book throughout the morning, he also suggested many of the changes and devised a series of new effects. As always, he was put in charge of rehearsing the stage fights, drawing on skills he had learnt while sailing with Drake many years earlier. Yet even at his busiest, Nicholas was still troubled by the memory of the man he had glimpsed at the harbour. If it had been the person he thought it might be, then his friend had fallen on hard times. He looked tired and shabby. Nicholas could not dismiss the image from his mind. When the rest of the company went off to the Lion early that afternoon, therefore, he decided to forego a meal in favour of a return to the harbour.

It was as busy as ever. A ship had arrived from France
and passengers were disembarking in a stream. Another vessel was being loaded with cargo, a third was about to set sail. Fishermen brought in the morning catch, surrounded by gulls whose cries added to the general tumult. Nicholas felt at home. Inhaling the salty tang, he picked his way along and searched the faces in the crowd. But there was no sign of the sailor he had seen the previous evening. Even when he peeped into the taverns by the harbour, Nicholas could not find him. Eventually, he gave up, deciding that he had either been mistaken as to the man’s identity or that his friend had already sailed on the tide. He strolled down a quay and watched another fishing boat coming into the bay.

This time, it was the other man who recognised Nicholas.

‘Is that you?’ he asked in disbelief. ‘No, it cannot be.’

Nicholas swung round to look at him. ‘John?’ he said. ‘John Strood?’

‘The very same, Nick.’

They embraced warmly then stood back to study each other more carefully. But for the coarse skin and deep furrows on his brow, Strood would have been a handsome man. Nicholas sensed disappointment and setback in his friend’s life but he was still overjoyed to meet someone with whom he had circumnavigated the world on the
Golden
Hind
. John Strood had been a fresh-faced youth then, unable to fend off the attentions of another member of the crew. Nicholas had taken the lad under his wing and a lasting friendship had developed. Strood could not stop grinning.

‘Nick Bracewell!’ he said, slapping him on the arm. ‘I never thought to see you here. What business do you have in Dover?’

‘I work with a theatre company in London. We are on tour.’

Strood was impressed. ‘A theatre company?’

‘Lord Westfield’s Men.’

‘Have you played before the Queen?’

‘Several times.’

‘I knew that you’d make something of yourself, Nick.’

‘I’m only the book holder with the troupe,’ said Nicholas modestly. ‘It’s the actors who have gained us our reputation. But what of you, John?’ he went on, running his eye over his friend’s attire. ‘I’m glad that you’ve not deserted the sea.’

‘I’ve not had the chance. You are educated, I’m not.’

‘You’re a good seaman. That puts you high in my esteem.’

‘Thank you, Nick,’ said the other. ‘I wish that others thought as well of me.’

‘You’ve no need to worry about my good opinion.’

‘That means so much to me. You were the best shipmate I ever had.’

‘Sailing around the Cape of Good Hope together binds us for life.’

‘I always think of it as the Cape of Storms.’

‘So do I, John. An ordeal for any sailor.’

‘What I remember best is the day we boarded the
Cacafuego
and found all the Spanish treasure aboard. I
still have dreams of that wonderful moment.’

While they traded memories, Strood’s face shone with delight as if recalling a time when he was truly happy. Nicholas could see that darker days had followed.

‘Which is your ship, John?’ he asked.

‘The
Mermaid
,’ replied Strood without enthusiasm.

‘Where is she?’

‘Out in the bay.’

Nicholas looked in the direction to which Strood was pointing. He understood why his friend was slightly embarrassed. Lying at anchor in the bay, the
Mermaid
was not a vessel that inspired admiration. It was a two-masted ship that looked old, neglected and in need of repair when compared with the trim vessels all around it. Strood clearly took no pride in the
Mermaid
.

‘Where do you sail?’ asked Nicholas.

‘Here and there,’ said Strood evasively.

‘With cargo or passengers?’

‘Both, Nick.’

‘What age is she?’

‘Too old for comfort.’

Nicholas pressed for more detail but Strood was unwilling to give it, preferring to talk about the work that Nicholas was involved in. When he heard that
The Loyal Subject
would be staged at the Guildhall, he promised to go and see it. They parted with another embrace. As he walked back to join his fellows, Nicholas was thrilled that he had met John Strood after an absence of so many years but sad that his friend had made such little progress
in the world. He also wondered why Strood volunteered so little information about the ship that gave him his living.

The performance at the Guildhall was an unqualified success.
The Loyal Subject
touched on themes of fidelity and betrayal that struck a deep chord with a patriotic audience. Gill rode to another triumph in his wheelbarrow but it was Firethorn, as Lorenzo, executed in the final scene, who gave the most memorable portrayal. Westfield’s Men not only kept them enthralled for over two hours, they played with such unexampled brilliance that the mayor insisted they offer a second drama at the same place. They had earned both their fee and the opportunity to add substantially to it. There was more good news. A letter had arrived from their patron, saying that he would soon travel to Dover. It meant that Lord Westfield would reach the town in time to see them perform at the castle.

Because the Guildhall would not be used by anyone else for a few days, they were able to leave their stage in position. The scenery had to be dismantled, however, and the properties removed and stored. By the time that Nicholas had finished his work, there were still plenty of people in the hall, talking about the play or listening with interest to one of its leading actors. What everyone wanted to ask Firethorn was how he could still be alive when his head was visibly severed from his body on stage. Firethorn would not give away any secrets. In fact, the execution had been devised by Nicholas, who used a waxen likeness of
Lorenzo’s head in the scene. When the executioner’s axe fell, the head appeared to be hacked from the body and it rolled across the stage, drawing gasps of surprise and horror from the spectators.

As Nicholas walked past him, Firethorn was still basking in the adulation of the mayor and his family. Gill, too, had an admiring circle around him and Hoode, the author of the piece, was being congratulated both on his play and his performance as the stern judge who sentenced Lorenzo to death. Hoping to see John Strood again, Nicholas was unable to find him and decided that he had not turned up after all. However, another old friend had been in the audience.

‘Nick!’ said Sebastian Frant, bearing down on him. ‘Welcome to Dover!’

‘Thank you.’

‘I did not expect you for some days yet.’

‘Canterbury turned us away while a religious festival is on.’

‘What is more religious than
The Loyal Subject
? It has a priest and two cardinals in the cast. You could have been part of the festival.’

‘We chose to come to Dover instead, Sebastian.’

‘Nobody is more pleased by that than I.’

Nicholas looked around. ‘Is your daughter not with you?’ he asked.

‘No, Nick. Thomasina is still at home. It was only by chance that I came into the town. When I heard that you would perform here, I was determined to come.’

‘It’s a play that you must have recognised.’

‘Most of it,’ said Frant, ‘for I was your scrivener when it was written. I copied it out from Edmund’s foul papers. But there were several changes I noticed, the most obvious being that there was no wheelbarrow when the play was first staged.’

‘That was forced upon us, alas. It was the only way to involve Barnaby.’

‘Malvino was crucial to the action, and a joy to watch. There were tears of laughter all around me. But tell me what happened since we last met,’ he said, dropping his voice. ‘I hope that you met with no more setbacks when you left Faversham.’

‘None that we could not overcome,’ said Nicholas, not wishing to talk about the avalanche. ‘And we reached Dover without any problem.’

‘That news gladdens my ear. What of your patron?’

‘He’ll be here in a few days to watch us at the castle.’

‘Lord Westfield must be very proud of his company.’

‘We like to think so. But I’m glad to see you again,’ said Nicholas. ‘You may be able to help me. Conway’s Men, as we hear, stay in Walmer. Their patron has a friend who lives nearby and they are to play at his house. Can you hazard a guess at whom that friend might be, Sebastian?’

‘He lives close to Walmer?’

‘So it seems.’

‘Then it must be Sir Roger Penhallurick.’

‘That’s a Cornish name.’

‘He lives a long way from Cornwall now.’

‘Where is the house?’

‘Not three miles distant from the town. Sir Roger has a large estate.’

‘I may pay it a visit.’

‘Do not waste your time watching Conway’s Men perform. It would be a tedious exercise. They have nothing to teach you, Nick.’

‘My interest is in their manager, Tobias Fitzgeoffrey.’

‘Now, he
does
have talent,’ confessed Frant. ‘Master Fitzgeoffrey is a true actor, worthy enough to appear with any company in the land.’

‘And on close terms with his patron, I believe.’

‘The two are hand in glove.’

‘Where is Lord Conway now?’

‘Staying with Sir Roger, I daresay. If his company is playing at the house of a dear friend, I doubt very much if he would miss the occasion. The chances are that Tobias Fitzgeoffrey and his patron will be under the same roof.’

Nicholas was pensive. ‘How would I find the house?’ he asked.

Barnaby Gill was so pleased with the success of the performance that he was in a benevolent mood for once. As they supped at the Lion that evening, he bought wine and ale for the actors, and even rewarded George Dart for taking on the thankless task of wheeling him around. What delighted him most was that the play chosen for their second appearance at the Guildhall was
A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady
, a drama that held a particular significance
for him. It was during the performance of the play at the Queen’s Head that he had sustained his broken leg. When the comedy was staged in Maidstone, fatigue kept him away from it but everyone praised the way that Giddy Mussett had taken the role of the clown. Gill now had the chance to reclaim the part of Bedlam for himself. While he could not dance any of his celebrated jigs, he was still confident that he could win over an audience from his wheelbarrow.