The Vagabond Clown (22 page)

Inevitably, some alterations had to be made to the play. Nicholas retired to a room with Edmund Hoode so that they could discuss the changes needed and see how best to promote the character of Bedlam. Much of the comic action that had been used in
The Foolish Friar
could easily be transposed to a different play, as could some of the songs. The real problem lay in creating a new role for Owen Elias, who would once again be in charge of the wheelbarrow on stage. Hoode sharpened his goose quill in readiness.

‘Fate works against me, Nick,’ he said with a sigh of resignation. ‘I had hoped to write scenes for my new play, but I spend all my time cobbling old ones instead.’

‘You’ve been a master shoemaker, Edmund. Without your skills, Barnaby would never have been able to appear with us. The wheelbarrow may have got him on stage but you were the one whose words gave him a fresh purpose in each play. Does not that bring you satisfaction?’

‘Great satisfaction.’

‘You helped to save us,’ said Nicholas. ‘And by making it possible for Barnaby to act again, you’ve turned a peevish spectator back into a wondrous clown. When we set out
from London, he did nothing but carp and bicker. Look at him now. He is so pleased to be back in harness that he showed true generosity this evening. Can you remember the last time when that happened?’

‘No, Barnaby is apt to keep his purse to himself.’

‘He’s doing what he does best once more. That’s the cause of this happiness.’

‘But how long will it last, Nick?’

‘As long as you can provide plays in which he can act.’

‘We cannot stay in Kent forever,’ argued Hoode. ‘What happens then? Return to London and we have nowhere to play. Barnaby and the rest of us will have to look elsewhere for work. This tour may be the death of Westfield’s Men.’

‘Someone certainly intends that it should be.’

‘That’s my other fear. Will we all live to get back to the capital?’

‘Yes, Edmund.’

‘Our enemies may have other ideas.’

‘Then we must keep one step ahead of them,’ counselled Nicholas. ‘As to the Queen’s Head, all is by no means lost. Alexander Marwood drove us out but he may be just as eager to lure us back once the takings in his taproom fall. Westfield’s Men bring in much of his custom. The landlord may hate us but the promise of money will make him smile upon us once more.’

‘That may be a vain hope.’

‘I reason from experience. He has exiled us before, only to welcome us back with open arms. But I’ve asked Lord
Westfield to lend his influence as well. When I wrote to advise him of our arrival in Dover, I requested him to make overtures to the testy landlord on our behalf. He may bring cheering news on that account.’

‘The one man who could charm Alexander Marwood is our patron.’

‘Let’s pray that he’s done so.’

‘He may bring other news from London,’ said Hoode. ‘While we have been on the road, the law has been looking closely into the murder of Fortunatus Hope. Who knows? It may even be that the crime has been solved.’

‘No, Edmund, put away that thought.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the man who killed Fortunatus Hope – and, I believe, Giddy Mussett – is not in London at all. We are the only ones who can catch him,’ said Nicholas, ‘for he is somewhere close at hand.’

Rehearsal of
A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady
began in earnest on the following morning with special attention being paid to the new scenes written for the character of Bedlam. Lawrence Firethorn was delighted with the changes made to the play. Barnaby Gill took every opportunity to seize attention as Bedlam but he posed nothing like the threat to Firethorn’s dominance that Giddy Mussett had offered. Lackwit was in command of the stage and the actor-manager exploited the fact. For most of the cast, however, the play revived unpleasant memories. Gill had been seriously injured when he took the role of Bedlam and
the man who replaced him had been murdered. In spite of soothing words from Nicholas Bracewell, they were bound to be wary of that particular drama. George Dart made the mistake of voicing the opinion, within earshot of Firethorn, that the piece might be cursed.

Firethorn exploded. ‘Any play that contains
you
is cursed.’

‘It was only a suggestion, Master Firethorn.’

‘Keep your suggestions to yourself. They offend my ear.’

‘Yes, Master Firethorn.’

‘They also insult the intelligence of any sane man.
A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady
is a fine play. We’ve staged it before without the slightest trouble, even though you have been in the cast. No more of these wild accusations.’

‘I withdraw them at once,’ said Dart, wilting before his anger.

‘Dover deserves to see my Lackwit and so they shall.’

‘It’s a role that’s worthy of you, Master Firethorn.’

‘Yet the name is more worthy of you,’ said Firethorn, glaring at him. ‘Who in the company lacks wit so painfully as George Dart? You lack wit, wisdom, common sense and everything else that separates man from beast.’

‘That’s unjust,’ said Nicholas, stepping in save Dart from further abuse. ‘George made a foolish remark and I’m sure that he regrets it bitterly.’

‘Oh, I do, Nick,’ said Dart. ‘I do, I do.’

‘Then no harm has been done. I think that we should remember all the valuable work that George has done for us instead of picking on his one incautious comment.’

‘Keep the idiot away from me,’ grunted Firethorn. ‘That’s all I ask.’

‘Off you go, George,’ said Nicholas, easing him away. ‘You have to wheel Master Gill back to the Lion. We’ll be close behind you.’

‘Yes,’ said Dart, glad of the excuse to get away from the Guildhall.

Rehearsal was over for the morning. The actors drifted back to their inn for dinner while Nicholas remained behind to discuss with Hoode a few refinements that could be made to the play. Firethorn stayed long enough to approve the suggestions before setting off alone. Leaving the Guildhall, he stepped out into bright sunshine. For the first time since they had come into Kent, he felt inspired. He filled his lungs with the keen air. Firethorn was convinced that their visit to Dover would redeem their tour. It would make up for the mishaps in Maidstone and the tragedy in Faversham, not to mention the hazards they encountered on the road. All that was past. In Dover, at least, they would be seen at their best and win new admirers of their art.

His mind was still dwelling on future triumph when he was accosted by a young man, wearing the neat attire of a servant. The stranger was polite and well spoken.

‘Master Firethorn?’ he asked.

‘Yes?’

‘I was told that I might find you at the Guildhall, sir.’

‘What business do you have with me?’

‘I am enjoined to deliver this,’ said the young man, handing him a letter.

Firethorn glanced at the missive. ‘Our patron’s hand.’

‘It was Lord Westfield who sent me. I’m to await a reply.’

‘Then you shall have one,’ said Firethorn, breaking the seal to read the contents of the letter. ‘Dear God!’ he exclaimed. ‘This news lifts my heart. He is already arrived in Dover and requests me to join him for dinner.’

‘Lord Westfield stays at the Arms of England.’

‘How close is that?’

‘No distance to speak of, sir,’ replied the messenger. ‘Let me escort you there before returning to the Lion to tell your fellows where you are.’

‘An excellent notion, my young friend. Lead on.’

Thrilled to hear of the arrival of their patron, Firethorn followed his guide with alacrity. Within minutes, they came in sight of the Arms of England, a comfortable hostelry that was somewhat smaller than the Lion but with the better reputation for its food. The thought of a free meal helped to whet Firethorn’s appetite.

‘When did Lord Westfield reach Dover?’ he wondered.

‘Less than an hour ago.’

‘Does he travel alone?’

‘No, sir. He has brought some friends with him.’

‘I hope that he brings good news from London as well.’

‘This way, sir,’ said the young man, taking him to the rear of the inn. ‘Your patron has a private room upstairs.’

Firethorn went into the inn and climbed the steps behind him. When they came to the first door, the messenger tapped on it three times before standing back to usher the visitor forward. Composing his features into an ingratiating smile,
Firethorn opened the door and went in to greet his patron. But there was no sign of Lord Westfield. The man who stood by the window had a grizzled beard and a dark glint in his eye.

‘Where is Lord Westfield?’ demanded Firethorn.

‘Do not trouble yourself about him,’ said the man.

‘But I was summoned to meet him here.’

‘Then it looks as if he has let you down, Master Firethorn.’

Suspecting a trap, Firethorn reached for his dagger but the man concealed behind the door moved too fast for him. He cudgelled the actor to the floor then struck him repeatedly until Firethorn lost consciousness. The bearded man locked the door.

‘Tie him up,’ he ordered. ‘We’ll move him later.’

The disappearance of Lawrence Firethorn did not at first become apparent. It was only when Nicholas Bracewell and Edmund Hoode returned to the Lion that the first tiny hint of danger came. The rest of the company was in the taproom, enjoying a hearty meal before the afternoon rehearsal, delighted with the way that Dover had responded to their work and oblivious to the fact that their actor-manager had been lured away. Barnaby Gill had been helped out of his wheelbarrow and into a chair so that he could eat his food in comfort. Nicholas and Hoode joined him at his table.

‘Where is Lawrence?’ asked Nicholas.

‘I thought he was with you,’ replied Gill.

‘No, he came on ahead of us.’

‘Well, I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of him.’

‘Perhaps he went up to his room for something,’ suggested Hoode.

Gill smiled sardonically. ‘When Lawrence goes into a bedchamber, it is usually for one reason only. He’ll no doubt join us when he’s had his sport with the wench.’

‘Even Lawrence wouldn’t begin a dalliance now, surely.’

Nicholas rose from his seat. ‘I’ll see if he’s upstairs.’

‘Remember to knock first,’ warned Gill, ‘or you’ll see much more of him than you wish. My guess is that it will be that rosy-cheeked creature from the kitchens.’

Ignoring the jibe, Nicholas left the room and ascended the staircase to the landing. His search was brief but thorough. Firethorn was not in his bedchamber, nor was he in any of the other rooms. Nicholas conducted a search of the entire building and even poked his head into the stables, but it was all to no avail. Firethorn was not there. When the book holder questioned them, ostlers and servants all said the same thing. The actor-manager had not been seen at the Lion since breakfast. Hiding his concern, Nicholas strolled casually back into the taproom to rejoin the others.

Hoode looked up inquisitively. ‘Well, where is he hiding?’

‘Lawrence is not here,’ said Nicholas.

‘He must be.’

‘I’ve looked everywhere.’

‘Only an assignation would make him miss his dinner,’ observed Gill drily.

‘I’m going to search for him in the streets.’

‘Let me come with you, Nick,’ offered Hoode, clearly worried.

‘No,’ said Nicholas, easing him back into his seat. ‘If we both leave, everyone else will realise that something is
amiss. There’s no need to spread unnecessary alarm. Our fellows have had enough to contend with, as it is. I’ll walk back towards the Guildhall. It may just be that he stopped to talk to someone on the way.’

‘Then we’d have seen them as we passed.’

‘Not if she lifted her skirt for Lawrence in an alley,’ said Gill.

‘This is serious, Barnaby,’ scolded Hoode. ‘Enough of these silly jests.’

‘Wait here until I come back,’ advised Nicholas. ‘And try to carry on as if nothing untoward has happened. I’ll be as quick as I can.’

‘What if someone asks after Lawrence?’

‘Invent some excuse to explain his absence.’

‘Excuse?’

‘Nobody in this room has a more fertile imagination than you, Edmund,’ said Nicholas, patting him on the shoulder. ‘You’ll think of something.’

He slipped out quietly through the rear door. Nicholas walked back in the direction of the Guildhall, looking down every street, alley and lane on the way. He found it difficult to believe that Firethorn had come to any harm in broad daylight. Raised in a blacksmith’s forge, the actor was a powerful man whose bustling energy would make any attackers think twice before taking him on. As many had discovered in the past, his skill with sword or dagger made him a doughty adversary. Nicholas tried hard to convince himself that there was a simple explanation for the disappearance of Firethorn, but the further he went,
the less persuaded he became that all was well. Hoping that the missing man might somehow have doubled back to the Guildhall, he hurried on to the building and went inside. His search was fruitless. Firethorn was nowhere to be seen.

Nicholas was determined to relieve his anxiety by positive action. He set out on the route that Firethorn should have taken, going back over his own footsteps and stopping to ask people whom he passed along the way if they could remember seeing the distinctive individual whom he described to them. Nobody could help him. Even the most sharp-eyed shopkeepers had not been able to pick out Firethorn in the crowds that drifted constantly past them. Nicholas widened his search, walking down each and every street that branched off the main thoroughfare, peering into shops, inns and ordinaries without success. It was when he turned down towards the harbour that he was brought to a halt. Walking towards him, in the company of a much older woman, was the last person he expected to see emerging from the huddle of people along the sea front.

It was Thomasina Frant.

From her attire and manner, Nicholas guessed that her companion must be a maidservant. He waited until Thomasina caught sight of him. Her face brightened with recognition and she tripped across to him. The maidservant stayed apart from them.

‘Good day to you,’ she said pleasantly.

‘I did not expect to find you here at the harbour,’ he observed.

‘Ordinarily, you would not have done so. I came to bid farewell to a friend who sails for Calais today. Margaret came with me,’ she said, indicating her companion. ‘It’s not wise for a woman to be alone in this part of the town.’

‘I wonder that your father did not escort you.’

‘Father has business elsewhere in Dover.’

‘I thought that Sebastian was retired.’

‘He is,’ she replied, ‘but old acquaintances petition his help and he’s too soft-hearted to refuse. That was ever his fault.’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘But I hear that Westfield’s Men are in Dover and have already given one performance.’

‘Your father was in the audience.’

‘So he tells me. Should you play again, I intend to sit beside him.’

‘Then you must repair to the Guildhall tomorrow afternoon,’ counselled Nicholas, ‘for we are to stage a comedy called
A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady
. It was the play that you missed in Maidstone.’

‘In that case, I’ll make every effort to be there.’

‘I think that it will be more to your taste than
The Foolish Friar
.’

‘But I liked that play, Master Bracewell.’

‘I sensed that it displeased you in some way.’

‘Then you were deceived,’ she assured him. ‘Father will tell you how much I laughed at Master Gill in his wheelbarrow. Will he be your clown again tomorrow?’

‘Yes, he’ll be there.’

Her face clouded. ‘I was sad to learn what happened to your other comedian.’

‘We were all shocked by his death.’

‘It must have come as a fearful blow.’

‘It did,’ conceded Nicholas. ‘We are still reeling from it.’

‘Yet you are able to continue with your tour. That shows great courage.’

‘Master Gill has shown most, for he is in constant pain from his broken leg. It takes both courage and skill to play any role in his condition, let alone one that is so important. We are indebted to him.’

‘He is fortunate to have such fine actors around him.’

‘None better.’

‘Especially the renowned Lawrence Firethorn.’

‘A gift to any theatre company.’

‘He’s without compare,’ said Thomasina with polite enthusiasm. ‘My father warned me that Master Firethorn was a very Titan of the stage. Every role he takes, he makes his own. I trust that he’ll be there tomorrow.’

‘Yes,’ replied Nicholas, concealing his disquiet behind a bland smile. ‘Lawrence Firethorn will certainly be there.’

He could neither see, nor speak, nor move. All that he could feel was the searing pain at the back of his head and the dull ache in his limbs. As he regained his senses, Firethorn was slow to realise what had happened to him. Gagged and blindfolded, he was tied to a stout chair that scraped along the floor when he struggled to get free. He had been duped and that fact only served to increase his discomfort. Firethorn was annoyed that he had let down both himself and his company. Anger built steadily inside him. When it
reached its peak, he made a supreme effort to break free of his bonds, twisting violently and straining at the thick ropes.

Someone grabbed his beard and held the point of a dagger at his throat.

‘Sit still!’ ordered the man. ‘Or I’ll send you where I sent Giddy Mussett!’

It was impossible to keep the news from them indefinitely. Westfield’s Men had to be told the truth. Nicholas Bracewell waited until the whole company assembled in the Guildhall. Then, after consulting Hoode and Gill, he made his announcement.

‘Grim news, friends,’ he said, looking around their faces. ‘Master Firethorn is missing.’ There was a general murmur of disbelief. ‘He’s not been seen since he left here after the morning rehearsal. Somewhere between the Guildhall and the Lion, he vanished. I’ve searched high and low for him but he’s nowhere to be found.’

‘God help him!’ cried James Ingram, speaking for all of them. ‘Has Lawrence been stabbed in the back as well?’

‘I can only tell you what I know, James. He’s not here.’

‘Where else could he be?’

‘I wish that I knew.’

‘Only death would keep him away from a rehearsal.’

‘Or an attack of pox,’ said Gill, still unwilling to believe the worst. ‘I think that Lawrence wandered off into the stews and lost track of time.’

‘He would never do that, Barnaby,’ said Hoode
mournfully. ‘The ugly truth has to be faced. He’s disappeared. The likelihood is that he was ambushed.’

‘Never!’ shouted Owen Elias. ‘An army would not dare to ambush him in the middle of a town. He’d fight them all off, and create such a din in doing so that there would be scores of witnesses to tell us what occurred.’

‘There are none,’ said Nicholas. ‘I’ve spoken to dozens of people.’

‘Are they all blind? They must have seen
something
.’

‘If only they had, Owen!’

The Welshman squared his shoulders. ‘I think we should go out in search of him,’ he said firmly. ‘Let’s turn Dover upside down until we find him.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Ingram.

‘Why stand here and do nothing?’ asked Frank Quilter, another of the actors. ‘We should be out there now, looking for Lawrence.’

‘Wait,’ said Nicholas, holding up both hands. ‘Do not be so rash. We do not even know if Lawrence is still in Dover or if – God willing – he’s still alive. The question we must ask ourselves is what he would want us to do.’

‘Rescue him!’ asserted Elias.

‘Yes,’ said Quilter. ‘And punish those who dared to touch him.’

Ingram was keen to leave. ‘Let’s track him down,’ he urged.

‘Nicholas has already tried to do that,’ argued Hoode, ‘and we all know how thoroughly he would have gone about the business. Bear this in mind. We came to Dover to
display our work. Are we going to let someone prevent us from doing that?’

‘How can we perform any play without Lawrence?’ asked Gill.

‘How can we perform one without Barnaby Gill?’ countered Nicholas. ‘It is simple. We hire Giddy Mussett as a substitute. And when Giddy is removed from our ranks? How do we manage then? By changing our plays to make room for a clown with a broken leg. There’s always a way out.’

‘Not this time, Nick,’ sighed Ingram.

‘It’s hopeless,’ decided Elias. ‘Who could possibly replace Lawrence?’

Nicholas smiled. ‘You could, Owen.’

‘Me?’

‘Your brain is agile enough to learn the part in time.’

‘I’m no match for Lawrence.’

‘You like to think that you are,’ said Nicholas, ‘and this is your chance to prove it. For whatever reason, someone is determined to drive us from the stage. They thought to do it by killing Giddy Mussett but they failed. Their next target, as it seems, is our leading actor. Are we going to let them achieve their end?’

‘No,’ said Quilter. ‘We’ll get Lawrence back from them.’

‘All in good time, Frank. First, we must make a decision. Do we abandon the performance here tomorrow? Or do we honour our commitment and show that Westfield’s Men will not be frightened out of their occupation?’

There were no immediate answers. Everyone needed a
few moments to reflect on the dilemma facing them. Their first impulse was to institute a search but Nicholas’s words made them pause. There was no certainty that Firethorn was still alive. If someone had been clever enough to lead the actor astray, they would know how to conceal his whereabouts. Combing the town of Dover might relieve their sense of frustration but it would make it virtually impossible to present
A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady
on the following afternoon. Forced to make changes to their play, they needed some serious rehearsal. Nicholas suggested a compromise.

‘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.