The Vagabond Clown (9 page)

Behind the scenes, there was far less confidence. Instead, there was a gathering sense of doom. Giddy Mussett had failed to return from the Star Inn. Lawrence Firethorn was close to panic. Eyes blazing, he turned to his book holder.

‘Where the devil is he this time, Nick?’ he demanded.

‘I wish I knew.’

‘You were supposed to watch him at all times.’

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas, ‘but I stayed here while the rest of you went back to the inn. There were some repairs I had to make to the scenery for the last act. I asked Owen to keep watch over Giddy.’

‘And so I did,’ said Elias defensively. ‘Giddy was as anxious as the rest of us to get back here on time. But when we set out, he remembered something that he forgot and ran back to the inn to fetch it.’

‘Did you not think to go with him?’ asked Firethorn.

‘No, Lawrence. He said that he’d catch us up within minutes.’

‘This was some device.’

‘I blame myself for being taken in,’ confessed Elias. ‘When we got here and Giddy failed to appear, I hurried all the way back to the inn to search for him.’ He spread his arms in a gesture of helplessness. ‘The bird had flown.’

‘That may not be the case,’ said Nicholas.

‘What else can explain his absence? Giddy has deserted us.’

‘At a moment to embarrass us the most,’ observed Firethorn. ‘We cannot stage the play without Bedlam or it will turn into Bedlam itself. Listen to those people out there. They
want
us. What will they think when they hear that the performance will not take place? There’ll be uproar.’

‘Think back, Owen,’ suggested Nicholas, keen to find an explanation for the disappearance of their clown. ‘Could he have been taken ill? Did he eat something that may have upset him? What did Giddy drink at the Star?’

‘There was nothing wrong with his health, Nick.’

‘Then he may have been prey to sudden fear.’

‘That’s
my
prerogative,’ said Firethorn sourly. ‘I shake with terror. Call off the play and we lose any money the mayor will give us. It will also limit our numbers at the Star tomorrow. Who will want to see a theatre company that lets its audience down?’

‘Yes,’ said Elias, ‘and how could we even dream of offering
Cupid’s Folly
without the man who takes the leading part? Giddy has ruined our visit to Maidstone.’

‘They’ll probably drive us out of town with stones.’

‘Giddy would not let us down without a good reason,’ insisted Nicholas.

‘It’s in his nature,’ said Firethorn darkly, ‘and that is reason enough.’

‘Could he have lost his way here?’

‘
We
are the ones who lost our way when we employed the rogue.’

‘Yet he has worked so hard to master his part. Why would he do that?’

‘To lead us astray,’ concluded Elias. ‘Giddy Mussett won our friendship in order to fend off our suspicions. He meant to betray us from the very start. The one consolation is that Barnaby is not here to see our humiliation.’

‘Why not?’ asked Firethorn.

‘When George Dart went to fetch him from his room, he had fallen asleep in the wheelbarrow. George thought it best to leave him there.’

‘What was the wheelbarrow doing in his room?’

‘That was my invention,’ said Nicholas. ‘I hoped he might come to appreciate its worth if he could see it properly. My stratagem may have worked.’

Elias was grateful. ‘At least, it kept Barnaby from crowing over us out there. He warned us that something like this would happen.’

Firethorn gritted his teeth. ‘Let’s not delay the anguish, Nick,’ he decided. ‘Go out on stage and find as pretty an excuse as you can to explain why we are unable to play here this evening. We were fools to trust a proven rascal like Giddy.’

Nicholas took a deep breath and headed for the door, blaming himself for foisting Mussett on to the company and vowing to track the man down. Before he could step out on stage, however, there was an outburst of laughter from the audience. Peeping around the tree that covered the entrance, Nicholas saw what had caused the noise. Giddy Mussett, dressed in the costume he would wear as Bedlam,
was turning cartwheels down the length of the room before stopping in front of the mayor and somersaulting backwards on to the stage. He acknowledged the applause before scuttling towards the exit. Nicholas grabbed him and took him into the tiring-house. Mussett gazed happily around the startled faces of the actors.

‘Well?’ he said jocularly. ‘Shall we teach them
A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady
?’

The performance surpassed all expectations. Horrified at the thought that they would have to abandon the play and sneak ignominiously away, Westfield’s Men were so delighted at the appearance of the missing clown that they put more zest and bite into their work.
A Trick To Catch A Chaste Lady
took flight in a way that had never quite happened before. Firethorn was supreme as Lackwit, Elias ranted magnificently as his rival, Hoode introduced a quieter humour with his portrayal of a dithering parson and Richard Honeydew was so convincing as the heroine of the play’s title that half the audience firmly believed that the company had broken with tradition and employed a young woman as their chaste lady. Even George Dart, impressed against his will into a minor role, managed to get a laugh in the correct place.

Giddy Mussett began slowly, feeling his way into the part. When he forgot lines or missed cues, other actors covered for him so expertly that none of the spectators noticed the slight mistakes. Throughout the play, his performance grew until it even threatened to overshadow Firethorn’s brilliant
Lackwit. It was when he came to his jig that Bedlam really took command, dancing with comic verve and keeping the audience in a state of helpless laughter. Nobody appreciated his comic genius more than Lucas Broome. As the play surged on to its climax, he had forgotten all about Barnaby Gill. The name on his lips – and on those of countless others – was Giddy Mussett, a clown whose mobile features and sprightly antics were a positive joy to behold.

When the play was over, Firethorn was the first to congratulate the newcomer, slapping him on the back and telling him that he had saved their reputation. It was a different matter when he led out his troupe to take their bow. The applause was long and loud but it was not directed largely at Firethorn this time. Accustomed to being the centre of attention, he was dismayed when most pairs of eyes were fixed on Mussett. Even the young women in the hall seemed to prefer Bedlam to Lackwit. It made Firethorn resolve to make certain changes to the play before it was staged again. He was too vain an actor to allow a complete newcomer to steal the plaudits away from him. Instead of being the company’s saviour, Mussett could turn out to be Firethorn’s personal nemesis.

Back in the tiring-house, the other actors crowded around their clown to shake his hand in admiration. The sight made Firethorn seethe even more. But it was Nicholas Bracewell who took a more considered view of the performance. Biding his time until the general excitement had died down, he took Mussett aside for a private word.

‘You did well, Giddy,’ he said.

‘Thank you, Nick.’

‘Better than we could have hoped.’

‘It is a wonderful part,’ said Mussett, ‘and I mean to make it my own.’

‘You’ll not do that if we have any more of your cunning tricks.’

‘Tricks?’

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas sharply. ‘You went missing on purpose. You kept us waiting until the very last moment before you deigned to appear. That was both cruel and unnecessary. You made us suffer, Giddy, and that was unforgivable.’

‘The others have forgiven me,’ said Mussett blithely.

‘I have not.’

‘Come, Nick, you must. My performance made amends for everything.’

‘Nothing can excuse the way you treated your fellows, Giddy. I thought better of you. When I came to you in prison,’ Nicholas reminded him, ‘you swore to abide by any contract that we could devise. You broke it on the very day of departure, making us think that you would not turn up then falling from that window to gain a few easy laughs. You did not impress me then and you did so less this evening.’

‘The play was a success. What more do you ask?’

‘Loyalty from every member of the company. I’ve yet to see it in you.’

‘I’ve worked hard for Westfield’s Men,’ said Mussett with a disarming smile, ‘and I deserve some reward. Leave
off this carping, Nick. We have a triumph to celebrate.’

‘Remember the terms of your contract.’

‘Can we not forget them for one night?’

‘Keep the celebrations within the bounds of reason.’

‘I always do.’

‘And no more of your tricks,’ warned Nicholas. ‘Show some respect for the feelings of others. Turn up when you are told and stop seizing all the attention for yourself. I’ll not tell you again, Giddy.’

Mussett’s smile vanished. Hands on hips, he stood in an attitude of defiance.

‘I rescued Westfield’s Men this evening,’ he asserted.

‘Only after you’d first caused us fear and upset.’

‘I did that for a reason, Nick.’

‘To have another laugh at our expense.’

‘No,’ said Mussett. ‘To show you how much you missed me. Without your clown, the play would have been cancelled and you would have been humiliated. I taught you a lesson this evening. You
need
me, Nick. Take Giddy Mussett out of the company and see what calamity follows. I’ll hear no more threats from you,’ he went on, thrusting out his chin. ‘Westfield’s Men would not survive without me. That gives me power.’

When Barnaby Gill awoke in his room, he was utterly bewildered. What was he doing in a wheelbarrow that was filled with cushions? It took him a full minute to gather his thoughts. Fatigue had clearly got the better of him. Wearied by a night without much sleep and taxed by the effort of
using a crutch, he had succumbed to tiredness in the comfort of the wheelbarrow. His body had made the decision that he had been unable to reach and kept him away from the performance. Torn between relief and exasperation, he vowed to berate George Dart for not waking him up and at least offering him the chance to return to the Lower Courthouse. Gill had no idea how long he had dozed but, when he glanced though the open window, he could see that the sky was just beginning to darken. The play might well be over already. He longed to know how it had been received.

It took some effort to haul himself out of the wheelbarrow but he eventually succeeded. Reaching for his crutch, he looked back at the place where he had enjoyed such undisturbed slumber. It was softer and more easeful than either the bed in his lodging or the mattress with which the landlord had provided him. In spite of himself, he felt an upsurge of gratitude towards Nicholas Bracewell. The book holder had gone to great trouble to convert the wheelbarrow so that it met Gill’s particular needs. It might yet have wider uses for the invalid. Summoning up his strength, he hopped his way towards the taproom to see if the others had returned yet. His timing could not have been better. As he entered the room by one door, three of the actors came bursting in through another. Owen Elias was in the lead.

‘Barnaby!’ he called, seeing the other. ‘Come and join us, old friend.’

‘How did the play fare?’ asked Gill.

‘Wonderfully well. We are famous throughout Maidstone.’

‘Yes,’ said James Ingram, ‘and the best news is that the mayor was so pleased with us, he is to pay five pounds for the chaste lady.’

‘Much of that should go to Giddy,’ said Elias, sitting at a table, ‘for he was the chief delight this evening. He even put Lawrence into eclipse.’

‘Giddy was Bedlam to the life.’

‘So was I, James,’ insisted Gill, hitting the floor with his crutch. ‘Edmund wrote that part for me and I am the only actor who can play it properly.’

‘Oh, I agree,’ said Ingram tactfully. ‘You made the role what it is.’

‘I hope that you all remember that.’

‘We do, Barnaby,’ said Elias. ‘You first played the role but Giddy added to what you did. His dances were inspired, his vigour remarkable. Ask anyone who saw him. He was beyond compare.’

‘You speak the truth, Owen,’ said Rowland Carr. ‘I never thought to see the day when someone could match Barnaby.’

Gill sneered. ‘Mussett is but a pale shadow of me.’

‘You did not watch the performance.’

‘Why not?’ asked Ingram. ‘I thought that you were eager to measure yourself against our new clown. What kept you away, Barnaby?’

‘I had more important things to do.’

‘Is anything more important than cheering on your fellows?’

‘Do not look to me to raise a cheer for Mussett. He’s a
counterfeit clown, a sham, a mere pretence, a low, dishonest creature that steals from others what he could never achieve by himself, a rogue, a villain, a monster of deceit.’

‘That is not how we find him. After this evening, he is a dear friend.’

‘More to be honoured than vilified,’ said Elias. ‘Sit down with us, Barnaby. Share our joy. Giddy will be here soon. Take him to your bosom as we have done.’

‘I’d sooner roll in a pit of vipers!’

‘He is one of us now.’

‘Then you are fools to think so, Owen, and I’ll not stay to see you fawning upon him.’ He started to move away. ‘I bid you all good night!’

They called him back but he ignored them and hopped out of the room moments before Giddy Mussett entered it with Edmund Hoode. The actors gave their clown a rousing welcome. Ale was ordered and Mussett was the first to seize a tankard.

‘Are you allowed to drink that?’ said Elias.

‘What man here will try to stop me?’ replied Mussett with a cackle.

‘None here, Giddy,’ said Ingram. ‘You’ve earned it.’

‘What kept you back?’ wondered Carr.

Mussett smirked. ‘The mayor wished to introduce me to his wife.’

‘A comely woman, as I recall.’

‘Plump and delicious, Rowland. Did you hear what the mayor said? He told me that I was the finest clown he had ever set eyes upon and he has seen Barnaby as well.
That was sweet music in my ears,’ he confided. ‘The town loved me, the mayor worshipped me and his wife was so consumed with lust for me that her marriage vows were in danger.’ He raised his tankard. ‘Here’s to other conquests along the way, my friends.’ They joined in the toast with alacrity. ‘Victories on the stage, victories in the bedchamber and, most of all,’ he added with a malicious glint in his eye, ‘victory over Barnaby Gill.’