Chapter Ten
Alexander Marwood truly believed that marriage was an excellent mystery but its excellence proved so elusive that he had ceased to expect it. Every day, however, he was given resounding proof of the mystery of holy matrimony. Sybil’s behaviour was eternally puzzling to her husband. When the dreadful news about their daughter’s child had first been received, they had acted in unison, fearing shame, expressing outrage and punishing the girl with joint severity. Marwood and his wife had together initiated a search, albeit fruitless, for the father of the child.
Without even consulting him, Sybil had then taken the errant daughter off to Clerkenwell after depriving him of a considerable sum of money but all that the journey had produced was a tearful girl who soon fell sick of a fever. Marwood found himself blamed both for her pregnancy and for her illness and had the galling experience of having to part with more money when the doctor was summoned to tend her. More blame was incurred by the bewildered landlord who was accused by his spouse of cruelly locking up their daughter and treating her like a condemned felon.
When the fever broke, Rose improved markedly but Sybil’s behaviour became even more mysterious. Having closeted the girl and badgered her in vain to make a confession, her mother now rediscovered a sweetness and maternal concern which was utterly baffling to her husband. Rose’s door was left open, her window unbolted and food sent to her whenever she called for it. Alternately castigated and coaxed, Marwood was further bemused when he retired to bed on the previous night to be given an absent-minded kiss on the cheek from the dry and normally inviolable lips of his wife.
He was even more befuddled when he went upstairs in search of his capricious partner and found Rose creeping uncertainly along the passageway.
‘Where are you going, girl?’ he said harshly.
‘Mother told me to take exercise,’ she said.
‘Did she?’
‘I have to build my strength up again.’
‘But you are dressed to go out, Rose.’
‘Fresh air is good for me, father. The doctor advised it.’
‘He said nothing about fresh air when he pursued me for his fee.’ A belated paternal concern brushed him. ‘How are you feeling now, Rose?’
‘Much recovered.’
‘That would be good news were it not for the shame that you bear. Are you not penitent?’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘And do you not regret the pain you have caused us?’
‘It grieves me more than I can say.’
‘Then tell us who is the author of our misery.’
‘The author?’ It was her turn to be puzzled.
‘The father of your child!’
His raised voice brought Sybil bounding along the passageway with the ferocity of a lioness defending a cub against attack. She gave Marwood such an earful of rebuke that his head was spinning and all memory of his wife’s nocturnal kiss was obliterated. Pondering once more the mystery of the marital state, he beat a hasty retreat.
‘You told me to stretch my legs, Mother,’ said Rose.
‘I did, Rose,’ said Sybil watchfully. ‘But stay on the premises and do not talk to any of the servants. Confine yourself to a greeting. We have kept them ignorant of your condition and gave out that you were sick.’
Rose nodded obediently but knew that everybody at the Queen’s Head would be aware of what was going on. It made her highly self-conscious. While anxious to meet one member of the staff at the inn, she wanted to keep clear of the others lest she be assaulted with embarrassing questions. Sybil sent her on her way and watched with mixed feelings as her daughter slowly descended the backstairs. Then she went off to confront her husband with another slight change of attitude.
Rose soon found him. Leonard was in the cellar, rolling a barrel of ale noisily into position against the dank wall, his bulk magnified by the low ceiling and the narrowness of the storeroom. Rose shivered in the chill atmosphere.
‘Good day, Leonard,’ she said.
He spun round. ‘Mistress Rose!’ he exclaimed. ‘What are you doing down here?’
‘I came to thank you.’
‘Are you allowed to leave your bedchamber?’ he said, fearing reprisals from her parents. ‘Do not take risks on my account.’
‘But you took them on mine, Leonard.’
‘Did I?’
‘You offered me food.’
‘I was afraid that you were starving. They told me in the kitchen that you had not eaten for a whole day. I thought you might be denied food.’
‘You came to me because you cared,’ she said.
Leonard blushed. ‘I wanted to help.’
‘You did.’
‘But you took no bread and cheese from me.’
‘I saw you there outside my window. That was enough. I knew that I had one friend at the Queen’s Head.’
‘You have many, Mistress Rose,’ he told her. ‘Everyone is talking about you. We think you have been harshly treated. It is not my place to say so,’ he added quickly. ‘I have no right to speak against your parents. Your father gave me a place here when nobody else would look at me and I am grateful to him for that.’ He struggled to find the right words. ‘But I was … worried about you. That was why I came.’
‘It made a big difference.’
‘Did it?’
‘Yes, Leonard.’
A slow smile spread over his face until it shone in the gloom of the cellar. Rose’s gratitude was a bounty in itself. The risks he had taken on her behalf were more than worth it. Her friendship was one of the things which mitigated the grinding hardship and constant unpleasantness of working for Alexander Marwood.
Rose lowered her head slightly and bit her lip.
‘What do they say about me?’ she murmured.
‘Who?’
‘The others.’
‘Kind things, Mistress Rose. Kind things.’
‘They do not laugh at me, then?’
‘No,’ he said earnestly. ‘They would have to answer to me if they did. They are very sorry to hear …’ He cleared his throat and groped for the right words again. ‘To hear … what befell you. The players, too, show sympathy.’
Rose was dismayed. ‘Do Westfield’s Men know of my shame as well?’ she said. ‘It will soon be the talk of the parish.’
‘No,’ he told her. ‘And do not think the players make any jests about you. Nicholas Bracewell makes sure that your name is respected. He will have no foul talk about any young woman. Besides, Mistress Rose, the players have troubles of their own which put you quite out of their mind.’
‘Troubles?’
‘Have you not heard?’
Leonard put his hands on his hips and gave her a halting account of the woes of Westfield’s Men. She was saddened to hear that they might be driven out of the Queen’s Head by an edict of the Privy Council and horrified to learn of the fire at the site of their new playhouse but it was the death of Sylvester Pryde which upset her the most.
‘He was such a courteous gentleman,’ she recalled.
‘An upright fellow, to be sure.’
‘It was always a pleasure to serve him in the taproom. Master Pryde had a smile and a kind word for me every time. And is he really dead?’
‘The funeral is tomorrow, as I hear.’
‘Would that I could be there to pay my respects!’
‘We will miss Sylvester Pryde,’ he said mournfully, ‘but, then, we will miss the whole company when they leave here for good. Westfield’s Men bring so much life and merriment to the Queen’s Head.’
‘They do, Leonard,’ she enthused. ‘When I lay sick in bed, the only thing which stayed me was the sound of a play being staged in our yard. That laughter and applause helped me through my ordeal.’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘I think there is no profession in the world more exciting than that of an actor. The inn will seem dead without the company.’
‘I said as much to Martin.’
Her ears pricked up. ‘Martin?’
‘Did he mention me?’ she whispered.
‘Oh, yes. And spoke with fondness.’
‘What did you tell him?’
‘That you were locked unjustly away.’
‘And what did Martin say to that?’
‘He was sad to hear it, Mistress Rose. And even sadder when he knew the reason.’ He gabbled his apology. ‘I hope I did not speak out of turn in telling him about your plight. But Martin was concerned for you. He pressed me. He will not breathe a word of this to anyone, I am sure. Martin is discreet.’
‘Yes, Leonard. I am sure.’ She made an effort to sound casual. ‘What news did he have on his own account?’
‘Very little.’
‘Has his ambition been fulfilled?’
‘He mentioned no ambition to me,’ said Leonard, scratching his head. ‘To tell the truth, I cannot think that any man would have an ambition to work at the Brown Bear.’
‘The Brown Bear?’
‘It is a scurvy inn in Eastcheap, full of wild company and wickedness. I would have thought that Martin could find better employment than that.’
Rose was hurt. ‘Martin works at another inn?’
‘Yes,’ said Leonard. ‘He would have been far happier to stay here. He was a fool to leave the Queen’s Head. Do you not think so, Mistress Rose?’
‘I do, Leonard,’ she murmured ‘I do.’
Lawrence Firethorn was glad to loan his horse to Nicholas Bracewell for the second time. The book holder was going to visit their benefactor’s house and Firethorn was eager to do anything he could to make the journey there quicker and more comfortable. It gave him an excuse to pry and to probe.
‘Do you have far to go, Nick?’ he wondered.
‘Far enough.’
‘Outside the city, then?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Nicholas with a non-committal smile.
‘Should you travel in your condition?’
‘I have no choice.’
‘You were badly beaten last night,’ said Firethorn with regret. ‘You must still be in pain. Let me come with you in case you falter on the way. We can borrow a second horse from the stables.’
‘I prefer to go alone.’
‘But is that wise?’
‘Wise and necessary,’ said Nicholas firmly. ‘I was hurt in the attack but Anne was a kind nurse and I managed to walk all the way here from Bankside this morning. A ride will not tax me in the slightest.’
‘Shall I bear you company at least part of the way?’
‘No.’
‘Will our benefactor agree to see you?’
‘I hope so.’
‘What manner of man is he?’ fished the other.
‘I must be on my way.’
‘Is there nothing you will tell me, Nick?’
‘Only that I have to keep my word.’
Firethorn contained his frustration. It irked him that a vital part of the company’s financial situation was wreathed in secrecy. He could not understand why he, of all people, was kept in the dark about the source of their loan. At the same time, he did not wish to imperil it at such a delicate period by forcing Nicholas to break a confidence. He had complete faith in his book holder’s ability to represent Westfield’s Men fairly and firmly.
‘We are undeterred,’ said Firethorn.
‘I know.’
‘Impress that upon our benefactor. The fire last night was a minor setback that will only spur us on. Make him appreciate that, Nick. He must not take fright and withdraw his loan or we are laid low.’ He looked worried. ‘One thing more.’
‘What is that?’
‘May good fortune attend you!’
Firethorn slapped his horse on the rump and it trotted off across the inn yard. He waited until it was out of sight before he went off ruminatively to the taproom. Nicholas, meanwhile, rode off towards the Strand on his mission. It was not one which gave him any pleasure. Some of the bandaging around his head was concealed by his cap but his face still bore vivid souvenirs of the attack and he collected a number of ghoulish stares from passers-by. He wondered how the Countess of Dartford would react when he presented himself in such a bruised condition.
Yet she had to be kept abreast of developments at The Angel theatre and the visit might have an incidental bonus. Nicholas hoped that he might learn more of her relationship with Sylvester Pryde and some indication of whether it might be responsible for some of the ills which had befallen Westfield’s Men. He also intended to find out more about her precise motives for lavishing so much money on a struggling theatre company. One thought buoyed him up. The performance that afternoon had vindicated the company’s high reputation. Led by Firethorn and supported by Nicholas, their response to the arson attack had been refreshingly positive. They refused to be cowed into submission.
When he reached the house, Nicholas had some difficulty persuading the servants to let him in. It was only when the steward was sent for that the visitor was allowed over the threshold and that was done with blatant reservations. The Countess was at home but the steward had the severest doubts that she would consent to admit Nicholas. He went off with measured strides. When he returned from her, however, he was slightly abashed and he told the visitor, with dignified reluctance, that the mistress of the house insisted on seeing him at once. Nicholas was conducted to the chamber where he had met the Countess during his earlier visit.
He doffed his cap in deference and she was shocked.
‘What has happened to you, Nicholas?’ she cried.
‘That is what I have come to tell you, my lady.’
‘Then do so in comfort,’ she said, motioning him to a seat and dismissing the steward in one gesture. ‘Should you not be abed with such injuries?’
‘They appear worse than they are,’ he said bravely.
The Countess of Dartford was impatient to hear all. Nicholas was concise but accurate. He did not play down the extent of the setback but he stressed how well the company had come together in the crisis. Volunteers to work on the site and to guard it through the night were ready and numerous. He was able to assure her that their new playhouse would be fully protected from any further assault. Her main concern was for his safety.
‘You put your own life at risk, Nicholas.’
‘I survived.’
‘Only because of your obvious strength,’ she noted. ‘A weaker man might well have perished from such an assault. They murdered Sylvester. Why did they spare you?’
‘I do not know, my lady,’ he said. ‘Nor can I be sure that Sylvester’s assassin was party to the attack on me. The two crimes may yet be unconnected. On the other hand,’ he added, ‘one reason for my reprieve did occur to me.’
‘Well?’
‘If the fire was started by one of our rivals, I may have been recognised and spared on that account. Havelock’s Men and Banbury’s Men are both confident of their future. If it falls, they expect to pick over the bones of Westfield’s Men. I have been approached by both companies in the past,’ he confided modestly. ‘Haply, I was kept alive by someone who purposed to employ me at a later date.’
‘Battering you like that is a strange way to endear you to a new company,’ she observed drily. ‘And if they coveted Nicholas Bracewell, why did they not also let Sylvester live to join their ranks? He was a sharer and you, with respect, are merely a hired man.’
‘That is so.’
‘What then, is the explanation?’
‘Sylvester could transact the loan which could save us and I could not. He was murdered in order to scare off our benefactor. Fortunately, that did not happen. Also …’
‘Be candid,’ she urged. ‘I know what you are about to say. Sylvester would not have been so eagerly sought after by another company.’
‘He was a good actor but he had limitations.’
‘You saw him at his best,’ said Nicholas.
‘But his best was several leagues below greatness.’
Nicholas hesitated. ‘Yes, my lady,’ he said at length.
‘The consolation is that Sylvester did not know it. In his mind, he was the next Lawrence Firethorn, another titan of the theatre. Oh, heavens! What a magnificent sight he is at full tilt upon the boards! Firethorn is supreme and a proper man in every respect. I could watch him all day!’ Her fulsome praise was commuted to a sigh. ‘But dear, dear Sylvester! His ambition so far outran his talent but he never lived to face that ugly truth. It may have been a blessing.’
‘I would sooner have him with us, my lady.’
‘So would I, Nicholas. I loved the man!’
Her sudden passion took them both unawares and there was a long pause. The Countess went to a chair and lowered herself gently into it while she recovered her poise. Nicholas bided his time and adjusted his view of her. Cordelia Bartram was not the impulsive woman he had imagined, obliging an intimate friend with a substantial loan on the basis of a single visit to the Queen’s Head. She was a seasoned admirer of Westfield’s Men and – if there had been an entanglement with Viscount Havelock – she would be familiar with the work presented at The Rose as well.
‘What do you want from me?’ she asked calmly.
‘Reassurance, my lady.’
‘You came to give it and to take it away. Well, have no worries about the loan. It will take more than a few charred timbers in Bankside to frighten my money away.’
‘I am deeply grateful to hear that, my lady.’
‘There will be ample recompense for me.’
‘Will there?’ he said with interest.
The Wanton Angel Page 19