'He's an experienced actor.'
'London is full of experienced players.'
'Not all of them are as reliable as Ruff.'
'He must leave us.'
'On what pretext?'
'I do not like the man!'
'He will be relieved to hear that,' said Firethorn with a wicked chuckle. 'Come, Barnaby, this is too small a matter to waste any more breath on.'
'I want him dismissed,' said Gill, holding firm.
'This is a mere whim.'
'I mean it, Lawrence. He has crossed me and he must suffer.'
'Why not challenge him to a duel?' suggested Hoode.
Gill cut short their mirth by lifting a chair and banging it down hard on the floor. His nostrils were flaring now and his eyes were rolling like those of a mare caught in a stable fire.
'I would remind you of just how much this company owes to me,' he began. 'In the face of constant temptation, I have remained faithful to Lord Westfield's Men. Others have approached me with lucrative offers many times but I always refused them, believing--in error, it now seems--that I was needed and appreciated here.'
'We have heard this speech before,' said Firethorn petulantly, and it does not grow more palatable.'
'I am serious, Lawrence! He has to go.'
'Why? Because he mastered you in a bout with foils?'
'Because he unsettles me.'
'We all do that to you, Barnaby,' joked Hoode. 'Are we to be put out as well?'
'Do not mock, sir. This is in earnest.'
Then let me be in earnest as well,' decided Firethorn, putting It is hands on his hips as he confronted the smaller man. 'We both know what lies behind all this. Young Dicky Honeydew.'
'Have care, Lawrence.'
I do--for the boy.' He wagged a warning finger. 'I am not one to pry into a man's private affairs. Live and let live, say I. But there is one rule that must always hold in this company, Barnaby, and you know it as well as I do. You understand me?'
'Yes.'
'Not with the apprentices.'
'This has nothing to do with the matter, Lawrence.'
'I have said my piece, sir.'
'And I must support it,' said Hoode. 'As for Samuel Ruff, you are out on your own. Everyone else is happy with the fellow. We have fared much worse with our hired men.'
Barnaby Gill was profoundly offended. He walked slowly to the door, opened it, drew himself up to his full height, and put every ounce of disdain into his tone.
'I will contend no further!'
'Then what have you been doing all this while?' asked Firethorn 'You have argued for argument's sake.'
'The choice is simple, gentlemen,' said Gill.
'Choice?'
'Either he goes--or I do!'
He slammed the door behind him with dramatic force.
*
George Dart was much given to reflections upon the misery of his lot. As the youngest and smallest of the stagekeepers, he was always saddled with the most menial jobs, and everyone in the company had authority over him. One of the tasks he hated most was being sent out with a sheaf of playbills to put up around the City. It was exhausting work. He would be chased by dogs, jeered at by-children, jostled by pedestrians, harangued by tradesmen, frowned on by Puritans, menaced by thieves, solicited by punks and generally made to feel that he was at the mercy of others.
His latest errand introduced him to a new indignity. With the playbills of Gloriana Triumphant fresh from the printers, he set off on a tortuous route through Cheapside, using every post and fence he could find along the way as a place of advertisement. With the market sprawled all around him, he had to push almost every inch of the way and his size was a real disadvantage. Hours of persistence, however, finally paid off as he posted up his last playbill outside the Maid and Magpie.
George Dart slowly began to retrace his short steps, wondering, as he did so, if anyone led such a pitiable existence as he did. They were always sending him somewhere. He was continually on the move, shuttling between this place and that, for ever heading towards or away from somewhere, never settling, never being allowed to dwell at the centre of action. He was one of nature intercessaries. Every arrival was a departure, every halt was merely to pick up instructions for the next journey. He was nothing but a carrier pigeon, doomed to fly in perpetuity.
His reverie was rudely checked and he turned a corner and walked along a street where he had put up a number or his playbills. Most of them had gone and those that remained had been defaced, He shuddered at the prospect of having to report the outrage. They would send him out again with fresh bills to endure fresh torments.
When he looked around the crowded street, he saw dozens of suspects. Any one of them could have ruined his work. As he studied a playbill that had been scribbled upon, he decided that it was the work of a drunken ruffian who wanted a morning's sport.
George Dart wept copiously. Watching him from a shop doorway on the opposite side of the street was a young man with a complacent smile. It was Roger Bartholomew.
*
The apprentices were still mystified. They had no idea who could have loosened the other beams in the attic chamber, nor could they understand the motive that lay behind it all. Was it some malign joke? Had the intention been to cripple Richard Honeydew permanently? Or were they themselves the target? Could someone have tried to implicate them in a much more serious business than the one they devised? If the apprentice had been badly injured--even killed--suspicion would naturally have fallen on them.
As it was, the luck which had saved Richard worked to their advantage as well. Margery Firethorn railed at them but they were able to swear, with the light of truth in their eyes, that they had not been responsible for loosening the beams around the dormer. Martin Yeo, John Tallis and Stephen Judd were off the hook but one fact remained. Richard Honeydew would still play Gloriana.
Shedding their fears about the person who had exploited their first plan, they set about concocting another. This one was foolproof. It would be put into operation the next day and the venue was the yard at The Queen's Head.
Here's a fine chestnut,' admired Yeo, leaning over the stable door. 'Come and see, Dick.'
'Yes,' agreed Richard, looking at the horse. He is a fine animal. See how his coat shines!'
'Would you like to ride him?' asked Tallis.
'I'd love to, John, but I am no horseman. Who owns him?'
'We have no notion,' said Tallis with an artful glance at Yeo. 'He must have arrived last night.'
They had come into the yard when the stage had been taken down to make way for a coach and a couple of wagons. The horses had been stabled. Knowing Richard's fondness for the animals Yeo and Tallis had invited him over to inspect them all, casually stopping at the last of the loose boxes to inspect the chestnut stallion. It was a mettlesome beast some seventeen hands high, and Yeo had watched it trot into the yard the previous afternoon. He had also overheard the instructions which the rider had given to the ostler.
A second trap had been set. Stationed in the window of the rehearsal room was Stephen Judd. He waved a hand to confirm that both Nicholas Bracewell and Samuel Ruff were fully occupied. Richard was now shorn of his guardians.
'He looks hungry,' noted Yeo.
'I've an apple he can have,' decided Tallis, pulling it out from his pocket. 'Here, Dick. You give it to him.'
'Not me, Stephen.'
'He won't bite you, lad,' said Yeo. 'Hold it on the palm of your hand like this.' He demonstrated with the apple. 'Go on.'
'I'm afraid to, Martin.'
'Horses love apples. Feed him.'
They cajoled the boy together until he eventually agreed. Opening the stable door, Yeo went in a yard or so with Richard. The chestnut was at the rear of the box, tethered to an empty manger and presenting its side to them.
Richard held the apple on the flat of his hand and approached with hesitant steps. The chestnut shifted its feet slightly and the straw rustled. Richard did not see Yeo move back
through the door before closing it. He was now alone in the loose box with the towering animal.
'Give it to him, Dick,' urged Yeo.
'Hold it under his nose,' added Tallis.
'Hurry up, lad.'
As Richard slowly extended his hand, the horse suddenly reared his head, showed the whites of his eyes, laid his ears back, then swung sideways with a loud neigh. His gleaming flank caught the boy hard enough to send him somersaulting into the straw. When he animal bucked wildly and lashed out with his powerful hind quarters, Richard was only inches away from the flashing hooves.
Martin Yeo was disappointed but Stephen Judd was having second thoughts about it all. Keen as he was for his friend to succeed to the part of Gloriana, he did not want Richard to be kicked to death by a horse.
'Hey!' yelled an ostler as he came running.
'Dick tried to give him an apple,' said Yeo.
Throwing open the stable door, the ostler grabbed Richard and dragged him to safety. Then he lifted the boy up and shook him soundly.
'What did you do that for, you fool!' he shouted. 'That horse will only let his master feed him. Do you want to be killed?'
Richard Honeydew turned crimson and fainted.
*
Lady Rosamund Varley expected the impossible and she was never satisfied until she got it. When she had given her dressmaker his orders, the man protested that he needed more time than he was allotted but she had been firm with him. If he wished to retain her custom, he had to obey her instructions. The impossible was once more accomplished, and the dressmaker arrived on time with his assistant at Varley House. She was duly delighted with their work but she had learned never to over-praise her minions. Instead, she found fault.
'I ordered three-inch ribbons.'
'Four, Lady Varley,' he corrected deferentially. 'But we can shorten them, of course.'
'I wanted a lawn ruff.'
'Cambric, Lady Varley. But we can change that.'
'The gown is cut too full.'
'My needlewomen are standing by, Lady Varley.' The dressmaker was a tall, almost debonair man who made himself look much smaller and meaner by his compulsion to bend and bow. His unctuous manner was further supplemented by a nervous washing of his hands. He absorbed all her criticisms and promised that the mistakes would be rectified.
'I will try it on first,' she announced.
'When it falls short of your wishes, Lady Varley.'
'Wait here.'
She retired to her bedchamber with two of her women, who first undressed her then helped their mistress into her new attire Over her linen chemise, they put on a whalebone corset and a farthingale, which was fastened round the waist to hold the gown out in a becoming semi-circle at the back. Over this came several petticoats, worn beneath a striking bodice of royal blue velvet with gold figure-work. A gown of the same material, slightly darker for contrast, had hanging sleeves of cambric.
In the fashion of the day, Lady Rosamund's hair was curled, frizzed and lightened to a golden-red. It was piled high above the forehead and swept away from the sides of her face. A stiff lace cartwheel ruff framed and set off her pale-skinned loveliness. Jewellery, perfume, a hat, gloves and shoes were added to complete a picture of devastating beauty. Everything fitted perfectly.
Full-length mirrors allowed her to view herself from all angles. She called for a few adjustments to be made, then she was content. As she paraded around the room, the former owner of the house popped back into her mind.
'Not even a bishop would be safe from me in this!'
Sweeping back downstairs, she let the dressmaker and his assistant cluck their praises at her then she clapped her hands to dismiss them.
'Leave your account.'
'Yes, Lady Varley.'
'My husband will pay you when he has a mind to.'
Alone again, she headed for the nearest mirror. The dress was a sartorial triumph. She could not wait to put it on display at The Curtain for the benefit of Lawrence Firethorn.
*
Edmund Hoode stood at the window of the rehearsal room and gazed moodily out at the inn yard. The effort of writing the new play had left him with the usual exhaustion and depression nudged at him. Gloriana Triumphant was an excellent piece of drama but it was also designed as a vehicle in which Lawrence Firethorn could both extend his reputation and further his love life. All that Hoode was left with was some effusive thanks and a small but telling role in the fourth act.
In such moods as this, he always felt used. His talent had been manipulated for the use of others. The best sonnet that he had written for years had been appropriated by someone else and it pained him. He spoke the lines softly to himself, and wished that the poem could instigate a romance for him. It dawned on him that he had not been in love for months. He missed the sweet sorrow of it. His soul was withering.
For Edmund Hoode, the thrill of the chase was everything. He was a true idealist who liked nothing better than to commit himself wholeheartedly to a woman and to draw his pleasure from the simple act of being in love. Lawrence Firethorn was very different. To a seasoned voluptuary like him, conquest was all and his standards were high. Hoode was ready to compromise. He would take someone far less grand than Lady Rosamund Varley. In his present despondency, he would take almost anyone.
Even as he brooded, something came into his field of vision that made him start. It was the landlord's daughter, tripping lightly across the inn yard with her dark hair streaming behind her. Hoode had noticed her several times before and always with pleasure. No more than twenty, she was happily free from the slightest resemblance to her father and her buxom openness was very refreshing.
As he watched her now, he discerned qualities that had eluded him before. She was lithe, graceful, vivacious. She was less like a landlord's daughter than a princess brought up by a woodcutter. Hoode gasped with joy as he realized something else about her.
Her name was Rose Marwood.
He began to recite his sonnet over again.
*
Nicholas Bracewell's earlier visit to The Curtain had been well-spent and he had devised some clever ideas for the staging of Gloriana Triumphant. He was anxious to have the chance to put them to the test. The luxury of a full day's rehearsal at the theatre gave him all the opportunity he needed. Some of his notions had to be scrapped, but the majority--including those for the climactic sea battle--were ingeniously workable. It enabled him to relax Given the mastery of its technical problems, the play could now take flight. He was confident that there would be no shuffling of feet in the pit this time.
Though acutely busy throughout the day, he tried to keep an eye on Richard Honeydew. The incident with the horse had rocked him and he was convinced that it had been set up by the other apprentices. They had been in disgrace ever since and no further attacks had been made on Richard. With the supportive vigilance of Samuel Ruff and Margery Firethorn, Nicholas felt he could keep the boy from harm.
'Let us try the end of the battle scene!' ordered Firethorn.
'Positions!' called Nicholas.
'We will not fire our cannon,' decided the actor. 'We will keep our powder dry.'
'And the sail, master?'
'Oh, we must have that.'
Where Banbury's Men had simply used a thick pole to suggest a mast, the other company had constructed a much more elaborate property with a full sail that could be raised and lowered. It was set into a circular wooden base which was self-standing. As the wind picked up, however, the sail began to billow.
'Hold it, Ben!' directed Nicholas.
'Aye.'
'Stand beside him just in case, Gregory.'
'Yes, Master Bracewell,' said a strapping journeyman.
Edmund Hoode's stagecraft was superior to that of the author of God Speed the Fleet. Where the earlier play had spent itself in the naval engagement, Gloriana Triumphant ended with a scene on the deck of the flagship which brought together all the main characters in the drama. The Queen of Albion herself
came on board and, with a spontaneous gesture of gratitude, she borrowed a sword to knight her magnificent sea dog.
Everyone took up their positions then Nicholas cued the musicians. Peter Digby led his men in a stately march as the royal personage came on to the vessel. With back erect and voice expressive, Richard Honeydew delivered his longest speech of the play, trying to ignore the flapping havoc that the wind was now causing to his costume. Firethorn went down on one knee to accept his knighthood then kissed the hand of his monarch and went into his own monologue.
He was not destined to reach the end of it. A sudden gust or wind hit the sail and wrenched it out of Benjamin Creech's grasp. Before Gregory could grab it, the whole mast keeled over across the middle of the stage.
'Look out!'
'Help!'
'Jump, Dick!'
The Queen of Albion had only a split second to take the advice that Samuel Ruff bawled out. As the mast lunged down at him, Nicholas leapt instinctively off the stage altogether. There was a tremendous crash as the timber hit the deck but at least it had nor hit anyone. The cast were in a state of shock but nobody seemed to be hurt.
'Aouw!'
'Are you hurt, Dick?'
'I think so.'
'Stay there!' advised Nicholas.
He bounded across the stage and leaped down beside the prone figure of the young apprentice. Richard was in pain. Landing awkwardly after his own jump, he had twisted his ankle so badly that he could put no weight on it. When Nicholas examined the injury, the joint was already beginning to swell.
The miracle was that the boy had eluded the falling mast. If he had been hampered by his costume, he would never have got out of the way in time and the extravagant finery of the Queen of Albion would now be lying crushed beneath the heavy timber. As it was, Richard had leaped from the deck of the flagship for good. Me would never be able to perform next day.
It was ironic. The other three boys had tried to disable him railed. Chance contrived what design could not. A gust of wind had just recast the part of Gloriana.
Nicholas Bracewell lifted the boy up in his arms and turned back to the stage. Looking down at them was Benjamin Creech, who had been holding the mast when it fell. The hired man was impassive but his eyes were slits of pleasure.
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