The Malevolent Comedy

by Edward Marston

  ‘Every moment.’

  ‘What of our duets?’

  ‘I was just saying how much I appreciated them,’ said Hoode, ‘along with the Byrd and the Tomkins, that is,’ he added, turning to Bernice. ‘Your voices blended so harmoniously.’

  ‘I simply followed where Bernice led.’

  ‘We loved the play yesterday,’ she said, beaming at Hoode. ‘You were so comical as the priest. I could not stop laughing, especially when you danced out of the way of that little dog.’

  ‘He was an uninvited member of the cast.’

  ‘So I hear.’

  ‘He livened up the afternoon for all of us,’ said Elias. ‘But I’m sorry that your sister did not enjoy The Malevolent Comedy as much as you. She spoke rather slightingly of it.’

  Hoode was alarmed. ‘She disapproved?’

  ‘Pay no attention to Ursula,’ said Bernice. ‘She has too solemn a cast of mind. Father and I adored the play but she felt that it bordered on blasphemy to poke fun at the priesthood.’

  ‘Then your sister objected to my performance?’

  ‘Only to the character you played.’

  ‘Ursula is more at ease with the Bishop of London,’ said Elias. ‘I heard them talking in Latin earlier on. She’s a studious young lady.’

  ‘Too much study addles the brain,’ said Bernice, happily.

  ‘That’s my philosophy as well.’

  ‘What about you, Master Hoode?’

  ‘Oh, I admire your sister’s scholarship.’

  ‘Would you wish to waste your time learning a dead language?’

  ‘Probably not.’

  ‘Then you are of the same mind as me. I hoped that you would be.’

  Suppressing a giggle, she gazed at Hoode with undisguised fondness. He, meanwhile, was craning his neck to look for Ursula and he was heartbroken to learn that she was no longer in the hall. It was exasperating. Bernice Opie, the sister whom he thought too frivolous and inconsequential, exhibited a clear liking for him while Ursula, the person he had really come to see that evening, would not even speak to him. The irony of the situation was not lost on the sensitive playwright. Bernice’s mother came up to spirit her daughter away, leaving Hoode alone with Elias. Nudging his friend, the Welshman spoke in his ear.

  ‘Bernice is there for the taking, Edmund.’

  ‘I’d never dream of doing such a thing.’

  ‘Would you not like her to sing to you in bed afterwards?’

  ‘Shame on you, Owen!’

  ‘Ah, I see,’ said the Welshman, chuckling. ‘You’d rather make love to her sister in Latin.’

  Though he would not be involved with the third performance of the play, Nicholas Bracewell nevertheless turned up at the Queen’s Head that morning. The first person he spoke to was Alexander Marwood. The book holder’s request was promptly refused.

  ‘No, no,’ said the landlord. ‘That’s out of the question.’

  ‘But I’d have the ideal view from that room.’

  ‘Find another place from which to spy, Master Bracewell. You’ll not make use of our bedchamber. My wife would never permit it.’

  ‘I’d only be in there during the play,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘No man is allowed into that room.’

  Marwood spoke with the cold finality of someone who was only permitted to share the bedchamber himself on sufferance. It was his wife who controlled what happened within those four walls, and that meant a series of lonely nights for the harassed landlord. The joys of marriage had been all too fleeting in his case. Indeed, they now seemed so distant that he began to wonder if they had ever occurred.

  ‘Why did you want to go in that room?’ he asked, eyeing Nicholas warily. ‘You’ll not see much of the play from up there.’

  ‘I’d be looking at the audience.’

  ‘What pleasure is there in that?’

  ‘I do it out of necessity rather than pleasure,’ explained Nicholas. ‘The Malevolent Comedy has an enemy and I believe that he may be among the spectators this afternoon.’

  Marwood was disturbed. ‘To cause more mischief on my property?’

  ‘Not if I can catch him in time.’

  ‘You did not catch him when he poisoned that young lad, or when he had a dog set loose upon you.’

  ‘I’m ready for him now,’ said Nicholas, ‘and I’ll not be hampered by my role as book holder. All I need is a vantage point from which to see the whole yard and watch the spectators.’

  ‘I sense trouble ahead.’

  ‘The play has made you healthy profits so far.’

  ‘What use are they if someone is bent on destroying me?’

  ‘Master Hibbert is the target here. You are quite safe.’

  ‘I’d be safer still if the play was cancelled,’ said Marwood, sourly.

  ‘It’s been advertised for this afternoon.’

  ‘Then I blame Master Firethorn for putting my yard in danger again. Whenever you play this comedy, you are waving a red rag at a bull. Choose something that will not goad this villain into action.’

  ‘But that’s the only way we may be able to ensnare him,’ argued Nicholas. ‘In staging this play, we’re also setting a trap.’

  ‘And I’m the one who’ll be caught in it.’

  ‘You stand to reap the benefits of a full audience.’

  ‘I stand only to suffer,’ moaned the landlord. ‘I’ve done nothing else since I let your accursed troupe into my yard. Westfield’s Men have brought murder, mayhem, fire, riot and ruination down upon me. And now you wish to invade our bedchamber! It’s too much, sir!’

  Wringing his hands, he scurried off across the yard in a state of agitation. Nicholas scanned the windows above him, trying to decide which other room would be suited to his purposes. He was still unable to make up his mind when Leonard ambled over to him, his big, flat, pasty face crumpled with anxiety.

  ‘What’s this I hear about you leaving the company?’

  ‘Only for the duration of the play, Leonard.’

  ‘But what if the play should run for a week or more?’

  ‘My task is to make sure that it survives today,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘Then you’ll be keeping yourself out of work.’

  ‘No, Leonard. I’ll be protecting the company.’

  ‘Saving the skin of Master Hibbert more like,’ said Leonard with unwonted severity. ‘He’s upset all of us here at the inn with his high-handed ways, and your fellows do not like him either. George Dart tells me that he had you expelled from your post.’

  ‘Rested only.’

  ‘That rest could last a long time if he writes more plays for you.’

  ‘I’ve no power to stop him doing that.’

  ‘It’s in your interests to let The Malevolent Comedy fail,’ noted the other, ‘and well it may if you do not stand guard over it.’

  ‘I stand guard over the reputation of Westfield’s Men,’ said Nicholas, proudly, ‘and I’d hate them to falter on my account. I’ll need your help, too, Leonard. You know where every nook and cranny is. I count on you to search them before the play begins.’

  ‘If you wish, Nicholas.’

  ‘Then stand close to the stage during the performance, ready to help the actors if trouble breaks out. Keep one eye on the room above where I’ll maintain my vigil. I’ll wave a hand to warn you of danger.’

  ‘What about the stables?’

  ‘Lock them.’

  ‘And the gates to the yard?’

  ‘They’ll be chained until the performance is over.’

  ‘You are closing off all the points of attack.’

  ‘We can never do that completely. We must stay alert.’

  ‘At least, the dog will not run wild.’

  ‘We’ve faced fiercer animals than that,’ said Nicholas, smiling as a memory surfaced. ‘In Cambridge, a man once set his dancing bear upon us because our play was getting all the attention. In Exeter, some geese decided to wander across the stage in the middle of a performance.
Putting on a play is an act of faith, Leonard. We are hostages to fortune.’

  ‘It was ever thus. What else can I do this afternoon?’

  ‘Keep your eyes peeled for that fair-haired gentleman.’

  ‘He’s not been near the place since.’

  ‘Has anyone else been asking about Westfield’s Men?’

  Leonard nodded. ‘As a matter of fact, they have.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘About one of them, anyway.’

  ‘Who was that?’

  ‘You, Nicholas.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘The book holder and his duties, anyway.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘That you do far more behind the scenes than ever is seen onstage. That’s why it pains me to see that Master Hibbert has ousted you like this. George Dart will be a poor deputy.’

  ‘Tell me about him, Leonard.’

  ‘George?’

  ‘No, the gentleman who was so interested in me. Describe him.’

  ‘That’s impossible.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it was not a gentleman at all,’ said Leonard, a slow smile spreading across his face. ‘It was a lady, a very beautiful young lady.’

  Lawrence Firethorn was in no mood to conduct a rehearsal. After a sleepless night on the floor of his bedchamber, he ached and itched all over. True to her edict, his wife had kept him out of his bed and down on the bare boards in disgrace. Lord Loveless was anything but lordly in the morning but his sense of lovelessness had deepened markedly. With the apprentices trailing behind him, he rode off from Shoreditch in a daze. When his mind finally began to clear, it had to grapple with his dire predicament. Torn between competing claims on him, he knew that he had made an irrevocably bad decision. In trying to keep Saul Hibbert loyal to Westfield’s Men, he had been forced to suspend his book holder, scandalise his actors and, worst of all, estrange himself from his wife. He wished that he had never heard of The Malevolent Comedy.

  The rehearsal was a shambles. Held to refresh the memories of the cast, it only concentrated on key scenes in the play. Since it began without any real commitment on the part of the actors, it quickly descended into farce. Firethorn was the worst offender.

  ‘George!’ he bellowed.

  ‘Yes?’ replied Dart, acting as prompter.

  ‘Give me the line.’

  ‘Which one, Master Firethorn?’

  ‘The one I’m struggling to remember, you idiot.’

  ‘There’ve been so many of those this morning.’

  ‘What am I supposed to say to Mistress Malevole?’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Now, George – now, now, now!’

  Dart was flustered. ‘Which scene are we in?’

  ‘The one we started on ten minutes ago.’

  ‘I’ve found it. You and Mistress Malevole are in the garden.’

  ‘No, you imbecile!’ boomed Firethorn, flinging his hat on to the stage in his fury. ‘We did that scene an hour ago. This one takes place in the hall of my house. Are you sure that you have the right play in your hands? A prompter must be prompt and audible. You are neither.’

  ‘Do not hound him, Lawrence,’ advised Owen Elias. ‘You’ll only confuse him further. Try to build his confidence.’

  ‘He’s as useless as a Pope’s prick.’

  ‘You do him wrong,’ said Edmund Hoode, taking pity on Dart. ‘It was an act of stupidity to think you could turn him into Nick Bracewell.’

  ‘It would be easier to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.’

  ‘George will not let us down if you treat him kindly.’

  ‘Kindly!’ roared Firethorn. ‘If he feeds me the wrong line again, I’ll tie him to the flagpole and hoist him to the top.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Back to the start of the scene,’ he ordered, ‘and let’s try to get it right this time, shall we?’

  ‘How can we when your memory is like a sieve?’ asked Gill.

  ‘Nobody invited your comment, Barnaby.’

  ‘I speak for all of us. You’ve stumbled badly throughout.’

  ‘Slander!’ said Firethorn over the murmurs of agreement. ‘I’m feeling for a new interpretation of the character, that’s all.’

  ‘And groping for your lines like a blind man.’

  ‘Silence!’

  Gill smirked. ‘Whatever did Margery give you for breakfast today?’

  The remark stung so hard that it set Firethorn off into a violent tirade against the Clown that was only ended when Elias and Hoode stepped in to keep the two men apart. Further rehearsal was impossible. The play was abandoned. The one saving grace was that its author had not been present to witness the general apathy and ceaseless parade of errors. Even the most assured comic moments had been thrown away.

  ‘Take heart, George,’ said Hoode, trying to console their little book holder. ‘You’ll have none of these problems this afternoon.’

  ‘I always lose my place when Master Firethorn shouts at me.’

  ‘He shouted at all of us today.’

  Dart was wistful. ‘If only Nicholas had been here to bail us out,’ he said. ‘It’s a crime that he’s been deprived of his office for me.’

  ‘It’s more than a crime, George – it’s a vile sin.’

  ‘At the time when we need him most, he’s not here to help us.’

  ‘Nick would have been thoroughly ashamed of us this morning.’

  ‘And rightly so,’ said Dart. ‘Where is he?’

  During the rehearsal, Nicholas Bracewell had deliberately kept out of the way, not wishing to embarrass his deputy or to subject himself to what was bound to be a painful exercise. He had never been asked to step down before and nursed a grievance that he did his best to keep to himself. On the other hand, he told himself, he could still serve the company by offering it the protection it needed. Much as he might resent Saul Hibbert, he wanted the play to go off without interruption. To that end, he and Leonard searched then sealed off all obvious hiding places for anyone intent on causing disarray. He also spoke to the gatherers on duty at the gate and instructed them to keep a close eye on the spectators as they were admitted. Anyone trying to bring small animals in was to be turned summarily away.

  Long before the yard began to fill, Nicholas had retreated to a room that overlooked the stage from behind. Vacated by a traveller earlier that day, it was small, dark and infested with spiders but it was ideal for his purposes. It allowed him to watch unseen from above. Though much of the stage itself was obscured from him, he had a good view of the pit and the galleries. He kept the whole yard under surveillance. His eyesight was exceptionally sharp. During his voyage around the world with Drake, he had done his share of climbing into the crow’s nest to act as lookout. Rewards were offered for the first man to descry land and Nicholas made sure that he did not miss any opportunities. That same intense vigilance was now turned on the audience.

  The galleries were replete with elegant young gentlemen but none of the dashing gallants fitted the description that Leonard had given of the fair-headed visitor. It was a different matter when it came to beautiful ladies. They were there in such abundance that Nicholas was spoilt for choice. The three aristocratic ladies in Lord Westfield’s entourage were quite dazzling and those elsewhere, bedecked with their finery, turned the galleries into a blaze of colour. The reputation of The Malevolent Comedy had patently spread, bringing in spectators from every level of society. Its problematical author, flamboyantly attired and seated beside yet another arresting beauty, was in the lower gallery.

  The play started well and proceeded without mishap but it had none of the driving thrust of the earlier performances. Studying the reactions of the audience, Nicholas could see that they were not as engrossed as they should have been. They tittered when they should have laughed, laughed when they should have applauded and only came properly to life when Barnaby Gill entertained them with his jigs. Lord Loveless lacked authority, Mistress Malevole was muted and Edmund Hoode, as the comi
cal priest, seemed to forget that he was performing in a comedy. While the play was continuously diverting, it never managed to realise its full potential.

  For all that, it provided two fairly exhilarating hours for its audience and was happily free from any of the errors that had littered the rehearsal. Somewhere behind the scenes, George Dart was entitled to congratulate himself. The most important thing from Nicholas’s point of view was that no attempt was made to interrupt the performance. No poison, no dog, no fresh outrage. The Malevolent Comedy had finally been staged without attracting any malevolence. As a consequence, it was robbed of some of its tension and hilarity, but its cast had been spared and Nicholas was grateful for that.

  The applause that greeted them as they came to take their bow was warm and generous. It did not compare, however, with the ovations that had been received on the two previous occasions. Keenly aware of that, Saul Hibbert looked deeply disappointed and Nicholas could see him apologising to his companion. For the author – as for others who knew the play – the performance had fallen far short of excellence. One man in the upper gallery seemed to relish the fact. Alone of the audience, he was not clapping at all. Instead, he looked on with a smile of satisfaction.

  Nicholas recognised him at once as a playwright who had been rudely rejected by Lawrence Firethorn, only to achieve success with a rival company. It was John Vavasor.

  Westfield’s Men knew only too well that they had let themselves down. Over their drinks in the taproom, they searched for explanations.

  ‘I felt so tired,’ admitted Edmund Hoode. ‘Tired and distracted.’

  ‘My heart was simply not in the play,’ said Owen Elias.

  Francis Quilter sighed. ‘We all know why,’ he said. ‘We’re still in mourning for Nick Bracewell.’

  ‘And for Hal Bridger.’

  ‘Yes, Owen. Even more so for him.’

  ‘Nick will come back but Hal is gone forever.’

  ‘And in his place,’ Hoode reminded them, ‘we have Saul Hibbert.’

  ‘What will he have thought of us today?’

  ‘I daresay that he’ll tell us, Frank, and in blunt terms as well.’

  ‘No,’ said Elias. ‘We’ve been rescued from that. Lawrence has gone to intercept him and take full responsibility for what happened onstage. It’s the one useful thing he’s done all day.’