'To the future!' said his companion.
'That's as maybe, sir.'
'You are in a position to help us a great deal, Ben.'
'Aye.'
'We are grateful.'
Creech watched him carefully and waited for him to make the first move. They had known each other for some years now. The man was clever, persuasive and resourceful with a dark streak in his nature that commended him to Creech. It gave the two of them something in common.
He liked Giles Randolph.
*
Anne Hendrik was dining at home with her lodger and hearing about the extraordinary events at The Curtain that afternoon. She put her cutlery aside in astonishment when she heard about the dive that Roger Bartholomew had made from the second gallery.
'Was he badly hurt?' she said with concern.
'The surgeon recovered him,' explained Nicholas. 'He was taken back to his lodging to rest.'
'Why on earth did he do such a thing?'
'As a means of revenge against the company.'
'Because you rejected his play?'
'Master Bartholomew could not live with the disappointment. It preyed on his mind until his wits turned. The theatre can drive people to extremes at times, Anne.'
'I know that,' she said meaningfully.
'He was greatly vexed that his suicide jump failed,' Nicholas went on. 'Nothing he has done in a theatre has succeeded.'
'Poor fellow!' He has been sorely tried.'
'Yes, Anne. But he did solve one mystery for us.'
'Mystery?'
'Those playbills that George Dart put up for us.'
'Master Bartholomew tore them down?' she said in amazement.
'Desperate men are pushed into desperate actions.'
Anne sighed and picked up her cutlery again. Then her eye went back to the bloodstained bandage around Nicholas's head.
Her worries converged upon him once more. How is your own wound, Nick?' she said.
'My head is still attached to my body,' he joked lightly
'Did you ask the surgeon to examine it?'
'Do not distress yourself about it, Anne. I am in good health now.' He raised a finger to touch the bandage. 'I wear this simply to excite your sympathy.'
'What of that man with the red beard?'
His manner changed at once and he became much more earnest
'I have even more cause to find the rogue now,' he said with his jaw tightening. 'Redbeard and his accomplice have a lot to answer for and I mean to bring them to account.'
'But how?' she asked. 'In a city of over a hundred thousand people two men can easily stay hidden. How will you seek them out, Nick?'
'I may not have to do that,' he suggested.
'What do you mean?'
'Instead of going after them, I can wait till they come to me. For they will surely strike again.'
'Oh, Nick!' she sighed, fearing for him once more.
'I am not their intended victim,' he assured her. 'They had their chance to dispose of me last night and they did not take it. No, Anne, they are working to some complex plan.'
'I do not follow you.'
'It all started with the death of Will Fowler.'
'But that was an accident,' she argued. 'He lost his temper and was drawn into a quarrel. It was a random brawl.'
'That is what I thought,' he admitted, 'but I have grave doubts now. I believe that Will was deliberately murdered and that everything else which has happened--including the theft of our prompt book--is linked together.'
'What are you saying, Nick?'
'The real target is Lord Westfield's Men,' he said with conviction. 'Someone is trying to destroy the company.'
(*)Chapter Eleven
Having found a rose in full bloom, Edmund Hoode lost his heart to her completely. He loved her ardently with a reckless disregard of her unsuitability for this honour. Rose Marwood was a goddess in an apron to him. Her blithe presence in his life gave it new hope and purpose. The agonies surrounding the performance of his play had left him even more in need of the heady consolations of romance, and he was driven by one desire. She must be his.
Alexander Marwood was a serious hindrance to his wishes. The landlord's vigorous melancholy drew much of its strength from his fears for his daughter. Obsessed with the notion that Rose would be debauched at any moment, he rarely let her out of his sight. One of the penalties of giving hospitality to a dramatic-company at The Queen's Head was that every female on the premises was put at risk. To the harrowed landlord, all actors were promiscuous lechers without a moral scruple between them and the fact that two of his serving-wenches were with child confirmed this view.
Edmund Hoode was therefore baulked time and again, whenever he stole upon the girl, her father appeared from nowhere with an errand which sent her running off. On the one occasion that Marwood himself did not prevent a casual meeting between the lover and his lass, it was the girl's mother who intervened. Tall, big-boned and generously plump, she had a hawk-eyed watchfulness that put Hoode to flight in seconds.
His chance eventually came, however, and he was equal to it. From the window of the rehearsal room, he saw his beloved stroll into the yard with her young brother. Hoode had already bribed one of the stagekeepers to assist him and he now signalled the fellow over. George Dart--the most loveless member of the company--had been chosen to bear Cupid's arrow.
'Yes, master?'
'Come with me, George.'
'Where are we going, sir?' asked the other, as he was hustled out and down a flight of stairs. 'Am I to perform that service for you now?'
They reached the yard and Hoode glanced in through the open door of the taproom. Delighted that both Marwood and his wife were busy within, he gave Dart his orders.
'She talks over there with her brother.' He handed over a small scroll. 'Give this to her privily.'
'How, sir? The young fellow will see me.'
'Distract him in some way'
'By what device?'
'Do your office and be quick about it.'
'I will try, sir.'
'You will succeed, George,' warned Hoode ominously. 'That missive is for her eyes only. Away!'
'Yes, master.'
Hoode stepped into the taproom and loitered near the door. Keeping one eye on the girl's parents, he watched the diminutive stagekeeper skip across the yard. George Dart excelled himself. He reached the couple, stepped between them and relayed a message to the boy before guiding him firmly away. Rose Marwood was left alone, wondering how the scroll had got into her hand.
When she studied the seal, a look of pleasant surprise lit up her whole face. Edmund Hoode positively glowed.
'Open it, my love,' he whispered. 'Open it.'
