'I felt I had cause, Lawrence.'
'Show it me.'
'There were...indications.'
'Produce them against me,' he challenged. 'No, I have been maligned here. Someone turned you against me. I have been a model of fidelity to you and that gift shows it.'
She bestowed a kiss of gratitude on his lips then looked into the box once more and marvelled. The pendant was small, oval and studded with semiprecious stones. Sunshine was slanting in through the chamber window to make them dance and sparkle,
'May I try it on, sir?'
'I will hold it for you, Margery.'
'It will go best with my taffeta dress,' she decided.
'It will become you whatever you wear,' he said, then collected a second kiss. 'Hold still now.'
Margery Firethorn stood in front of the mirror while he dangled the pendant around her neck. She was thrilled with the present, all the more so because it was so unexpected and--she now began to imagine--completely undeserved. A husband who had been reviled as much as hers had of late could only buy her an expensive present like that if he was besotted on her.
He nestled into her back and rubbed his beard against her hair. His eyes met hers in the mirror.
'Will it suit, madam?'
'It will suit, sir.'
'It is only a trifle,' he apologized. 'If I was a richer man, it would have been edged with pearls and encrusted with diamonds.' He squeezed her again. 'Are you pleased?'
'I will treasure it for ever.'
The third kiss was longer and more ardent. It gave him time to rehearse an excuse for the fact that he would not be able to leave the gift with her because it would be worn around the neck of Gloriana, Queen of Albion, in the forthcoming play.
'Fix the catch, Lawrence. I will wear it now.'
'You cannot, I fear.'
'Why not?'
'The catch is faulty. It will need to be repaired by the jeweller. No matter,' he said, whisking the pendant away and replacing it in its box. 'I will take it to his shop this very morning and set the fellow to work on it.'
'I am loathe to part with it.'
'It will be but a short absence.'
'Take the chain, sir. Let me keep the pendant at least.'
'Alas!' he replied, snapping the lid of the box shut. 'That is not possible. The pendant is attached to the chain for safety's sake. It cannot be removed.'
A last small cloud of suspicion drifted across her mind.
'Lawrence...'
'My love?'
'You did buy that gift for me?'
He looked so stricken at the very suggestion that she immediately took back the question and showered him with apologies. In a marriage as crazily erratic as theirs, reconciliation was always the most prized moment. It was an hour before he was able to get dressed and take his leave. The gift of the pendant had been a happy inspiration. He had been keeping it by him for just such an emergency.
Margery waved him off and addressed herself to the management of the household with increased vigour. After the storm came the blissful calm. She had been through a period of turmoil, only to emerge with a new and devoted husband.
The old and wandering husband, meanwhile, went straight to Edmund Hoode's lodging to see if another gift for a lady was ready yet. He studied the fourteen lines with rapt attention.
'It seemed to work better as a sonnet,' said Hoode.
'You've surpassed yourself, Edmund.'
'Have I?'
'This will wing its way to her heart.'
The sonnet was in praise of Lady Rosamund Varney and it punned on the words 'lady' and 'rose' with bewitching skill. Lawrence Firethorn did not believe in the lone pursuit of his prey. He cheerfully enlisted the aid of those around him. Hoode had provided the sonnet and the message now needed a bearer.
'I must find Nicholas Bracewell at once.'
*
The Curtain was situated to the south of Holywell Lane, off Shoreditch, on land that had once been part of Holywell Priory To the Puritans, who railed against the playhouses for their filth and lewdness, the Curtain was an act of sacrilege on what had once been consecrated ground. To Nicholas Bracewell, who took a more philosophical view, it was a pleasing amalgam of the sacred and the profane, in short, the stuff of theatre.
On a rare afternoon of freedom, Nicholas had come along to The Curtain to watch a performance by the Earl of Banbury's Men. He was not so much interested in the rival company as in the new play they were giving, God Speed the Fleet. This was yet another eulogy of the English navy, thinly disguised by a time shift to the previous century and a geographical shift to Venice. Nicholas was keen to see how they mounted their sea battle, hoping that he might glean some ideas that could be used when his own company staged Gloriana Triumphant.
Fine weather brought a full house to The Curtain and they were crammed into the pit and the galleries. The playhouse was a tall, circular structure of timber which resembled a bull-ring. Three storeys of seating galleries projected into the circle from the outer walls and this perimeter area was roofed with thatch, leaving the central arena open to the sky.
The stage projected out like an apron into the pit. It was high, rectangular and contained a large trap door. Over part of the acting area was a large canopy, supported on heavy pillars that descended to and through the stage. A flat wall behind the stage broke the smooth inner curve of the arena. At each end of the wall was a door through which entrances and exits could be made. The tiring-house was directly behind the wall.
Halfway up the tiring-house wall was a recess, showing some more galleries. This space was curtained over for use as an acting area and Nicholas guessed rightly that it would bemused as the deck of a warship. At the top of the tiring-house were the huts, pitched-roof gabled attic rooms, where the musicians sat. Above these was a small balcony from which the trumpeter would start the performance and run up the flag to signal it was under way.
After the makeshift facilities of The Queen's Head, it was good to be in a real playhouse again and Nicholas felt his heart lift. He paid pence for an uncushioned seat in the second gallery and settled down to enjoy the performance. Food and drink were being sold by noisy, ubiquitous vendors. The standees in the pit were already restive. The whole place was bubbling with an anticipatory delight.
Nicholas noted that the Earl of Banbury was present. Surrounded by his entourage of gallants and ladies, he occupied one of the lords' rooms closest to the stage. The Earl was a venal old lecher with a florid complexion and a tufted beard that sorted well with his goatish inclinations. A self-styled dandy, he had been heavily-corseted then dressed in doublet and hose of the most arresting colours. His tall crowned hat was festooned with feathers that were held in place by jewels. His gloved hand held a silver-topped cane which he used for pointing or prodding as the spirit moved him.
God Speed the Fleet was not deathless drama. It was full of good ideas that had been badly strung together and the overriding impression was one of wanton prodigality. Banbury's Men played it with plenty of attack but rowdiness was developing in the pit before the end of the first act. Only the duels and dances held their interest.
Giles Randolph dominated the proceedings with effortless ease. He was a tall, slim, moodily handsome man with a commanding presence and a voice that was just a little too conscious of its own beauty. His attire was magnificent and worthy to compete with that worn by his patron in the gallery, but he did not entirely convince as an English sea captain under the Venetian flag.
There was something faintly sinister about Giles Randolph. It may have been to do with his Italianate cast of feature or it may have emanated from his sly lope, but it robbed him of true heroic status. Wicked cardinals and duplicitous politicians were his forte. As a beard-stroking revenger in a recent play, he had been supreme, Today, it
