'None that I know of,' he grunted.
'She will be with loose men of the theatre.'
'Good luck to them!' murmured the other.
'Rest easy, sir,' said Eleanor to the vicar. 'I will not be the only traveller with the company. An artist makes the journey to York with us as well. And so does another woman. She will ensure my safety.'
Plague hit London with renewed force each day but Doll would have preferred to take her chances in the city all the same, life at the house in Shoreditch was a spreading pestilence ever since the siege by creditors had begun. Margery Firethorn became more and more embattled and her servants felt the worst tremors. Doll always seemed to be in the firing line when her mistress exploded. The girl was small, young, tousled and quite unequal to the demands made on her by a ranting employer. Each day brought fresh pain and humiliation for her.
Margery Firethorn hailed her from the kitchen.
'Doll!'
'Yes, Mistress?'
'Can you not hear the doorbell?'
'No, Mistress.'
'Then open your ears, girl, or I'll box them!'
Doll came scuttling into the kitchen where Margery was up to her arms in flour. The girl dithered and threw a deep but raged curtsey. The doorbell rang more loudly.
'Do you hear it now, girl?'
'Yes. Mistress.'
'Then answer it.'
'What am I to say?'
'If it be a creditor, that I am not at home.'
'And if it be someone else?'
'Bring me word. Now--away!'
Doll raced out and she could be heard opening the door and talking to someone for a few moments. When she came back in, the girl was wide-eyed with amazement.
'Well?' snapped Margery.
'You have a visitor, Mistress.'
'Who is he?'
'There is a big coach outside the house.'
'Who is he?'
'His footman rang the bell.'
'His name, girl. What is my visitor's name?
'Lord Westfield.'
Doll was plainly awe-struck at the notion of a peer of the realm calling at a player's house in Shoreditch but Margery reacted as if it was an everyday occurrence. Wiping her floured hands on her apron, she crossed to the sink to thrust her hands into a pan of cold water. She swung her head to glare at her servant.
'Do not stand there like that, Doll.'
'What must I do, Mistress?'
'Show Lord Westfield in.'
(*)Chapter Eight
Nottingham converged on its Town Hall in large numbers. People of every degree came to see one of the legendary characters of English history in action once more. Robin Hood and his Merry Men was rather different from the usual fare offered by Westfield's Men in its repertoire. Classical tragedy, domestic comedy and rustic farce were their main concerns. When they dipped into their glorious heritage, they came up with stirring dramas about kings and queens and mighty battles that were fought to secure the defence of the realm. Military heroism and foreign conquest always drew an audience. Robin Hood had more in common with folk memory than historical fact but the company did not serve up the accustomed blend of romance and adventure in Sherwood Forest. Investing the story with a deeper significance, they touched on themes of loyalty, patriotism and spiritual commitment. In their portrayal of Prince John, they also drew attention to the follies of self-aggrandisement.
Packed into their Town Hall, the audience was totally mesmerized from start to finish. Lawrence Firethorn was as convincing a Robin Hood as they had ever seen. He was noble, fearless and devoted to King Richard. Powerful in the action scenes, he was yet soft and tender when alone with Maid Marion and his wooing made every woman in the house shiver with delight. Songs and swordfights moved the drama along at regular intervals and there were some clever effects, devised by Nicholas Bracewell, with bows and arrows. Dances were used cleverly throughout and the comic brilliance of Barnaby Gill was at its height when Friar Tuck lifted his skirts to dance a bare-footed jig.
Anne Hendrik sat on a bench alongside Susan Becket and joined in the applause. She had seen Westfield's Men at their peak in London and this performance fell some way below that, but it was still a fine entertainment and the people of Nottingham clearly thought they had been in the presence of a masterpiece. They stood, clapped and shouted for all they were worth. Lawrence Firethorn led the company out several times to acknowledge the ovation with deep bows. Even George Dart enjoyed it, contriving a smile that actually made him look at home among the Merry Men. After all their mishaps, Westfield's Men were back where they belonged and it was invigorating.
This was theatre.
Nicholas Bracewell was less satisfied than most. The performance had too many rough edges for his liking and there were several minor mistakes that irritated him. And while the Town Hall was a marked improvement on some of the other venues where they had played it, it was worlds away from the theatres of London and a diminution in every sense. But the chief cause of Nicholas's discontent was the absence of Richard Honeydew. Seeing the boy's role filled, albeit adequately, by someone else only brought home to him the importance of tracking the lad down. The company would never be at its best without their star apprentice and Nicholas owed it to him to begin another search with all due speed.
'Where will you go?' asked Anne.
'In pursuit of Banbury's Men.'
'Do you know where they are?'
'I will find them somehow.'
'On your own?'
'I travel faster by myself,' said Nicholas. 'In any case, Master Firethorn can spare nobody to come with me. Everyone is needed here. He would not let me go again myself until we had staged Robin Hood.'
'Without you there would have been no performance.'
'Even with me, it was not a source of pride.'
'The audience was entranced.'
'Their standards are not high, Anne.'
'Do not be too unkind on the company.'
The two of them were strolling through the narrow streets on their way back to the Saracen's Head. Having organized the strike party at the Town Hall, the book holder now had a brief moment alone with Anne before he set off on the trail of Richard Honeydew once more. He talked through the few solid facts he possessed.
'Master Quilley has been of some help.'
'The artist?'
'Yes,' said Nicholas. 'He was in Leicester before lie came on here and encountered Banbury's Men in the town. Instead of staying on the Great North Road and going on up to Doncaster, they must have left Grantham and headed south-west.'
'Why to Leicester?'
'We might be the cause of that, Anne.'
'Westfield's Men?'
'Thinking we would be making haste to overtake them and call them to account, they sought to shake us off by changing their itinerary. But there is a stronger reason. Leicester is a welcoming port of call for many theatre companies. They have safe harbour there. Master Quilley tells me that Banbury's Men performed three times there
