their sympathies. His invitation had now been summarily cancelled by his host.
Margery Firethorn shifted her interest to the accident.
'How came that maypole to break in such a manner?'
'Act of God,' said Gill ruefully.
'Of the devil, you mean,' corrected Firethorn. 'Someone had cut through the oak to weaken it. Nick Bracewell showed me how it was done.'
'Master Bracewell must bear some of the blame,' said Gill sourly. 'It is his job to check that all our properties and stage furniture are safe. There has been laxity.'
'He saw the maypole do its duty during the rehearsal,' said Firethorn. 'Nick found it secure enough then. He did not realise that it was later tampered with by some villain.'
'My life was put at risk, Lawrence. He should be upbraided.'
'He has already upbraided himself
'This calls for a stern warning from you.'
'I'll be the judge of that, Barnaby.'
'If it was left to me, I'd dismiss the fellow.'
'Oh, no!' exclaimed Margery.
'I would sooner dismiss myself,' said Firethorn. 'Nick has no peer among book holders and I have known dozens. Westfield's Men owe him an enormous debt.'
'I do not share that sense of obligation, Lawrence.'
Barnaby Gill had always disliked the book holder, resenting the way that he took on more and more responsibility in the company. He could not bear to see Nicholas being treated like a sharer when the latter was only a hired man.
'You involve him too much in our councils.'
'Thank goodness I do. He has saved us many a time.'
'He did not save me up that maypole.'
'Nor was he the cause of your fall,' said Firethorn testily. 'Someone plotted your accident and only Nick Bracewell will be able to find out who it is. We need him more than ever.'
'Besides,' said Margery fondly, 'he is a true gentleman.'
Gill snorted. Abandoning all hope of persuading them, he announced that he felt well enough to return to his own lodging. He pretended that he was still in intense pain but said he would endure ь with Stoic demeanour rather than be a nuisance to them. Margery pressed him to stay but her husband countermanded the offer.
'Go early to your bed, Barnaby.'
'I may not leave it for days.'
'We have another performance tomorrow. Be mindful.'
'Today's play still weighs upon me, sir.'
'We'll find the culprit,' said Firethorn confidently.
'Some minion employed by Banbury's Men no doubt.'
'Or some viper within our own circle.'
'What's that?'
'He has been the villain all along.'
'Who, Lawrence?'
'He hacked through that maypole by way of farewell.'
'Tell us his name,' said Margery.
'Willoughby.'
'Ralph Willoughby?'
'I can think of no man more likely,' he said gravely. Damn the fellow! He knew the action of the play and at what point in it he could most damage us. Yes, I see the humour of it now. Willoughby was mortally wounded when I dismissed him from the company. We saw the extent of his anger this afternoon in that foul crime. It was his revenge.'
*
Life as the book holder of Westfield's Men was highly exacting at all times. Nicholas Bracewell was always the first to arrive and the last to leave. Having set everything up for the morning's rehearsal, he now supervised the withdrawal from the theatre. They would not be playing at The Curtain again for a couple of weeks and all their scenery, costumes and properties had to be safely transported back to the room at the Queen's Head where it was kept. As well as co- ordinating the efforts of his men, Nicholas had yet again to find some means to lift their spirits. The accident with the maypole had plunged them back into despair. First with The Merry Devils and now Cupid's Folly, they had suffered a disaster that was not of their own making. It was unnerving.
'Shall we ever be free of these uncanny happenings?'
'No question but that we shall.'
'I am anxious, Master Bracewell.'
'Overcome your anxiety.'
‘It is too great, sir.'
‘Fight it, George. Strive to better it.'
'Roper thinks that Satan has set his cloven hoof upon us.'
'Roper Blundell has a wild imagination.'
'He was sober when he spoke.'
‘Sober or drunk, he is not to be heeded.'
'Then who did attack us today, master?'
'I have no answer to that,' admitted Nicholas, 'but this I do know. There was sawdust in the tiring-house where the maypole was kept before it was used. Some person cut through that solid oak when the place was unattended. Satan would have no need of such careful carpentry. He could have split the pole at his will.’
'And may yet do that!'
George Dart was desolate. Spared the ordeal of an acting role in Cupid's Folly, he and Roper Blundell did make an appearance on stage when they set up the maypole. In carrying it on, they unwittingly assisted in the downfall of Barnaby Gill and it preyed on them. Nicholas tried to reassure the assistant stagekeeper but Dart was inconsolable. There had been two calamities on stage already.
'When will the third strike us, Master Bracewell?'
'We must ensure that it does not.'
George Dart shrugged helplessly and trudged off. He and Roper Blundell left the theatre together, companions in misery. Their lowly position in the company made their jobs thankless enough at the best of times. Now they were being put on the rack as well. Neither would survive another devil or a second broken maypole.
After a final tour to check that all was in order, Nicholas came out of the playhouse himself. He was just in time to witness a brief but affectionate leavetaking. Two young ladies, dressed in their finery, were parting company with Edmund Hoode. Both were attractive but one had the more startling beauty. Yet he ignored her completely. Transfixed by the quieter charms of the other, he took her proffered hand and laid a tender kiss upon it, blushing in the ecstasy of the moment. The women raised their masks to their faces then sailed gracefully off to the carriage that was waiting for them. Hoode watched until the vehicle rattled away down Holywell Lane.
Nicholas strolled across to his still-beaming friend.
'You wanted to speak with me, Edmund.'
'Did I?'
'We arranged to meet when my work was done.'
'Ah, yes,' said Hoode, clutching at a vague memory. 'Forgive me, Nicholas. My mind is on other matters.'
'Let us turn our feet homeward.'
They walked in silence for a long while. Suppressing his natural curiosity, Nicholas made no mention of what he had just witnessed. If his companion wished to discuss the subject, he would raise it. For his part, Hoode was torn between the need for discretion and the urge to confide. He wanted both to keep and share his secret. Nicholas was a close friend who always showed tact and understanding. It was this consideration which finally made Hoode blurt out his confession.
