'Yah! Oh! Nee!'
The patient grabbed his shirt and tore it open down to his navel. Three small pieces of meat were resting on his body and Kirk plucked them off at once. The young man gave a cry of relief.
'Leeches!' he said.
It was the first word that Kirk had ever heard him speak and it was an important one. The patient was afraid of leeches which had obviously been used on him in the course of some bloodletting treatment. Kirk was sorry for the distress that had been caused but grateful to have made a discovery. The young man could talk after all. It was a distinct advance and it was followed by another when the keeper glanced at the bare chest in front of him. Scratched across it in large, fading letters was a name.
David.
'Is that you?' he asked. 'Are you David?'
The young man looked down at his body as if seeing the letters for the first time. Using a finger, he traced each one very carefully and tried to work out what it was. When he finally succeeded, tears of joy rolled down his cheeks.
'David!' he said.
They had given him back his name.
*
Anne Hendrik could not bear to be idle. Though she had money enough to live a life of relative leisure, she preferred to keep herself busy and took an active part in the running of her husband's business. After initial resistance from her employees, she won them over with her acumen, her commitment and her willingness to learn every last detail about the art of hat-making. Anne Hendrik revealed herself to be a highly competent businesswoman-and she could even speak a fair amount of Dutch. There was another value to her work life. It gave her something to chat about with Nicholas Bracewell.
'And that is how Preben came to design the new style.'
'Has the hat found favour with your customers?' he said.
'We have had a number of orders already.'
They were in the little garden at the rear of the Bankside house. Nicholas was carrying a basket and Anne was cutting flowers to lay in it. Taking care not to prick herself on the thorns, she used her shears to snip through the stem of a red rose.
'But enough of my tittle-tattle,' she said briskly. 'What of Westfield's Men?'
'Happily, there is nothing to report.'
'The performance went off without incident?'
'Yes, Anne. No devil, no falling maypole, no accident of any kind.' Nicholas grimaced. 'With the exception of Master Marwood, that is. The fellow is devil, maypole and accident rolled into one.'
'What did you play this afternoon?'
'The Knights of Malta.'
'Did it give your landlord cause for complaint?'
'None at all,' he said. 'But he is yielding to other voices. The Puritans have written to him again and an Alderman called at the Queen's Head to voice his disapproval. One Henry Drewry. We will weather this storm as we have weathered all the rest.'
'Has Master Gill recovered from his fall?' she asked.
'Completely, Anne, but he will not admit it. He still holds his shoulder at an angle and walks with that limp.'
They laughed at the actor's vanity. When the last of the flowers had been cut, they took them back into the house. Anne searched for a pot in which to stand them and looked forward to the supper she was about to share with him. Nicholas had a disappointment for her.
M fear that I must soon leave you.'
'Why?'
'I have an appointment to keep in Eastcheap.'
'Eastcheap!' she echoed in mock annoyance. 'You prefer a tavern to my company, Master Bracewell? Things have changed indeed, sir!'
'You mistake my meaning, Anne.'
'What can Eastcheap offer but taverns and trugging -houses?'
'Nothing,' he agreed. 'And I intend to visit both.'
'Has it come to this between us?' she said in hurt tones.
'I do not go there on my own account.'
'Then why?'
'To find someone,' he explained. A wandering playwright. Ralph Willoughby has disappeared and we have need of him. I have left sundry messages at his lodging but to no avail. If he will not come to us, then I must go to him.'
'This news is softer on my ears.'
He slipped an arm familiarly around her waist and kissed her gently on the lips. Their friendship was very important to Nicholas and he would not trade it in for one wild night in Eastcheap. She saw him off at the door and urged him not to be too late. With quickening footsteps, he went off to begin his search.
A boat took him back across the river and he made his way to Eastcheap with all due haste. Ralph Willoughby was well-known in the area but he had scattered his patronage far and wide. The search could take Nicholas well into the night. Bracing himself, he began his journey at the White Hart and found himself the only sober human being on the premises. Willoughby was not there. Next came the Jolly Miller which also produced no missing playwright. The Royal Oak, the Lamb and Flag, even the Brazen Serpent were unable to help. In each establishment, the revelry was loud and lascivious and he was pressed to stay by bawds of every kind. It was not difficult to refuse the entreaties.
Six more taverns had to be visited before he picked up a trail. A barmaid at the Bull and Butcher remembered seeing Willoughby earlier in the evening. There was a chance that he might still be there.
'Nell was always his favourite,' she said.
'Nell?'
She narrowed her eyes as she saw the hope of profit.
'How eager are you to Find this friend of yours, sir?'
Nicholas gave her some coins. It was eagerness enough.
'Nell has a room upstairs,' she volunteered.
'Which one?'
'The first on the right, sir, and it has no bolt within.'
Thank you, mistress.'
He pushed his way out of the crowded taproom to get clear of the noise and the stink of tobacco smoke. The staircase wound its way upwards and he followed its crooked steps. When he reached the passageway at the top, he paused at the first door on the right and tapped. There was no reply and so he used his knuckles more firmly.
'Who is it?' asked a crisp female voice.
'Nell?'
'Come in, sir,' she said, sounding a more girlish note.
Nicholas opened the door and stepped into a low, cramped chamber that had room for little more than the bed that stood against the window. Candles threw a begrudging light on the scene. Nell was a big, buxom young woman with a generous smile. Lying half-naked on the bed, she was pinned to it by the prostrate figure of Ralph Willoughby. He was still dressed and wheezing aloud in his sleep.
Nell was completely undaunted by the situation.
'You catch me incommoded, sir,' she said with a laugh. 'The poor fellow had more drink in him than desire. If you could shift his carcass off me, then I would be glad to oblige you in his stead.'
How long as he been here?'
'An hour at least, sir. I dozed off myself to keep him company.'
'Come, let me relieve you of your burden.'
