ale and discuss some private business. It was late when he left for Bankside.'
'He never arrived,' said Anne with increased anxiety.
Firethorn pondered. He knew the dangers that lurked in the streets of London and trusted his book holder to cope with most of them. Only something of a serious nature could have detained Nicholas.
'George Dart!' he called.
'Here, master.'
'Scour the route that he would have taken. Retrace his steps from Master Hoode's lodging to his own. Enquire of the watch if they saw anything untoward in that vicinity. Nicholas is a big man in every way. He could not vanish into thin air.' Roper Blundell did,' murmured the other.
'Think on hope and do your duty.'
George Dart went willingly off on his errand and several others volunteered to join in the search. Nicholas was a popular member of the company and everyone was keen to find out what had befallen him.
'Let me go, too,' said Hoode.
'No, sir.'
'But I am implicated, Lawrence.'
'You are needed here.'
'Nothing is as important as this.'
'It is-our art. We must serve it like professional men.' Firethorn raised his voice for all to hear. 'The rehearsal will go on.'
'Without Nick?' said Hoode.
'It is exactly what he would have wished, Edmund.’
'Yes,' agreed Anne. 'It is. Nick always put the theatre first.'
'To your places!'
Firethorn's command sent everyone scurrying off into the tiring-house. A difficult couple of hours lay ahead of them. They all knew just how much the book holder contributed to the performance.
Anne Hendrik searched for a crumb of reassurance.
'Where do you think he can be, Master Firethorn?'
'Safe and sound, clear lady. Safe and sound.'
'Is there no more we can do, sir?'
'Watch and pray.'
Anne took his advice and headed for the Church of St Benet.
*
Francis Jordan gave her a couple of days to muse upon her fate then issued his summons. He wanted Jane Skinner to come to his bedchamber that night. Implicit in his order was the threat of reprisal if she failed to appear, but he had no doubt on that score. The girl had been meek and submissive when he spoke to her and all resistance had gone. He would enjoy pressing home his advantage.
Glanville reacted quickly to orders. He had drafted in some extra craftsmen and work on the Great Hall was now advancing at a much more satisfying pace. Jordan gave instructions for the banquet and the invitations were sent out. He began to relax. The steward ran the household efficiently and gave him no real cause for complaint so the new master could enjoy the fruits of his position. Jane Skinner was one of them. Riding around his estate was another.
'Good morning, sir.'
'What do you want?'
'A word, sir.'
'We've said all we need to say to each other.'
'No, sir.'
'Get out of my path.'
'Listen.'
The unkempt man with the patch over one eye was lurking around the stables as Jordan rode out. There was the same obsequiousness and the same knowing smirk as before. He bent and twisted as he put his request to the master of Parkbrook House.
'They tell me Jack Harsnett's gone, sir.'
'I dismissed him for insolence.'
'So his cottage is empty?'
'Until I find a new forester.'
'Let me live there, sir.'
'You're not fit for the work.'
'I've always liked that cottage, sir,' said the man, sawing the air with his hands and trying an ingratiating grin. 'I'd be warm in winter there. It's a quiet place and I'd be out of the way.'
'No.'
'I ask it as a favour, sir.'
'No!'
The reply was unequivocal but it did not dismay him. The smirk came back to haunt and nudge Jordan who fought against the distant pull of obligation. The man revolted him and reminded him.
'You weren't always master here, sir.'
'I am now,' said Jordan.
'Thanks to a friend, sir.'
'You were well-paid and told to leave the country.'
'The money ran out, sir.'
His single eye fixed itself on Jordan and there was nothing humble in the stare now. It contained a demand and hinted at a warning. Jordan was made to feel distinctly uncomfortable. He thrust his hand into his pocket and brought out a few silver coins, hurling them to the ground in front of the man. The latter fell on them with a cry of pleasure and secreted them at once.
'Now get off my land for ever,' ordered Jordan.
'But that cottage is-'
'I don't want you within thirty miles of Parkbrook ever again. If you're caught trespassing here, I'll have you hanged! If I hear that you're spreading stories about me, I'll have your foul tongue cut out!'
Francis Jordan raised his crop and lashed the man hard across the cheek to reinforce his message. He did not stop to see the blood begin to flow or to hear the curses that came.
*
The rehearsal was a shambles. Deprived of their book holder, Westfield's Men were in disarray before Vincentio's Revenge. Scene changes were bungled, entrances missed, two dead bodies left accidentally on stage and special effects completely mismanaged. Prompting was continuous. Lawrence Firethorn stamped a measure of respectability on the performance when he was on stage but chaos ruled when he was off it. The whole thing ended in farce when the standard that was borne on in the final scene slipped out of the hand of Caleb Smythe and fell across the corpse of Vincentio himself who was heard to growl in protest. As the body was carried out in dignified procession, it was the turn of the musicians to add their contribution by playing out of tune.
Lawrence Firethorn blazed. He called the whole company together and flogged them unmercifully with his verbal cat o' nine tails. By the time they trooped disconsolately away, he had destroyed what little morale had been left.
Edmund Hoode and Barnaby Gill adjourned to the tap room with him.
'It was a disgraceful performance!' said Firethorn.
'You have been better,' noted Gill, scoring the first point.
'Everybody was atrocious!'
'The play needs Nick Bracewell,' said Hoode.
'We do not have Nick Bracewell, sir.'
'I am bound to say that I did not miss him,' observed Gill.
Firethorn bristled. 'What you missed was your entrance in Act Four, sir, because the book holder was not there to wake you up.'
