stage. Nicholas still had vestigial doubts.
'The cord was cut, the trap was up.'
'A devil could have done that.'
'But why?'
'To spread more confusion, Nick. To mislead us afresh.'
'My instinct takes me to another explanation.'
'It was a devil,' insisted Willoughby. 'I was the one who called him and I was the one who was punished. Master Firethorn is right to put the blame on me. I raised up this spirit.'
Further dispute with him was useless. He would never be shifted from his belief and Nicholas was forced to admit that his friend did actually witness the supernatural event. So did the four actors on stage at the time and they were of the same mind as Ralph Willoughby. Panic scattered the entire company with the honourable exceptions of Lawrence Firethorn and Edmund Hoode. It was the latter who now excited curiosity.
'Why was Edmund not unnerved?' said Willoughby.
'He is a brave man in his own way.'
'His performance went beyond bravery, Nick.'
'He was driven forward.
'It was Youngthrust to the life.'
'That was his fervent hope.'
'In his place, I would have been trembling with fear.'
'Edmund was armoured against it. There is something that is even stronger than fear, Ralph.'
'Is there?'
'Love.'
'That is the cause?'
'Why do you think he chose to play Youngthrust?' asked Nicholas with a kind smile. 'Edmund Hoode is in love.'
*
Grace Napier was not an overwhelming vision of loveliness. Men beholding her for the first time would notice her pleasant features and her trim figure, her seemly attire and her modest demeanour. They were impressed but never smitten. Hers was a stealthy beauty that crept up on its prey and pounced when least expected. She could reveal a vivacity that was usually banked down, a hidden radiance that came through to suffuse her whole personality. Those who stayed long enough to become fully acquainted with Grace Napier found that she was a remarkable young woman. Behind her many accomplishments lay a strong will and a questing intelligence, neither of which involved the slightest sacrifice of her femininity.
'You deserve congratulation, Master Hoode,' she said.
'Thank you, thank you!'
'Your portrayal was sublime.'
'I dedicate it to you, mistress.'
'It is the finest I have seen of your performances.'
'The role was created with my humble talents in mind.'
'There is nothing humble about your talent, sir,' she said firmly. 'As a poet and as a player, you are supremely gifted.'
'Your praise redeems everything.'
Edmund Hoode was in a private room at the Queen's Head, enjoying a rare meeting with Grace Napier. The presence of her companion, the pert Isobel Drewry, imposed a restraint as well as a propriety on the occasion but Hoode was not deterred by it. In the few short weeks that he had known her, he had fallen deeply in love with Grace Napier and would have shared the room with a hundred female companions if it gave him the opportunity to speak with his beloved.
Isobel Drewry giggled as she offered her critique.
'It was such a happy comedy,' she said, tapping the ends of her Fingers together. 'I laughed so much at Droopwell and Justice Wildboare. And as for Doctor…' Another giggle surfaced. 'There! I cannot bring myself to say his name but he gave us much mirth.'
'Barnaby Gill is one of our most experienced players,' said Hoode. 'No matter what lines are written for him, he will find the humour in them. He has no equal as a comedian.'
'Unless it be that third merry devil,' observed Grace.
'Indeed, sir,' agreed Isobel. 'He gave us all a wondrous shock.'
That was our intent,' said Hoode dismissively, anxious to keep off the topic of the uninvited devil. 'Tell me, Mistress Napier, for which of his several good parts did you admire Youngthrust the most?'
Isobel suppressed a giggle but Grace gave a serious answer.
'I was touched by his sighing,' she said.
Were you?' he sighed.
'He suffered so much from the pangs of love.'
'Oh, he did, he did!'
Hoode was thrilled by this new evidence of her sensitivity. With so many other things to choose from, Grace Napier singled out the quality he had tried above all else to project. The sighing and suffering that was provoked by Lucy Hembrow in the play was really aimed at Grace herself and she seemed almost to acknowledge the fact. In every conceivable way, she was a rare creature. Unlike most young ladies, Grace came to the playhouse to see rather than to be seen, and her knowledge of drama was wide. She watched most of the London companies but her favourite-Hoode gave silent thanks for it-was Westfield's Men.
Isobel Drewry might be thought by some to be the more attractive of the two. Her features were prettier, her eye bolder, her lips fuller and her manner less guarded. Again, Isobel's dress was more arresting in its cut and colours. Her combination of worldliness and innocence was very appealing but Hoode did not even notice it. All his attention was devoted to Grace Napier. This was the first time she had come to the Queen's Head without bringing her brother as a chaperone and Hoode saw this as an important sign. She consented to a brier meeting with him after the play and she confessed that she had been touched by the pathos of his performance. That was progress enough for one afternoon.
'We must bid you adieu, sir,' she said.
'A thousand thanks for your indulgence!'
'It was a pleasure, Master Hoode.'
'You do me a great honour.'
I would see you play again,' said Isobel brightly. 'When will Westfield's Men take the stage again?'
'On Friday next at The Curtain.'
'Let's attend, Grace. We'll watch the company in another piece.'
'I am as eager as you, Isobel. We'll visit The Curtain.'
'That might not be altogether wise,' said Hoode quickly. 'If it is comedy that delights your senses, pray avoid us on Friday at all costs. We play Vincentio's Revenge, as dark and bloody a tragedy as any in our repertoire. I fear it may give offence.'
'Darkness and blood will not offend us, sir,' said Isobel easily. 'Tragedy can work potently on the mind. I like the sound of this play, Grace, and I would fain see it.'
'So would I,' returned her friend.
'Consider well, ladies,' he said. 'It may not be to your taste.'
Grace smiled. 'How can we judge until we have seen it?'
'Be ruled by me.'
But they declined. No matter how hard he tried to persuade them against it, they stood by their decision to watch Vincentio's Revenge. Hoode was unsettled. He wanted Grace Napier to see him at his best and the tragedy gave him no opportunity to shine.
He was cast as a lecherous old Duke who was impaled on the hero's sword in the second act. There was no way that he could speak to his beloved through the character of the Black Duke. She would despise him as the degenerate he played.
