An Ensuing Evil and Others

The actor raised a solemnly face and grimaced with contempt. “I am not, sir. I play Cardinal Wolsey. You will find Cardinal Campeius at the far end.”

This time there was no mistake. “Master Thomas Hawkins?”

The distinguished-looking cleric bowed his head. “I am yours to command, good sir.”

“And are you also Master Bardolph Zenobia?”

The actors face colored slightly. He shifted uneasily. “I admit to being the same man, sir.”

Master Drew introduced himself. “Did you know that Master Oliver Rowe has been discovered murdered?”

There was just a slight flicker in the eyes. “It is already whispered around the theater from your earlier visit, Master Constable.”

“When did you first learn of it?”

“Less than half an hour ago, when I came to the theater.”

“When did you last see Master Rowe?”

“Last evening.”

“Here, at this theater?”

“I was not in last nights performance. I went to stay with… with a lady in Eastcheap. I have only just returned from that assignation.”

“And, of course,” sneered the constable, “you would have no difficulty in supplying me the lady’s name?”

“None, good master. The lady and I mean to be married.”

“And she will be able to tell me that you were with her all night?”

“If that is what you require. But not just the lady but her father and mother, for she lives with them. They own the Boar’s Head in Eastcheap and are well respected.”

Master Drew swallowed hard. The alibi of a lady on her own was one thing, but the alibi of an entire respectable family could hardly be faulted.

“When last did you see Master Rowe?”

“It was after yesterday afternoon’s performance. Rowe asked me to go with him to a waterside tavern after the matinee performance. I had an appointment across the river before I went on to Eastcheap and could not long delay. But Rowe was insistent. We wound up by having an argument, and I left him.”

“What was the argument about?”

Hawkins’s color deepened. “A private matter.”

“A matter concerning Master Bardolph Zenobia’s literary endeavors?”

Hawkins shrugged. “I will tell you the truth. Rowe and a friend of his had written a pretty story. Rowe wanted help in finding a theater to stage it.”

“Why did he not take it to Burbage?”

“Sir, we are the King’s Men here. We have a program of plays of surpassing quality for the next several years from many renowned masters of their art, Master Shakespeare, Jonson, Beaumont, Fletcher, and the like. Master Burbage would not look at anything by a nameless newcomer. Rowe knew I had contacts with other theaters and gave me the script to read. The basic tale was commendable, but so much work needed to be done to revise it into something presentable. I spent much time on it. In the end, the work was mine, not Rowe’s nor that of his friend.”

“I suppose by ‘his friend,’ you mean Teazle?”

“Yes, Teazle.”

“So you felt that the play was your own to do with as you liked?”

“It was mine. I wrote it. I will show you the original and my alterations. At first, I asked only to be made a full partner in the endeavor. When Rowe refused, saying the work was his and his friend’s alone, I put the name of Zenobia on it and took it to Blackfriars. I told Rowe after I had sold it and offered to give him a guinea for the plot. I did not wish to be ungenerous. He refused. Rowe found out which theater I had sold it to and even went to the theater after I had left him last night, claiming that I had stolen the work.

“But from what was said yesterday afternoon, I had the impression that Rowe might have accepted the money if Teazle had not refused his share of the guinea. Rowe told me that Teazle thought him to be in some plot with me to cheat him and share more money after the play was produced. I told Rowe that it was up to him to make his peace with Teazle. I think a guinea was a fair sum to pay for the idea which I had to turn into literature.”

“I doubt whether a magistrate would agree with your liberal interpretation of the law,” Master Drew replied dryly. “Has Master Teazle spoken to you of this business? Where is he now?”

Hawkins gestured disdainfully. “Somewhere about the theater. I avoid him. He has a childish temper and believes himself to be some great artist against whom the whole world is plotting. Anyway, I can prove that I am not concerned in the death of young Rowe. I have robbed no one.”

“That remains to be seen.”

Master Drew left him and went to the side of the stage. The third scene of the second act was closing. The characters of Anne Bullen and an Old Lady were on stage. Anne was saying,

— Would I had no being,

If this salute my blood a jot; it faints me,

to think what follows.

The queen is comfortless, and we forgetful

In our long absence: pray, do not deliver

What here you’ve heard to her.

The old lady replied indignantly: “What do you think me?” And both made their exit.

All was now being prepared for the next scene.

Master Drew glanced around, wondering which of the players was Teazle.

Something drew his eye across the auditorium to the box on the second story in front of the stage. Someone was standing, bending over the small cannon that had been pointed out to the constable earlier. Master Richard Burbage had explained that the cannon would herald the scene with a royal salute, followed by trumpets and cornets, and then the King and his cardinals would lead a procession onto the stage.

The muzzle of the cannon appeared to be pointing rather low.

The constable turned to find Master Cuthbert Burbage at his shoulder.

“That is going to stir things a little.” The business manager of the theater, who had observed Master Drew’s examination, grinned.

“Your brother has already explained it to me,” the constable replied. “The cannon will be fired to herald the entrance of the procession in the next act, but isn’t the muzzle pointing directly at the stage?”

“No harm. It is only a charge of gunpowder which creates the explosion. There is no ball to do damage. Take no alarm; young Toby Teazle has done this oftimes before.”

Master Drew started uneasily. “That is Master Teazle up there with the cannon?”

A cold feeling of apprehension began to grip him as he stared at the muzzle of the cannon. Then he began to move hurriedly toward the stairs on the far side of the auditorium, pushing protesting spectators out of his way in his haste. He was aware of Cuthbert Burbage shouting something to him.

By the time he reached the second floor, he was aware of the actors moving onto the stage in the grand procession. He heard a voice he recognized as the actor playing Wolsey. “Whilst our commission from Rome is read, let silence be commanded.” Then Richard Burbages voice cried: “What’s the need? It hath already publicly been read, and on all sides the authority allow’d; you may then spare that time.” Wolsey replied: “Be’t so. Proceed.”

The cacophony of the trumpet and cornets sounded.

Drew burst into the small box and saw the young man bending with the lighted taper to the touch hole. On stage he was aware that the figures of Burbages King, and the actors playing Cardinal Wolsey and Cardinal Campeius, the urbane figure of Hawkins, had come to the front of the stage and were staring up at the cannoneer, waiting. The constable did not pause to think but leapt across the floor, kicking at the muzzle of the small cannon. It jerked upward just as it exploded. The recoil showed that it had been loaded with ball; its muzzle had been