‘This must be avenged, Nick,’ he said firmly.
‘If your father did not kill Vincent Webbe, then someone else did. The only way to clear the family name is to find the real murderer.’
‘It will be my mission in life.’
‘Where will you start?’
‘With the two men who bore false witness against my father.’
‘Count on me if you need help, Frank.’
Quilter was touched. ‘You have gone well beyond the bounds of friendship as it is,’ he said. ‘It would be unfair of me to burden you any further.’
‘A shared load would be lighter for both of us.’
‘No, Nick. Your first obligation is to Westfield’s Men. They will have missed you badly this afternoon. And why? Because you chose to bear me company on the worst day of my life.’ He gave a weary smile. ‘Lawrence Firethorn would not spare you again.’
‘He is not my keeper,’ said Nicholas.
Quilter became wistful. ‘Until today, he was my idol, the actor whom I admire most in the world and on whom I try to pattern myself. Not any more, alas,’ he sighed. ‘How eager will he be to have me beside him after this?’
‘You have a contract with the company, Frank.’
‘I have violated its terms already by missing a performance. And because I am the son of Gerard Quilter, I have probably endangered the whole document. You were at the rehearsal this morning, Nick,’ he said. ‘What was the general feeling?’
‘There was much uncertainty,’ replied Nicholas tactfully.
‘Do not hide the truth to spare my feelings. I can imagine the harsh words that were spoken against me by some. They want me out, do they not?’
‘One or two, perhaps.’
‘What of Lawrence Firethorn?’
Nicholas shrugged. ‘He feels the pressure from the others.’
‘In other words, he is against me as well. Then my cause is truly doomed.’
‘No, Frank.’
‘I would hate to lose my place among Westfield’s Men.’
‘Nor shall you,’ said Nicholas.
‘I’ve brought shame to the company, or so it will be seen. I’ll be an outcast. What is to stop them from expelling me?’
‘The fear that they will lose more than a good actor.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘If you are forced to leave,’ said Nicholas, ‘then I have refused to stay.’
Quilter was dismayed. ‘But you are the very essence of Westfield’s Men.’
‘I hope that others share that view.’
‘No, Nick. I cannot allow this. It’s too great a sacrifice. I’ll fight to hold my place in the company and will go reluctantly, if I fail. But your own future must never be conditional on mine. If I’m to drown, I’ll not take you down with me.’
‘It may not come to that, Frank. Hot words were spoken at the Queen’s Head this morning. When tempers have cooled, our fellows may talk with more sense. They should certainly learn to show more loyalty to one of their number.’
‘You’ve enough loyalty for all of them.’
‘I believe in you, Frank — and in your father’s innocence.’
‘How can we convince the others?’
‘By doing as you say. Vindicate his reputation and Westfield’s Men will be only too keen to woo us back into their ranks.’
‘No,’ said Quilter, shaking his head. ‘I’ll not be the cause of your departure, Nick. Whatever happens, you must stay. I need one friend in the company.’
Nicholas pondered. ‘Then there may be a middle way,’ he said at length.
‘Betwixt what?’
‘Retention and expulsion. After the events at Smithfield this afternoon, a black cloud hangs over the company. I’d be misleading you if I said that you would be welcomed back into the fold. Try to hold them to the contract,’ he went on, ‘and they might still find a way to eject you. But if you sue for leave of absence, you will be free to conduct your investigation and Westfield’s Men will be spared much embarrassment. Will this content you?’
‘It will,’ said Quilter eagerly. ‘That way, both parties are satisfied.’
‘Let me put it to Lawrence Firethorn.’
‘Do not forget to mention the prime benefit. Harp on that, Nick.’
‘On what?’
‘Westfield’s Men will not only be getting rid of me at a time when I might cause them some unease,’ said Quilter. ‘They will have Nicholas Bracewell back at the helm. It will be the finest bargain they ever struck.’
Chapter Three
Margery Firethorn was a motherly woman of generous proportions, with wide hips, a thickening waist and a surging bosom. As befitted the wife of a famous actor, she had a decidedly theatrical air herself and, in the heat of argument, could match her husband for sheer power, strutting and ranting to such effect that she might have been treading the boards at the Queen’s Head before a large audience. In point of fact, Lawrence Firethorn was the sole spectator of her towering rages, stirring performances that he would not inflict on any man, however much he hated him, and which, in the interests of domestic harmony, he did his best to avoid at all costs.
Still handsome, and with an appetite for pleasure equal to his own, Margery was a loyal, long-suffering wife who ran their home in Shoreditch with bustling efficiency, brought up their children in a Christian manner, nurtured the company’s apprentices and coped with the multiple problems of sharing her life with the wayward genius who led Westfield’s Men. Those unwise enough to cross Margery felt the lacerating sharpness of her tongue, but there was one person who invariably brought out her softer side. When he called at the house that evening, she wrapped him in a warm embrace.
‘Nicholas!’ she said with delight. ‘What brings you to Old Street?’
‘The pleasure of seeing you, Margery,’ he said gallantly.
‘Fetch yourself in. Lawrence did not tell me that you were expected.’
‘I called in hope of a private word with him.’
‘Then your arrival is timely. He has just returned home.’
Closing the door behind her, she led Nicholas Bracewell into the parlour with a girlish giggle of delight. Firethorn was in parental mood for once, balancing a son on each knee while one of them read a passage from the Bible. When he saw his visitor, he ruffled the boys’ hair, told one of them that his reading was improving then sent both lads on their way. Margery followed them into the kitchen to get some refreshments. Firethorn waved Nicholas to a chair then sat on the edge of his own.
‘Thank heaven!’ he said. ‘I need you mightily, Nick.’
‘How did the play fare this afternoon?’
‘It was a disgrace. Owen Elias blundered his way around the stage, James Ingram forgot more lines than he remembered and I was worse than the pair of them put together. The rest of the company was woefully slothful. I tell you, Nick,’ he continued, rolling his eyes, ‘I was ashamed to put such a half-baked dish before an audience. The only person who distinguished himself was Edmund Hoode.’
‘What of George Dart?’
‘A poor substitute for Nicholas Bracewell, but the lad worked well.’
‘I knew that he would.’
‘Mirth and Madness was a foolish choice,’ said Firethorn, sitting back in his chair. ‘No man can play comedy with a heavy heart.’
‘It sounds as if Edmund contrived to do so.’
‘We’ll come to him in a moment, Nick. First, tell me your news.’
‘It was as frightful as you would expect,’ said Nicholas. ‘I hope I do not have to see such pitiful sights again, or hear such obscene taunts from a crowd.’
‘We were the ones deserving of obscene taunts today.’
‘They would have been mild beside the scorn and derision at Smithfield.’
Nicholas gave him a brief account of the executions, omitting some of the more gory aspects and playing down the effect on him and on Francis Quilter. Stroking his beard with the backs of his fingers, Firethorn listened attentively. When his visitor had finished, his host heaved a deep sigh.