Moll was talking to one of the stall holders when a voice rang out behind her.
‘Is that you, Moll?’ asked the man.
‘Lightfoot!’ she exclaimed with a laugh, as she turned to see the figure who was somersaulting towards her over the grass. He came to a halt in front of her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘I was hoping to find you here today.’
‘We’ve found each other.’
‘You look wondrous well.’
‘I keep myself in fine fettle,’ he said. ‘Watch!’
Lightfoot did a series of cartwheels that took him in a complete circle. When he bounced upright again, he was standing directly in front of his friend. The acrobat was a cheerful man in his late twenties, slim, short and lithe. Gaudily dressed in a red doublet that sprouted a small forest of blue and yellow ribbons, he wore bright green hose that showed off the neat proportions of his legs. During his energetic display, his pink cap with its white feather somehow stayed on his head. Lightfoot had an ugly face that became instantly more appealing when he smiled.
‘Look!’ he said, pointing to the carts that were trundling towards them. ‘Three more booths to be set up. Half the fair will be up before tomorrow morning. When did you reach London?’
‘Within the hour.’
‘Thank heaven you did not come yesterday.’
‘Why?’
‘Smithfield was not a happy place to be, Moll.’
‘Not happy?’
‘Public executions were held here. A man and a woman.’
‘Then I am glad I came no earlier,’ she said with a shudder. ‘But I thought they hanged murderers at Tyburn now. I saw three dangling from the gallows when I was last in the city. The sight turned my stomach for days.’
‘Had you been here yesterday, you’d not have eaten for a week. They burnt a witch over there,’ he said, indicating the spot with an outstretched hand. ‘You can still see the ash. They tell me that people danced around the blaze for hours.’
Moll grimaced. ‘I wish you’d not told me that, Lightfoot.’
‘The woman is dead now.’
‘Yes, but her curse will remain. I felt something strange when I first stepped upon this grass,’ she said, eyes darting nervously. ‘It was like a cold wind yet the day is hot and sunny. I think it was an omen, Lightfoot. That witch has put a spell on the place.’
‘These are childish thoughts,’ he said amiably, patting her on the arm. ‘Bartholomew Fair is at hand. Three days of riot and enjoyment lie ahead. The Devil himself could not spoil our fair, let alone a dead witch.’
‘I hope that it is so.’
‘It is so, Moll. Come, let’s find a place to eat.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed, brightening at once. ‘I am so glad to see you again.’
‘Then let me carry your basket for you.’
She dropped a mock curtsey. ‘Thank you, kind sir.’
They fell in beside each other and set off. Moll was delighted to meet Lightfoot so soon. He was more than simply a friend. Travelling the highway for a living exposed her to all manner of dangers and Lightfoot had rescued her on more than one occasion. Whenever she was with him, she felt safe. He was a clever acrobat. Though she had seen his tricks many times, Moll never tired of watching them. Lightfoot had another virtue. He picked up news faster than anyone else she knew. If they arrived at a new fair, he would always have the latest tidings to report.
‘What was the woman’s name?’ she asked. ‘This witch that they burnt.’
‘Jane Gullet.’
‘And you say a man died with her?’
‘A murderer, hanged for his crime.’
‘Who was his victim?’
‘One Vincent Webbe, stabbed cruelly to death.’
‘Then the killer deserved to hang,’ she said. ‘What was his name?’
‘You are so full of questions today, Moll,’ he said with a laugh.
‘Only because I know that you will have the answers.’
‘It will cost you a kiss to hear the man’s name.’
‘Most men pay for my kisses.’
‘I pay with information.’
She giggled and nodded. ‘As you wish.’
‘Then first, my kiss.’
‘That must wait, Lightfoot. I want a name before you claim your reward.’
‘So be it. His name was Gerard Quilter.’
Moll stopped dead in her tracks. Her face turned white, her eyes widened in fear and she began to tremble violently. She grabbed him by the arm.
‘No!’ she protested vehemently. ‘You are mistook. Whatever it was, it could not have been that name.’
‘I heard it loud and clear.’
‘Never!’
‘The murderer was Master Gerard Quilter.’
‘Then there must be two men with the same name. Do you know anything else about him, Lightfoot? Was he old, young, tall or short? Where did he dwell? What occupation did he follow?’
‘As to his age and size,’ he replied, ‘I can tell you nothing, but I do know that he lived in the country. Before that, Gerard Quilter was a respected mercer here in the city.’ He grinned hopefully. ‘I’ve given you a name, Moll. Where is my kiss?’
But she was in no position to give it to him. After letting out a sigh of distress, she promptly fainted and ended up in a heap on the ground.
Nicholas Bracewell waited until the performance was over before he made his move. Having failed to make any headway themselves, Lawrence Firethorn and Barnaby Gill had pleaded with him to speak to their resident playwright in order to persuade him to renounce his decision to leave. Nicholas was as disturbed as they were to hear the news of Edmund Hoode’s impending departure but he did not wish to tackle him until Love’s Sacrifice was over and his duties as a book holder had been discharged. Before his friend could slip away after the performance, Nicholas took him into the little room where the properties and costumes were stored.
‘You distinguished yourself yet again, Edmund,’ he observed.
‘Thank you, Nick. I felt inspired today.’
‘Your play brought out the best in everyone.’
‘Nothing I have written is closer to my heart,’ said Hoode dreamily. ‘There are lines in the piece that turned out to foretell my own future.’
‘That is what I wish to touch upon,’ said Nicholas gently. ‘There seems to be some doubt about your future with the company.’
‘No doubt at all, Nick. I am to withdraw.’
‘When you have the success you gained the afternoon?’
‘Applause soon dies away. What is left in its wake?’
‘Satisfaction,’ argued Nicholas, ‘and the feeling that you have served the play and your fellows as best you may. Since you are the author of the piece, you had a double triumph onstage today. Does it mean nothing to you?’
‘It gave me a brief pleasure, I grant you.’
‘You said that you felt inspired.’
‘Why, yes,’ replied Hoode, ‘but not by a play we’ve given a dozen times before. Parts of it begin to stale already. What lifted my spirits was the thought that I was acting in front of my redeemer. She was there, Nick.’
‘So I understand.’
‘And before you utter another syllable, let me warn you that I am deaf to all entreaty. I know that Lawrence has set you on to me but to no avail. I am adamant.’ He tried to move off. ‘And I must not keep a lady waiting.’
‘Hold still,’ said Nicholas, blocking his path. ‘I’d hoped our friendship earned me more than minute of your time.’
‘It does, Nick, it does. You have been a rock to which I have clung many times and I’ll not forget that. When I leave Westfield’s Men, I mean to keep Nick Bracewell’s friendship.’
‘That depends on the manner in which you depart.’
‘I go for love — what better reason is there?’