‘You should be in bed, Dick Honeydew!’
‘I know,’ he said, recoiling slightly but holding his ground.
‘Then why are you here?’
‘We’re very worried about Master Firethorn. We heard the doctor arrive. The others asked me to come down to see if there was any news.’
‘No, Dick,’ she admitted sadly. ‘Not yet.’
‘We prayed hard for him.’
Margery nodded. She was certain that he had included her husband in his prayers but was not persuaded that the other apprentices had done likewise. They were more unruly and less inclined to prayer until she stood over them. Knowing that she would be in a tense mood, they had sent Richard Honeydew down to make enquiries, sensing that she might berate anyone bold enough to venture out of their bed. Standing barefoot on the flagstones, the apprentice began to shiver more violently.
‘Come over here,’ said Margery, putting an arm around him to take him across to the fire. ‘You’ll catch your death of cold, lad.’
‘I’m fine, Mistress Firethorn,’ he said bravely.
‘The others put you up to this, didn’t they?’
‘Yes, but I wanted to come on my own account.’
‘Why?’
‘Master Firethorn is kind to me. I love him like a father.’
Margery hugged him to her and kissed him. ‘You’re a good boy, Dick, and my husband appreciates that. You’re ever his favourite.’
‘What ails him?’ piped the other.
‘I wish I knew, lad.’
‘John Tallis says that he has the ague.’
‘Does he?’ she said angrily. ‘Well, you can tell John Tallis from me that I’ll come up there to give him a sound beating if he spreads tales like that. John Tallis can mind his own business. Since when has he turned into a physician?’
‘He meant no harm, Mistress Firethorn.’
‘That kind of talk vexes me.’
‘I’ll warn him of that.’
Margery calmed down and pulled the boy closer, drawing strength from his companionship while, at the same time, offering him some comfort. She was glad that Richard Honeydew had interrupted her lonely vigil. It made the interminable wait a little easier to bear. She brushed his hair back from his forehead to reveal a frown.
‘Are you warmer now, Dick?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ There was a considered pause. ‘It’s never happened before, has it, Mistress Firethorn?’ he said at length.
‘What?’
‘An illness like this.’
‘No, Dick.’
‘Master Firethorn is never unwell.’
‘That’s so true.’
It was the reason that her husband’s condition alarmed her so much. Lawrence Firethorn had such a strong constitution that she took his health for granted. Now that he had been struck down, she knew that the problem must be serious. Minor ailments that afflicted the others never even touched Firethorn. He remained what he had been when she first married him; a sturdy, powerful, virile man who went through life without being troubled by anything apart from occasional toothache. Accidents which would have laid other men low were shrugged off by the actor-manager. When he broke an arm in a fall from the stage, Firethorn continued to perform at the Queen’s Head wearing a splint. When he twisted an ankle dismounting his horse, he simply equipped Hector, Pompey the Great, King John, Henry the Fifth and all the other characters he had to play with a stout walking stick until he could move freely. Margery had marvelled at his indomitability. Had his luck changed at last?
‘I hope that he soon recovers,’ said Honeydew.
‘So do I, Dick.’
‘Master Firethorn is the heart and soul of Westfield’s Men.’
‘You’ve no need to tell me that.’
‘If we were to lose him-’
‘We won’t,’ she said, interrupting him sharply and giving him a reproving squeeze. ‘Don’t even think such a thing, Dick Honeydew. Is that what they’ve been saying upstairs to you? Is that another rumour spread by John Tallis?’
‘No, Mistress Firethorn,’ he replied, cowering before her.
‘Then put that wicked thought out of your mind.’
‘I will, I will.’
She mellowed at once. ‘Forgive me, Dick. I don’t mean to be so cross with you. I just don’t want to hear such things spoken in my house. It’s winter,’ she said as if trying to explain it to herself. ‘People are always ill at this time of year. It just happens to be my husband’s turn to suffer, that’s all. We mustn’t despair.’
Honeydew was not reassured. When footsteps were heard on the staircase, he stepped away from her and spun round. Margery crossed to open the door so that Doctor Whitrow could come into the room.
‘How is he, doctor?’ she asked breathlessly. ‘May I go up?’
‘In a moment,’ he said.
‘Do you have medicine for me to give to him?’
‘I’ve already administered a cordial, Mistress Firethorn.’
‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘Calm down, calm down,’ he said softly.
‘But I’m his wife. I’ve a right to know.’
Doctor Whitrow gave an understanding smile. He was a tall, spare man in his fifties with hollow cheeks and deep-set eyes. Working in Shoreditch for so many years had acquainted him with many distraught wives and he knew how to deal with them.
‘The first thing you must know is that there’s no danger,’ he assured her. ‘Your husband is one of the healthiest patients I’ve ever met.’
‘But what about his fever?’
‘It’s broken. The crisis is over.’
‘Thank God!’ she cried.
Richard Honeydew was in tears. ‘My prayers were answered.’
Margery was bewildered. ‘When you first arrived, he was sweating like a roast pig. Did your cordial revive him so quickly, Doctor Whitrow?’
‘He seemed to rally before I even gave it to him. In fact,’ added the doctor with a sly grin, ‘Master Firethorn tried to push the potion away in order to deprive me of part of my fee. That shows he has all his faculties. My advice is to keep him in bed until the morning. After a good rest, he’ll be in fine fettle.’
Margery could wait no longer. Thanking him profusely, she scurried past him and ascended the stairs as if pursued by the hounds of hell. She flung open the door of the bedchamber and rushed in. The sight that presented itself to her made her stop dead. Lawrence Firethorn was just about to get out of bed. The man whom she had last seen groaning in agony under the sheets was now his usual robust self. Margery blinked at the speed of his recovery.
‘What on earth are you doing, Lawrence?’ she asked.
‘Coming downstairs to see if those little beggars have left me any food?’ he said, swinging two bare feet down on to the floor. ‘I’m fainting from lack of nourishment.’
She eyed him closely. ‘You look wonderful to me.’
‘I’m glad that I can still strike a spark in you, Margery.’
‘Stay there,’ she ordered, sitting him back on the bed. ‘If you want food, I’ll bring it to you myself. Doctor Whitrow said that you’re not to stir from here.’
‘I’m not listening to that old fool. He gave me such a foul medicine that I need a cup of sack to take away the taste. Let’s go downstairs. We’ll sup together.’
Margery was firm. ‘No, Lawrence. You need rest.’
‘Who does?’
‘You do,’ she said, lifting his feet back on to the bed. ‘You must stay here.’
‘But there’s nothing wrong with me, Margery.’
‘That fever weakened you.’
‘Only for a brief moment.’
‘You were in torment not half an hour ago.’
‘That’s all past.’
‘Stay where you are,’ she ordered. ‘Bed is the only place for you.’
‘Then I need someone to share it with me,’ he said with a laugh, pulling her down beside him then rolling on top of her. ‘Weakened, am I?’ he went on, kissing her full on the lips. ‘The only fever that I have is the one that you always give me, Margery. Come here, my love. Restore me to full health.’
Her squeal of protest was quickly replaced by a sigh of acquiescence as she yielded to his sudden passion. Firethorn roared with delight. He started to lift her dress but the nuptials were not allowed to continue. A sharp tap behind them made the lovers stop. Framed in the open doorway were all four apprentices, watching with a blend of relief and curiosity. Doctor Whitrow was standing in the middle of them, tactfully averting his gaze.