‘Not while The Spanish Jew holds the stage.’
‘Nick speaks good sense!’ said Hoode.
‘Owen Elias had sold his black soul to Banbury’s Men.’
‘Buy it back,’ urged Nick.
‘Not for anything!’
Firethorn’s yell of derision was so blood-curdling that it terminated that stage of the argument. Nicholas weighed in with the alternative suggestion of postponing The Loyal Subject until such time as its star was available and of substituting Cupid’s Folly. Barnaby Gill was revived at once by the thought of leading the company in his favourite play and Edmund Hoode conceded that it was a way to mitigate the awkwardness of the situation. When Firethorn gave his token acquiescence, both men excused themselves to give Nicholas a moment alone with the actor-manager.
The book holder did not mince his words.
‘Lord Westfield is extremely distressed, sir.’
‘I’m well aware of that, Nick.’
‘This is not the time to let Banbury’s Men gain the upper hand over us. It could have serious consequences.’
‘Do not lecture me.’
‘Our performances are in a set order.’
‘I helped to choose them,’ said Firethorn irritably, ‘so do not tell me why The Loyal Subject was marked out for Saturday afternoon. It is the best day of the week for us and one when we can make most impact. The Loyal Subject was commissioned from Edmund when we performed at court. In view of Her Majesty’s grievous condition, we could not make a more apt choice. The play celebrates the life of our revered Queen and enjoins all subjects to serve her devotedly.’
‘Our patron has high admiration for the piece.’
‘Quite rightly.’
‘He is expecting to watch it this weekend.’
‘Then he will be disappointed!’ Firethorn’s cry gave way to a hopeless shrug. ‘I am torn in two here, Nick. I wish to lead my company on Saturday but I may not. I cannot. I simply must not.’
‘Your excuse must be a very persuasive one.’
‘I have … given my word,’ mumbled Firethorn.
‘Could not that promise be fulfilled on Sunday just as well as on Saturday?’ ventured Nicholas. ‘It is but a case of waiting twenty-four hours. Unlike our rivals with their theatres outside the city boundaries, Westfield’s Men may not play on a Sunday. That is the time for dalliance, sir.’
‘Do not make my guilt any worse.’
‘But you give so much ground to Banbury’s Men. If you desert us on Saturday, we lose our most telling play and turn some of our audience towards The Curtain where The Spanish Jew will be mounted once more.’ Nicholas sighed. ‘We are but an army fighting without our captain. Banbury’s Men have both Saturday and Sunday to steal a march on our company.’
‘You counsel well but my heart speaks louder.’
‘May I talk to the lady in your stead?’
‘No, no,’ said Firethorn, fearful that a delicate state of relations might be upset, ‘I must follow my own prompting here. But I do not do so lightly, believe me.’
‘Your mind is quite fixed?’
‘Immovably.’
Nicholas accepted defeat and walked to the door. Now that Firethorn was in a more tranquil mood, he prodded a tentative name towards him.
‘Do not be too harsh on Owen Elias, sir.’
‘I’ll tear the lousy knave limb from stinking limb!’
The imprecations were still pouring out like molten lava as Nicholas waved a farewell and let himself out of the house. It had been a depressing visit. Lawrence Firethorn was even more seriously embroiled with Beatrice Capaldi than he had feared. An actor who rejoiced in his performances was letting a woman come between him and his company. She could not have appeared at a more inauspicious moment.
It was time to call on a hatmaker.
Old age and uncertain health were slowly taking their toll on the Earl of Chichester but the effects of both had been temporarily reversed by the mounting excitement of a dispute over the succession. Action rejuvenated him. It took years off his back and put paid to his incipient deafness, chronic dyspepsia and general fatigue. Roger Godolphin had always lived ostentatiously beyond his means and indulged his taste for rich food and fine wine with ruinous thoroughness. Now he had the perfect excuse to do both. Having raised yet another loan, he was able to entertain on a lavish scale once more and buy support for his cause. Suddenly, he was a power behind the throne and others gravitated towards him. If his nominee were indeed crowned, he would not live to draw full benefit from her reign but he was impelled by the thought that his family would reap untold advantage, his friends would gain immeasurably and he himself would find a niche in history. It was not given to many men to make their mark on one reign. He would have set his imprimatur on two.
‘The future of England lies in the balance,’ he said.
‘We must tip it our way.’
‘When the moment comes, we’ll push with all our might.’
‘But do we have enough weight?’
‘Look around you, sir. Some of the heaviest names in the kingdom dine at my table today.’
‘Some of them — but not all.’
The Earl of Banbury was getting nervous as the crucial time approached and he was grateful for his colleague’s military self-discipline. Roger Godolphin did not flinch in battle. Banbury took due comfort. Both men were dining in the house on the Strand where the beaming host presided over a groaning board. At a lavish banquet, they could strengthen their position and gormandise at the same time. It was the ideal way to secure their prize. Important figures from state and church sat all around them, devouring their meat with relish, hungry vultures feeding on the carcass of a dead queen and toasting her successor with Tudor blood.
Banbury still hesitated. ‘We need Burghley.’
‘He will not commit himself one way or the other,’ said the host. ‘Besides, his time has passed. She goes, he falls. That gout will carry him off soon enough.’
‘His son, Robert, is now leading Westfield’s party.’
‘That is of no account.’
‘If Robert Cecil can get his father’s approval …’
‘Forget that whole family,’ reassured Chichester. ‘They belong to the old reign and have no place in the new. Robert Cecil may drag fools like Westfield in his wake but he is still too young and untried in the ways of the world.’ He curled his lip. ‘That scheming little hunchback is no match for a true politician like me, sir.’
‘Indeed not, Roger.’
‘I sit at the head of the table.’
It was an appropriate metaphor. The Earl of Chichester was well able to eat, drink, order his servants, dominate his guests, keep five conversations going simultaneously and still be able to commune with Banbury in an undertone. In a very short time, he had given his party the clear advantage.
The Earl of Banbury rose to a wistful sigh.
‘It will mean the end of the Tudor dynasty,’ he said.
‘What of that?’ snapped the other.
‘Her Majesty’s reign has been long and stable.’
‘Too long, sir.’
‘We have all profited from that.’
‘Your memory fails you,’ said Chichester bitterly. ‘The Tudors have never liked the nobility. When Henry Tudor was a peevish boy, there were sixty-four peers in England. When he seized the crown at Bosworth, there were but thirty-eight left and he did little enough to add to them.’
‘His son created earls and marquesses.’
‘Then had them executed out of spite. Henry VIII knew his father’s rule. Strong kingship means a weak nobility. And our Queen has followed this dictate.’ His bitterness deepened. ‘The Tudors raise up in order to cast down. Show me a duke or a marquess in the last hundred years who was never attainted as a traitor.’