‘Since when can a playwright pick and choose hired men?’
‘I made that point to him.’
‘Good. Master Hibbert is still very new to the playhouse.’
‘His novelty is wearing off for me,’ confided Firethorn. ‘When he first appeared, I thought he’d come to lead us to the Promised Land. I did not realise that it would be beset with cups of poison and renegade dogs. I’m not so ready to commission a second play from Saul Hibbert now.’
Nicholas was relieved but he said nothing. Time was running out and, from the commotion he could hear in the yard, it sounded as if another large audience was waiting for them. The flag had been hoisted above the Queen’s Head to show that a play would be performed and the musicians had taken up their places in the gallery above the stage. Owen Elias, in a black cloak, was running a tongue over his lips as he rehearsed the opening lines of the Prologue. Everything was ready. The strain on the actors was almost tangible. Nicholas tried to lift it.
After warning everyone in the tiring-house with a wave, he sent a signal up to the musicians. When the trumpets blared and the drum boomed, an anticipatory hush fell on the audience. On a cue from the book holder, Owen Elias strode out onstage to deliver the Prologue.
Malevolence, my friends, is here to stay.
It works with spite and cunning every day
And night to gain its ends. Employ it well
When you would seek to wed and only sell
Your precious freedom at the highest price,
Or live in sad regret. Take my advice.
A man can marry anyone he choose
But women know a marriage bed can bruise.
So, ladies, stalk your prey behind a smile,
And bring him down with malice and with guile.
It was not so much the lines as his vivid gestures that garnered the first laughs. The Welshman gesticulated to such comic effect that he received a round of applause at the end of his speech. It was all that the other actors needed. Approval was their life-blood. They went in search of it with a confidence that had seemed impossible minutes ago. No sooner did Lord Loveless appear in his ridiculously garish apparel than he got a rousing cheer and the Clown, too, was given a special welcome. Firethorn and Gill were known and admired by all. Moved by the warmth of their reception, the two of them blossomed and gave performances that were somehow enhanced in every particular. The loveless lord was more absurd than ever and the Clown’s antics were more hilarious. In one short opening scene, the audience was conquered.
Nicholas was enthralled. It was a new play. With everyone bringing an extra vigour and subtlety to their performance, the nuances and shades of colour in The Malevolent Comedy were brought out clearly for the first time. Richard Honeydew was renowned for his portrayal of noble queens and beautiful princesses, but he revelled in a different role now, finding a deeper malevolence in his character than had ever been there before. It was almost as if he were trying to prove what Nicholas had observed when they met to recreate the play from memory.
Mistress Malevole was a cunning serpent, subjecting the other three women to repeated humiliation so that she could entwine herself around Lord Loveless and lick him with her forked tongue. Rosamund, Chloe and Eleanor were not mere characters in a play. They sounded like real women, voicing real complaints, stripped of any dignity and derided in public to satisfy the author’s malice. All that the audience saw was a riotous comedy that bowled along with effortless speed. What the book holder heard, however, was a wicked satire on the weaker sex. In front of howling spectators, the women were really suffering.
While not losing his concentration, Nicholas kept one ear pricked for the sound of any impending attack. The rest of the company had clearly forgotten that the piece was synonymous with misfortune, and that it had taken the life of Hal Bridger less than a week earlier. Shaking off their fears, they played with a zest that gave a sharper edge to the comedy. The laughter and applause throughout was so generous that it added several minutes to the performance. When they saw that the play was over, there was a massive sigh of disappointment, followed by an explosion of clapping hands, stamping feet and deafening cheers.
It was by far their best performance of the play and it augured well for any revival. Nicholas was relieved. All the precautions that he had set in place seemed to have worked. While the actors took their bows in the reverberating cauldron of noise, he was simply grateful that they had come through without assault or interruption. The play’s curse had been lifted. They had finally been spared.
Even the sceptical Francis Quilter was impressed. Coming off stage with the others, he tapped the prompt book in Nicholas’s hands.
‘It’s a better play than I thought,’ he admitted.
‘You were always too censorious, Frank.’
‘I let my dislike of the author obscure my judgement.’
‘So you admire the play now?’ said Nicholas.
‘Yes, but I hate Saul Hibbert even more.’
‘Why?’
‘His work exceeded all expectations today,’ replied Quilter. ‘That means Lawrence will bind him hand and foot by contract, and we’ll have him writing more comedies for us.’
‘Why, so I will!’ said Firethorn, joining them. ‘Did you hear that happy pandemonium out there, Nick? We were supreme. And as for Saul, I’ll chain him to a desk and make him write for us forever.’
‘Make no hurried decisions,’ urged Nicholas.
‘We need him.’
‘It’s what he needs that concerns me.’
‘Your place is safe, Nick. He’ll not shift you again.’
‘I care not for myself. My anxiety is for others.’
‘Why?’
‘Master Hibbert treats most of them as if they were mere servants to his genius. After this afternoon, I fear that he’ll be worse than ever.’
‘He’ll learn to love us all in time.’
‘Not unless he has the power he craves,’ said Nicholas.
‘Leave off,’ said Firethorn, genially. ‘This is a time for celebration rather than anxiety. We’ve set fire to an audience as never before this year and we should warm our hands at the blaze. Be happy for us, Nick.’
‘I am — truly delighted.’
‘Then come and join us in the taproom. I was worried, I confess. In view of what happened before with this play, I was as nervous as a kitten when I was waiting to go onstage. Once there, I knew that my fears were groundless. I felt the triumph coming,’ said Firethorn, putting a hand to his heart. ‘Nothing can take the pleasure of it away, Nick. We gave them a magnificent play this afternoon and nobody tried to stop us.’
Richard Honeydew was troubled. Old enough to play the part of Mistress Malevole extremely well, he was still too young to appreciate the full import of the character. Though the performance had been his best yet, it had left him confused and apprehensive. There were times when he lost all control, when he felt that Mistress Malevole took him over and made him explore aspects of her character that he did not even know were there. He had been forced to be more savage, more ruthless, more calculating. The audience might have loved his portrayal but it almost frightened him. When he came to take off his wig and dress, his fingers were trembling.
Amid the swirl of bodies and the noise of banter, nobody paid any attention to him in the tiring-house. That suited Honeydew. He had a sudden desire to be alone. Living at Firethorn’s house, he would be returning there with the other apprentices in time but there was no hurry. They would have to wait for Margery, who would surely want to celebrate with her husband before she took them back home. Honeydew had plenty of leeway. Changing quickly into his own clothing, therefore, he gave his costume to the tireman and darted out of the room.