‘It was good of you to come here.’
‘It was the only thing I could think of doing.’
‘You behaved like a dutiful sister.’
‘I’ll steal away before Bernice comes. Be gentle with her.’
‘Rely on me,’ he said.
‘I will.’
When she turned away, he blew a kiss at her departing back. Hoode’s dejection slowly lifted. His fulsome sonnet might have hit the wrong target but it had allowed him two precious minutes alone with the woman he loved. It had also given him an insight into her essential goodness and moral rectitude. Ursula Opie was not a woman to be swept into his arms by a mere sonnet. She was a goddess who had to be worshipped from afar, a wondrous icon, an ethereal being that was all the more inspiring for being so unattainable. Her rejection of him only served to intensify his devotion.
Meanwhile, there was another sister on her way. Bernice Opie came tripping along with a servant at her heels. When she caught sight of him, a broad smile lit her face. Ursula had asked him to be kind and gentle. It was an easy request to satisfy. Nothing would have persuaded him to send a poem of any sort to Bernice Opie. It had to be explained away as a foolish romantic gesture on his part. Hoode cleared his throat and began to rehearse his excuses.
Cupid’s Folly drew a substantial audience that afternoon but it had nothing like the size or excitement of the crowds that had come to see the play it had replaced. It was one of the company’s staple comedies, a sturdy and reliable war-horse on which they could trot happily for a couple of hours. With the inimitable Barnaby Gill in the main role, it filled the yard with laughter yet again. George Dart was promoted to hold the book, leaving Nicholas Bracewell free to watch the audience from the same upper room he had used before. He thought it unlikely that one or both of the kidnappers would be there, but he wanted to make sure.
Having met Cyrus Hame, he at least had a clearer idea of what the man he was after looked like. Nicholas had no qualms about the rough welcome that Hame had been given. He and John Vavasor were known to have done their best to lure Saul Hibbert away from Westfield’s Men and deprive them of what had seemed to be a dazzling new talent. Hame and Hibbert had been birds of a feather, proud peacocks that liked to strut and show off their finery. The disgraced playwright would have little use for his wardrobe in prison.
Though he scanned the faces in the galleries, Nicholas could see none that looked as if it might belong to the man he sought. All that the kidnappers would want to know was that The Malevolent Comedy had given way to another play, and they could learn that from the playbills that had been posted up to advertise the event. When the play was over, he waited until the applause died down, and the yard began to empty, before making his way downstairs. The landlord intercepted him.
‘I knew that he was a villain,’ he said, wagging a finger. ‘We owe you thanks for finding him out.’
‘I’m glad that he had enough money in his purse to settle his bill.’
‘And he’s in prison now, you say?’
‘Condemned for his many crimes,’ said Nicholas.
‘I hear that bigamy was one of them.’
‘It was. Under two different names, he had at least three wives.’
‘I do not know whether to be shocked or to feel sorry for him,’ said Marwood, smacking his cheek to stop it twitching so alarmingly. ‘One wife is more than enough for me. Two would break my back. Three would be something akin to purgatory.’
‘The Queen’s Head will be quieter without Saul Hibbert.’
‘I’ll say “Amen” to that.’
Nicholas broke away and went into the yard. Most of the spectators had left and the scenery was already being taken from the stage. Leonard waved and hurried across to his friend.
‘Nicholas, Nicholas!’ he called. ‘I’ve seen her again.’
‘Who?’
‘The young lady who asked about the book holder.’
‘Are you certain it was her?’
‘Yes,’ said Leonard. ‘I’d swear to it.’
‘You were certain about that gentleman this morning and he turned out to be Cyrus Hame. Let’s not have another mistake,’ said Nicholas, warily. ‘You have to be absolutely sure, Leonard.’
‘I am. She spoke to me again.’
‘When?’
‘Not two minutes ago. I came looking for you at once.’
‘Had the lady been at the play?’
‘No,’ replied Leonard, ‘she came to ask why The Malevolent Comedy had been replaced. I told her that it was out of favour with you.’
‘Good. What else did you say?’
‘That its author was in prison and likely to stay there a long time. She seemed pleased. She thanked me for my help then walked away.’
‘You should have followed her!’ said Nicholas.
‘Not with these slow legs of mine. Besides, she knows me by sight and would have been warned of my pursuit.’
‘In other words, she got away.’
‘I’m not such a dullard as that, Nicholas.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I sent George Dart after her,’ said Leonard, proudly. ‘He’s small enough to keep out of sight and young enough to run all the way back here to tell us where she went.’
Nicholas was thrilled. ‘Excellent work,’ he said, taking him by the shoulders. ‘Saddle a horse for me at once. I want it ready for when George returns. And find Lawrence’s horse as well. He’ll want to come with me to set Dick free.’
Richard Honeydew had resigned himself to spending a whole day in the stink and discomfort of the disused stable. The woman had given him breakfast and another meal at noon. To his profound embarrassment, she had released his bonds so that he could relieve himself in the corner, any hope of escape removed by the fact that the man stood outside the door with a drawn sword. During the afternoon, the boy had been left alone, suffering from cramp and twisting his body into all kinds of shapes in order to ease it.
He could hear the traffic in the nearby thoroughfare but remained cruelly isolated from it. Hours seemed to pass. It was late afternoon when he finally heard footsteps, accompanied by the sound of a horse’s hooves. The stable door was open and his captors stepped inside. They were carrying leather bags.
‘Why not leave him here?’ said the woman. ‘That’s the best way.’
‘No, he might be found too soon.’
‘He knows nothing.’
‘He knows your face,’ said the man, ‘and he’s caught a glimpse of mine. It’s safer to take him with us and leave him somewhere miles away from London. By the time he gets back here, we’ll be long gone.’
‘If we take him, he’ll slow us down.’
‘We’ll do as I say,’ he snapped, handing her his cloak. ‘Wrap him in this and I’ll throw him across my horse. Nobody will know that he’s there. Tie it fast,’ he ordered. Dropping his bag, he turned away. ‘I’ll fetch my horse from the blacksmith. He should be ready now.’
‘Hurry back.’
When her companion went off, the woman crossed over to Honeydew and looked down at him. Her voice gave nothing away but there was a tinge of regret in her gaze.
‘You have to come for a ride,’ she said, holding the cloak open. The boy shook his head and pleaded with his eyes. ‘It’s the best way. If we leave you here, you might not be found for days.’
He tried to shrink away from her but it was no use. She threw the cloak over him and wrapped him in a bundle, using more cord to tie the cloak in place. Honeydew heard the muffled sound of a horse’s hooves as it was pulled to a halt nearby. He was to be taken out of the city and abandoned by the roadside. The thought scared him. But it was not the woman’s accomplice whom he heard, coming to take him away. The next thing that reached his ears was the voice of Nicholas Bracewell as he came bursting into the stable.
‘What do you want?’ cried the woman.
‘You dropped this in the churchyard,’ said Nicholas, holding up the bloodstained handkerchief. ‘I’m afraid that it got rather stained.’ He saw the bundle, squirming violently on the ground. ‘Is that you, Dick?’