‘There was much for me to do, as you saw.’
‘I have never seen anyone work so hard,’ said the boy with frank admiration. ‘Not even Preben van Loew.’
‘Did the others keep an eye on you?’
‘Dick Honeydew spoke to me many times though his skirts made him look so like a woman. Master Hoode was very kind and so was Master Gill. I also talked a lot with George Dart and even had a few words with Master Curtis, the carpenter, who helped us at the house this morning.’ His face clouded. ‘Who started that blaze?’
‘I will find out, Hans.’
‘But why was it done, sir?’
Nicholas shrugged evasively and brought the boy out into the yard. The experiment of bringing Hans Kippel to the Queen’s Head had been an unqualified success but he was now in the way. Having supervised the dismantling of the stage, the book holder now took time off to shepherd the boy back down to the wharf where Abel Strudwick was waiting. Nicholas paid him in advance and charged him with the task of rowing the apprentice back to the Surrey side of the river and of accompanying him safely home. The boatman was delighted with his commission, not least because his passenger was so enthused by the play he had just seen and so willing to listen to more of Strudwick’s plangent music. Ambition nudged again.
‘What did Master Firethorn say about me?’ he asked.
‘I go back to raise the matter with him now.’
‘Tell him I am at his disposal.’
‘He may not have need of you directly, Abel.’
‘Shall I bring my verses to him?’
‘I will ask.’
Nicholas strode back through the coolness of the early evening to attend to his final duties. He was checking that everything had been securely locked away when a broad palm gave him a hearty slap on the back.
‘Nick, my bawcock! A thousand thanks!’
‘For what, sir?’
‘A thousand acts of goodness,’ said Firethorn grandly. ‘But none more welcome than the service you performed for me of late.’
‘You speak of the lady, I think.’
‘And think of her as I speak. Oh, Nick, my friend, she is an empress to my imperial design. I have never met a creature of such flawless perfection and such peerless beauty.’ Another slap fell. ‘And it was you who found out who she was. A thousand thousand thanks!’
Nicholas had grave reservations about his role as go-between and he was uneasy when he heard what had transpired. Matilda Stanford had come to the Queen’s Head with no chaperone but a maidservant and the two of them had been greeted by Firethorn in a private room. It boded ill for the young lady herself and for the company.
‘Conquest is assured,’ said Firethorn dreamily.
‘Beware of what might follow, sir.’
‘I care nothing for that. The present is all to me.’
‘Have concern for the future as well,’ warned Nicholas. ‘The lady is married and to a man of great wealth and influence. Think what hurt he might inflict if he ever found out about this dalliance.’
‘I fear no man alive, sir!’
‘It is the company I have in mind. Master Stanford will be Lord Mayor of London before long. He could take his anger out on Westfield’s Men and expel us promptly.’
‘Only if he is cognisant,’ said Firethorn. ‘And he will not be. We will pull the wool over his mayoral eyes and make a mockery of him. I am no lusty youth with his codpiece points about to pop. Waiting only enhances the prize and I will bide my time until Richmond.’
‘Richmond, sir?’
‘The Nine Giants.’
‘You have made an assignation?’
‘I have but put the sweet thought into her mind.’
‘And until then?’
‘We simply dote on the ecstasy that lies in store.’
Nicholas was relieved that he was not rushing into his entanglement. Advance notice gave the book holder the opportunity to extricate the young bride. Flushed with excitement, Lawrence Firethorn was in a mood to agree to almost anything and Nicholas plied him with a dozen or more requests concerning company business. When the actor-manager acceded to them all, his employee honoured a promise he had been forced to give.
‘I have a friend who writes verses, sir.’
‘Let me see them, let me see them.’
‘He is but a humble waterman.’
‘What of that, Nick?’ said the actor proudly. ‘I am the son of a common blacksmith yet I have risen to the pinnacle of my profession. Who is this fellow?’
‘Abel Strudwick.’
‘I will read his work and give my opinion.’
Firethorn waved his farewell and swept off down the corridor. Nicholas was glad that he had mentioned his friend but held out little hope for him. The actor would have forgotten all about the request by the next day. Abel Strudwick would be only one of countless dejected scribes who were spurned by the star of Westfield’s Men.
The taproom was the next port of call for the book holder. His intention was to speak to Marwood’s wife but someone else claimed his attention first. Edmund Hoode was almost suicidal. Seated alone at a table, he was pouring beer down his throat as if he were emptying a bucket of water into a sink. Nicholas intervened and put the huge tankard aside.
‘Give it to me, Nick!’ gasped Hoode.
‘I think you have drunk enough, sir.’
‘Fill it to the brim with poison and make me happy.’
‘We love you too well for that, Edmund.’
‘You might but she does not. I am betrayed.’
‘Only by yourself,’ said Nicholas gently, sitting beside him. ‘You do the lady wrong to expect too much from her. She does not even know of your existence.’
‘But she read my sonnet!’
‘Sent by another.’
‘Yes!’ growled Hoode, trying to stand. ‘Lawrence has used me cruelly in this matter. On my honour, I will not permit it! I will challenge him to a duel!’
He reached for an invisible sword at his side and fell back ridiculously onto his seat. Nicholas steadied his friend then found himself the object of attack.
‘I blame you, sir!’ said Hoode.
‘For what?’
‘Foul deception. Why did you not tell me the truth?’
‘I thought to save you from pain.’
‘But you have made it all the worse,’ howled the poet. ‘You knew that Lawrence was in pursuit of my fair mistress yet you did not even warn me.’
‘I hoped to head him off, Edmund.’
‘Head him off, sir? When he is at full gallop? It would be easier to head off a charging bull!’
‘Nevertheless, it may still be done.’
Hoode clutched at straws. ‘How, Nick? How? How? How?’
‘I will bethink me.’
‘Matilda Stanford.’ Fantasy had returned. ‘I could weave such pretty conceits around a name like Matilda. It is a description of a divinity. Matilda the Magnificent. I cannot stop saying it — Matilda, Matilda, Matilda …’
‘Remember to add her surname,’ said the other.
‘What?’
‘Stanford. Matilda Stanford.’
‘She will always be plain Matilda to me.’
‘But not to her husband.’
‘Husband!’ He choked. ‘The child is married?’
‘To Walter Stanford. Master of the Mercers.’
‘I have heard of him.’
‘So should you have. He is the Lord Mayor Elect.’
Edmund Hoode stared blankly at the ceiling as he tried to process this new information. It introduced many unforeseen difficulties but romance could overcome them. He fell in love indiscriminately and let nothing stand in the way of his surging passion. The presence of a husband was a problem but it was not insurmountable. Far more serious was the existence of a rival of the calibre of Lawrence Firethorn. He had all the advantages. Hoode shifted his ground dramatically.
‘I believe in the sanctity of marriage,’ he said.
‘So should we all.’
‘Matilda must be saved from damnation.’
‘That is my wish, too, Edmund.’
‘I will protect her from the prickly Firethorn.’
‘Do it with cunning.’
‘I’ll move with stealth,’ he said. ‘If I cannot have her as mine, she will be returned safe and sound to her lawful husband. Lawrence will fail this time. Should he try to board her, I’ll take her by the ankles and pull her out from under him. He will not prevail.’