‘You mean that they will hide any blemishes?’
‘And enhance any finer points of a countenance.’
‘This lady still has considerable charm,’ said Anne. ‘The most artful hand cannot turn an ugly face into a beauteous one. What does she know of the man she has agreed to marry?’
‘Only what her uncle has told her. The match has been arranged by him and by a man whom our patron engaged to find a suitable bride.’
‘So she had not seen a portrait of Lord Westfield?’
‘No, Anne. She is taking him on trust.’
‘Then she is in for an unpleasant surprise,’ she said. ‘Of the two of them, Sigbrit Olsen is getting by far the worst of the bargain.’
‘We shall see,’ said Nicholas tolerantly. ‘All that concerns me is that we have been rescued from idleness by this marriage. More to the point, it enables me to spend more time with you.’
‘How so?’
‘I thought that you would sail for Amsterdam alone.’
‘I still intend to do so. I’ve promised to visit Jacob’s family and I will not let them down. My plan is to leave next week.’
‘Stay your hand and we may sail together. A ship that sails for Denmark is likely to visit the Low Countries as well. Indeed, I’ll make sure that it does before I commit us as passengers.’ He smiled fondly. ‘Would you rather go with or without me?’
‘You know the answer to that,’ she said, touching his arm. ‘There’s nobody I would rather have beside me. You are a good sailor, Nick. I am not. You have voyaged around the whole world. All that I managed to do was to sail across the North Sea.’
‘That, too, can have its perils.’
‘Then I’ll gladly share them with you.’
He put an arm around her and she nestled into his shoulder. Dappled by the shadows thrown by the candles, they sat there in restful silence for a long time. Nicholas’s memory was then jogged.
‘How is Preben?’ he asked.
‘Still pretending that there is nothing wrong with him.’
‘He looked as pale as death when I saw him.’
‘That stone all but knocked him senseless,’ said Anne, ‘and he lost a lot of blood. He was so upset that I should see him like that.’
‘Did you report what happened?’
‘Yes, Nick. We gave that document to a constable and charged him to pass it on to the authorities. They will be as angry as we were by that message of hatred. Steps will be taken to find the culprits.’
‘There have been no arrests so far.’
‘The villains have been too cunning.’
‘Then a trap needs to be set for them.’
‘It’s not your place to get involved, Nick.’
‘I gave Preben my word,’ he said.
‘And it caused him great disquiet,’ said Anne. ‘To have anyone acting on his behalf only distresses him. Preben would prefer that the whole matter was forgotten.’
‘His head was cracked open. Retribution is due.’
‘Humour him, please. For his sake, do not pursue the matter. We had a shock this morning and we are over it now. With so much to do before you leave for Denmark, you will not have time to go to the Dutch Churchyard.’
‘I’ll find the time somehow.’
‘What is the point?’ she said. ‘Your chances of success are very slim. It may well be that what we saw was the last of these libels against strangers. Those who put them there know the dire penalties that they face. I think that they will be frightened away.’
The watchmen plodded along side by side in the dark like two old carthorses pulling a heavy load. Broad Street was no less noisome by night than by day. A compound of unpleasant smells hung in the air to assault their nostrils and their feet squelched through all kinds of filthy refuse. But they knew their duty. When they reached the Dutch Churchyard, they paused to look inside, using their lanterns to illumine even its darkest corners. All that they found was a dog, curled up beside one of the gravestones. Dispatched with a kick, it yelped aloud and scurried away. The watchmen were content. Leaving the churchyard, they checked every inch of the wall to see if anything had been hung there again.
‘Nothing,’ said one.
‘We are good scarecrows,’ said the other.
‘Yes, Tom. We frightened them away at last.’
Chuckling quietly, they went on their way, patrolling the streets of the parish at the same slow, tireless, unvarying pace. They were soon swallowed up by darkness. When the distant echo of their footsteps finally died away, someone came out of a doorway opposite the churchyard and trotted across to it. Seconds later, another vile attack on foreigners was attached to the wall.
The villains had struck again.
Chapter Four
Margery Firethorn was a gregarious woman who loved to have people around her. Her house in Shoreditch was not merely home to her husband and children, it also contained two servants and the four boy apprentices who belonged to Westfield’s Men. In addition, it was the regular meeting place for certain members of the company so visitors were coming and going all the time. Margery greeted them all with maternal warmth and made sure that refreshment was always on hand. That morning, however, her pleasure at seeing her friends was tempered by the thought that she might not lay eyes on them again for a long time. When the troupe sailed off to Denmark, five people who slept under her roof would disappear along with all of her most cherished callers. The house in Old Street would seem very empty.
Nicholas Bracewell was the first to arrive and she always reserved her most cordial welcome for the book holder. When she embraced him this time, however, there was sadness in her face and a hint of desperation in the way that she clung to him. He understood why. Margery stepped back to appraise him.
‘I shall miss you, Nick,’ she said.
‘Not as much as I’ll miss you,’ he said gallantly. ‘There’s nobody in the whole of Denmark who will look after us as well as you.’
‘Thank you.’
‘The pity of it is that we cannot take you with us.’
‘The same must be true of Anne, surely?’
‘No, Margery — she will be joining us.’
‘Oh?’
‘Anne is going to Amsterdam to visit relatives and friends of her late husband. She’ll sail with us part of the way.’
‘Well perhaps I could do so as well!’
‘We’d be honoured to have you.’
She kissed him on the lips, gave him an impulsive squeeze then took him into the parlour, where Lawrence Firethorn was poring over a manuscript. He looked up.
‘Nick, dear heart,’ he said, rising from his chair. ‘As ever, you are the first here even though you have to travel further than anyone.’
‘I enjoy a long walk,’ said Nicholas.
‘It must have taken you past the Queen’s Head.’
‘It did. The place looks forlorn. By now, I fancy the landlord will have pulled out the last remaining tufts of hair in vexation. It will be months before the inn returns to anything like its former glory.’
‘It can only do that when Westfield’s Men play there again,’ said Margery loyally. ‘The sooner that happens, the better.’ The doorbell clanged. ‘That will be Edmund.’
She left the room and let the newcomer in, enfolding him in her arms for a moment before ushering him into the parlour. Margery then vanished into the kitchen. After an exchange of greetings, the three men sat down. Firethorn picked up the manuscript on the table.
‘I’ve been reading your latest play again, Edmund,’ he said. ‘I know that it did not find favour with the Master of the Revels but it might have a kinder reception in Denmark.’
‘I doubt it,’ said Hoode. ‘Sir Thomas More will be a poor play if I take out all the lines that offended the censor. He hacked it to pieces.’
‘His writ does not run in Elsinore.’
Hoode sat up. ‘We perform the piece exactly as it is written?’
‘That’s my suggestion,’ said Firethorn, leafing through the pages. ‘Sir Thomas is a part I yearn to play. He towers over the drama like a Colossus and his execution will move the hardest of hearts. Sir Thomas More would grace any stage.’