‘You should be proud of that fact.’
‘Indeed, I am, Nick. Very proud-but very fearful.’
‘Stay close by me and banish all apprehension.’
‘I will try.’
Edmund Hoode and Lawrence Firethorn had been highly alarmed to learn of the beating taken by their book holder but their reaction had been positive. Both had their faith in the play reaffirmed, believing that the violence proved its veracity. Indeed, the actor-manager announced that they now had a mission as well as a duty to stage The Roaring Boy and Hoode was momentarily carried along by Firethorn’s rhetoric. As the playwright was rowed ever closer to the scene of the crime, however, his resolve began to vaccilate.
‘We take the most dreadful risks, Nick.’
‘That is why we work in the theatre.’
‘This is a matter of life and death.’
‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘The life of Emilia Brinklow and the cruel death of her brother. If we can sweeten the one by uncovering the truth about the other, we will have done noble service. We may also have cleared the names of two innocent people wrongly convicted of the murder.’
‘But we are up against such powerful men.’
‘All the more reason to bring them down.’
‘That is a task for the law, not for mere players.’
‘When the law fails, we must seek retribution ourselves.’ He put a comforting arm around his sagging colleague. ‘Take heart, Edmund. This will be one of the most fateful pieces that ever issued from your teeming brain. You will give pleasure to your audience and dispense justice at one and the same time. Hold fast to that thought and the dangers that haunt you will fade to distant shadows.’
‘You are right,’ decided Hoode. ‘I must be brave.’
‘We are too far in to turn back now.’
Nicholas spent the next ten minutes in bolstering his friend’s sense of purpose. Hoode’s commitment was pivotal. They could expect wild protest from Barnaby Gill but he could usually be overruled by Lawrence Firethorn. If the comedian persevered with his objections, they could even present the play without him. Edmund Hoode, however, was quite indispensable. It was for this reason that Nicholas had been appointed as his keeper. He sensed that it would be a difficult assignment.
When he next looked out across the water, Nicholas saw that they were approaching the royal dockyards at Deptford. The jumble of storehouses, slipways, sawpits, masthouses and cranes brought a mixture of nostalgia and regret. It was a long time since he sailed with Drake on the circumnavigation of the globe but the experience was tattooed on his soul. A first glimpse of The Golden Hind provoked a flurry of memories. It stood on the foreshore in a dry dock for people to gape at, its hull now hacked by a thousand knives in search of a piece of history. Looking at the vessel-still trim and well fitted out-Nicholas found it impossible to believe that so many men had been crammed into such a small space for such an interminable period of time.
Reflection on his past brought a surge of confidence in the future. Drake and his mariners had met with recurring horrors during their three years at sea yet they somehow survived. What kept them going was an indomitable spirit. So it must be with The Roaring Boy. It involved a much shorter voyage, albeit over uncharted water, but it would bring its share of tempests. They had to be withstood at all costs. Nicholas must regard the attack at the Eagle and Serpent as simply the first squall. It was vital for Westfield’s Men to combat hostile elements and keep the ship on course until they could bring it into port.
Simon Chaloner was waiting at Greenwich to escort them to the house and to prepare them for their meeting with Emilia Brinklow. They walked together along the main street.
‘I beg you to show all due care,’ he said.
‘Is the lady unwell?’ asked Hoode.
‘In mind but not in body. She grieves. Be gentle.’
‘We shall,’ said Nicholas. ‘But there are some personal matters which we must broach with her. Issues on which even you have been unable to satisfy us.’
‘All I ask is that you proceed with caution.’
Nicholas Bracewell wondered what sort of fragile woman Emilia Brinklow must be to require such delicate handling. Simon Chaloner was patently a robust young man with an extrovert streak in his nature. Could he really be drawn to the frail being that his description of Emilia had conjured up? Had she been told of the perils that attended The Roaring Boy? Or was he deliberately keeping her ignorant of them?
When they reached the house, they paused to look up at its facade. Edmund Hoode was frankly impressed.
‘It is beautiful,’ he said. ‘So neat, so symmetrical.’
‘Thomas took a hand in its design,’ explained Chaloner. ‘First and foremost, he was a mathematician. All that you see around you will be geometrically exact.’
‘A remarkable building,’ said Hoode, marvelling at the size and scope of the place. ‘I had no idea that there was so much money in mathematics.’
‘Thomas was a genius.’
‘A renowned engineer, too, I believe,’ said Nicholas. ‘Did he not design naval equipment for the royal dockyards?’
‘Yes,’ said Chaloner. ‘There was no limit to his abilities. He worked with distinction in many fields. You will catch something of his personality here. The imprint of Thomas Brinklow is on every part of the house and garden.’ He remembered something and became brisk. ‘Come, gentlemen. Emilia is waiting in the arbour to meet you. Please bear in mind what I told you.’
They followed him to a side-gate and went around the house to the long, rectangular garden at the rear. It was laid out with mathematical precision and kept in immaculate condition. Straight paths bisected well-groomed lawns. Flowers and shrubs grew in orderly beds. Every tree seemed to have been put in the perfect location. Wide stone steps led up to an arbour at the far end of the garden that was screened off from the house by a series of concentric hedges. The pattern envisaged by Thomas Brinklow had been brought scrupulously to life.
Emilia was seated on a bench in the arbour, talking to the maidservant. As soon as she heard the visitors, Agnes turned to give them a polite curtsey before hurrying back in the direction of the house. Simon Chaloner placed a gentle kiss on Emilia’s hand, then raised her to her feet to perform the introductions. She was poised but taciturn, bestowing wan smiles of welcome on the two men before resuming her seat. Chaloner indicated that the visitors should sit down before lowering himself on to the bench beside Emilia. Nicholas Bracewell and Edmund Hoode had no choice but to take up a position diametrically opposite. Mathematics quashed even the slightest rebellion against order.
‘It is kind of you to invite us here,’ said Nicholas politely, ‘and we do appreciate it. We will not take up any more of your time than is necessary.’
‘Thank you,’ she replied.
Hoode tried to speak but his lips betrayed him. So struck was he by the pallid loveliness of Emilia Brinklow that he was bereft of words. The playwright was no stranger to beauty. Having dedicated much of his life to the futile pursuit of feminine charms, he felt that it was a subject in which he had acquired some painful expertise but here was someone who broke through the boundaries even of his wide experience. Emilia Brinklow was wholly enchanting. Dressed in a dark green satin that blended with the lawns, she wore blue hat and gloves to complement the tiny blue shoes that peeped out below the hem of her skirt. A single piece of jewellery-a pendant ruby-sparkled against the divine whiteness of her neck. Edmund Hoode was instantly vanquished.
Nicholas Bracewell was as much interested in her manner as her appearance. She was composed and watchful. Though her fiance sat beside her by way of defence, she did not look as if she was in need of his assistance. Hoode might find her demure but Nicholas detected a quiet self-possession. Emilia Brinklow was by no means the shrinking violet of report.