‘What a sorry sight!’ he said. ‘Is that the highwaymen’s work?’
‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘Giddy brought that upon himself. He started a tavern brawl in Maidstone and came off worst. He is in disgrace with us.’
‘I thought that Lawrence called him a hero.’
‘His bravery is not in question, but it does not excuse his drunken behaviour.’
‘He looks contrite enough now.’
‘Giddy abused our trust. He knows how much we need him, Sebastian. He and Lawrence are the twin pillars on which all our plays rest. That gives him power and Giddy let that power overwhelm his other senses last night.’
‘You’d certainly be lost without him,’ said Frant. ‘Cupid’s Folly would be empty indeed without its clown to dance his way to glory. But I hold you up,’ he went on, seeing the others climbing on to the wagons. ‘Go with them, Nick. You deserve refreshment after your journey. And Giddy Mussett looks as if he needs a long sleep.’
‘That’s more than we will get,’ said Nicholas with a smile. ‘From now on, we mean to watch him twenty-four hours a day, like misers poring over their gold.’
Faversham was an attractive town. With over four hundred houses, it was a thriving community that derived much of its prosperity from the fact that it was sited on a navigable branch of the River Swale. There was constant activity at the creek, where several ships and smaller vessels were moored. Goods of all kinds were imported while grain, shellfish and oysters were the major exports. On marshy land to the west, gunpowder was made, using imported saltpetre and sulphur along with charcoal from local woodland. Townsfolk like David Frant had helped to build up a proud reputation for the trade over the years. Fear of a Spanish invasion had not vanished with the defeat of the Armada a few years earlier. All of the larger towns in Kent were required to keep a ready supply of arms and ammunition so that any further naval attack could be repulsed. As a result, the demand for Faversham’s gunpowder never flagged.
Nicholas Bracewell was pleased that they were staying at the Blue Anchor. Its nautical character appealed to someone who had spent his most impressionable years at sea. Situated close to the creek, the inn was large and full of a gnarled charm. The river and the nearby oyster-pits provided its kitchen with a range of fresh food. Nicholas once again decided where the various members of the company would sleep, reserving the best rooms, as always, for the sharers. Firethorn took charge of the apprentices so that Nicholas could occupy a small bedchamber with Owen Elias, Edmund Hoode and Giddy Mussett. With three of them watching over the clown, it was felt, his opportunities to go astray would be removed altogether. Mussett did not object to the new regimen. If anything, he seemed to welcome it. Injured during the brawl in Maidstone, he was also feeling the effects of the desperate struggle at the ford. At the earliest opportunity, he took to his bed.
It was early evening when Nicholas set out. Leaving his two friends to guard the sleeping clown, he went in search of a licence to perform in the town. Though he was in time to see the mayor, he was given nothing like the reception that he had enjoyed in Maidstone. Reginald Gilder had none of Lucas Broome’s passion for the theatre. He was a stout man of middle height with a face that rarely lost its sour expression. Before he would even consider Nicholas’s request, he demanded to see the company’s patent and their licence to travel, complaining that they had already had a troupe in Faversham only a week before and they did not really need another. Patient and tactful, Nicholas argued their case and the mayor agreed to grant them permission to play. However, only one performance was allowed and that would not take place for a couple of days. When he left the town hall, Nicholas was resigned to the fact that Westfield’s Men would be paid less than half the generous sum of five pounds that they had been given in the shire town.
He was about to report back to the Blue Anchor when he noticed two people whom he recognised. Sebastian Frant and his daughter were talking to a man farther down the street. It was only when they broke away that they saw Nicholas walking towards them. Thomasina was pleased to meet him again and eager to hear what the company intended to perform in Faversham.
‘The decision has not yet been taken,’ he said, ‘but it will be neither of the plays that we offered in Maidstone.’
‘I would willingly sit through Cupid’s Folly again,’ she said.
‘So would I,’ added Frant. ‘Even though I know every last line of it.’
‘Father says that you have many plays from which to choose.’
‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘We travel with costumes and scenery that can be used in a variety of ways. Comedy has been in request so far but I feel that tragedy may take the stage in Faversham.’
Thomasina smiled nervously. ‘A tale of murder and intrigue?’
‘With darker passions at work.’
‘Then you have brought such a play to the right place,’ observed Frant.
‘Why?’
‘Have you not heard tell of Arden of Faversham?’
‘He that was killed by his wife and her lover? Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘Everyone knows that story even though the case must be forty years old by now.’
‘Almost exactly that, Nick. Walk with us down Abbey Street and I’ll show you where the crime took place. Thomas Arden was once the mayor of the town.’
‘I hope that he was a more affable one than the man who now holds the office.’
‘Were you given short shrift by him?’ asked Frant.
‘Our work has had warmer embraces.’
‘That does not surprise me. My brother, David, does not speak well of the new mayor. The man is too full of self-affairs. Still,’ said Frant, indicating the direction, ‘let us go this way.’
The two men walked along with Thomasina in between them. Though he was very interested to view the site of a notorious murder, Nicholas sensed reluctance on the girl’s part. Eyes down, she had withdrawn into her shell. Abbey Street was a main thoroughfare that ran south from the square. It contained many of the finest houses in the town, some stone-built and others with timber frames, all combining to give an impression of unobtrusive affluence. Thomas Arden’s house stood at the gateway of an abbey that had contained the tomb of King Stephen until the building perished during the Dissolution of the Monasteries. It was not a large property but its pleasant, half-timbered façade and its prime position suggested wealth and taste.
‘Lust and gain,’ noted Frant. ‘Those were the evils that led to his murder.’
‘He was obviously a rich man,’ said Nicholas.
‘Few in the town were richer, Nick. Not only was he involved in the distribution of confiscated church property such as the abbey that stood here, Thomas Arden was also Commissioner of Customs at the port here.’
‘A lucrative post for a respected man.’
‘It is a pity that his wife did not share that respect.’
They discussed the crime for a few minutes but Thomasina remained silent. As her father related the details of the murder, she seemed to be mildly distressed. When he glanced at her, Nicholas was shocked. There were tears in her eyes.
Giddy Mussett was revived by his nap. When he joined the others in the taproom of the Blue Anchor, he had regained some of his natural exuberance. Edmund Hoode, who had watched over him while he slept, was glad to be relieved of that particular duty. He could now relax with his friends. Mussett did his best to make his peace with the actors, openly admitting that he had been at fault and that they had every right to despise him for it. His apparent sincerity won them over slowly but there was one member of the company who stayed as hostile towards him as ever. Barnaby Gill began to taunt his rival.
‘You should be grateful to those men,’ he suggested.
‘Grateful?’ said Mussett. ‘Because they gave me a sound beating?’
‘They improved your face greatly with their fists. It is nowhere near as ugly as it was before. Strive to keep that appearance, Giddy. It becomes you.’