‘I am sorry that we have caused you such distress,’ he said. ‘It was not intended.’
Marwood remained silent. Ezekiel Stonnard took over.
‘Do you know the cause of that distress, sir?’
‘I think so,’ said Nicholas.
‘Well?’
‘Mistress Rose is with child.’
Her father went off into a paroxysm of coughing. They waited until the fit had passed before continuing.
‘Who told you?’ asked Stonnard.
‘It is the only explanation,’ said Nicholas, ‘and it was hinted at by Master Marwood when he assailed us as lechers.’ He turned to the landlord. ‘Name the man responsible for this and he will be roundly chastised before being made to honour his obligations.’
Marwood looked up. ‘Name him?’
‘We hoped that you might do that,’ said Stonnard to Nicholas. ‘Identify the villain.’
‘Has he not boasted to you of his conquest?’ sneered the landlord. ‘My daughter would not yield up his loathsome name. All she would admit was that he was one of the players. Rose described him as a tall, handsome, loving man.’
‘Did she say no more than that?’ asked Nicholas.
Stonnard shook his head. ‘By all accounts, it was a trial to get that much out of the girl. She is deeply confused. Two facts, however, are certain. The poor creature is, alas, with child. And the father is a member of your company. We look to you to root him out so that he can be held to account.’
‘I will help in any way I can,’ volunteered Nicholas, ‘but the faults of one man must not be allowed to poison your view of the entire company. Westfield’s Men have signed a contract and we expect Master Marwood to abide by it.’
‘He will do so,’ soothed Stonnard. ‘In time.’
‘When the rogue has been unmasked,’ croaked Marwood. He glared at Nicholas. ‘I daresay that you may already guess at his name. A tall, handsome, loving man! Which is another way of saying that he is a vile seducer who takes advantage of a virtuous and God-fearing maid behind her father’s back. Who is he?’ he demanded querulously. ‘You have an insatiate duke among your fellows, sir. Tell me his foul name.’
‘When I learn it,’ promised Nicholas, ‘I will.’
Nobody saw him leave. Sylvester Pryde was roistering with his fellows at the Crossed Keys for an hour or more before he slid quietly off into the shadows. They would not miss him. Drink and exhilaration were powerful allies. They would soon obliterate all memory of Sylvester Pryde as Westfield’s Men lurched happily on towards the stupor which would bring an end to their madcap celebrations.
The actor flitted swiftly through a maze of streets until he came to a large house on a corner. Unlike its timber-framed neighbours, which were all thatched, the house was tiled and had recently been given a fresh coat of paint. It was patently owned by someone with moderate wealth and a pride in his home. The visitor was grateful that the householder was travelling to Norwich on business, blithely unaware of the fact that his beautiful young wife might entertain a guest in his absence.
Sylvester Pryde lurked in a doorway and watched the window of the bedchamber at the front of the house. It was only a matter of minutes before a candle was lit to signal that the coast was clear. He allowed himself a smile of anticipation before letting himself in through the unlocked front door. She was ready for him and it was an article of faith with him that he never kept a lady waiting.
Chapter Three
Nicholas Bracewell rose early next morning at the house where he lodged in Bankside. Anne Hendrik, his landlady, had already been up an hour and she had breakfast waiting for him. As they sat on either side of the table, it was their first opportunity to discuss the events of the previous day.
‘You arrived home late last night,’ she observed.
‘I was delayed at the Cross Keys Inn.’
‘The Cross Keys? Why not the Queen’s Head?’
‘That is a tale of some length, Anne,’ he sighed.
‘Am I to be told it?’
Nicholas grinned. ‘In detail.’
When he recounted what had happened, Anne was delighted to hear of the success of The Insatiate Duke but alarmed at what occurred after it. She could imagine all too readily the state of hysteria into which their fretful landlord had whipped himself. However, while sympathising with the plight of Westfield’s Men, her main concern was for Rose Marwood whom she knew from her own regular visits to the inn yard theatre.
‘What will become of the poor girl?’ she asked.
Nicholas shrugged. ‘Who knows? She does not, alas, have the most understanding parents. They will reproach her bitterly at a time when she most needs tenderness and reassurance.’
‘Rose was such an innocent creature. I used to marvel at her. She was no typical serving wench with a coarse tongue and a roving eye. There was a touching purity about Rose Marwood which somehow kept men at bay.’
‘Until now.’
‘Yes, Nick,’ she said ruefully. ‘But I will not believe that the girl yielded herself lightly. Rose would need to be deeply and hopelessly in love before she considered sharing a bed with a man and even then, I suspect, a promise of betrothal would be needed.’
‘There is no mention of betrothal now.’
‘Has the father deserted her?’
‘So it appears.’
‘Is he aware of her condition?’
‘We will not know until we identify him.’
‘Can you not guess who he might be?’
‘I believe so, Anne.’
‘Well?’
‘His was the first name which sprang to my mind.’
‘Owen Elias?’
‘No,’ said Nicholas, ‘though Owen obviously had to be taken into account as well. He has always had a special fondness for tavern wenches and loses no chance to prove his virility. But he is not the indifferent father. I questioned him bluntly and Owen swore that this was not his doing.’ He gave a half-smile. ‘Though he did add that he wished that it had been. The thought of seducing Rose Marwood and enraging her father had a double appeal for him.’
‘Rose would not look at a man like Owen Elias.’
‘Many women have, Anne.’
‘I am sure. He is extremely affable and has a vitality about him which is very attractive.’
‘Do you find it attractive?’
‘I did,’ she confessed, ‘until I got to know him better. But he poses no threat to me, if that is what you are asking.’ She smiled warmly. ‘I am already spoken for, Nick.’
He met her gaze and returned her smile. Anne was the English widow of a Dutch hatmaker. When her husband died, she took over his business and ran it with a flair and efficiency that nobody realised she possessed. With its bear-baiting arenas and its brothels, its mean tenements and its populous low-life, Bankside was not the safest part of London in which to live and Anne soon felt the need of a man in the house to lend a sense of security. Nicholas Bracewell turned out to be the ideal lodger and they were gradually drawn into a close friendship. While not letting it dictate their lives, it was something on which both set great value.
‘Who is the father of Rose’s child?’ she asked.
‘It has yet to be confirmed, Anne.’
‘But you have a strong suspicion.’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘and it was strengthened even more when I returned to the Cross Keys last night and questioned every man in the company in turn.’
She was surprised. ‘Every man?’
‘With the exception of George Dart and Barnaby Gill. The one is too shy even to look at a woman and the other spurns the entire sex. No,’ continued Nicholas, ‘I heard what I expected to hear from all of them. Stout denial.’
‘Who, then, is left?’
‘Sylvester Pryde.’
‘Surely not!’