Wonderful memories washed over her and soothed her anguished mind. Until she had met him, she did not know what happiness was. Only when she was lying in his arms did she realise how much pleasure had been denied to her by watchful parents who kept her on an invisible chain. Her lover had snapped that chain for her and she would be eternally grateful to him for that. Whatever horrors might be inflicted upon her, Rose knew that she could bear them for his sake and she was convinced that he would one day bring her travail to an end. All that she had to do was somehow to make contact with him but that was impossible when she was entombed in her bedchamber. If he came in search of her at the Queen’s Head, he would not be allowed anywhere near her.
Grief claimed her again and she flung herself down on the bed, sobbing quietly and whispering his name to herself over and over again. A sharp tapping sound made her sit up and look around but the source of the noise was a mystery. After a brief pause, she heard the sound again and realised that it came from the window. Crossing quickly to it, she peered out and saw the massive figure of Leonard below in the street. Leonard was an affable giant of a man who worked at the inn. Kind, willing but slow-witted, he had a brute strength which was held in check by a gentle disposition. He sent a warm smile of greeting up to her.
After wiping a hand on his leather apron, he slipped it inside his shirt to bring out a hunk of bread and a slice of cheese. He gestured for her to open the window so that he could throw the food up to her. Rose was touched. Leonard was taking a risk in trying to comfort her. Servants had been forbidden to speak with her and faced instant dismissal if they disobeyed. In his own shambling way, Leonard had ignored the order and sought her out. Rose was no longer wholly alone. She had a friend.
She opened the window and popped her head out.
‘Thank you, Leonard,’ she said.
‘This is all that I could find,’ he said, holding up the food. ‘But I’ll bring more another time.’
‘I am not hungry. I have victuals enough.’
‘Oh!’
‘But I thank you for your kindness.’
He shrugged his huge shoulders. ‘I wanted to help.’
‘I know. I am very grateful.’
An idea began to form in her mind but she had no time to discuss it with him. The sound of a key in the lock brought the conversation to an abrupt close.
‘Someone is coming,’ she called. ‘Go at once!’
‘I will,’ he said, backing away.
‘But Leonard …’
‘Yes?’
‘Will you come again?’
He nodded enthusiastically before vanishing around the corner. Rose shut the window but her mother had already come into the room and sensed a breach in her security. Rushing to the window, she flung it open and glared out but the street was now empty apart from a few stray dogs. Sybil rounded smartly on her daughter.
‘Who were you talking to?’ she demanded.
‘Nobody, mother.’
‘Do not lie, girl. I heard your voice.’
‘You must be mistaken.’
‘Was it him?’
‘Alas, no,’ said Rose, head bowed.
‘Then there was someone. I knew it.’ She pulled the window shut. ‘I’ll have a lock put on this. That will stop you.’ She flicked a hand. ‘Get dressed.’
‘Why, mother?’
‘Do as you are told. We are going out.’
‘Where to?’
‘You will soon find out. Now dress yourself.’
While her daughter shed her night attire, Sybil kept vigil at the window. Rose dressed as quickly as she could, fearful that Leonard would return and be discovered. He was the one faint hope she had of getting a message to her beloved and she did not want him thrown out of his employment at the inn. That would be a cruel reward for the kindness he had shown her.
‘I am ready, mother,’ she said at length.
‘Then let us go.’
Sybil took her firmly by the wrist and almost dragged her out of the room. They were soon leaving by a rear exit and plunging into the labyrinth that was London.
‘Their own playhouse?’ Giles Randolph was aghast. ‘Westfield’s Men intend to build their own playhouse?’
‘That is what I have heard, Giles.’
‘Where will it be?’
‘The site has not yet been found.’
‘Surely not here in Shoreditch? We have to contend with The Theatre as it is. A new playhouse could put our own position in jeopardy.’
‘That is why I brought the tidings to you at once.’
‘You did well, Henry.’
‘I know where my loyalties lie.’
Henry Quine gave a fawning smirk then raised the glass of canary wine to his lips. He was a slim, young man of medium height with dark hair which curled attractively around his ears and a vestigial beard. If his eyes had not been so close together and his nose so long, Quine might have been accounted a handsome man but he had a smile which redeemed his features and a deep, melodious voice which stroked the ear. The two colleagues were supping at a tavern in Shoreditch.
Giles Randolph was patently annoyed by the news.
‘Their own playhouse?’ he said. ‘That is impossible.’
‘They do not think so.’
‘How could they raise the money for such a venture? Lord Westfield is more penurious than our own patron and Lawrence Firethorn’s credit will not extend that far.’
‘They have secured a loan, Giles.’
‘From whom?’
‘I cannot say but I know who has been their broker.’
‘Who?’
‘Sylvester Pryde.’
‘Their new sharer?’
‘He has wealthy friends.’
‘So it seems, Henry,’ said the other, ‘and that wealth might make Banbury’s Men poor indeed. As long as Westfield’s Men play at the Queen’s Head, we are in no danger. Inn yard theatres will be closed down in due course. Give them their own playhouse, however, and it is a different story.’
‘Only if it is built here in Shoreditch.’
‘North or south of the river, it is a threat.’
‘Not to us,’ said Quine. ‘If they choose a site in Bankside, it is Havelock’s Men who will suffer from their proximity. We will be safe here at The Curtain.’
‘I am not so sure.’
‘Two theatres only are to stand. One north and one south of the Thames. That is the promised edict.’
‘Promised but not delivered, Henry,’ said Randolph with a sneer. ‘The Privy Council is capricious. According to our patron, they have put off a final decision for some weeks. That gives Westfield’s Men time to find a site and start to build. Security of tenure is almost certain to go to Havelock’s Men. The Viscount’s uncle sits on the Council. But what if the work of Westfield’s Men is judged superior to our own? Such is the perversity of the Privy Council that they may even change their decree and permit both surviving playhouses to stand in Bankside.’
‘That is highly unlikely, Giles.’
‘It is a possibility we have to consider.’
‘How do we counter it?’
‘With cunning, Henry. We must disable them.’
‘Tell me how and it will be done.’
Randolph smiled. ‘You have been a loyal servant to us,’ he said, pouring more wine into his friend’s cup. ‘The day when Henry Quine joined our company was indeed an auspicious one. You have tied yourself to Banbury’s Men and will do anything to advance our cause.’
‘Anything!’ repeated Quine.
‘Being made a sharer will be a just reward.’
‘I long to have that honour.’
‘It will come, Henry. It will come.’
‘When?’
‘When our own future is certain and when Westfield’s Men are doomed. They are sides of the same coin.’ He leant in closer. ‘Sound out Barnaby Gill. He is a gem that must be stolen. Take him away and their company totters. Master Gill and Lawrence Firethorn are uneasy bedfellows. Let us drive a wedge between them.’ He raised a finger. ‘But do it carefully, Henry. Dangle promises before his eyes.’