‘How do you know?’
‘Because the Privy Council has decreed that there will only be one playhouse south of the river. And I am in a position to tell you, Lucius,’ he said with conviction, ‘that you are at present standing in it.’
Nicholas Bracewell spent the rest of the morning trying to establish some details about Sylvester Pryde’s movements. Several members of the company remembered his leaving the Queen’s Head on the previous night and there was rough agreement on the approximate time of his departure. Assuming that he had headed for the river, Nicholas retraced his steps and pushed his way through the crowded Gracechurch Street. He followed his instincts and swung right into Thames Street then sharp left. He was soon standing on the riverbank, listening to the gulls and watching the dark water lapping at the wharves.
Boats were coming and going all the time as watermen delivered or collected passengers. Those who gave a tip to their ferrymen were rewarded with courteous thanks while those who failed to reward them suffered a torrent of abuse from the vociferous watermen. Nicholas began a painstaking search for a boat which might have taken Sylvester Pryde across the river. Since he often used that mode of transport himself, he was well known to the boatmen and called many by name but none was able to help him. Most had gone off to a tavern or home to bed at the time when Nicholas’s friend might have wished to be rowed across the river. The book holder gradually came round to the conclusion that Sylvester must have walked over London Bridge.
He was just about to leave the riverbank when another boat pulled into the wharf. Two passengers paid their fare and alighted. Nicholas strolled over to the boatmen and put to them the questions he had already put to dozens of their colleagues. The two men in the boat traded a glance. There was such a close resemblance between them that they had to be father and son. The older one acted as spokesman.
‘How much is it worth?’ he asked.
‘The fare across the river,’ offered Nicholas.
‘Why do you want to know about this man?’
‘He was a good friend of mine.’
‘Any other reason?’
‘Someone murdered him.’
‘Then we will help you all we can, sir,’ said the boatman apologetically, ‘and we do so at no cost. We did pick up a gentleman last night. Around the time you say and looking much as you describe. We saw him clear by the light of the torch. Apparelled in red and black with a black hat that bore an ostrich feather. Is that him, sir?’
‘Yes!’ said Nicholas. ‘What happened?’
‘We rowed him across and dropped him by the old boathouse. He was very generous, as my son will confirm. When we went ashore, we drank to his health at a tavern.’
‘Did he speak to you as you rowed across?’
‘Not a word, sir.’
‘Did you see where he went?’
‘To that old boatyard. It was burnt down.’
‘Was there anyone else there?’
‘We saw nobody, sir, but it was growing dark. There may have been someone in the shadows.’
‘Did anyone follow you?’ asked Nicholas.
‘Follow us?’
‘Across the river.’
‘Two or three boats, sir. We paid no heed to them.’
‘Did any of them land near the boatyard?’
‘Who knows? We left as soon as we were paid.’
‘Is there anything else you can tell me?’
‘Nothing beyond the fact that he was a gentleman, sir,’ said the other. ‘But you know that. A fine, well-spoken man. When we picked him up here, he was staring across the river at something over by the boatyard. Is that any help?’
‘Yes,’ said Nicholas gratefully.
He thrust a coin into the man’s hand then hurried away. Progress had been made, albeit small. He now had a clear idea of the time when Sylvester Pryde must have reached the site of The Angel theatre and, most probably, was killed there. He could also guess what had impelled his friend to go there in the first place. Pryde was a romantic, deeply in love with the whole notion of theatre and fired by the thought that he would be involved in the construction of a new playhouse. Nicholas could imagine how completely caught up in the emotion of the moment he would have been as he walked around the site of The Angel. It would have left him off guard.
When he got back to the Queen’s Head, the first person he met was Leonard, rolling an empty barrel across the yard before hoisting it without effort onto a waiting cart. Leonard’s big, round face split into a grin when he saw his friend approaching. It was Nicholas who found him the job at the Queen’s Head and he was eternally grateful to him, happily enduring the strictures of Alexander Marwood in return for a regular wage and a place to live.
‘Well-met, Leonard!’
‘It is good to see you again, Nicholas.’
‘I am here almost every day.’
‘That is still never enough for me.’ The grin widened. ‘But I thought to watch you at rehearsal this morning.’
‘Evidently, you have not heard the news.’
‘News?’
‘Sad tidings, Leonard. We have lost Sylvester Pryde.’
‘Lost him?’ He blinked in surprise. ‘He has gone?’
‘For ever, I fear. Sylvester is dead.’
When he heard the details, Leonard’s face crumpled and his eyes grew moist. Pryde was a popular figure in the taproom and always had a kind word for those who worked there. Leonard was stunned by the notion that he would never see him again.
‘Why,’ he said, running a hand across his chin, ‘I bade him farewell less than twelve hours ago. Had I known I was sending him off to his grave, Nicholas, I would have held him back with both hands. Dear Lord! What a case is this!’
Nicholas was curious. ‘You bade him farewell, you say?’
‘Yes. Last night.’
‘As he left the Queen’s Head?’
Leonard nodded. ‘I was here in the yard and called out to him as he passed. But I do not think he heard me for he made no reply and that was strange. I remarked on it to Martin.’
‘Who is Martin?’
‘You remember him,’ said the other. ‘He worked here as a drawer some months ago. As friendly a soul as you could meet. But Martin could not take the sharp edge of our landlord’s tongue and he left.’
‘What was he doing back here?’
‘He drops in from time to time if he is passing. I think he lodges nearby. I told him how odd it was that Sylvester did not return my farewell.’
‘Which way did he go?’
‘Right, into Gracechurch Street.’
‘That confirms what I have already found out.’
Leonard frowned in dismay. ‘Could I have been the last person to see him alive, Nicholas? I would hate to think that.’
‘Sylvester took a boat across the river. I talked with the watermen who rowed him across. Besides,’ sighed Nicholas, ‘the last person who saw him alive was his killer.’
‘Who would want to murder such a kind gentleman?’
‘That is what I intend to find out.’
‘There is so much villainy in this world!’ said Leonard. His eye travelled to the upper storey of the inn and his voice became a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Some of it has been taking place under this roof, Nicholas.’
‘Here?’
‘Mistress Rose. They have treated her wickedly.’
‘Her parents?’
‘Yes, and now she lies sick of a fever.’
‘What have they done to the poor girl?’
‘Locked her away like the vilest criminal. They even bolted her window so that she could not talk to anyone out of it. That was my fault, I fear.’
‘Yours, Leonard?’
‘I took her food and meant to toss it up to her. But someone caught her with the window open when I was below. One of the servingmen was ordered to fix a bolt on it.’
‘This is harsh behaviour for a parent.’
‘It is cruelty, Nicholas,’ he said, ‘and the saddest thing is that I cannot help Rose. She has been so good to me.’
‘And now she has a fever?’
‘I was sent to fetch a doctor.’
‘Then it must be serious.’