They understood his rancour. Since his partnership with Lucius Kindell had been ruptured, he had become disenchanted with both the plays they had written together. Owen Elias sought to extract a jest from the situation.
‘You are a changed man, Edmund,’ he teased. ‘We are used to seeing you moping over a woman who will not requite your love. Now you are weeping over the loss of a young boy. Take care you do not turn into a second Barnaby.’
‘I resent that,’ said Gill over the laughter.
‘Why?’ mocked Elias. ‘Did Lucius reject you as well?’
‘Yes,’ said Firethorn, joining in the fun at Gill’s expense, ‘he sold his buttocks to Rupert Kitely instead. Barnaby will have to run off to Havelock’s Men if he wishes have an assignation with our deserter.’
Gill fell silent and looked away guiltily. Firethorn and Elias continued to bait him but for once he did not rise to the taunts. Nicholas Bracewell noted his lack of response and was concerned. It accorded with Gill’s reaction to the news that the loan to Westfield’s Men would be paid in spite of the death of their intermediary. While the rest of the company had been thrilled by the reassurance which Nicholas was able to give them, Gill had sulked in a corner. It was almost as if he did not want Westfield’s Men to have their own playhouse.
The company broke up to go their separate ways. A fresh detachment of volunteers went off to work at the site of The Angel for a few hours, relieving those who had laboured there to good effect on the previous day. When his chores were complete, Nicholas had intended to join the work party himself but Firethorn summoned him to a meeting with their patron.
They found Lord Westfield in his accustomed room, sipping a glass of wine and talking with some of his entourage. He dismissed the others so that he could be alone with the two newcomers. Anxiety flooded his face.
‘What is this I hear about a murder in our ranks?’
‘All too true, my lord,’ said Firethorn sadly. ‘Sylvester Pryde was crushed to death beneath some timbers on the site of our new playhouse.’
‘Poor soul!’
‘Nicholas was there when they found the body.’
Picking up his cue, Nicholas gave a concise account of what had happened. Their patron was deeply sympathetic. He needed no evidence to name the culprit.
‘One of Banbury’s Men,’ he decided.
‘We do not know that,’ cautioned Nicholas.
‘We know they envy us and we know that they will stop at nothing to disable us. Especially now that the Master of the Revels has spoken.’
‘Has he?’ said Firethorn with interest.
‘Yes, Lawrence. That is what I came to tell you. I was at Court this morning when Sir Edmund Tilney confided in me the latest decision. It seems a just way to proceed.’
‘How so?’
‘The Privy Council have postponed their verdict,’ said Lord Westfield fussily. ‘They are masters of postponement because they can never make up their minds. Tilney feels that they need some help to come to judgement.’
‘What does he recommend?’ asked Nicholas.
‘That the three major theatre companies be viewed alongside each other. This is his plan. Westfield’s Men, Havelock’s Men and Banbury’s Men play at Court in turn. Other companies are not even in the reckoning.’
‘I like this news,’ said Firethorn.
Nicholas sounded a warning note. ‘It may not favour us,’ he said. ‘If everything is to be decided on one performance, the slightest error might tell against us.’
‘There will be no errors, Nick!’
‘That is easier to say than to enforce. The importance of the occasion will make the company nervous and that is when unfortunate mistakes creep in.’
‘It is so with the other companies,’ said Firethorn. ‘I have no fears. We will always outshine Havelock’s Men.’
‘And Banbury’s Men,’ added Lord Westfield truculently. ‘They are nothing but a pack of murderers.’
Nicholas let the two of them enthuse about the plan. He kept his reservations to himself. Though delighted that they would have the honour of another performance at Court, he was deeply worried that the Privy Council’s decision would take no account of their sustained excellence. Judged on their whole season, Westfield’s Men could rightly claim supremacy over their rivals. When they were given only one chance to impress, they entered the realms of doubt.
There was another problem. Westfield’s Men were a diminished force. When The Insatiate Duke was first staged, it was the headiest triumph they had enjoyed for a long time. Since then one of its co-authors had left, the other was profoundly depressed as a result, a sharer had been brutally killed and the company’s resident clown was restless. He wondered how many more depletions there would be before the stipulated appearance at Court.
Firethorn’s optimism knew no bounds. Striking a pose, he began to pluck plays out of the repertoire, nominating those in which he took the leading part and ignoring the contribution that others might make.
‘Hector of Troy,’ he concluded. ‘That is our choice.’
‘We should discuss this at greater length,’ said Nicholas tactfully. ‘The other sharers will want their say.’
‘They will follow my lead, Nick.’
The book holder stifled his reply. He knew how outraged Barnaby Gill would be at the choice of Hector of Troy. Not only did it allow Firethorn to dominate the stage for the whole five acts, it confined Gill to two short scenes and one dance. The surest way to drive their clown out of Westfield’s Men was to select a play which blunted his rich talents.
‘What of this new playhouse?’ asked Lord Westfield.
‘It grows by the hour, my lord,’ said Firethorn airily. ‘Our fellows are taking it in turns to put their strong arms at the disposal of the builder. The Angel theatre will soon be a towering landmark on the riverbank.’
‘And the loan?’ said their patron.
‘It is safe.’
‘But was not Sylvester Pryde your intermediary?’
‘That office has been taken over by Nick here.’
‘You know who our mysterious benefactor is?’ said Lord Westfield excitedly. ‘Do tell us, Nicholas.’
‘I am not at liberty to do so, my lord.’
‘You may trust me. I am as close as the grave.’
‘I have sworn an oath, my lord, and may not break it.’
‘There’s an end to it,’ said Firethorn. ‘Nick would not even confide in me. He is too honourable. What does it matter where the money comes from as long as we have it? This loan breathes new life back into Westfield’s Men.’
‘Yes,’ said their patron wearily, ‘but it is not only the company which is in need of a loan. Is our benefactor so wealthy that he can loan six hundred pounds to us at such a favourable rate of interest? Such a man is to be wooed, Nicholas. Cultivate him. Ask him if he would consider making a personal loan to a very dear friend of yours.’
‘I think it unlikely, my lord,’ said Nicholas. ‘But for Sylvester Pryde, we would not have secured this loan. He was the pathway to our benefactor and Sylvester is dead.’
‘Try, Nicholas. Even a small amount would be acceptable.’
‘I understand.’
‘Good.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘Meanwhile, I will continue to work away on your behalf at Court. The factions are already forming. Viscount Havelock has the largest but the Earl of Banbury is busy gathering his forces.’ He gave a grin of self-congratulation. ‘I, too, have assembled friends around me. Sir Patrick Skelton has been won over to our side and several others besides.’
‘These are cheerful tidings,’ said Firethorn.
‘They are, Lawrence. And it is not openly among the men that I have recruited support. Several ladies have indicated a preference for Westfield’s Men. Cordelia Bartram among them.’
Nicholas was taken aback. ‘Cordelia Bartram, my lord?’
‘Yes,’ said the other. ‘The Countess of Dartford.’