The Bawdy Basket (24 page)

‘Let us discuss this in the bedchamber, my love,’ he whispered.

‘Is that what you said to Mistress Radley?’ she retorted.

Storming off to the kitchen, she slammed the door meaningfully behind her.

‘She never gave me the chance,’ he sighed wistfully.

Sunday morning found the inhabitants of Bankside scurrying to the various parish churches south of the river. Nicholas Bracewell was among them, escorting Anne Hendrik and her two servants to matins while making sure that they were neither being watched nor followed. It was on their return to the house that Anne expressed her worries. She
pointed to the dagger that lay on her table.

‘That might so easily have ended up in your back, Nick,’ she said.

‘I long ago learnt how to protect it.’

‘What if the man tries again?’

‘He knows the folly of doing so,’ said Nicholas, slipping the dagger into his belt. ‘Should he cross my path again, of course, I’ll have the pleasure of giving him back his weapon. I fancy that it might be between his ribs.’

‘I fear for you.’

‘Without cause, Anne. Remember what I told you. He’ll attack elsewhere now.’

‘Is Frank Quilter in danger, then?’

‘Not if he stays on guard. He is an able fellow, skilled in the use of dagger and sword upon a stage. He’ll be a worthy opponent for anyone who dares to try him. We are both prepared, Anne,’ he said, kissing her on the cheek. ‘Still your fears.’

‘Where are you going now?’

‘Back to Smithfield. I want to see if a certain person recognises this,’ he said, picking up the hat he brought back from Turnmill Street. ‘You tell me that it is like the one you saw but I would value a second opinion.’

‘I only glimpsed the man,’ she explained. ‘Long enough to see that he wore a hat and cloak, but too briefly for me to be certain that it was this particular hat.’ She examined it again. ‘It does, however, look very familiar.’

‘Your experience as a milliner would make you note someone’s hat.’

‘Who else may have seen him wearing it?’

‘Hermat.’

‘A foreign name.’

‘Hermat is a foreign being. According to Frank Quilter, who has seen the sight, Hermat has no equal on earth. Frank thought him the weirdest creature who lived.’

‘Is he an animal, then?’

‘No, Anne,’ he said. ‘Hermat is an hermaphrodite, half-man, half-woman, but so cleverly contrived that it is impossible to see where one leaves off and the other starts. Bartholomew Fair is filled with freaks but Hermat takes the crown.’ He lifted the hat. ‘And, I hope, remembers this less exalted headgear.’

After a fond farewell, Nicholas went to the stable and saddled the horse. It made a great difference, not only speeding up his journey but allowing him a view from an elevated position. Even in thick crowds, he could see exactly where he was going. There was no performance at the Queen’s Head so he had a whole day in which to continue his investigations. Before meeting up with Quilter again, he wanted to visit the fair on his own. Smithfield was busier and noisier than ever. A sea of humanity rippled across the entire fair. Money was changing hands on every side and the pandemonium continued. It did not take Nicholas long to find Lightfoot. Back in the ring, the tumbler was showing off his skills between wrestling bouts. Coins aplenty were being dropped into Lightfoot’s hat. When he saw Nicholas, he hopped over the rope and pushed his way across to him.

‘Good day, sir!’ he welcomed.

‘You are doing brisk business, Lightfoot.’

‘It is Puppy who brings in the crowds. I merely entertain them while he catches his breath between challengers. Do you have any news, sir?’

‘I do,’ said Nicholas.

‘Then let me hear it.’

Nicholas dismounted to tell him of the visit to Turnmill Street. When he described the attack that was made on him, he saw the tumbler’s face pucker with dismay before reddening with anger. Hands on hips, Lightfoot inflated his chest.

‘You should have let me go with you, sir,’ he said.

‘Had you been there, the villain would never have tried to kill me.’

‘That is my argument.’

‘But we would never have known how frightened they are, Lightfoot,’ said Nicholas. ‘We have learnt things that they hoped to keep secret so they needed to stop us. The simplest way of doing that, they thought, was to murder me. But I am not ready to meet my Maker yet. I dispatched their assassin without his hat or his dagger.’

‘Let me travel with you,’ pleaded Lightfoot. ‘As you say, it may well have been the same man who smothered poor Moll to death. I long to meet the rogue. Puppy has taught me all of a wrestler’s tricks, sir. Even without a weapon, I’ll get the better of him.’

‘I yearn for second encounter with him myself.’

‘Let’s go abroad together, sir.’

‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘Your place is here, earning your
living. It may be months before you find crowds as large as this. I promise to call on you when we need you.’

‘But there must be
something
I can do.’

‘There is, Lightfoot. Take me to Hermat. We’ll try his memory with this hat.’

The tumbler led the way through the press to a large booth. Hanging outside was a sign announcing that Hermat was the Most Amazing Sight Ever Seen On Earth, a claim that was supported by some crude but vivid drawings. Further temptation was offered by the stentorian voice of a tall figure in a red uniform who stood on a box outside the booth and urged people to view Nature’s Greatest Outrage with their own eyes. A small queue had formed outside. The man in red was relieving them of a penny before allowing them into the booth. Lightfoot went across to speak to him. When the situation was explained to him, the man told those in the queue that there would be a short break before anyone else was admitted then he took Nicholas and his companion to the rear of the booth so that they could enter through a flap.

‘Wait here,’ said the man. ‘I’ll fetch Hermat.’

He disappeared and left them standing in the area where Hermat and his manager obviously slept. Two truckle beds lay on the ground. A rope had been stretched between two poles so that a series of garish costumes could be hung to it. When he saw the way that the garments had been cut, Nicholas wondered what sort of human being could actually get into them. The answer came in the form of Hermat, who stepped in to join them from the main part of
the booth. Lightfoot greeted the newcomer as a friend but it took Nicholas a moment to adjust to Hermat’s appearance. It was truly startling. The face was essentially that of a woman, oval-shaped, smooth-skinned and strikingly beautiful, yet the chin had a pointed beard whose raven colour matched the luxuriant hair. The shoulders had a man’s muscularity yet the one large breast, half-exposed on the left side of the chest, was palpably a female organ. From top to toe, Hermat’s body was a confused mixture of male and female, a fact that was cleverly accentuated by the spectacular costume that was worn.

Nicholas cleared his throat, introduced himself then explained the purpose of his visit. He offered the hat that he had retrieved in Turnmill Street. Hermat took it from him and held it between long tapering fingers whose nails had been painted with a purple dye. The voice that came was deep and gruff.

‘It could be the same one, my friend,’ said Hermat.

‘How close were you to the man?’ asked Nicholas.

‘Almost close enough to touch him. The shape of the hat is the same but I cannot be sure of its colour. Yet it had a feather, just like this. I remember that.’

‘Was the fellow moving swiftly?’

‘Yes,’ said Hermat. ‘He was young and lithe. He was leaving Smithfield as if he wanted to get away as quickly as possible.’

‘Did he see you?’

‘I doubt it, sir. Look at me. When you spend your life being stared at in the way that I am, you do not stir abroad
often. When you do go out, it is usually at night and you keep to the darkest shadows. But I saw the fellow clearly,’ insisted Hermat, ‘even though it was only for a few seconds. He was tall, slim, wearing a hat and cloak. When I first noticed him, he was carrying a bundle to his chest.’

‘We think it may have been the blanket,’ said Nicholas.

‘It was used to smother Moll Comfrey,’ added Lightfoot.

‘Yes, I was sorry to hear about your friend,’ said Hermat softly. ‘Though I talk like a man, I weep like a woman. I cried for an hour when they told me that the poor girl was murdered. Is there any hope of catching the rogue?’

Nicholas gave a confident nod. ‘We believe so.’

‘Your evidence has been very helpful, Hermat,’ said Lightfoot.

‘It is little enough.’ A look of fear came into the green eyes. ‘I’ll not have to appear in court, will I? Spare me that, Lightfoot. It would be cruel.’ He indicated his body. ‘I cannot speak in public like
this
.’

‘Nor will it be necessary,’ Nicholas assured him. ‘We merely wanted you to inspect the man’s hat, that is all. And to ask if you recall any other details, however small, from that night.’

‘No, sir. I’ve told you everything.’

‘Think, Hermat,’ urged Lightfoot. ‘Use your brains.’

Hermat gave a mirthless laugh. ‘I sometimes wonder if I
have
any brains. When I was born, as you see, God could not decide what to make of me. I am partly a man yet I am unable to attest my manhood in the most obvious way. I am partly a woman yet I never dare to look in a mirror as
women are supposed to do. What am I to be called?’

‘A friend,’ said Nicholas, ‘with valuable evidence.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘And there is nothing awry with your faculties.’

Hermat fell silent as a memory rustled. A great deal of concentration was needed before the memory finally took on shape. Nicholas observed how feminine the face looked in repose. The man’s voice destroyed the illusion.

‘Did I mention the smell?’ asked Hermat.

‘Smell?’ repeated Lightfoot.

‘Yes. When I saw him the second time, there was this sweet smell.’

Expecting reassuring news, Bevis Millburne was shocked by what he heard. He flew into a panic and strode up and down the room like an animal in a cage.

‘You told me that we would be safe, Sir Eliard,’ he cried.

‘We shall be, Bevis.’

‘Then how has it come about that this Nicholas Bracewell still lives?’

‘He is more able than we thought.’

‘Able to put us all in prison.’

‘No!’

‘That is what it is beginning to feel like, Sir Eliard.’

‘Be quiet.’

‘He and Francis Quilter get closer and closer.’

‘Quiet!’ howled Sir Eliard, tiring of his friend’s wild alarm. ‘Sit down and listen, man. For you have nothing to say that has the slightest use to us.’ Millburne lowered
himself onto a chair. ‘That is better,’ continued the other in a quieter voice. ‘Remember this, Bevis. There is more than one way to bring the business to a satisfactory end. When one means fails, we simply try another.’

‘Gerard Quilter’s son is the one to fear. He is driven by revenge.’

‘Nicholas Bracewell is the more dangerous man.’

‘Have them both killed.’

‘It is not as easy as that,’ said Sir Eliard. ‘They have been forewarned and are on their guard. My man was lucky to escape in Turnmill Street. He has no wish to take on Nicholas Bracewell again.’

‘Then let him relieve us of Francis Quilter.’

‘No, Bevis. We disable him in another way.’

‘How?’

‘By taking away his lieutenant.’

‘We tried to do that with a dagger.’

‘There’s a different means,’ said Sir Eliard. ‘Both men are contracted to Westfield’s Men, a company that performs at the Queen’s Head in Gracechurch Street. Their makeshift playhouse is not far from my house yet I have never been there. Antics on a stage have always offended me. Cyril Paramore, however, admires the troupe.’

‘So?’

‘I set him on to find out what he could about them.’

‘Will this help our cause, Sir Eliard?’

‘It already has. Cyril has discovered the most important fact of all. I’ll let him tell you about it when he comes. Meanwhile,’ he said, crossing to a table, ‘I suggest that you
enjoy a glass of Canary wine and stop worrying.’

‘I am bound to worry,’ said Millburne. ‘I perjured myself for you.’

‘And were well-rewarded for your assistance.’

‘No amount of money can buy peace of mind.’

Sir Eliard smiled. ‘As a matter of fact, it can,’ he said complacently. He poured two glasses of wine then handed one to his visitor. ‘Be patient. Cyril will be here at any moment and he will bring glad tidings.’

‘They have been in short supply of late.’

Sir Eliard Slaney ignored him and sipped his wine. They were in the parlour of the house in Bishopsgate. Millburne glanced enviously around, knowing that he could never afford the expensive plate that was on display nor the items of furniture that had been commissioned from famous craftsmen. The room could have graced a palace. Envy slowly turned to solace. The house was a glowing tribute to Sir Eliard’s success. Whatever his friend touched, Millburne knew, seemed to turn to gold. It was foolish to doubt his host. A man who could acquire such wealth and wield such power was beyond the reach of the law. They had nothing to fear. Once he had accepted that fact, Millburne began to enjoy his drink.

Cyril Paramore soon joined them. When he was admitted to the house, he made his way to the parlour and exchanged greetings with his friends. Sir Eliard poured the newcomer some wine then invited him to sit down. Paramore was beaming.

‘I hear that you have good news, Cyril,’ said Millburne.

‘Excellent news,’ replied Paramore.

‘Tell him,’ instructed Sir Eliard. ‘Put a smile back on his face.’

Paramore set his drink aside to reach inside his doublet. Drawing out a document, he scanned it through before speaking. Millburne tapped a foot impatiently.

‘Well, well?’ he demanded.

‘What do you know of Lord Westfield?’ asked Paramore.

‘Nothing beyond the fact that he is the patron of a theatre company.’

‘It is only one of his indulgences.’

‘Indulgences, Cyril?’