The Counterfeit Crank (22 page)

Grammaticus was appalled. ‘What are you talking about? I
love
Edmund.’

‘No, Michael. You only love and covet the position that he holds.’

‘He has ever been my inspiration.’

‘Is that why you and Doctor Zander conspired to poison him?’ said Nicholas, calmly. ‘I wondered why you were so loath to let anyone visit your lodging. We’d have discovered that you and the doctor slept under the same roof. It also explains why you paid the bills and bought all of Edmund’s food. You were never caring for him, Michael, only making sure that he did not recover.’

‘He
was
recovering,’ argued the playwright. ‘Edmund
improved a little each day. You saw that, Nick. It was thanks to the medicine that Doctor Rime prescribed. Or do you accuse
him
of being in league with us as well?’

‘No, I do not. To call in a second doctor was a cunning trick. It made me think that Edmund’s malady was genuine. When I chanced upon the fact that you and Doctor Zander shared a cottage,’ said Nicholas, ‘my suspicion was aroused. I decided to ask for a third opinion on Edmund’s condition.’ Grammaticus was becoming agitated. ‘I fancy that you’ll have heard the name of Doctor Mordrake?’

The other man gulped. ‘Doctor John Mordrake? The Queen’s physician?’

‘The very same. He’s a friend of mine and, since I was able to do him a favour when we travelled to Bohemia, he felt that he was in my debt. That debt,’ explained Nicholas, advancing on him, ‘has been handsomely repaid. The medicine that Edmund has been taking is an antidote to poison.’

‘That’s what Doctor Rime told us.’

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas, ‘but he did not realise that you had been supplying the poison in the first place. You first brought Edmund to his knees, then you kept him weak by feeding him more venom day by day.’

‘No, no!’ exclaimed the other. ‘Why on earth should I do that?’

Nicholas pointed to the table. ‘There lies your answer, Michael. You wanted to get your hands on Edmund’s work and usurp his position. The antidote may have revived him a little but you hindered his recovery by administering more
poison in the fruit and in the broth that you brought for him.’

‘I worshipped the man, Nick. I’d not harm him for the world.’ He crossed to the door. ‘Let Emmanuel explain it to you. He’ll convince you that we acted for the best.’

Grammaticus let himself out and clattered down the stairs. Nicholas crossed to the table, standing in its own pool of light. Sheets of parchment had already been covered in words but to little effect. When he read one attempt at the new scene, Nicholas found scant wit and feeble humour. Evidently,
A Way to Content All Women
had found the would-be author out.

The door swung open again and Grammaticus returned with Doctor Zander at his elbow. Because they were at the darker end of the room Nicholas could only see them in shadow. Zander was pulsing with righteous indignation.

‘What’s this I hear?’ he demanded. ‘You called in a doctor behind my back when I was engaged to treat the patient? That’s unforgivable.’

‘It was essential,’ returned Nicholas. ‘Doctor Mordrake unmasked you both.’

‘Mordrake! Ha! That old fool is no doctor. He’s a mad alchemist who believes he can turn base metal into gold.’

‘Her Majesty sees fit to retain him, Doctor Zander. Can you claim that honour?’

‘I dispute Mordrake’s conclusion.’

‘Then let us call in a fourth and fifth doctor to examine Edmund,’ said Nicholas. ‘They’ll only find what Doctor Rime and Doctor Mordrake did. The patient was being
poisoned to keep him away from Westfield’s Men.’

Zander stamped a foot. ‘Do you dare to insult my reputation?’

‘You no longer have a reputation. Before I’ve finished, I’ll see the pair of you behind bars for this. You put a friend of mine through a dreadful ordeal to satisfy your own designs. Heavens!’ said Nicholas. ‘You might have killed him.’

‘We’d never have done that,’ insisted Grammaticus. ‘I swear it.’

‘Be quiet, Michael,’ said Zander.

‘No, Emmanuel. What is the point? He knows too much.’

‘Admit nothing, man. He has no proof.’

‘I’ve ample proof,’ said Nicholas. ‘There’s even more on that table. Michael has been humbled. He’s no Edmund Hoode, and it appears that he’s no Stephen Wragby either.’ Grammaticus lowered his head. ‘Who
did
write those plays, Michael?’

‘Stephen did,’ confessed the other.

‘Wrote them and translated them?’

‘Yes, Nick. But I helped him every inch of the way. I simply wanted to preserve his memory by having Stephen’s work performed upon a London stage.’

‘Then why not leave his name on the plays?’

‘Because they were bequeathed to me. Don’t you see? They were
mine
.’

‘Listen,’ said Zander, changing his tone. ‘There is a way out of this unfortunate dilemma. What we did was wrong, I grant you, that but there was no malice in it. Why,’ he
added with a forced laugh, ‘we kept Edmund Hoode alive to write another day. Do not destroy Michael’s ambition like this. Let his new play be performed.’

‘Yes,’ pleaded Grammaticus. ‘We’ll pay you anything, Nick. It’s my dearest wish that
The Siege of Troy
is seen at the Queen’s Head. Let me have but that and you’ll see no more of me.’

Zander felt his purse. ‘Come, sir, how much will it cost to buy your silence?’

‘We are friends, Nick. Do it as a favour to me.’

‘The only favour I’ll do is for Edmund Hoode,’ said Nicholas, firmly. ‘The two of you will be arrested, tried and convicted. What you did was evil and unpardonable.’

‘You are a very foolish man,’ said Zander, putting a hand to his belt.

‘And you are a corrupt one. You were there to cure, not to inflict more misery.’

‘Michael paid me well for my help. Had you been more sensible, you might have shared some of that money. As it is,’ Zander went on, pulling something from his belt, ‘you will get nothing beyond a last farewell.’

He moved forward so that Nicholas could see that he was holding a pistol. His hand was steady and he looked as if he was determined to shoot. Nicholas was tensing himself to leap at the man when Grammaticus flew into a panic.

‘No, Emmanuel,’ he cried. ‘Do not kill him. Nick has helped me.’

‘Do you want him to help you to a prison cell?’

‘I’d rather that than stand accused of murder.’

‘Out of my way,’ snapped Zander. ‘I’ll be his executioner.’

‘I’ll not allow it!’ yelled Grammaticus.

He grabbed the wrist that was holding the gun and there was a fierce struggle. Before Nicholas could intervene, the pistol went off and Grammaticus emitted a cry of agony before slumping to the floor. Bending over him, Nicholas saw that he had been wounded in the shoulder. He looked up at Zander.

‘Now, doctor,’ he said. ‘Do you think that you can
help
a patient for once?’

Lawrence Firethorn berated himself for his own folly. Having won several games in a row, he knew that he should have quit the card table and returned to Shoreditch. But the hope of even larger winnings spurred him on. He soon began to falter. Though he had lost at the start of the evening, Philomen Lavery suddenly improved to take game after game. The money that Firethorn had won was slowly whittled away. By the time that the actor finally fled from the inn, he had barely enough coins in his purse to bribe the gatekeeper to let him out of the city through the postern. He rode home at a somnolent canter. When he got to the house in Old Street, he found it in darkness. Margery, it seemed, had either gone to bed or was waiting to ambush him again.

After stabling the horse, he approached the front door with furtive steps. Firethorn remembered how bitter his wife had been on his return the previous night. Rehearsing his excuses, he felt ready to withstand her fury again. But,
when he tried the door, it would not budge. He pushed it, kicked it and even hurled his shoulder against it, but it had been bolted from inside and withstood all his assaults. He was about to yell up at the window of his bedchamber when he realised how futile that would be. Margery would not let him in and he would be telling the whole neighbourhood that he had been locked out. He wanted to save himself from that ignominy.

Firethorn ended the worst day of his life in the stable, sleeping in the straw.

Nicholas Bracewell was up at the crack of dawn. After an early breakfast, he did his best to reassure Dorothea Tate that he could cope with any dangers that lay ahead, and that the man who had violated her would soon be punished. As she saw him off at the door, Anne Hendrik was more composed. Horrified to learn that Edmund Hoode had been deliberately poisoned, she was relieved that he would soon be cured.

‘When you see him today,’ she said, ‘give him my love.’

‘Edmund will be back at the Queen’s Head with us before long.’

‘He’s endured so much needless suffering.’

‘I know, Anne,’ he said. ‘The culprits will be duly punished.’

He gave her a kiss and set off, walking briskly through the streets of Bankside and realising that he was unlikely to see them again that day. London Bridge was clogged with traffic as carriages, carts, and visitors on horseback or foot
streamed into the city to buy or sell in the various markets. Nicholas had to dodge through the crowd to make any speed. Gracechurch Street was even more populous and he had to force his way through the press in order to reach the Queen’s Head. As he turned into the yard, the first person he saw was Leonard, using his broom to sweep up horse manure. Nicholas waved to him and Leonard ambled over with a vacant grin of welcome.

‘Good morrow, Nick,’ he said. ‘You are the first one here as usual.’

‘We have a busy day ahead of us.’

‘
The Knights of Malta
is a rousing tale. I’ve seen bits of it before.’

‘You’ve never seen it like this, I fear,’ said Nicholas, ‘for we lack the costumes to dress the play in all its pomp. I came early to see what Hugh Wegges proposes to do.’

‘Did that gentleman find you yesterday?’

‘What gentleman?’

‘The one who asked after you and Owen,’ said Leonard. ‘He wanted me to point you out but both of you had left by then.’

‘Did he say what business he had with us?’

‘No, Nick. He did not even know you were the book holder here until I told him.’

‘How did he react to that?’

‘It seemed to please him.’

‘Did he ask after anyone else in the company?’

‘Oh, no,’ said Leonard. ‘The gentleman was only interested in Nick Bracewell and Owen Elias.’

‘Describe the fellow to me.’

Scratching his head, Leonard gave a rough and halting description of the stranger who had accosted him in the yard. Nicholas was disturbed. The man was clearly neither Joseph Beechcroft nor Ralph Olgrave, but the book holder sensed that he had been sent by one of them. That raised the worrying question of how they had linked his name to that of Elias and traced the both of them to the Queen’s Head. Realising that they had both been misled by him, Beechcroft and Olgrave would want to strike back at Nicholas but he was relying on his ability to disappear into the crowd. All that they had was his name. How had they discovered his occupation?

Seeing the consternation on Nicholas’s face, Leonard became remorseful.

‘I did wrong, Nick. I can see that I did.’

‘No, no, Leonard. You merely answered a civil question. I’ll not fault you for that. But, should you see him again, I’d ask you to be wary of this man.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he’s no friend of ours,’ said Nicholas. ‘Of that I’m certain. Do not point us out to him. Instead, warn us of his arrival.’

‘Yes, Nick. I will.’

‘Keep your eyes peeled for the fellow. I fancy that he’ll be back.’

‘No question but that he will.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Because he said so,’ explained Leonard. ‘He told me that he had to see you both on urgent business. I asked
him if I could carry a message to you but he gave me none. Indeed, he bade me not even mention that he was looking for you.’

‘Why did he do that?’ asked Nicholas.

‘I think that he wanted to surprise you.’

Westfield’s Men responded to the challenge with collective vigour. Not only did they arrive early for rehearsal, they brought with them a determination to wipe away the shame of the previous afternoon by giving a performance that would eclipse all else. Even with an attenuated wardrobe, they felt capable of reaching their best. Lawrence Firethorn was the last to arrive, riding into the yard with the hangdog look of a chastened husband, and highly embarrassed when someone pointed out that he smelt of horse dung and still had some wisps of straw stuck the back of his doublet.

Nicholas took him aside to tell him about the prospect of Edmund Hoode’s swift recovery. Delighted to hear the news, Firethorn was soon bubbling with anger when he learnt of the way that Michael Grammaticus and Doctor Zander had conspired to bring the playwright down so that he was unable to work.

‘I’ll strangle the pair of them until their deceitful eyes pop out!’ he vowed.

‘They are beyond your reach,’ said Nicholas. ‘When the doctor had seen to Michael’s wound, I took them both before a magistrate, where they confessed their crime. The law must take its course now.’

‘The law will be too lenient, Nick. Deliver them up to me.’

‘We are well rid of both of them, and we have Edmund back in exchange.’

‘That gladdens my heart, Nick,’ said Firethorn. His face darkened. ‘But there’s one loss we suffer.
The Siege of Troy
was a wondrous play yet we must disown it.’

‘Why?’ asked Nicholas. ‘Now that we know who the true author is, we give him his due reward. We bought the play in good faith, remember. All that we have to do is to have the name of Stephen Wragby printed upon the playbills and justice will been done.’

Firethorn slapped his thigh. ‘The Lord bless thee!’ he shouted. ‘You are right. The play is ours.’ He embraced the book holder warmly. ‘We owe this all to you, Nick. You saved Edmund from further misery and caught those two deep-dyed villains.’