The Malevolent Comedy (13 page)

The rehearsal was a shambles. Held to refresh the memories of the cast, it only concentrated on key scenes in the play. Since it began without any real commitment on the part of the actors, it quickly descended into farce. Firethorn was the worst offender.

‘George!’ he bellowed.

‘Yes?’ replied Dart, acting as prompter.

‘Give me the line.’

‘Which one, Master Firethorn?’

‘The one I’m struggling to remember, you idiot.’

‘There’ve been so many of those this morning.’

‘What am I supposed to say to Mistress Malevole?’

‘When?’

‘Now, George – now, now, now!’

Dart was flustered. ‘Which scene are we in?’

‘The one we started on ten minutes ago.’

‘I’ve found it. You and Mistress Malevole are in the garden.’

‘No, you imbecile!’ boomed Firethorn, flinging his hat on to the stage in his fury. ‘We did that scene an hour ago. This one takes place in the hall of my house. Are you sure that you have the right play in your hands? A prompter must be prompt and audible. You are neither.’

‘Do not hound him, Lawrence,’ advised Owen Elias. ‘You’ll only confuse him further. Try to build his confidence.’

‘He’s as useless as a Pope’s prick.’

‘You do him wrong,’ said Edmund Hoode, taking pity on Dart. ‘It was an act of stupidity to think you could turn him into Nick Bracewell.’

‘It would be easier to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.’

‘George will not let us down if you treat him kindly.’

‘Kindly!’ roared Firethorn. ‘If he feeds me the wrong line again, I’ll tie him to the flagpole and hoist him to the top.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Back to the start of the scene,’ he ordered, ‘and let’s try to get it right this time, shall we?’

‘How can we when your memory is like a sieve?’ asked Gill.

‘Nobody invited your comment, Barnaby.’

‘I speak for all of us. You’ve stumbled badly throughout.’

‘Slander!’ said Firethorn over the murmurs of agreement. ‘I’m feeling for a new interpretation of the character, that’s all.’

‘And groping for your lines like a blind man.’

‘Silence!’

Gill smirked. ‘Whatever did Margery give you for breakfast today?’

The remark stung so hard that it set Firethorn off into a violent tirade against the Clown that was only ended when Elias and Hoode stepped in to keep the two men apart. Further rehearsal was impossible. The play was abandoned. The one saving grace was that its author had not been present to witness the general apathy and ceaseless parade of errors. Even the most assured comic moments had been thrown away.

‘Take heart, George,’ said Hoode, trying to console their little book holder. ‘You’ll have none of these problems this afternoon.’

‘I always lose my place when Master Firethorn shouts at me.’

‘He shouted at all of us today.’

Dart was wistful. ‘If only Nicholas had been here to bail us out,’ he said. ‘It’s a crime that he’s been deprived of his office for me.’

‘It’s more than a crime, George – it’s a vile sin.’

‘At the time when we need him most, he’s not here to help us.’

‘Nick would have been thoroughly ashamed of us this morning.’

‘And rightly so,’ said Dart. ‘Where
is
he?’

During the rehearsal, Nicholas Bracewell had deliberately kept out of the way, not wishing to embarrass his deputy or to subject himself to what was bound to be a painful exercise. He had never been asked to step down before and nursed a grievance that he did his best to keep to himself. On the other hand, he told himself, he could still serve the company by offering it the protection it needed. Much as he might resent Saul Hibbert, he wanted the play to go off without interruption. To that end, he and Leonard searched then sealed off all obvious hiding places for anyone intent on causing disarray. He also spoke to the gatherers on duty at the gate and instructed them to keep a close eye on the spectators as they were admitted. Anyone trying to bring small animals in was to be turned summarily away.

Long before the yard began to fill, Nicholas had retreated to a room that overlooked the stage from behind. Vacated by a traveller earlier that day, it was small, dark and infested with spiders but it was ideal for his purposes. It allowed him to watch unseen from above. Though much of the stage itself was obscured from him, he had a good view of the pit and the galleries. He kept the whole yard under surveillance. His eyesight was exceptionally sharp. During his voyage around the world with Drake, he had done his share of climbing into the crow’s nest to act as lookout. Rewards were offered for the first man to descry
land and Nicholas made sure that he did not miss any opportunities. That same intense vigilance was now turned on the audience.

The galleries were replete with elegant young gentlemen but none of the dashing gallants fitted the description that Leonard had given of the fair-headed visitor. It was a different matter when it came to beautiful ladies. They were there in such abundance that Nicholas was spoilt for choice. The three aristocratic ladies in Lord Westfield’s entourage were quite dazzling and those elsewhere, bedecked with their finery, turned the galleries into a blaze of colour. The reputation of
The Malevolent Comedy
had patently spread, bringing in spectators from every level of society. Its problematical author, flamboyantly attired and seated beside yet another arresting beauty, was in the lower gallery.

The play started well and proceeded without mishap but it had none of the driving thrust of the earlier performances. Studying the reactions of the audience, Nicholas could see that they were not as engrossed as they should have been. They tittered when they should have laughed, laughed when they should have applauded and only came properly to life when Barnaby Gill entertained them with his jigs. Lord Loveless lacked authority, Mistress Malevole was muted and Edmund Hoode, as the comical priest, seemed to forget that he was performing in a comedy. While the play was continuously diverting, it never managed to realise its full potential.

For all that, it provided two fairly exhilarating hours for its audience and was happily free from any of the errors that had littered the rehearsal. Somewhere behind the scenes, George
Dart was entitled to congratulate himself. The most important thing from Nicholas’s point of view was that no attempt was made to interrupt the performance. No poison, no dog, no fresh outrage.
The Malevolent Comedy
had finally been staged without attracting any malevolence. As a consequence, it was robbed of some of its tension and hilarity, but its cast had been spared and Nicholas was grateful for that.

The applause that greeted them as they came to take their bow was warm and generous. It did not compare, however, with the ovations that had been received on the two previous occasions. Keenly aware of that, Saul Hibbert looked deeply disappointed and Nicholas could see him apologising to his companion. For the author – as for others who knew the play – the performance had fallen far short of excellence. One man in the upper gallery seemed to relish the fact. Alone of the audience, he was not clapping at all. Instead, he looked on with a smile of satisfaction.

Nicholas recognised him at once as a playwright who had been rudely rejected by Lawrence Firethorn, only to achieve success with a rival company. It was John Vavasor.

Westfield’s Men knew only too well that they had let themselves down. Over their drinks in the taproom, they searched for explanations.

‘I felt so
tired
,’ admitted Edmund Hoode. ‘Tired and distracted.’

‘My heart was simply not in the play,’ said Owen Elias.

Francis Quilter sighed. ‘We all know why,’ he said. ‘We’re still in mourning for Nick Bracewell.’

‘And for Hal Bridger.’

‘Yes, Owen. Even more so for him.’

‘Nick will come back but Hal is gone forever.’

‘And in his place,’ Hoode reminded them, ‘we have Saul Hibbert.’

‘What will
he
have thought of us today?’

‘I daresay that he’ll tell us, Frank, and in blunt terms as well.’

‘No,’ said Elias. ‘We’ve been rescued from that. Lawrence has gone to intercept him and take full responsibility for what happened onstage. It’s the one useful thing he’s done all day.’

‘An act of penitence.’

‘He needs to show some of that penitence at home. According to Dick Honeydew, life in Old Street has been even more ear-splitting than usual. Margery took her husband to task for the way he treated Nick.’

‘Good for her!’ said Hoode.

‘I’d love to have been a fly on the wall,’ said Quilter.

Elias grinned. ‘Every fly within a mile heard the quarrel. Dick tells me that Lawrence was even exiled from his bed. No wonder he was so peevish this morning.’

‘It sounds to me as if Margery had the courage that we lacked.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Hoode. ‘She stood up to Lawrence.’

‘So did I,’ claimed Elias. ‘I swore he’d never share my bed again until Nick Bracewell was back with us.’

‘Do not jest about it, Owen. It’s too serious a matter for that.’

‘Where is Nick?’ wondered Quilter. ‘Is he not here today?’

‘I’ve not seen him, Frank. Nor do I expect to do so.’

‘Why not?’

‘He’ll want to steer well clear of Saul,’ said Hoode, ‘and, since he was not holding the book this afternoon, Nick may feel out of place.’

‘Out of place!’ echoed Elias. ‘A pox on it! And a pox on Saul Hibbert as well! It’s an evil day for us when Nick Bracewell feels out of place among his friends. We need him.’

‘He’ll not be back while
The Malevolent Comedy
holds the stage.’

‘Then we defy Lawrence and refuse to play in it.’

‘Yes,’ said Quilter. ‘I’ll back you in that enterprise.’

‘Edmund?’

‘Let’s not act too rashly,’ said Hoode, holding up his palms.

Elias was shocked. ‘Do you not want Nick back with us?’

‘Of course, and as soon may be. But it would be wrong to whip the company into a frenzy over a choice of a play. I’ve no high opinion of Saul as a man,’ he continued, ‘but I’m the first to applaud his work. I’m an author myself and know how difficult it is to write a sprightly comedy. There’s an important principle at stake here.’

‘Yes,’ said Elias. ‘We want Nick instead of Saul Hibbert.’

‘No, Owen. It has a deeper significance than that. Should the company spurn a good play simply because it dislikes the
playwright? Look at my case,’ Hoode said. ‘Everyone loves me yet
How to Choose a Good Wife
was turned down because it was a bad play. That’s how it should be. A play must be judged on its merits and not on the personality of its author.’

‘I never thought Saul’s play
had
any merits,’ said Quilter.

‘Then you are at variance with hundreds of happy spectators.’

‘Edmund is right,’ said Elias, grudgingly. ‘The play is popular.’

‘Not with those of us who have to act in it.’

‘I still believe that we should challenge Lawrence.’

‘Leave that to Margery,’ said Hoode. ‘She loves Nick as much as any of us and will do her best to get him back. Margery is our true champion. Let her joust with Lawrence on our behalf.’

Elias nodded. ‘It shall be so,’ he decided with a smile. ‘Margery will knock her husband from his saddle and trample all over him until he begs for mercy. That’s where our hope lies – in the arms of a woman.’

Nicholas Bracewell remained in his hiding place until the yard was almost clear. He was pleased that the performance had suffered no disturbance though his relief was tempered with disappointment. He felt that an opportunity had been missed to catch the person who had left such an indelible stain on the two earlier performances. Nicholas showed his customary tact. He did not even think of leaving the room until he saw that Saul Hibbert had disappeared from the gallery. Nothing would be served by another argument with
the playwright. At least, Nicholas thought, he would not be blamed for the shortcomings that had come to light that afternoon.

When all but a few stragglers had gone, he left the room and went downstairs. Coming into the yard, he first encountered Leonard.

‘What did you see?’ asked Nicholas.

‘Little beyond the play.’

‘You were supposed to be on guard.’

‘I was, until the Clown began to dance,’ said Leonard. ‘I could not take my eyes off him. He made me laugh. I’m sorry, Nicholas.’

‘Luckily, we did not need you.’

‘I’m always here if you do.’

‘Unlock the stables and feed the horses,’ said Nicholas, ‘or you’ll have the landlord shouting at you again. And – thank you!’

‘I thank
you
for letting me watch such a wondrous comedy.’

Leonard walked off and Nicholas turned his attention to the stage. Under the direction of Thomas Skillen, the decrepit stagekeeper, George Dart and the others were removing the boards and folding the trestles. After bearing the weighty responsibility of holding the book, Dart had now reverted to his more usual role as an underling, and Skillen kept reminding him of it. To spare the old man effort, Nicholas took over many of the stagekeeper’s duties himself but Skillen was proving that he was still capable of doing them, even though now in his seventies.

Nicholas gave him a cheerful wave and waited patiently until the stage had been put away. George Dart then ran eagerly back into the yard to speak to him, looking up at Nicholas like a dog that expects a pat of approval from its master.

‘You did well, George,’ said Nicholas.

‘Thank you.’

‘The play went off without any misadventure.’

‘I was too frightened to make a mistake,’ replied Dart.

‘We’ll make a book holder of you yet.’

‘Coming from you, that’s real praise.’

‘I never doubted you, George.’

‘Master Firethorn did. After the rehearsal this morning, he was ready to nail me to the wall of the tiring-house.’

‘I hope that he had the grace to congratulate you this afternoon.’

‘Yes, he did.’

‘Good,’ said Nicholas. ‘Fetch me the play and I’ll be off.’

‘Will you not stay to join us in the taproom?’