The Princess of Denmark (18 page)

‘Why does Lord Westfield have to make such a spectacle of the whole event? Yes, yes,’ she added before they could reply, ‘I know how pleased I was when I first heard that his actors would be coming here with him. But not any more, alas. I’m overwhelmed by what lies ahead. The very title of the play bothers me.’

Hansi stared. ‘What is wrong with
The Princess of Denmark
?’

‘Two things,’ replied her sister. ‘First, I am not a real
princess and have no wish to be treated as one. Second, and more importantly, the title reminds me of my birthright. I was born and raised here. I do not want to live in exile in England.’

‘But it will not be exile, Sigbrit.’

‘No,’ said Johanna, moving across to put an arm around her. ‘We will visit you so often that you’ll imagine you are back here in Elsinore. Besides, you will not be going alone. You’ll be taking maids and servants with you to England. They’ll ensure that you are able to speak your own language every day.’ She stood back. ‘Your uncle has worked sedulously on your behalf, Sigbrit. He acted purely out of love for you. Conquer these silly impulses that you have.’ Her smile congealed. ‘You do not want to let us all down, do you?’

Sigbrit capitulated. ‘No, Aunt Johanna,’ she said.

Lawrence Firethorn was already regretting his decision to stage a play that gave prominence to the one man in the company whom he disliked. It was almost impossible to put Firethorn in the shade but Barnaby Gill had managed it that afternoon and it was like an open wound. Firethorn was in continuous pain. As he sat in his room with Nicholas Bracewell and Edmund Hoode, that pain could still be heard very clearly in his voice.

‘Barnaby was a disgrace to the profession,’ he argued.

‘Nobody in the audience would have thought that,’ said Hoode with quiet impartiality. ‘They hailed him, Lawrence.’

‘What they hailed were his mistakes. He rewrote the play.’

‘To great effect.’

‘I’m surprised to hear a playwright condone such recklessness. Had
Cupid’s Folly
been your work, Edmund, you’d have squawked like a chicken at what Barnaby did. He cut out lines that were there and inserted those that were not. Schooled to sing two songs, he decided that four were in order. And jigs that should have lasted for only two minutes went on for at least three times that length.’

‘Only because the spectators liked them so much.’

‘That’s no excuse.’

‘Give him his due – Barnaby dazzled on that stage today.’

‘Dazzled!’ roared Firethorn. ‘Do you dare to admire all that face-pulling, arm-waving and blithe disregard of the play as written? Really, Edmund! You disappoint me.’ He swung round to the book holder. ‘Teach him, Nick. You know better than anyone else how Barnaby butchered the lines. Support me here.’

Nicholas was tactful. ‘I think it of more use to talk about the play we stage tomorrow than the one we performed today,’ he said. ‘It’s true that liberties were taken with
Cupid’s Folly
but the audience were not aware of it. What they saw, they liked. Why argue about it?’

‘Because it goes to the very heart of an actor’s code. Our duty is to serve the playwright. When he creates a wonderful role, it behoves us to perform it as is set down. Do you agree, Edmund?’

‘Yes,’ said Hoode. ‘Up to a point.’

‘Nick?’

‘The mark of a great actor,’ Nicholas suggested, ‘is that he can enhance the quality of his character by bringing
all his skills to bear upon it. Whereas you do it by taking the role exactly as it is written and enlarging its compass, Barnaby prefers to adopt a much freer approach.’

‘Freer and more destructive.’

‘You cannot argue with applause, Lawrence.’

‘I can if it’s grossly misplaced.’

‘Then we will be here all night,’ complained Hoode, normally the most quiescent of people. ‘If you insist on picking over each line of
Cupid’s Folly
, then I’ll go to bed forthwith.’

‘Stay, Edmund,’ said Nicholas as his friend tried to get up. ‘I’m sure that Lawrence sees the futility of protesting about something that it’s impossible to change. One play is gone, a second remains.’

‘The third will be the crowning achievement,’ said Firethorn with beaming certitude. ‘When I bestride the boards in
The Princess of Denmark
, I’ll reduce Barnaby to complete invisibility. Thank you, Nick. Your advice is timely. The past is past. Westfield’s Men must look to the future.’

‘The immediate future is rosy. We had the Danish equivalent of five pounds from the mayor, and we took a tidy sum at the gate. We’ll match that tomorrow with
The Wizard Earl
then there will be an honorarium here at the castle. Beyond that is an invitation to visit Copenhagen where, Bror Langberg tells me, we may play for a week.’

‘Then all our expenses are covered,’ said Hoode.

‘And we’ll have tasty profits to count,’ said Firethorn.

‘Do not rush to spend them too soon,’ warned Nicholas. ‘When we sail back to England, we may have need of any
surplus to see us through the lean months ahead. Westfield’s Men will be without a home. Our landlord has closed the door on us at the Queen’s Head.’

‘He’ll open it again when you work on him,’ said Hoode.

‘Alexander Marwood may be proof against my entreaties this time, Edmund. I think that we should brace ourselves for the worst.’

‘It’s not like you to play the pessimist, Nick.’

‘No,’ said Firethorn, ‘you are ever wont to sound a cheering note. But have no fears of our lice-ridden rogue of a landlord. I’ve shown due care for the future of the company and found a way to confound that miserable, sheep-faced, vile-breathed knave.’

‘What have you done?’ asked Nicholas.

‘I set Margery on to him.’

Among her many virtues were resilience and tenacity. Repulsed at her first attempt, and stunned by the news that Westfield’s Men would be ousted from the Queen’s Head by legal means, Margery Firethorn did not give up. She sought out the man who was behind the vindictive decision and, since Isaac Dunmow lived in York, she made intensive enquiries until she learnt that there was someone in London who was acting for him. That information eventually took her to Anthony Rooker’s office in Thames Street. Wearing her best dress for the occasion, she was at her most polite.

‘I am sorry to intrude on you, Master Rooker,’ she began, ‘but I come on an errand of mercy. My name is Margery Firethorn and I have the privilege of being married to the finest actor in London.’

‘I am pleased for you, dear lady,’ said Rooker, ‘though I fail to see why you are here. Since I am no playgoer, the details of your domestic life have no interest for me.’

‘I’m here to talk about Westfield’s Men.’

‘Ah!’

‘You may well say that, sir. Are you going to offer me a seat?’

Rooker was a busy man with sheaves of documents waiting on the desk in front of him for attention. At the same time, however, he had a natural courtesy that had not been entirely blunted by his life as a merchant. He felt obliged to offer his visitor a seat and to hear her out. As she sat down, Margery bestowed her sweetest smile on him.

‘You have the look of a kind man, Mr Rooker.’

‘There’s little room for kindness in my world, I fear.’

‘I understand that you work for Isaac Dunmow.’

‘Not
for
him,’ he said with unforced dignity. ‘I am master of my own affairs and work for nobody. There was a time when Isaac and I were partners and, because of that, I have done him a favour from time to time.’

‘It’s one of those favours that brought me here.’

He was wary. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘How can you possibly know what passes between Isaac and me? Such things are confidential, Mistress Firethorn, and no concern of yours.’

‘Then perhaps you should know that I have children to feed and servants to pay. I can do neither if my husband is prevented from practising his craft at the Queen’s Head. The fate of many men is involved here, Master Rooker, and they are all very dear to me.’

‘It’s not my function in life to provide work for actors.’

‘You are ready enough to deprive them of it.’

‘This is not my decision,’ he said. ‘Speak to Isaac Dunmow.’

Margery’s bosom swelled. ‘I wish that I could, sir, but even my voice – loud as it can be – will not reach York. You represent him here. I expect answers from you.’

‘Then you expect the impossible. My hands are tied.’

‘A moment ago, you were the master of your own affairs,’ she pointed out. ‘I know how many warehouses you own and how many men you employ, Master Rooker. Only a wealthy man could afford an office like this,’ she went on, taking in the whole room with a gesture. ‘You are nobody’s representative, sir. I see independence in your eye.’

Rooker sighed. ‘Deliver your speech, Mistress Firethorn.’

‘I have no speech. I simply present you with the evidence.’

‘Of what?’

‘Spite, malice and cruelty.’

‘They’re not of my making.’

‘I know that,’ she said. ‘I take you for a fair-minded man and ask you to give an honest judgement here. Do you think that Master Dunmow is being vengeful?’

‘I have no opinion in the matter.’

‘Clearly, you do, sir.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘If you enforce someone’s wishes,’ said Margery, ‘then you must agree with them. When I badgered him for days on end, the landlord of the Queen’s Head gave me the name of the lawyer who has drawn up this contract between Alexander Marwood and Isaac Dunmow. By its terms, you are empowered to pay the builder.’

‘That’s true,’ he conceded. ‘Isaac could hardly do that from York. He needs someone in London to see that the work is being done properly at the inn and to pay accordingly.’

‘Then you
are
involved in the assassination of Westfield’s Men.’

‘I am simply doing a favour for a friend.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I have an obligation here,’ said Rooker uneasily. ‘When he was here in the city, Will Dunmow was a guest in my home. I had a duty of care towards him. I failed in that duty. As a result, I’m bound to help an anguished parent.’

‘Westfield’s Men were anguished by his death as well.’

‘They barely knew him.’

‘What they did know, they liked,’ she said. ‘My husband told me what a pleasant young man he was. But let’s return to this favour you are doing for the father. If he handed you a dagger and asked you to stab someone to death as a favour to him, what would you do?’

‘You pose an absurd question.’

‘Do I, Master Rooker. Think about it.’

‘I’ve no need to do so.’

‘In agreeing to help a friend, what you are really doing is to stab Westfield’s Men to death. This is no tragic accident like the fire that killed Will Dunmow,’ she said forcefully. ‘It is premeditated murder.’

‘All that I am doing is paying someone to rebuild an inn.’

‘With blood money.’

‘I’ve no more to say on the matter.’

‘Well, I have a great deal, sir.’

‘Then you will have to say it to someone else,’ he told her as he got to his feet. ‘Frankly, I have no interest whatsoever in whether a theatre company does or does not perform at the Queen’s Head. Nothing would persuade me to enter a playhouse of any kind. But,’ he went on with controlled anger, ‘I’ll not be browbeaten in my own office by a complete stranger. Good day to you, Mistress Firethorn.’

‘Forgive me,’ said Margery with blistering scorn. ‘I mistook you for a gentleman. I see you now for what you really are.’

Storming out of the office, she left the door wide open.

As a former sailor, Ben Ryden had suffered no ill effects from the voyage but that was not the case with Josias Greet. Hampered by seasickness for days, he still felt queasy and his feet took time to adjust to the fact that they were back on dry land. When he walked, he moved slowly with his legs wide apart as if trying to compensate for the roll of the ship. They took a room at the White Hart, an English haven in a Danish town. The landlord had told them about Westfield’s Men. Troubled by nausea, Greet had only half-listened to the details. After a long night in bed, his stomach was still in minor rebellion. Over breakfast next morning, his companion gobbled his food with undisguised gusto but Greet had no appetite.

‘I could never be a sailor, Ben,’ he said. ‘I hate the sea.’

‘You get used to it after a time.’

‘Is it always that rough?’

‘Much worse, as a rule,’ said Ryden, munching away. ‘The North Sea was very placid for a change.’

‘Placid! The
Speedwell
was tossed hither and thither.’

‘No, Josias. We sailed across a mill pond.’ He paused to release a loud belch then punched his chest with a fist. ‘Think on this. It was worth the effort of coming here. Chance contrives better than we ourselves. We are in Elsinore less than a day and we already know when and where to strike.’

‘Right here at the White Hart.’

‘This is where the actors will come after their performance.’

‘Do we watch it, Ben?’

‘Why not?’ asked Ryden with a snigger. ‘We’ll let that scurvy Welshman entertain us before we kill him.’

‘Burn him alive. That was our command.’

‘We’ll have to knock him senseless first.’

‘Yes,’ said Greet, ‘or he’ll fight like the devil. I still have the scars from that brawl we had with Owen Elias and I’ll make him pay for each one of them.’

Ryden was pensive. ‘I see a way to do it,’ he said, snapping his fingers. ‘There’s straw and hay in the stables at the back of the inn. If we lug the body in there, we can roast him like a pig.’

‘Then what?’

‘We sail on the next ship to England.’

‘Master Dunmow wanted certain proof of his death.’

‘We’ll give it to him, Josias.’

‘How?’

‘We’ll cut off that ugly Welsh head and take it home in a sack.’

Though it had a similar rural setting,
The Wizard Earl
was a very different play from the one performed on the
previous afternoon. It had the same vitality and the same farcical brilliance but the resemblance ended there. Written by Edmund Hoode, it had been inspired by a visit the company had once made to Silvermere, a country estate in Essex, owned by Sir Michael Greenleaf. A munificent host and a devotee of theatre, Sir Michael was also an experimental scientist and inventor. Unbeknown to him, he had become the Earl of Greenfield, the eponymous hero of the comedy, and he was about to demonstrate his wizardry to the townspeople of Elsinore.