The Princess of Denmark (4 page)

‘Will Dunmow?’ asked Elias.

‘The very same. I’ll leave him in your hands. I am so weighed down by what has happened that I can barely
speak.’ He shot them both a baleful glance. ‘Excuse me, sirs.’

‘The landlord was not very helpful,’ said the stranger as Marwood walked off. ‘I had difficulty prising a word out of him.’

‘Then you are fortunate, my friend. This morning, a whole torrent of abuse surged out of his mouth and it was aimed at us.’ He offered his hand. ‘My name is Owen Elias and I belong to Westfield’s Men.’ They shook hands. ‘What have you learnt about Will?’

‘Nothing beyond the fact that he spent the night here and died in the fire. I am Anthony Rooker, by the way,’ said the other, face lined with anxiety. ‘I’m a friend of Will’s father and offered the son bed and board while he was visiting London.’

‘He was very grateful, sir, and spoke well of you.’

‘That’s good to hear.’

‘Will told us that he was here to do business on his father’s behalf but that he intended to enjoy himself while he did so. He was cheerful company and generous to a fault.’

‘The lad has always been open-handed.’

‘His father is a merchant in York, I believe.’

‘Isaac Dunmow and I were partners in the city until I moved to London, but we still transact business together if the occasion serves. However,’ said Rooke, lips pursing in trepidation, ‘I am not sure that our friendship will survive this. I was meant to look after Will. I was
in loco parentis
.’

‘He was too old to be fathered and too young to drink with actors. That was Will’s undoing, alas.’

‘Tell me what happened.’

Elias gave him an honest, straightforward account of Will Dunmow’s fateful visit to the Queen’s Head, ashamed of the way that he had helped to get him helplessly drunk, thereby making him so vulnerable. Anthony Rooker listened with a mingled sadness and unease, stunned by the details of the death and wondering how he could break the news to the father when he wrote to him. He was not surprised to hear of Will Dunmow’s readiness to carouse.

‘His father is inclined to severity,’ he explained, ‘and frowns upon most of the pleasures of life. It is only when he journeys south that Will can enjoy drink, lively company and entertainment.’

‘What about women?’ asked Elias.

‘He has not neglected them while he was here.’

‘I ask that because he was so enamoured of Emilia.’

‘Emilia?’

‘A character in
The Italian Tragedy
, the play that moved him so much. When he acted as our benefactor, the person he most wished to meet was Emilia. Thinking her to be the gorgeous young lady he had seen on stage, Will blushed deep crimson when he realised that the part had been taken by Dick Honeydew, one of our boy apprentices.’

‘He is not well-versed in your conventions.’

‘It shocked him that he was entranced by a young lad.’

‘It would have shocked Isaac even more.’

‘One thing you may tell the father,’ said Elias, ‘not that it will soften his grief. But his son died happy. While he was with us, Will was in ecstasy and said so in round terms.’

‘Then I will certainly mention it in my letter.’

‘I’ll gladly write to his father myself, if that would help.’

‘No, no,’ said Rooker quickly. ‘This is wholly my obligation. I mean no disrespect to you, Master Elias. The truth is that Isaac does not hold players in high regard. This tragedy will only serve to confirm his prejudices.’

‘What of the body?’

‘I’ll see it taken to York for burial.’

‘You will have to wait until the coroner releases it,’ said Elias. ‘I would add this warning. Will was badly burnt. It would pain you to look on him and you must advise his father not to open the coffin. His son should be remembered as he was in life.’

‘That’s good counsel. I’ll follow it.’

‘If there is anything we can do, Master Rooker, do call on us.’

‘You’ve told me all I need to know.’

‘The truth was harsh but it had to be spoken.’

‘I bid you farewell, sir.’

‘One moment,’ said Elias as he remembered something. ‘You told me earlier that you and Will’s father were partners at one time.’

‘For several years.’

‘Why did you go your separate ways?’

A shadow fell across the face of Anthony Rooker. ‘We parted by mutual consent,’ he said evasively. ‘Isaac Dunmow has many virtues and every attribute that a merchant must have. But he was not the easiest person with whom to get along.’

‘You and he had an argument, then?’

‘In asking that, you presume far too much.’

‘Then I apologise,’ said Elias, holding up two penitent hands. ‘It is just that wine tends to loosen the tongue and it certainly set Will’s free. When he talked of his father, it was not with affection. Will said that he sometimes resorted to violence.’

Rooker’s eyes flashed. ‘Good day to you, sir,’ he snapped.

Turning abruptly, he hobbled away on his walking stick.

‘It is an accident that Heaven provides,’ said Anne Hendrik, taking his hands. ‘By all, this is wonderful, Nick!’

‘It has certainly rallied Westfield’s Men.’

‘No wonder. Instead of being deprived of work, they will be able to win new friends in a foreign country. My only regret is that you will not be able to perform in Amsterdam while I am there.’

‘Denmark will keep us fully occupied.’

‘Your patron, too, by the sound of it. Having outlived two wives, I never thought that he’d take a third.’

‘When he was deep in debt,’ said Nicholas Bracewell, ‘he was in no position to do so. An inheritance has transformed his outlook. The lady in question would enchant any man.’

‘I hope that you were an exception.’

‘Of course – I am already spoken for.’

Anne laughed and brushed his lips with a kiss. It was late evening and they were in her house in Bankside. At the end of a long and eventful day, Nicholas was grateful for some peace and some warm companionship. Anne, too, was able to relax for the first time as they sat side by side in the parlour.

‘Describe her to me,’ she requested.

‘Who?’

‘This paragon whose portrait you saw in miniature. Is she really a princess of Denmark?’

‘Only in Lord Westfield’s mind.’

‘Is she dark or fair?’

‘Fair.’

‘What of her eye, her lip, her cheek?’

‘She has the requisite number of each,’ said Nicholas, ‘but she still does not compare with you, Anne. You have one crucial advantage over Sigbrit Olsen.’

‘And what is that?’

‘I can see you as you really are – a lovely woman in the prime of life with virtues too numerous to name. All that I know of Lord Westfield’s bride is what I gleaned from her portrait. Limners can be deceptive,’ he pointed out. ‘And they are there to please their clients.’

‘You mean that they will hide any blemishes?’

‘And enhance any finer points of a countenance.’

‘This lady still has considerable charm,’ said Anne. ‘The most artful hand cannot turn an ugly face into a beauteous one. What does she know of the man she has agreed to marry?’

‘Only what her uncle has told her. The match has been arranged by him and by a man whom our patron engaged to find a suitable bride.’

‘So she had not seen a portrait of Lord Westfield?’

‘No, Anne. She is taking him on trust.’

‘Then she is in for an unpleasant surprise,’ she said. ‘Of the two of them, Sigbrit Olsen is getting by far the worst of the bargain.’

‘We shall see,’ said Nicholas tolerantly. ‘All that
concerns me is that we have been rescued from idleness by this marriage. More to the point, it enables me to spend more time with you.’

‘How so?’

‘I thought that you would sail for Amsterdam alone.’

‘I still intend to do so. I’ve promised to visit Jacob’s family and I will not let them down. My plan is to leave next week.’

‘Stay your hand and we may sail together. A ship that sails for Denmark is likely to visit the Low Countries as well. Indeed, I’ll make sure that it does before I commit us as passengers.’ He smiled fondly. ‘Would you rather go with or without me?’

‘You know the answer to that,’ she said, touching his arm. ‘There’s nobody I would rather have beside me. You are a good sailor, Nick. I am not. You have voyaged around the whole world. All that I managed to do was to sail across the North Sea.’

‘That, too, can have its perils.’

‘Then I’ll gladly share them with you.’

He put an arm around her and she nestled into his shoulder. Dappled by the shadows thrown by the candles, they sat there in restful silence for a long time. Nicholas’s memory was then jogged.

‘How is Preben?’ he asked.

‘Still pretending that there is nothing wrong with him.’

‘He looked as pale as death when I saw him.’

‘That stone all but knocked him senseless,’ said Anne, ‘and he lost a lot of blood. He was so upset that I should see him like that.’

‘Did you report what happened?’

‘Yes, Nick. We gave that document to a constable and charged him to pass it on to the authorities. They will be as angry as we were by that message of hatred. Steps will be taken to find the culprits.’

‘There have been no arrests so far.’

‘The villains have been too cunning.’

‘Then a trap needs to be set for them.’

‘It’s not your place to get involved, Nick.’

‘I gave Preben my word,’ he said.

‘And it caused him great disquiet,’ said Anne. ‘To have anyone acting on his behalf only distresses him. Preben would prefer that the whole matter was forgotten.’

‘His head was cracked open. Retribution is due.’

‘Humour him, please. For his sake, do not pursue the matter. We had a shock this morning and we are over it now. With so much to do before you leave for Denmark, you will not have time to go to the Dutch Churchyard.’

‘I’ll find the time somehow.’

‘What is the point?’ she said. ‘Your chances of success are very slim. It may well be that what we saw was the last of these libels against strangers. Those who put them there know the dire penalties that they face. I think that they will be frightened away.’

The watchmen plodded along side by side in the dark like two old carthorses pulling a heavy load. Broad Street was no less noisome by night than by day. A compound of unpleasant smells hung in the air to assault their nostrils and their feet squelched through all kinds of filthy refuse.
But they knew their duty. When they reached the Dutch Churchyard, they paused to look inside, using their lanterns to illumine even its darkest corners. All that they found was a dog, curled up beside one of the gravestones. Dispatched with a kick, it yelped aloud and scurried away. The watchmen were content. Leaving the churchyard, they checked every inch of the wall to see if anything had been hung there again.

‘Nothing,’ said one.

‘We are good scarecrows,’ said the other.

‘Yes, Tom. We frightened them away at last.’

Chuckling quietly, they went on their way, patrolling the streets of the parish at the same slow, tireless, unvarying pace. They were soon swallowed up by darkness. When the distant echo of their footsteps finally died away, someone came out of a doorway opposite the churchyard and trotted across to it. Seconds later, another vile attack on foreigners was attached to the wall.

The villains had struck again.

Margery Firethorn was a gregarious woman who loved to have people around her. Her house in Shoreditch was not merely home to her husband and children, it also contained two servants and the four boy apprentices who belonged to Westfield’s Men. In addition, it was the regular meeting place for certain members of the company so visitors were coming and going all the time. Margery greeted them all with maternal warmth and made sure that refreshment was always on hand. That morning, however, her pleasure at seeing her friends was tempered by the thought that she might not lay eyes on them again for a long time. When the troupe sailed off to Denmark, five people who slept under her roof would disappear along with all of her most cherished callers. The house in Old Street would seem very empty.

Nicholas Bracewell was the first to arrive and she always reserved her most cordial welcome for the book holder. When she embraced him this time, however, there
was sadness in her face and a hint of desperation in the way that she clung to him. He understood why. Margery stepped back to appraise him.

‘I shall miss you, Nick,’ she said.

‘Not as much as I’ll miss you,’ he said gallantly. ‘There’s nobody in the whole of Denmark who will look after us as well as you.’

‘Thank you.’

‘The pity of it is that we cannot take you with us.’

‘The same must be true of Anne, surely?’

‘No, Margery – she will be joining us.’

‘Oh?’

‘Anne is going to Amsterdam to visit relatives and friends of her late husband. She’ll sail with us part of the way.’

‘Well perhaps I could do so as well!’

‘We’d be honoured to have you.’

She kissed him on the lips, gave him an impulsive squeeze then took him into the parlour, where Lawrence Firethorn was poring over a manuscript. He looked up.

‘Nick, dear heart,’ he said, rising from his chair. ‘As ever, you are the first here even though you have to travel further than anyone.’

‘I enjoy a long walk,’ said Nicholas.

‘It must have taken you past the Queen’s Head.’

‘It did. The place looks forlorn. By now, I fancy the landlord will have pulled out the last remaining tufts of hair in vexation. It will be months before the inn returns to anything like its former glory.’

‘It can only do that when Westfield’s Men play there again,’ said Margery loyally. ‘The sooner that happens, the
better.’ The doorbell clanged. ‘That will be Edmund.’

She left the room and let the newcomer in, enfolding him in her arms for a moment before ushering him into the parlour. Margery then vanished into the kitchen. After an exchange of greetings, the three men sat down. Firethorn picked up the manuscript on the table.

‘I’ve been reading your latest play again, Edmund,’ he said. ‘I know that it did not find favour with the Master of the Revels but it might have a kinder reception in Denmark.’

‘I doubt it,’ said Hoode. ‘
Sir Thomas More
will be a poor play if I take out all the lines that offended the censor. He hacked it to pieces.’

‘His writ does not run in Elsinore.’

Hoode sat up. ‘We perform the piece exactly as it is written?’

‘That’s my suggestion,’ said Firethorn, leafing through the pages. ‘Sir Thomas is a part I yearn to play. He towers over the drama like a Colossus and his execution will move the hardest of hearts.
Sir Thomas More
would grace any stage.’

‘Thank you, Lawrence,’ he said, touched. ‘I have never had a play savaged by the Master of the Revels before and I was deeply wounded. To have it performed in Denmark would be a balm to my injuries.’ He turned to the book holder. ‘What’s your opinion, Nick?’

‘I think it’s a fine play,’ said Nicholas. ‘One of your best.’

‘It’s settled then,’ declared Firethorn, tossing the manuscript onto the table. ‘That’s one problem solved.’

‘I disagree, Lawrence.’

‘I thought you liked the play.’

‘I admire it greatly,’ said Nicholas, ‘but it is hardly a suitable
choice for a wedding. Lord Westfield will expect laughter and gaiety. We cannot celebrate the occasion with a tragedy.’

Hoode nodded. ‘Nick makes a telling point.’

‘Then we play
Sir Thomas More
elsewhere,’ said Firethorn, determined not to be deprived of the chance to create a superb new role. ‘They’ll have a comedy for the wedding and a tragedy at some other venue in Denmark.’

‘I’m sorry to challenge you again, Lawrence,’ said Nicholas, ‘but I have to question the wisdom of that decision.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the name of Sir Thomas will mean little to a Danish audience. He may live fresh in our memory but they have their own heroes and men of integrity. But there is an even stronger argument against the play,’ Nicholas went on. ‘It was rejected in its present form and there was a good reason for that.’

‘Yes,’ said Firethorn with a scowl. ‘Sir Edmund Tilney does not appreciate the talent of Edmund Hoode. Our celebrated Master of the Revels sliced the play wide open.’

‘Only because he thought it politic to do so. And you malign him unjustly. He’s an admirer of Edmund’s work and has never turned one of his plays away before. What alarmed him was the coincidence.’

‘What coincidence, Nick?’

‘I can tell you that,’ interjected Hoode. ‘At the time when Sir Thomas was under-sheriff of London, there was great unrest over the number of foreigners in the capital. It’s dealt with in three separate scenes. Unhappily,’ he said with a grimace, ‘the same hatred of strangers had been whipped into a frenzy again.’

‘Look what happened to Anne and Preben yesterday,’ resumed Nicholas. ‘They learnt just how much resentment is felt against foreigners. Without intending to do so, certain scenes in Edmund’s play might excite that resentment even more.’

‘Perish the thought!’ said Hoode.

‘Such objections could not be raised in Denmark,’ argued Firethorn. ‘We would hardly arouse enmity against strangers there.’

‘No,’ conceded Nicholas, ‘but we would show England in a very poor light. Remember this – whenever we perform, our patron and his bride will be in the audience. No play will endear itself to the new Lady Westfield if it portrays this city as a cauldron of hatred and intolerance.’

‘
Sir Thomas More
is a history play.’

‘History has a nasty habit of repeating itself, Lawrence, as in the case of our present troubles. Denmark will not be unaware of those. Among the strangers here,’ Nicholas pointed out, ‘we have Danes as well. Their letters home are bound to talk of the outrages against foreigners.’

‘Nick has persuaded me,’ said Hoode. ‘My play is withdrawn.’

Firethorn raised a palm. ‘Not so fast, Edmund. I’ll not yield up a wonderful role so easily. To make it more acceptable,’ he said, ‘all that we have to do is to remove the scenes that deal with strangers.’

‘In other words, we ape what Sir Edmund Tilney did.’

‘He tore the play apart. We will merely amend it.’

‘It amounts to the same thing. If the play is not performed in its entirety, then it will not take to the stage at all. No more argument,’ said Hoode as Firethorn tried to speak. ‘I’ll
not be party to anything that might cause embarrassment to Lord Westfield and his bride.’ The doorbell was rung hard. ‘That will be Barnaby. I’m glad that we discussed
Sir Thomas More
before he arrived. He disliked the play.’

‘Only because he had such a minor role,’ said Nicholas.

‘Yes,’ said Firethorn, ‘the only scenes he bothered to read were those in which the clown appeared. It was ever thus. He judges the quality of a play by the number of lines he has and the number of comic jigs he’s allowed to dance.’

Moments later, Margery showed the latest arrival into the room before disappearing again. There was a flurry of greetings then Gill took a seat. He distributed a warning glance among the others.

‘I hope that you’ve not been rash enough to make any decisions without me,’ he said, ‘because I shall countermand them all.’

‘Three votes will always count against your one,’ said Firethorn.

‘I only see two sharers in the room.’

‘Nick’s opinion has more weight than anyone else’s.’

‘Even when he is nothing more than a hired man?’

‘Stop harping on that, Barnaby,’ said Hoode wearily. ‘Nick has already stopped us from taking one unsuitable offering to Denmark and he’ll do so again. Nobody knows our stock of plays better than he, and what costumes, scenery and properties are needed for each one. Since we can only carry a limited amount of baggage, such details need to be taken into account.’ Margery entered with a bottle of wine and four glasses on a tray. ‘We’ll put it to the test.’

‘You come on cue, my love,’ said Firethorn, massaging
her buttock as she put the tray on the table. ‘Of the four of us, who is the best judge of a play?’

‘Nick Bracewell,’ she replied promptly.

‘And the finest actor?’

‘Do not fish for compliments, Lawrence,’ she said, pouring the wine out and handing the glasses around. ‘When you are in the same company, you do not compete. You act with each other.’

Hoode smiled his approval. ‘Well-said, Margery.’

‘Every team needs a leader,’ Firethorn commented.

‘He leads best who does not have to impose his will upon others,’ she said, handing a drink to her husband before moving away. ‘Bear that in mind, Lawrence.’

‘Heed your wife,’ Gill advised. ‘Margery spies your weakness.’

‘She spied yours at a glance,’ riposted Firethorn.

‘I did not come here to be abused.’

‘Then refrain from inviting it.’

‘I’m here to make important decisions.’

‘And so is Nick – let that be understood.’

‘It’s not only the choice of plays that must exercise us,’ said Nicholas. ‘There is the far trickier problem of selecting those who act in them. Lord Westfield has kindly volunteered to pay for our passage to Denmark but his bounty ends there. To defray expenses, we must travel with a smaller company and that will mean shedding several of our hired men.’

‘We must take musicians,’ insisted Firethorn. ‘They will expect songs and dances from us.’

Gill preened himself. ‘And especially from me,’ he boasted.

‘There’s not room for everyone,’ said Hoode solemnly.

‘Alas, no,’ agreed Nicholas. ‘Instead of musicians, we must have actors who can play an instrument. Their other skills should also be taken into account before we come to a decision.’

‘Other skills?’ said Firethorn.

‘Oswald Megson once worked as a carpenter. He will be sorely needed to make new scenery or repair anything that gets damaged. Harold Stoddard was apprenticed to a tailor. He must be both actor and tireman. As for David Knell—’

‘Oh, no!’ protested Gill. ‘I draw the line at him – anyone but David Knell. His face is so mournful that it makes me feel unwell. When he smiles, it is like a grave opening up. Forget him, Nicholas. Whoever else comes with us, we do not take Death Knell.’

‘No,’ said Firethorn, disheartened at the prospect before him, ‘we simply sound it for those we have to set aside. Very well – let us be fair but firm. As well as the sharers, who else comes to Denmark?’

‘How do things stand, my lord?’ asked Rolfe Harling.

‘Preparations are almost complete.’

‘In so short a time?’

‘There’s no point in delay,’ said Lord Westfield. ‘Once I made the decision to take my company with me, it was simply a case of leaving the arrangements to Nicholas Bracewell.’

‘And who might he be?’

‘An estimable fellow in every way. Though he is only the book holder with Westfield’s Men, he virtually carries them on his broad shoulders. He is our talisman. What he has
done in the course of one week is extraordinary.’

‘A remarkable man, clearly,’ said Harling.

‘And he has one outstanding quality.’

‘What is that?’

‘He is a born sailor,’ said Lord Westfield, ‘and we need someone like him to comfort us on the voyage. Nicholas is the son of a Devon merchant. He went to sea with his father many times.’

‘Only across the English Channel, I daresay. I can tell you from experience that the North Sea is far more perilous.’

‘Do not talk of peril to Nicholas Bracewell.’

‘Why not?’

‘In younger days, he sailed around the word with Drake. He survived storms and tempests, the like of which we can only imagine. The North Sea holds no fears for such a man.’

‘I look forward to meeting him, my lord.’

‘I reserve my anticipation for my dearest Sigbrit.’

Although he knew every detail of her countenance from incessant study of the miniature, Lord Westfield took it from his pocket yet again and looked in wonderment at her. They were dining together in his favourite tavern and he was anxious for events to move as swiftly as they could.

‘You’ve written to her uncle?’

‘My letter will have arrived by now.’

Lord Westfield was worried. ‘We may have set sail before his reply comes. Oh!’ he cried, slapping his leg with a petulant hand, ‘is there anything more vexing than the tyranny of distance?’

‘Have no fears,’ Harling told him.

‘But I need to know that I am expected and wanted.’

‘You are, my lord, I assure you.’

‘Supposing that she has changed her mind? Or fallen ill and is unable to go through with the marriage? Supposing that I do not
please
her enough?’

‘You are all that she could wish for,’ said Harling, sampling the Madeira wine in his glass. ‘Her uncle and I took every aspect of the marriage into account. We do not leave for another ten days. There is no chance that his reply will fail to reach me.’

‘What if the ship should miscarry before it reached our shore?’

‘Even then, we would have no reason for alarm.’

‘I need to see her acceptance in the form of a letter.’

‘And so you shall, my lord – when we reach Flushing.’

‘Flushing?’

‘Yes, my lord,’ explained Harling. ‘Our vessel first calls there. I took the precaution of having any letters for you from Denmark sent to the governor’s home in Flushing. They will not even have travelled by sea but been carried overland by couriers.’