The Malevolent Comedy (22 page)

Nicholas rested the point of his blade against Hibbert’s throat.

‘Now, then,’ he said, ‘let’s have some honest answers.’

‘Run him through, Nick,’ urged Elias. ‘I’ll swear you killed him in self-defence for that’s the truth. He drew first when you had no weapon.’

‘No, no,’ begged Hibbert. ‘Spare my life – please!’

‘He’d not have spared yours, Nick.’

‘Peace, Owen,’ said Nicholas. ‘Leave this to me.’ He flicked his sword so that the point drew blood from Hibbert’s throat. The playwright emitted a gasp of fear. ‘A young woman lured Dick Honeydew away in that churchyard. Who was she?’

‘In truth, I do not know,’ replied Hibbert.

‘Give me her name.’

‘I would, if I knew what it was.’

‘You know it only too well,’ said Nicholas, remembering the letter he had seen, ‘for you lived with her at one time. I think that she has learnt of your ruse. The woman is your wife.’

Hibbert gave a shudder and pulled himself back against the wall in a vain attempt to escape the pressure of the sword point. There was terror in his eyes and sweat dribbled freely down his face. All his hopes had been vanquished. He was caught.

‘Admit it,’ said Nicholas. ‘Is she your wife?’

‘Probably,’ confessed Hibbert, ‘but I cannot say which one.’

Richard Honeydew was mystified. From the various sounds he could hear from below and in the adjoining rooms, he was being held in a busy inn but he could not tell in which part of the city it might be. What puzzled him was that the woman who had fed him seemed to be alone. Since carrying him upstairs, the man had departed and stayed away all evening. The boy had heard a bolt being pushed home after his departure. When he picked up clear sounds that the woman was going to bed, he wondered why the man had not returned. The candle was blown out in the room and the tiny filter of light that came through the crack in the cupboard door was extinguished.

Stiff and aching, Honeydew was nevertheless relieved. The man posed the real threat. With him out of the way, the boy felt safer. He was also rescued from any embarrassment. Living in a crowded house in Shoreditch meant that privacy was almost impossible. Lawrence Firethorn was a lusty husband and Margery a vigorous wife. The noises that came from their bedchamber made the other apprentices snigger. They even put theirs ears to the floorboards to
hear more clearly. Honeydew never joined them. Not really understanding what was going on in the marital bed, he did his best not to listen.

It was different now. He was less than six feet from a bed and could hear it report every movement that the woman made. Had the man shared it with her, Honeydew could not have blocked out the sounds of any love making that might have ensued. It would have distressed him. He did not wish to lose his innocence yet. In playing the part of Mistress Malevole, he had already been forced to grow up a little, finding sinister qualities in his voice and his manner that had never been there before. It had frightened him. He was still a boy with a boy’s unclouded naiveté.

Honeydew remembered the evening when
The Malevolent Comedy
had had to be created anew and dictated to the scrivener. Nicholas Bracewell had felt certain that some of its characters were based on real people whom the author wished to ridicule. Mistress Malevole was one of them, a beautiful but devious woman who achieved her ends by all manner of trickery. Honeydew was hit by a sudden realisation. He might have met her. The woman who was keeping him prisoner had called him by the name of his character in the play, and there had been a sneer in her voice. When he looked at her, he was staring into a mirror. His captor was the real Mistress Malevole. He wanted to scream.

Lawrence Firethorn opened his mouth to let out a laugh of disbelief.

‘Can this be so, Nick?’ he asked.

‘Owen was there at the time.’

‘Saul Hibbert is a bigamist?’

‘He admitted to three wives at least,’ said Nicholas, ‘and there may be more. It explains why he kept on the move. He would meet, woo and marry an unsuspecting bride, claim that he was sick and travel to another town on the pretence of seeing a physician there. After a lapse of time, he’d write a letter to say that he was dying and ask for money to repay his debts.’

‘Who collected the money?’

‘An accomplice who delivered the letter. He’d be paid a small amount for his work and the remainder would go to Master Hibbert – or Hatfield, as he was known in most cases. Our designing author preyed on women for a living. He boasted to me that he once earned eighty pounds in a year by such a deceitful means.’

‘It was so with his play,’ noted Firethorn, ‘for what was that but a raid on gullible ladies who had once trusted him? He even gave us the full names of Rosamund, Chloe and Eleanor. Which one of them has learnt the truth about their husband and come after him?’

It was early and Firethorn had entered the city as soon as the gate had been opened. He and Nicholas met at the Queen’s Head where the book holder had spent the night. In the light of day, the facial wounds that Nicholas had picked up during the scuffle looked even worse. The bruises were purple, the scar on his temple more livid and his lower lip almost twice its normal size. But there was no hint of self-pity. He was still exhilarated by the way that Saul Hibbert had been unmasked.

‘Let me get my hands on the wretch!’ said Firethorn, vengefully.

‘You’ll have to wait, Lawrence.’

‘Why – where is he?’

‘Lying in prison,’ replied Nicholas. ‘We had him arrested and taken before a magistrate. Owen and I bore witness to his crimes and he made a full confession. I also took the letter with me as evidence.’

‘What letter?’

‘The one he wrote to all his discarded wives or mistresses. I found the latest one when I searched his room yesterday. Depending on their circumstances, he asked the women for various amounts to clear his supposed debts. They paid up in the mistaken belief that their beloved was truly dying.’

‘His letters served a double purpose, then.’

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘It brought him money by cruel deception and ensured that none of the ladies came looking for him because they thought him dead. Until, that is, he wrote
The Malevolent Comedy.’

‘Did one of his “wives” catch wind of it?’

‘Apparently so, though he can only hazard a guess at which one.’

‘The rogue!’ cried Firethorn. ‘To use poor women so! When they discover that the lying knave is still alive, they’ll come rushing to London with a pair of shears apiece.’

‘They’ll have to wait until the law has finished with him, Lawrence. He’s charged with bigamy, deception, setting those ruffians onto me, and other crimes besides. When he married his last wife before a priest in Norwich, he did so
falsely under the name of Saul Hibbert. That’s fraudulence in the eyes of God. By rights,’ said Nicholas, ‘he should spend many years behind bars for all this.’

‘That gives me some satisfaction but it does not bring Dick Honeydew back to us. He’s still in the hands of those who kidnapped him.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘At least, I hope he is and that he’s treated well.’

‘They seized him to stop
The Malevolent Comedy
from being staged again. When they see we are performing something else today, they may release him. That’s my prayer,’ said Nicholas. ‘My fear is that they’ll hold him to ensure we do not present the play tomorrow or any other day.’

‘Westfield’s Men will never perform it again.’

‘We know that, Lawrence – but they do not.’

‘And they do not realise its author is now in prison.’

‘Did they but know, that might content them. But I want more than to have Dick safely back with us again,’ said Nicholas, resolutely. ‘The two who took him from that churchyard must pay dearly for his kidnap, and for the murder of Hal Bridger.’

‘Do not forget the theft of the prompt book, Nick.’

‘Nor the release of that dog.’

‘I’ll forgive that piece of mischief,’ said Firethorn with a chuckle. ‘It added to the jollity to the scene and had Barnaby bitten on the bum. I took some pleasure from that.’ He became serious. ‘Murder and kidnap, however, deserve the hangman’s rope.’

‘That’s what they’ll get when I catch up with them.’

‘Do you think they’re still in London?’

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘They’ll stay to see that they accomplished what they sought. We must continue the search. Dick Honeydew is still in the city somewhere.’

They moved him not long after dawn. Still entombed in his cupboard, Richard Honeydew heard the woman get out of bed and begin to dress. He had slept fitfully and ached more than ever. There was a knock on the door and the woman unbolted it to admit the man. Honeydew heard a brief snatch of conversation.

‘Has he been any trouble?’ asked the man.

‘No.’

‘I’ll take him out of here.’

‘He’s had no breakfast yet,’ said the woman.

‘Give it to him in the stable.’

‘Is it safe to move him?’

‘Yes, but I’ll need your help.’

Honeydew tried to place the voices. Having toured the country often with Westfield’s Men, he had encountered many local accents and even learnt to mimic some of them. The woman’s voice had less trace of its region and he had been unable to identify it with confidence. The man’s voice, however, had a more distinctive ring to it. Honeydew was certain that he had heard the accent during a visit to Lincoln and the surrounding countryside.

The door of the cupboard was flung open and a cloak tossed over the boy. Too afraid to struggle, he was lifted up and carried across the room. Then the woman opened the door and checked that nobody was about. Honeydew
was taken quickly along the passageway and down the backstairs. He was soon lying in the evil-smelling stable with his feet tied once more. When he removed the cloak, the man had made sure that the boy did not see his face. Richard Honeydew quailed. He was at the mercy of a malevolent woman and a murderer from Lincoln. It was clear that they intended to keep their prisoner.

The search was resumed as soon as the actors had gathered. With more men at his disposal, Nicholas Bracewell was able to send some of them further afield, calling at likely hostelries and asking if a fair-headed man and a young woman were staying there while visiting London from the country. Nicholas himself went off with Leonard. Edmund Hoode was once again deputed to continue the hunt with Owen Elias. They returned to the point in Cheapside where they had abandoned their earlier search. The Welshman was bristling with curiosity.

‘Well?’ he said. ‘Did you read your letter?’

‘A hundred times, Owen.’

‘Did she declare her love?’

‘More than that,’ said Hoode, suffused with joy. ‘We are to meet.’

‘A tryst?’

‘Today at noon.’

Elias laughed. ‘Well done, Edmund,’ he said, slapping him on the back. ‘You have wooed with more speed this time. In the past, you’ve waited months before you took a single step towards a lady.’

‘Ursula is different.’

‘Ursula? Are you sure it is she?’

‘I sent her a sonnet in praise of her beauty.’

‘Then you see things that I do not,’ said Elias, ‘for the woman is too homely for me. I’d not find one letter of the alphabet to dedicate to her beauty. If you found fourteen lines, then you have strange eyesight.’

‘I looked into her soul, Owen.’

‘Enjoy her body as well. Meet her, court her, board her.’

‘There’s no thought of that,’ said Hoode, indignantly. ‘This is no lustful conquest. I love Ursula and will treat her with the respect that she deserves.’

‘Pursue this how you will, Edmund. Swear abstinence, if you wish. I’ll not gainsay it,’ said Elias. ‘When I brought the sisters to you, I thought that the younger was more likely to arouse your affections. She’d be my choice, I know. Bernice Opie is a diamond of her sex that any man with red blood in his veins would yearn to possess.’

‘I prefer opals. They sparkle less but have more depth to them.’

‘Each man to his own desire. Whichever sister you pick, I hope that this new love will flourish.’

‘It will, I feel it. Ursula and I were meant to be together. A tryst at noon!’ cried Hoode, laughing. ‘My heart sings at the very thought of it, Owen. And I know that Ursula will be looking forward to it with the same wild delight.’

‘You must not even
think
of going,’ said Ursula Opie with disapproval.

‘But the meeting has been arranged.’

‘Stay away from it. Convey your message by your absence.’

‘No,’ said Bernice, ‘I gave Edmund my word.’

‘You had no right to do so. A young lady of your upbringing should never see a man in private. It’s against all propriety, all decorum. Imagine what Father would say, if he knew.’

‘Father and Mother will be out of the city today, Ursula. That’s why I thought it safe to see Edmund. I’ll take Betsy with me,’ she went on. ‘I’m not so shameless as to go abroad on my own.’

‘If you take Betsy, you turn a servant girl into an accomplice. She will suffer as a result,’ warned Ursula. ‘When Father hears of this deception, he’ll dismiss Betsy on the spot.’

‘There’s no reason why he should hear.’

‘I’ll tell him.’

‘Ursula!’

‘I have a duty to look after you, Bernice, to save you from those random urges that always seem to afflict you.’

‘This is no random urge. We love each other.’

‘On so short an acquaintance?’

‘The attraction between us was immediate,’ said Bernice. ‘Truly, I think that you are jealous of me. That’s why you wish to spoil this tryst with Edmund. You are full of envy because no man would ever write a poem to you.’

‘I hope that no man will. I’d find it mawkish.’

‘Does that mean you must ruin my happiness?’

‘No,’ said Ursula, trying to be reasonable. ‘I love you as a sister and want to protect you. You run too fast, Bernice.
If it is true that Master Hoode would court you, then let him do so by more honest means. A secret meeting behind your parents’ back is too immoral.’

‘It was my suggestion and not Edmund’s.’