The Malevolent Comedy (24 page)

‘Why not leave him here?’ said the woman. ‘That’s the best way.’

‘No, he might be found too soon.’

‘He knows nothing.’

‘He knows your face,’ said the man, ‘and he’s caught a glimpse of mine. It’s safer to take him with us and leave him somewhere miles away from London. By the time he gets back here, we’ll be long gone.’

‘If we take him, he’ll slow us down.’

‘We’ll do as I say,’ he snapped, handing her his cloak. ‘Wrap him in this and I’ll throw him across my horse. Nobody will know that he’s there. Tie it fast,’ he ordered. Dropping his bag, he turned away. ‘I’ll fetch my horse from the blacksmith. He should be ready now.’

‘Hurry back.’

When her companion went off, the woman crossed over to Honeydew and looked down at him. Her voice gave nothing away but there was a tinge of regret in her gaze.

‘You have to come for a ride,’ she said, holding the cloak open. The boy shook his head and pleaded with his eyes. ‘It’s the best way. If we leave you here, you might not be found for days.’

He tried to shrink away from her but it was no use. She threw the cloak over him and wrapped him in a bundle, using more cord to tie the cloak in place. Honeydew heard the muffled sound of a horse’s hooves as it was pulled to a halt nearby. He was to be taken out of the city and abandoned by the roadside. The thought scared him. But it was not the woman’s accomplice whom he heard, coming to take him away. The next thing that reached his ears was the voice of Nicholas Bracewell as he came bursting into the stable.

‘What do you want?’ cried the woman.

‘You dropped this in the churchyard,’ said Nicholas, holding up the bloodstained handkerchief. ‘I’m afraid that it got rather stained.’ He saw the bundle, squirming violently on the ground. ‘Is that you, Dick?’

Nicholas used his dagger to cut the cord and pulled the cloak away. Honeydew did his best to smile but it was impossible with the gag in his mouth. Nicholas tore it away.

‘Did they harm you, Dick?’ he asked.

‘No, no.’ He saw the woman, edging towards the door. ‘Look out or she’ll get away!’

Nicholas put out a leg to trip her up and she went down in an undignified heap on the floor. It was the work of a second to cut through Honeydew’s bonds. While the boy rubbed his aching limbs, Nicholas helped the woman up
from the floor. Another horse arrived at speed outside and its rider dismounted. Lawrence Firethorn stepped into the stable and, seeing Honeydew, rushed across to embrace him. He turned on the woman.

‘You kidnapped Dick and killed Hal Bridger,’ he said, angrily.

‘We simply wanted to stop the play,’ she replied.

‘Why?’

‘Because
she
is Mistress Malevole,’ Honeydew piped up. ‘My role was the counterfeit of her. Saul Hibbert put her on the stage.’

‘He did more than that,’ she said, baring her teeth. ‘He married me under his real name and swore to love me. But as soon as I was quick with child, he left me and went to Norwich. Months later, a letter came from him.’

‘I can guess at its contents,’ said Nicholas. ‘Your husband told you that he was dying and begged you to discharge your debts. How much did he want?’

‘Thirty pounds.’

‘Did you pay?’

‘Like a fool, I did so,’ she admitted. ‘Then I learnt the truth.’

‘How did you track him to London?’

‘Quite by chance.’

‘Where’s your confederate?’

‘I came alone.’

‘She’s lying,’ cried Honeydew. ‘There’s a man with her. He went to fetch his horse from the blacksmith. They were going to take me with them. The man is dangerous. He’ll be back at any moment.’

‘Then he’s all mine,’ said Nicholas, sheathing his dagger. ‘Will you take care of the lady, Lawrence?’

‘Gladly,’ replied Firethorn. ‘Dick.’

‘Yes?’

‘How do you feel now?’

‘All the better for seeing you and Nick.’

‘Pass me a piece of that cord, will you? I think that this Mistress Malevole is one that Lord Loveless must reject. She’s liable to scratch. I’ll bind her wrists before we deliver her up.’

A horse trotted up outside. The woman screamed a warning.

‘Fly, Robert!’ she shrieked. ‘They’ve caught me!’

Nicholas dashed out of the stable to confront the mounted rider, only to face a swishing rapier. As the man hacked madly at him, he moved back out of the way. He ducked as the sword was hurled at him. Wheeling his horse, his attacker then kicked the animal into life and sped off down the nearby street. Nicholas was in the saddle of his own horse at once, using his heels to take him at full gallop in pursuit of the other rider. People were scattered by the headlong race, diving for safety as the two horses clattered past them, protesting loudly and wondering why two men were riding hell for leather in such a busy street.

Heedless of danger, Nicholas pressed on, jabbing his heels hard to get more speed out of his mount. He began to close the gap between the two horses. The man’s only thought was of escape but Nicholas was driven on by sharper demands. He wanted to avenge the death of Hal
Bridger, the kidnap of Richard Honeydew, the theft of the prompt book and the accumulated damage that had been inflicted on Westfield’s Men. He wanted blood.

The first horse powered on but the second was steadily gaining on it. When the man looked over his shoulder, he saw that Nicholas was only yards behind. It made him curse and kick his horse even harder but he could not outrun Nicholas. In a matter of moments, the other horse drew level and the man was knocked from the saddle by a flying body. Nicholas was determined to catch him, whatever the cost in cuts and bruises. The two of them fell heavily to the ground, momentarily winded.

Nicholas was the first to recover, getting to his feet and hauling the man upright before punching him in the face then throwing him against the nearest wall. Watched by a crowd of onlookers, the man responded by kicking out with a foot to keep Nicholas at bay while pulling out his dagger. Nicholas wanted him alive. Instead of taking out his own weapon, he spread his arms and waited for the attack. Both men were covered in dust and bleeding from gashes they had picked up during the fall. Nicholas could feel a pain in his shoulder but it did not hold him back.

‘What was Saul Hibbert to you?’ he asked.

‘A cheat and a liar,’ replied the man, breathing hard.

‘Why make us suffer for his faults?’

‘Because his play was like a child to him. In killing that, we could make him suffer in the way that my sister suffered. He murdered her child so we wanted revenge.’

‘Is that why you poisoned an innocent boy?’

‘I’d have done anything to destroy that play of his.’

Pushing himself from the wall, the man lunged at him with the dagger. Nicholas danced out of the way and circled him slowly. Voices in the crowd started to urge them on as people took sides. Nicholas watched the other man’s eyes, seeing the mixture of fear and bravado in them. Another lunge was dodged then he ducked beneath a sweep of the blade. As the man came at him again, Nicholas swayed inches out of reach as the point of the dagger went for his face. His hand shot out, grabbing the man by the wrist and swinging him against the wall with such force that the weapon was dashed from his hand.

It was Nicholas’s turn to attack. After pummelling away with both fists at the body, he gripped him by the neck. The man spat in his face and tried to grapple with him but most of his strength had been drained away. Nicholas forced him back, banging his head repeatedly against the wall until blood ran freely down the stonework. A final uppercut sent his opponent slumping to the ground. Retrieving the fallen dagger, Nicholas dusted himself off. The fight was over.

Westfield’s Men received the news of the release of Richard Honeydew, and of the arrest of his two captors, with complete rapture. They had something to celebrate at last. George Dart was, for once, the hero of the hour, having trailed the woman to the inn where she had stayed with her brother, then brought back the information to the Queen’s Head. They were quick to acknowledge Leonard’s assistance as well. Instead of sweeping dung out of the
stables, he was invited into the taproom and plied with ale. Even the landlord felt that it was a deserved reward.

Edmund Hoode stayed long enough to enjoy the festivities, pleased to hear that one of his own plays,
A
Trick to Catch a Chaste Lady,
would return to the stage for the rest of the week. He was on the point of leaving when he noticed that Owen Elias was lifting a tankard to his lips. Crossing to the Welshman, he put a hand over his drink.

‘You swore to stay sober for a month, if Dick was released.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Elias, ‘but I did not say
which
month.’

‘I might have known there’d be a trick involved,’ said Hoode as the other quaffed his ale. ‘Drink deep, Owen. I must away.’

‘Another tryst already?’

‘No, Owen. I’m eager to spend more time on my new play.’

‘Would you rather scribble than hold a woman in your arms?’

‘When I write my tragedy,’ said Hoode, ‘I can do both. Ursula was my inspiration. Though I work alone at my lodging, I feel that she stands close beside me as I do so.’

‘I’d not want that long face of hers too close to me,’ said Elias, ‘but I’m happy that she has made you want to write again, Edmund. Only a woman can make you feel the spur that you need.’

‘There was such a difference between the two sisters.’

‘One was lively and gorgeous, the other was ill-favoured.’

‘No,’ explained Hoode. ‘One was childish, the other
was mature. One was full of silly laughter, the other was reserved and thoughtful. One sister lived for the moment, the other had a more purposeful existence. In short,’ he went on, ‘Bernice Opie was mere comedy while Ursula had elements of tragedy.
That
was what drew me to her, Owen.’

Elias was baffled. ‘What man wants a tragic woman?’

‘I do, if I can put her on a stage. Look to the last piece I wrote.
How to Choose a Good Wife
failed because it was a pointless comedy in which I had no real interest. With the same theme, Saul Hibbert’s play put mine to shame. It was only when I saw those two sisters side by side that I spied my mistake. I should have spurned Bernice and turned to Ursula.’

‘That’s what you did do, Edmund.’

‘I talk of my play. I should have abjured comedy and fashioned it into a tragedy. When I understood that, I started anew. Instead of lowborn country folk, looking for a wife, I have the King of Naples, falling in love with the daughter of his deadliest enemy. He, too, wants only to choose a good wife but she is kept from him by political intrigue.’

‘What’s the title?’

‘
The Queen of Naples
.’

‘Does the lady marry him, then?’

‘Therein lies the tragedy,’ said Hoode. ‘She returns his love but will be exiled from her father if she disobeys him. The people of Naples respect their King but will not let him wed the queen of his choice. Does he abdicate and marry her? Does she defy her father? Will there be war as a result between Naples and its enemy?’ He got to his feet. ‘And it
was all inspired by meeting Ursula. When you led her into my life, Owen, you created a wonderful tragedy.’

Notwithstanding his personal reservations about Ursula Opie, the Welshman was happy for his friend. Edmund Hoode’s creative spark had been ignited once more. A true actor, Elias had only one concern.

‘What part do
I
play in
The Queen of Naples
?’

The reunion with his friends was idyllic for Richard Honeydew but his ordeal had wearied him and he tired quickly. Lawrence Firethorn soon took him home to Shoreditch and Nicholas Bracewell went with them. Margery welcomed them all with cries of delight, reserving her warmest hug and biggest kiss for the apprentice. She fed him, washed him then joined the others in the parlour to listen to Honeydew’s tale. Margery could not believe that any woman could treat a child so cruelly.

‘She did show me some kindness,’ said the boy.

‘Well, I’d show none to her,’ said Margery, roused. ‘Leaving you bound and gagged in a cupboard all night? I’d not inflict that on an animal. What was the name of this ogress?’

‘Celia Hatfield,’ said Nicholas. ‘At least, that was what she was called when she was married. Unknown to her, two other women had already wed the same man. Her maiden name was Malevant. When he met her, she was Celia Malevant.’

‘Malevant to Malevole is but a short journey,’ Firethorn indicated. ‘There was real malevolence in the lady. When we tried to tie her wrists, she cursed and spat like a fishwife.’

‘Only a malign creature would seek such hideous revenge,’ said his wife. ‘She’ll hang beside her brother for what she did.’

Honeydew grimaced. ‘I feel pity for the lady.’

‘After what she did to you?’

‘And what she did to Hal Bridger?’ said Firethorn.

‘She told me that nobody was meant to die,’ recalled Honeydew, ‘and I believe her. She only wanted someone to be taken sick in the middle of the play.’

Nicholas gave a nod. ‘It was her brother, Robert Malevant, who bought the poison and decided on its strength,’ he said. ‘He was always ready to go to extremes. When the letter came from her husband to tell her that he was dying, Celia Hatfield was so distressed that she miscarried and lost her baby. You can imagine how she felt when she later discovered that she had been duped.’

‘She must have wanted to murder her husband,’ said Margery.

‘Her brother commended another course of action. It was he who learnt that Paul Hatfield was still alive and living here in London under another name. While visiting the capital on business, Robert Malevant chanced upon the intelligence. He sent to Lincoln for his sister,’ said Nicholas, ‘and they devised their plot.’

‘To bring our company tumbling down,’ said Firethorn.

‘To ruin the author’s dream. They knew how strong his ambition to be a playwright was. The brother described
The Malevolent Comedy
to me as the child of its author.’

‘So he and his sister decided to take its life.’

‘An eye for an eye, a child for a child.’