Free The Nicholas Bracewell Collection by Edward Marston

door opened and a voice spoke.
    ‘Ah, there you are, Dick!’
    ‘Hello, Master Ruff.’
    ‘What do you want?’ growled Barnaby Gill.
    ‘I was looking for the lad,’ explained the hired maneasily. ‘Come, Dick. The best place for you is out in the hot sun. The yard is an Italian piazza today. We’ll hang you up to dry with the washing.’
    Before Gill could stop him, Samuel Ruff whisked up the shirt and led the boy out of the room. The sharer was left to fume alone. He reached for the hessian which Richard had used and he caressed its surface for a few seconds. Then he threw it violently aside and stalked back into the tiring-house .
    Ruff, meanwhile, had taken the boy into the yard to watch some of the rehearsal. Without quite knowing how, Richard had the feeling that he had just been rescued.
    ‘If that ever happens again,’ said Ruff, ‘you tell me.’
    Richard nodded happily. He had found a new friend.

    Patriotism is a powerful drug. In the wake of the victory against the Armada, it affected almost everyone. There was a surge of self-confidence and a thrill of pride that coursed through the veins of the entire nation. Master Roger Bartholomew also felt the insistent throb of patriotic impulse. He imbibed the details of the Spanish defeat, he listened to the sermons preached at St Paul’s Cross and he attended many services of thanksgiving. In the faces all round him, he saw a new spirit, a greater buoyancy, a permissible arrogance. People were conscious as never before of the immense significance of being English.
    The drug helped Bartholomew to forget all about his earlier setbacks and vows. Inspiration made him reach for his pen and a play seemed to fall ready-made from his fertilebrain. It was a celebration of England’s finest hour and it contained speeches which, he believed, in all modesty, would thunder down the centuries. The verse bounded from the page, the characters were moulded to stake their claim to immortality.
    As he blotted the last line and sat back in his chair, Bartholomew allowed himself a smirk of congratulation. His first play was juvenilia. With An Enemy Routed , he had come of age in the most signal way. The success of the piece would wipe away any lingering memories of his disappointment and disillusion. Only one problem remained. Master Roger Bartholomew had to make the crucial decision as to which dramatic company he would favour with his masterpiece. He luxuriated in the possibilities.

    Two weeks wrought many changes among Lord Westfield’s Men. As soon as Will Fowler’s funeral was over, the general gloom began to lift. Samuel Ruff was an able deputy for his friend and, in spite of occasional remarks about leaving for Norwich soon, he settled in very well. Richard Honeydew was glad to have someone else to look out for him and he revelled in the fatherly concern that the hired man showed him. Lawrence Firethorn moved about in a cloud of ecstasy. Each day, he was convinced, brought him closer to the promised tryst with Lady Rosamund Varley; each performance gave him a fresh opportunity to woo her from the stage. Barnaby Gill’s acid comments on the romance were largely unheard and totally unregarded. Thecompany was grateful to the lady. When Firethorn was in love, everyone stood to gain.
    The punishing round of the book holder’s life gave Nicholas Bracewell less time than he would have wished to pursue his investigation of Will Fowler’s murder, but his resolve did not slacken. After a fortnight, the casual brutality of it all still rattled him. Time after time, he went over the events that had taken place at the Hope and Anchor that night.
    ‘And Redbeard was carrying a bottle in his hand?’
    ‘Yes, Nick,’ said Samuel Ruff.
    ‘You’re sure of that?’
    ‘Completely. When he got close, I could smell the ale on his breath. The man had taken too much and could not hold his drink.’
    ‘Then what happened?’
    Ruff had been through the details a score of times but he