Read Online The Counterfeit Crank by Edward Marston - Free Book Online
Authors: Edward Marston
Ads: Link
the Queen’s Head in excellent hands.’
Leonard nodded sadly. ‘There’ll be tears when he goes back to Rochester.’
Nicholas was glad to have his own impression confirmed. Adam Crowmere had not merely made the inn more congenial to those who visited it. He put new spirit into those employed there so that even someone like Leonard,who did menial chores, felt the benefit of his arrival. The Queen’s Head was a different place under Crowmere.
‘It grieves me that Edmund is not here to witness the transformation,’ said Nicholas. ‘He was struck down at the very moment when your landlord took his leave.’
‘We are all praying that our master is away for a very long time.’
‘Westfield’s Men will join you in those prayers.’
He waved farewell to Leonard and headed for the taproom. The place was full and the atmosphere boisterous, but Nicholas was surprised to see that a number of people were missing. There was no sign of Owen Elias or Frank Quilter, and some of the hired men who invariably congregated there of an evening had somehow vanished as well, Nathan Curtis among them. Given the improvements under the new landlord, it seemed strange that so many of Westfield’s Men had chosen to leave. Nicholas crossed to a table where Lawrence Firethorn and Barnaby Gill were sitting.
‘Well, Nick,’ said Firethorn. ‘How is he?’
‘As weary as before,’ replied Nicholas, taking the empty chair. ‘Edmund has no fever, no pain and no evident sickness. Yet he is so listless that he needs help to walk across the room. Doctor Zander is perplexed beyond measure.’
‘So are we,’ said Gill, gloomily. ‘A new comedy was promised to us.’
‘Yes,’ said Firethorn, ruffling his beard. ‘That’s our other concern. Edmund was contracted to deliver it within ten days.’
‘Then you must release him from the contract,’ advised Nicholas. ‘There is no way that he’ll be able to fulfil its terms. Edmund is not even able to
read
a play, let alone write one. You’ll have to wait.’
Gill was tetchy. ‘I cannot bear to wait,’ he said, ‘nor can my host of admirers. They have not seen me in a new comedy for months. Instead of creating fresh wonders to dazzle them, I am forced to rescue dark tragedies like
Caesar’s Fall
from the boredom into which they would otherwise sink.’
‘There’s nothing boring about my Julius Caesar,’ boomed Firethorn, striking his barrel chest with a palm. ‘Distraction only sets in when the soothsayer is onstage.’
‘Yes, Lawrence. I distract the audience from the misery, carnage and tedium that you inflict upon them. Tragedy needs the saving grace of a clown.’
‘Then it’s a pity we do not have one worthy of the title.’
Gill was outraged. ‘That’s unforgivable!’
‘And quite unjust,’ said Nicholas, bringing the exchange to an end before the insults really began to flow. ‘Everyone knows that in Barnaby we have the finest clown in London. Since we also have the greatest actor, the company will always outshine its rivals. Together – and only together – you help to make us what we are.’
‘Only if I am given the opportunity to shine in a comedy,’ said Gill.
Firethorn flicked a hand. ‘Comedy, tragedy or history,’ he said, airily. ‘Give me any of them you wish and I’ll turn it to gold with my Midas touch.’
‘Midas touch! Your touch is like a leper’s handshake.’
‘You are the one whose performances are always diseased, Barnaby.’
‘Need we bicker so?’ asked Nicholas, looking from one to the other. ‘We’ll not solve our problem by calling each other names. Edmund must be allowed to rest. If we want a new play, we must look elsewhere.’
‘Only Edmund can show me at my best,’ said Gill, haughtily. ‘Is there not someone else we can employ to finish the piece while the author languishes in bed? Lucius Kindell, perhaps?’
Firethorn shook his head. ‘He’d not be equal to the task.’
‘He and Edmund have worked
Leonard nodded sadly. ‘There’ll be tears when he goes back to Rochester.’
Nicholas was glad to have his own impression confirmed. Adam Crowmere had not merely made the inn more congenial to those who visited it. He put new spirit into those employed there so that even someone like Leonard,who did menial chores, felt the benefit of his arrival. The Queen’s Head was a different place under Crowmere.
‘It grieves me that Edmund is not here to witness the transformation,’ said Nicholas. ‘He was struck down at the very moment when your landlord took his leave.’
‘We are all praying that our master is away for a very long time.’
‘Westfield’s Men will join you in those prayers.’
He waved farewell to Leonard and headed for the taproom. The place was full and the atmosphere boisterous, but Nicholas was surprised to see that a number of people were missing. There was no sign of Owen Elias or Frank Quilter, and some of the hired men who invariably congregated there of an evening had somehow vanished as well, Nathan Curtis among them. Given the improvements under the new landlord, it seemed strange that so many of Westfield’s Men had chosen to leave. Nicholas crossed to a table where Lawrence Firethorn and Barnaby Gill were sitting.
‘Well, Nick,’ said Firethorn. ‘How is he?’
‘As weary as before,’ replied Nicholas, taking the empty chair. ‘Edmund has no fever, no pain and no evident sickness. Yet he is so listless that he needs help to walk across the room. Doctor Zander is perplexed beyond measure.’
‘So are we,’ said Gill, gloomily. ‘A new comedy was promised to us.’
‘Yes,’ said Firethorn, ruffling his beard. ‘That’s our other concern. Edmund was contracted to deliver it within ten days.’
‘Then you must release him from the contract,’ advised Nicholas. ‘There is no way that he’ll be able to fulfil its terms. Edmund is not even able to
read
a play, let alone write one. You’ll have to wait.’
Gill was tetchy. ‘I cannot bear to wait,’ he said, ‘nor can my host of admirers. They have not seen me in a new comedy for months. Instead of creating fresh wonders to dazzle them, I am forced to rescue dark tragedies like
Caesar’s Fall
from the boredom into which they would otherwise sink.’
‘There’s nothing boring about my Julius Caesar,’ boomed Firethorn, striking his barrel chest with a palm. ‘Distraction only sets in when the soothsayer is onstage.’
‘Yes, Lawrence. I distract the audience from the misery, carnage and tedium that you inflict upon them. Tragedy needs the saving grace of a clown.’
‘Then it’s a pity we do not have one worthy of the title.’
Gill was outraged. ‘That’s unforgivable!’
‘And quite unjust,’ said Nicholas, bringing the exchange to an end before the insults really began to flow. ‘Everyone knows that in Barnaby we have the finest clown in London. Since we also have the greatest actor, the company will always outshine its rivals. Together – and only together – you help to make us what we are.’
‘Only if I am given the opportunity to shine in a comedy,’ said Gill.
Firethorn flicked a hand. ‘Comedy, tragedy or history,’ he said, airily. ‘Give me any of them you wish and I’ll turn it to gold with my Midas touch.’
‘Midas touch! Your touch is like a leper’s handshake.’
‘You are the one whose performances are always diseased, Barnaby.’
‘Need we bicker so?’ asked Nicholas, looking from one to the other. ‘We’ll not solve our problem by calling each other names. Edmund must be allowed to rest. If we want a new play, we must look elsewhere.’
‘Only Edmund can show me at my best,’ said Gill, haughtily. ‘Is there not someone else we can employ to finish the piece while the author languishes in bed? Lucius Kindell, perhaps?’
Firethorn shook his head. ‘He’d not be equal to the task.’
‘He and Edmund have worked
Similar Books
