Read Online The Silent Woman by Edward Marston - Free Book Online

Queen’s Head but the fire there had still been sufficiently destructive to merit a ballad on the subject. It was being sung in the taproom by a dishevelled old pedlar with a once-melodious voice that was thickened by drink and cracked by age. Leonard was among the crowd who listened to the ballad.
    ‘The fearful fire began below
    A wonder strange and true
    And to the tiring-house did go
    Where loitered Westfield’s crew
    It burnt down both beam and snag
    And did not spare the silken flag.
    Oh sorrow pitiful sorrow yet all this is true!
    ‘Out run the ladies, out run the lords
    And there was great ado
    Some lost their hats and some their swords
    Then out runs Firethorn too
    The Queen’s Head, sirs, was blazing away
    Till our brave book holder had his say
    Oh courage wonderful courage yet all this is true!’
    Five verses were allotted to a description of how Nicholas Bracewell had helped to prevent the fire from spreading across the roof. The pedlar had not witnessed the event but he had picked up enough details from those who had to be able to compose his ballad with confidence. Using the licence of his trade, he embellished the facts wildly but nobody complained except Alexander Marwood. The landlord sang a woeful descant until he was cowed into silence by the reproach of the final verse.
    ‘Be warned now you stage strutters all
    Lest you again be catched
    And such a burning do befall
    As to them whose house is thatched
    Forbear your whoring breeding biles
    And lay up that expense for tiles
    Oh sorrow pitiful sorrow and yet all this is true.’
    Leonard clapped his huge palms together to lead the applause then lumbered forward to buy one of the copies of the ballad. Though he could not read, he stared at it in utter fascination and let out a rumbling laugh.
    ‘I’ll give this to Master Bracewell himself,’ he said proudly. ‘It will send him on his way in good humour.’
    ‘Where does he travel?’ asked a neighbour.
    ‘With Westfield’s Men, sir. Our yard is so damaged that they have no theatre and needs must make shift. They are forced to go on tour.’ Leonard enjoyed being the holder of privileged information from his friend. ‘The company makes for Oxford and Marlborough, I hear, but they will lose their book holder at Bristol.’
    ‘Why so?’
    ‘Because he must go on to Barnstaple.’
    The other man blenched. ‘Barnstaple?’ he exclaimed, his West Country accent breaking through his London vowels.
    ‘He has been called back home. And your voice tells me that you may be from those parts yourself.’ The gravity of his news made Leonard speak in a respectful whisper. ‘We have had strange portents. A message was sent to him but the messenger was poisoned here in this taproom.’
    ‘How then was it delivered?’ asked the man.
    ‘The murder was message enough for Master Bracewell. He knows that he is needed in Barnstaple and he will be there when time and Westfield’s Men allow him.’
    The listener stroked his raven-black beard and cursed himself for not killing his victim more promptly with the thrust of a dagger. The poison had only done its worst after the messenger had reached the intended recipient. Hired for his ruthless proficiency, the man had for once failed, anddangerous loose ends now trailed from his botched work. Those loose ends would have to be severed before he could collect his reward. He turned back to Leonard, who was still perusing the ballad with a childlike delight.
    ‘When do Westfield’s Men leave London?’ said the man.
    ‘At noon, sir.’
    ‘From the Queen’s Head?’
    ‘No,’ said Leonard, ‘they would not show themselves here while our landlord still burns so brightly about their fire. I’ll be taking this ballad to the Bel Savage Inn on Ludgate Hill. That is where they set forth upon their adventure.’
    ‘What manner of man is this Nicholas Bracewell?’
    ‘A hero, sir.’ He waved the ballad. ‘Here’s warranty.’
    ‘How would you pick him out from