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Authors: Edward Marston
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my mind. But you are right, Nick,’ he went on, exuding penitence. ‘My comment was cruel and unfair. I offer Barnaby a sincere apology.’
Gill was not appeased. ‘Then I throw it back in your teeth.’
‘If only I had some!’
Mussett bared his few remaining fangs and raised another laugh. Firethorn brought the brief exchange to an end by drawing Gill into conversation about their mutual triumphs during former tours of the provinces. It was a successful distraction. Gill slowly mellowed. Nicholas, meanwhile, repeated his warning to Mussett to avoid any more clashes with the man he had been hired to replace. The rest of the evening passed without any further outbursts. One by one, the actors drifted off to bed. Mussett was among the first to leave and Nicholas was struck by the way that he ignored a parting jibe fromGill. Time rolled on until a mere handful of them still lingered in the taproom. Deputed to stay close to Gill, the exhausted Dart could barely keep his eyes open. He was grateful when his charge finally struggled from his seat with the aid of a wooden crutch.
‘Let me help you upstairs, Master Gill,’ volunteered Dart.
‘First, take me outside, George.’
‘Willingly.’
‘Let me rest on your shoulder.’
Steadying himself on the crutch and the shoulder, Gill hopped across the floor on one foot with painful slowness, wincing as he did so but bearing the discomfort bravely. Dart was a patient assistant who escorted him all the way to the privy in the yard.
‘Thank you, George,’ said Gill, opening the door.
‘Am I to wait?’
‘No, take yourself off to bed. I can manage alone.’
Dart withdrew gratefully and Gill closed the door of the privy behind him before loosening his breeches. It was no easy task when he could only stand on one leg. He began to regret the amount of drink that he had taken. It made him light-headed. Still in pain, he refused to let his disability get the better of him. It took an age for him to lower himself gingerly onto the seat. He soon lapsed into a reverie. So preoccupied was he with thoughts of wreaking his revenge on his rival that he did not hear the stealthy feet that approached outside nor even the gentle scraping noise against the timber. Five minutes later, he was readyto leave and begin the laborious climb up to his room. But there was an obstacle to overcome first. When he tried the door, it would not open and, no matter how hard he pushed against it, he could not budge it. Gill was enraged. He was trapped in a foul-smelling prison. He seethed, he shouted, he banged on the door with his crutch but nobody came to his rescue because he was out of earshot. While the rest of the company bedded down happily for the night, Gill was shut away in the Stygian gloom of the privy.
It was an hour before someone finally let him out by removing the stake that had been jammed against the door. Gasping for air, Gill hopped out into the yard on his sound foot and made a solemn vow.
‘As God’s my witness, I’ll
kill
Mussett for this!’
Nicholas Bracewell’s hopes of a swift departure after breakfast next morning were soon dashed. The actors were roused from their slumber, the wagons loaded and the horses harnessed. All ate heartily until the sorry figure of Barnaby Gill came in with the aid of his crutch. Everyone had heard of his plight in the privy and the sniggers were loud. Respected for his talent, the clown was never liked by the majority of the company because he was too vain and disdainful to mix freely with them. In the short time he had been with them, they found Giddy Mussett a much more pleasant companion. When Gill saw his rival, talking to the others with easy familiarity, his wrath was kindled once more.
‘You, sir!’ he challenged. ‘You lousy, beggarly, God-forsaken, flea-ridden cur!’
‘Good morrow, Barnaby!’ said Mussett cheerfully.
‘That was
your
doing, was it not?’
‘What crime am I supposed to have committed
Gill was not appeased. ‘Then I throw it back in your teeth.’
‘If only I had some!’
Mussett bared his few remaining fangs and raised another laugh. Firethorn brought the brief exchange to an end by drawing Gill into conversation about their mutual triumphs during former tours of the provinces. It was a successful distraction. Gill slowly mellowed. Nicholas, meanwhile, repeated his warning to Mussett to avoid any more clashes with the man he had been hired to replace. The rest of the evening passed without any further outbursts. One by one, the actors drifted off to bed. Mussett was among the first to leave and Nicholas was struck by the way that he ignored a parting jibe fromGill. Time rolled on until a mere handful of them still lingered in the taproom. Deputed to stay close to Gill, the exhausted Dart could barely keep his eyes open. He was grateful when his charge finally struggled from his seat with the aid of a wooden crutch.
‘Let me help you upstairs, Master Gill,’ volunteered Dart.
‘First, take me outside, George.’
‘Willingly.’
‘Let me rest on your shoulder.’
Steadying himself on the crutch and the shoulder, Gill hopped across the floor on one foot with painful slowness, wincing as he did so but bearing the discomfort bravely. Dart was a patient assistant who escorted him all the way to the privy in the yard.
‘Thank you, George,’ said Gill, opening the door.
‘Am I to wait?’
‘No, take yourself off to bed. I can manage alone.’
Dart withdrew gratefully and Gill closed the door of the privy behind him before loosening his breeches. It was no easy task when he could only stand on one leg. He began to regret the amount of drink that he had taken. It made him light-headed. Still in pain, he refused to let his disability get the better of him. It took an age for him to lower himself gingerly onto the seat. He soon lapsed into a reverie. So preoccupied was he with thoughts of wreaking his revenge on his rival that he did not hear the stealthy feet that approached outside nor even the gentle scraping noise against the timber. Five minutes later, he was readyto leave and begin the laborious climb up to his room. But there was an obstacle to overcome first. When he tried the door, it would not open and, no matter how hard he pushed against it, he could not budge it. Gill was enraged. He was trapped in a foul-smelling prison. He seethed, he shouted, he banged on the door with his crutch but nobody came to his rescue because he was out of earshot. While the rest of the company bedded down happily for the night, Gill was shut away in the Stygian gloom of the privy.
It was an hour before someone finally let him out by removing the stake that had been jammed against the door. Gasping for air, Gill hopped out into the yard on his sound foot and made a solemn vow.
‘As God’s my witness, I’ll
kill
Mussett for this!’
Nicholas Bracewell’s hopes of a swift departure after breakfast next morning were soon dashed. The actors were roused from their slumber, the wagons loaded and the horses harnessed. All ate heartily until the sorry figure of Barnaby Gill came in with the aid of his crutch. Everyone had heard of his plight in the privy and the sniggers were loud. Respected for his talent, the clown was never liked by the majority of the company because he was too vain and disdainful to mix freely with them. In the short time he had been with them, they found Giddy Mussett a much more pleasant companion. When Gill saw his rival, talking to the others with easy familiarity, his wrath was kindled once more.
‘You, sir!’ he challenged. ‘You lousy, beggarly, God-forsaken, flea-ridden cur!’
‘Good morrow, Barnaby!’ said Mussett cheerfully.
‘That was
your
doing, was it not?’
‘What crime am I supposed to have committed
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