pleasure to find new words and postures for so many of our actresses.’ Yes! King and court will be there: you may depend on’t. My Lady Castlemaine, I fancy, would demonstrate she has lost nothing of … Come, no matter! And I think, gentlemen, I can promise you the piece will be well acted. With Mr. Hart as Brutus and Mr. Mohun as Cassius …”
“But the women’s parts, good sir! What o’ the women’s parts?”
“In Julius Caesar —faugh!—the women’s parts are nothing. Yet there may be some small heat in Fop’s corner,” said Mr. Killigrew, and went on combing his wig, “when Mary Knepp appears as Calpurnia and Doll Landis disports herself as Portia. That’s to say, if Mistress Landis is indeed with us when ’tis time to go on.”
“Ay, but … body o’ Pilate, Mr. Killigrew,” roared Bygones, “what’s all this? If arrangement has been made for Mistress Landis to enact Portia, why shouldn’t the lass play?”
“Perhaps no reason. Yet you have heard, beyond doubt, of her attachment to a certain well-born if truculent young captain of dragoons. And also, as I speak to you, she is here.”
“HERE?”
“At this moment,” replied Mr. Killigrew, putting away his comb, “she is abovestairs, in a private room, at dinner with Captain Harker. I don’t meddle in that quarter, thank’ee. I have no wish to lose more of my company, but I don’t meddle. The man who crosses Pembroke Harker is guilty of a great act of folly. Take warning, gentlemen! The man who dares even ruffle the feelings of Pembroke Harker—”
Bygones Abraham set down his tankard with a thump.
* Simon Wadloe, proprietor of the Devil in the very early seventeenth century.
VI
“E AT?” SAID THE WOMAN’S voice. “But I can’t eat, Pem! I vow I have no hunger at all.”
It was only two minutes since Kinsmere and Bygones Abraham, after receiving directions from a tapster, had crept quietly up the rear stairs at the Devil. Here they found themselves in a darkish cross passage, with a line of closed doors, which ran left and right along the back of the house.
Following the direction of Bygones’s stabbing finger, they turned left into this passage. They moved on tiptoe over creaky boards, holding up their sword belts against clinking, with more doors now on their right. There was no other noise except a muffled clatter of activity from below.
“Sh-h!” hissed Bygones, making a hideous face in near-darkness.
“Very well; I’ll sh-h. Where are we?”
“The back windows of these rooms,” and Bygones gestured, “look out on an alley that runs in east from Chancery Lane. Beyond that alley is the back garden o’ Serjeants’ Inn. Sh-h!”
“As you like; I’m whispering. What do we do now?”
“You heard what the tapster said?”
“Yes, but …”
“Harker and his Dulcinea, so called, are in the Cupid Room. That’s the last room down the passage. Next door is Hebe, which has been vacant all morning, and that’s our vantage point. What do we do, hey?”
“Yes?”
“We spy on ’em, that’s what! Private rooms were created by God to be spied upon, else they’d not be private rooms, which is the first rule of diplomacy. Ontry noo, there’s devilish few of ’em without a knothole in the wall. Oh, ecod! Is anything amiss with you?”
“Friend Bygones, ought we to do this? If those two are only disporting themselves …”
“Disporting ’emselves?” jeered the other, all but strangling with the violence of his own whisper. “At midday, d’ye think? At midday, or not an hour past it, and in a tavern given over to men at meat and drink and carouse?
“No, no, no! There’s other times and places if they’d a mind to dalliance. It’s in my mind, right or wrong, they’re here for discourse sake; and to hear that discourse may be very much to our purpose. Stop! Sh-h! Here’s the Hebe Room. Be silent; walk warily; pray for luck!”
Gently he lifted the latch and pushed open the door.
The room into
“But the women’s parts, good sir! What o’ the women’s parts?”
“In Julius Caesar —faugh!—the women’s parts are nothing. Yet there may be some small heat in Fop’s corner,” said Mr. Killigrew, and went on combing his wig, “when Mary Knepp appears as Calpurnia and Doll Landis disports herself as Portia. That’s to say, if Mistress Landis is indeed with us when ’tis time to go on.”
“Ay, but … body o’ Pilate, Mr. Killigrew,” roared Bygones, “what’s all this? If arrangement has been made for Mistress Landis to enact Portia, why shouldn’t the lass play?”
“Perhaps no reason. Yet you have heard, beyond doubt, of her attachment to a certain well-born if truculent young captain of dragoons. And also, as I speak to you, she is here.”
“HERE?”
“At this moment,” replied Mr. Killigrew, putting away his comb, “she is abovestairs, in a private room, at dinner with Captain Harker. I don’t meddle in that quarter, thank’ee. I have no wish to lose more of my company, but I don’t meddle. The man who crosses Pembroke Harker is guilty of a great act of folly. Take warning, gentlemen! The man who dares even ruffle the feelings of Pembroke Harker—”
Bygones Abraham set down his tankard with a thump.
* Simon Wadloe, proprietor of the Devil in the very early seventeenth century.
VI
“E AT?” SAID THE WOMAN’S voice. “But I can’t eat, Pem! I vow I have no hunger at all.”
It was only two minutes since Kinsmere and Bygones Abraham, after receiving directions from a tapster, had crept quietly up the rear stairs at the Devil. Here they found themselves in a darkish cross passage, with a line of closed doors, which ran left and right along the back of the house.
Following the direction of Bygones’s stabbing finger, they turned left into this passage. They moved on tiptoe over creaky boards, holding up their sword belts against clinking, with more doors now on their right. There was no other noise except a muffled clatter of activity from below.
“Sh-h!” hissed Bygones, making a hideous face in near-darkness.
“Very well; I’ll sh-h. Where are we?”
“The back windows of these rooms,” and Bygones gestured, “look out on an alley that runs in east from Chancery Lane. Beyond that alley is the back garden o’ Serjeants’ Inn. Sh-h!”
“As you like; I’m whispering. What do we do now?”
“You heard what the tapster said?”
“Yes, but …”
“Harker and his Dulcinea, so called, are in the Cupid Room. That’s the last room down the passage. Next door is Hebe, which has been vacant all morning, and that’s our vantage point. What do we do, hey?”
“Yes?”
“We spy on ’em, that’s what! Private rooms were created by God to be spied upon, else they’d not be private rooms, which is the first rule of diplomacy. Ontry noo, there’s devilish few of ’em without a knothole in the wall. Oh, ecod! Is anything amiss with you?”
“Friend Bygones, ought we to do this? If those two are only disporting themselves …”
“Disporting ’emselves?” jeered the other, all but strangling with the violence of his own whisper. “At midday, d’ye think? At midday, or not an hour past it, and in a tavern given over to men at meat and drink and carouse?
“No, no, no! There’s other times and places if they’d a mind to dalliance. It’s in my mind, right or wrong, they’re here for discourse sake; and to hear that discourse may be very much to our purpose. Stop! Sh-h! Here’s the Hebe Room. Be silent; walk warily; pray for luck!”
Gently he lifted the latch and pushed open the door.
The room into
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