The Silent Woman by Edward Marston

heard, he was fairly certain that the axe had been held by a familiar headsman. The unexpected return of an irate husband had the ring of stage-management to him, and he guessed at once who had usurped his role. To tell Edmund Hoode that he had been duped by a colleague as well as being deprived of his carnal rewards would be to sew perpetual enmity between playwright and actor-manager. Nicholas was forced to conceal what he would never condone.
    His distraught companion detected a pattern.
    ‘Disaster is triple-tongued,’ he groaned. ‘This is the third time that it has blown its blast in my ears.’
    ‘You have had ill luck, Edmund, that is all.’
    ‘I have been punished for meddling with devils.’
    ‘You do the lady a disservice.’
    ‘Look back, Nick. You were there on both occasions.’
    ‘Where?’
    ‘At the scene of my calamities.’ Hoode counted them off on his fingers. ‘One, my play
The Merry Devils.
Remember what afflictions
that
brought in its wake, and how I suffered vile torments. Two, my other venture into hell,
The Devil’s Ride Through London
. I paid for that rash mockery as well.Our theatre was all but burnt to the ground. Three, Mistress Jane Diamond. The vintner was not her true husband. She was contracted to Satan himself and set me up to suffer the worst pangs of all. I have been well paid for my folly.’
    ‘It is not so, Edmund.’
    ‘Where is your proof?’
    ‘Let me follow your numbers.’ Nicholas held up his finger. ‘One,
The Merry Devils
was not your play but a work jointly written by you and Ralph Willoughby. He it was who had the kinship with the Devil and who paid for it with his life. You at least survived. Two—’
    But Nicholas got no further with his argument. Lawrence Firethorn came hurtling down the stairs with his sword in his hand and his teeth bared. The book holder abandoned one injured party and rushed to the assistance of a more recent one. Firethorn was berserk.
    ‘What ails you, sir?’ said Nicholas.
    ‘Betrayal! Perfidy! Wickedness.’
    Hoode actually laughed. ‘She turned him down,’ he said.
    ‘The villains have robbed me!’ yelled Firethorn. ‘They took all the money that we strove to earn tonight.’
    ‘How?’ asked Nicholas.
    ‘They got into my chamber while I remained here below. It was only when I checked the contents of my capcase that I discovered the theft.’
    ‘Hold there, Lawrence,’ said Hoode sceptically. ‘Our takings went into your purse and stayed there until you went upstairs. They could not steal money that was not yet placed in your chamber.’
    ‘Do you call me a liar!’
    Firethorn bludgeoned him into silence with a burst ofvituperation then gave an edited version of events. He could never admit that he had been lured away from his room by the wiles of a pretty face, though Nicholas was already certain that that was what had happened. Hearing of the flight of the putative father and daughter, he pressed for detail.
    ‘Has anyone else been robbed?’
    ‘That fellow who paid us for our entertainment.’
    ‘Master Fat-Guts?’ said Hoode.
    ‘They emptied his pockets as well.’
    ‘How do you know?’ wondered Nicholas.
    ‘I met the man on the landing.’
    ‘Did he
tell
you that he had been fleeced?’
    ‘Forget about him, Nick,’ said Firethorn. ‘Our own money is gone. That is our only concern.’
    ‘I fear not.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘There is deeper villainy here. Call the landlord.’
    ‘He cannot chase those two rogues.’
    ‘They may be three in number,’ said Nicholas.
    Hauled from his bed, the landlord was alarmed at the news and identified the obese guest as one William Pocock. Nicholas asked to be taken to the man’s bedchamber, and all four of them went tramping up the staircase. The book holder’s fears were realised. When he saw that Pocock’s room was empty, he guessed that the man had gone off to join his two partners. Evidently, all three had worked cleverly together.
    Lawrence Firethorn was