An Ensuing Evil and Others by Peter Tremayne Read Free Book Online Page A

Master Drew. “Marry! But that is an odd thing to say. Are you sure he said it was his life in danger, not the life of Master Zenobia? He did not mean this in the manner of a threat?”
    “I have an ear for dialogue, good master,” rebuked the man. “The youth soon betook himself off. It happened that Master Zenobia was on stage, approving the costumes for his drama, and so I warned him to beware of the young man and his outrageous claims.”
    “What did he say?”
    “He just replied that he would have a care and soon after departed.”
    “Is he here today?”
    “No. He told me he would be unable to see the first performance of the play this afternoon but would come straightway to the theater after the matinee.”
    “A curious attitude for an aspiring playwright,” observed Master Drew. “Most of them would want to be witnesses to the first performance of their work.”
    “Indeed, they would. It seems odd that Master Zenobia only calls at our poor theater outside the hours of our performances.”
    Constable Drew thanked the man and turned out of the theater to walk back to the river. Instead of spending another halfpenny to cross, he decided to walk the short distance to the spanning wooden piles of London Bridge and walk across the busy thoroughfare with its sprawling lopsided constructions balanced precariously upon it. Master Drew knew the watch on the bridge and spent a pleasant half an hour with the man, for it was midday, and a pint of ale and pork pie at one of the grog shops crowded on the bridge was a needed diversion from the toil of the day. He bade farewell to the watch and came off the bridge at the south bank turning west toward Clink Street.
    The Groaning Cardinal Tavern was not an auspicious-looking inn. Its sign depicted a popish cardinal being burnt at the stake. It reminded Constable Drew, with a shudder, that only the previous year some heretics had been burnt at the stake in England. Fears of Catholic plots still abounded. Henry, the late Prince of Wales, had refused to marry a Catholic princess only weeks before his death, and it was rumored abroad by papists that this had been God’s punishment on him. Protestants spoke of witchcraft.
    Master Drew entered the tavern.
    The innkeeper was a giant of a man—tall, broad shouldered, well muscled, and without a shirt but a short, leather, sleeveless jerkin over his hairy torso. He was sweating, and it became evident that he was stacking ale barrels.
    “Bardolph Zenobia, Master Constable?” He threw back his head and laughed. “Someone be telling you lies. Ain’t no Master Zenobia here. He do sound like a foreigner.”
    Constable Drew had come to the realization that the name was probably a theatrical one, for he knew that many in the theater adopted such preposterous designations.
    He repeated the description that Master Page Williams had given him and saw a glint of anxiety creep into the innkeeper’s eyes.
    “What be he done, Master Constable? ‘E ain’t wanted for debt?”
    Master Drew shook his head. “The man may yet settle his score with you. But I need information from this man, whoever he is.”
    The innkeeper sighed deeply. “First floor, front right.”
    “And what name does this thespian reside under?”
    “Master Tom Hawkins.”
    “That sounds more reasonable than Master Zenobia,” observed the constable.
    “Them players are all the same, with high-sounding titles and names,” agreed the innkeeper. “Few of them can match their name to a farthing. But Master Hawkins is different. He has been a steady guest here these last five years.”
    “He has his own recognizances?”
    The man stared at him bewildered.
    “I mean, does he have financial means other than the theater?”
    “He do pay his bills, that’s all I do say, master,” the innkeeper replied.
    “But he is a player?”
    “One of the King’s Men.”
    Master Drew was surprised. “At the Globe Theatre?”
    “He is one of Master Burbage’s players,”