The Princess of Denmark by Edward Marston Page A

Nicholas would never catch them. They are far too clever to put themselves at risk. They stay hidden while someone else spreads the poison on their behalf. The young man who was captured last night was suborned by others.’
    ‘Their names will soon be known, Preben.’
    ‘He’ll not yield them up willingly.’
    ‘Nick says that he’s been taken to Bridewell to be examined,’ she told him. ‘We both know what that means.’
    Preben van Loew swallowed hard. A sensitive man, he recoiled from the idea of pain, even when it was inflicted on others. The young man in custody had broken open the Dutchman’s head with a sharp stone yet he could still feel pity for him. Examination in Bridewell condemned the prisoner to torture. Instruments that could inflict the most unbearable agony were kept there. The very notion made Preben van Loew squirm. He tried to change the subject.
    ‘Do you wish me to see you off, Anne?’ he asked.
    ‘We’re not sailing for another couple of days.’
    ‘Will you want me at the quayside?’
    ‘No, Preben,’ she replied. ‘You are much better off here, carrying on with your work and helping Jan to improve even more. If he or any of the others have letters or gifts they wish me to take to Amsterdam, they only have to ask.’
    ‘I’ll pass that message on to them.’
    ‘Good.’
    ‘It’s a pity that you cannot go on to Denmark as well.’
    ‘Oh, I do not have time enough for that.’
    ‘But you would like to be with Nicholas, would you not?’ he said with a quizzical smile. ‘And you have always enjoyed watching Westfield’s Men – do not deny it.’
    ‘I would never dare to do that. I’ve spent many happy afternoons at the Queen’s Head and hope to spend many more in the future. And yes,’ she added, warming to thethought, ‘I would love to go with them to Denmark. But then – if truth be told – I’d gladly go anywhere with Nick Bracewell.’
     
    On the eve of their departure, Nicholas Bracewell called at the house in Shoreditch to confirm arrangements with Lawrence Firethorn. Once again, he was clasped to Margery’s surging bosom, hugged for a long time then kissed repeatedly.
    ‘Let him go, my love,’ said Firethorn with a chuckle, ‘or you’ll squeeze the life out of him. Above all else, we need Nick on this voyage. He’s the one true sailor among us.’
    ‘Then I charge you to bring him back safely to me,’ she told her husband, releasing the book holder. ‘For I have my needs as well.’
    ‘It’s always a delight to satisfy them, Margery.’ She let out a merry cackle and gave her husband a playful push. ‘Well, Nick,’ he continued, ‘is everything in order?’
    ‘I believe so.’
    ‘Where are our costumes, scenery and properties?’
    ‘Awaiting us at the quayside. I rented space in a warehouse.’
    ‘What of the items we leave behind?’
    ‘Hugh Wegges has stored the costumes in his own home. All else has been stowed with our carpenter in Bankside. It hurt me to tell Nathan Curtis that he would not be sailing with us, but there is no room in the company for someone who does not act.’
    ‘Then why are we taking Barnaby?’
    Margery laughed. ‘Do not be so wicked, Lawrence!’
    ‘Have you spoken to our patron again, Nick?’
    ‘Yes,’ replied Nicholas, ‘I’ve just come from Lord Westfield’s house, as it happens. He and his servants will sail with us tomorrow on the
Cormorant
– and so will his adviser.’
    ‘Adviser?’
    ‘A man named Rolfe Harling. I met him earlier on. It seems that he was responsible for helping to arrange this match. He has been combing Europe for a suitable bride.’
    ‘I found mine right here in England,’ said Firethorn, slipping an affectionate arm around his wife’s plump waist, ‘and she has been the light of my life. But more of that later,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘I have never heard of Rolfe Harling,’ he admitted, turning back to the book holder. ‘Is he part of Lord Westfield’s