The Counterfeit Crank Read Online Free PDF Page B

afraid of
anything
.’
    ‘You know where to find us,’ said Nicholas.
    ‘Look for me when you come,’ insisted Elias, ‘and you shall have free drink.’
    ‘And after that, you’ll meet the landlord, Adam Crowmere.’
    The young couple thanked them profusely, then stole away. In their tattered clothing, they were sorry figures. Dorothea was eager to look into the offer of possible employment at the Queen’s Head but Hywel was obviously undecided. They were still discussing the subject when they vanished around the corner.
    Elias sighed. ‘Do you think we’ll ever see them again, Nick?’
    ‘I fear not. My guess is that your money will be spent within the hour.’
    ‘Will not Hywel wish to see a fellow Welshman on the stage?’
    ‘He’s far more interested in eating food than watching plays,’ said Nicholas. ‘Besides, there’s nothing that you can teach him, Owen.’
    ‘What say you?’
    ‘The fellow’s such a fine actor himself.’
    ‘Yes, that falling sickness of his took me in at first. It was every bit as persuasive as the bout that struck down Lawrence in
Caesar’s Fall.
Indeed,’ he added after reflection, ‘in some ways, it was far better.’
    ‘Are you going to say that to Lawrence?’
    Elias laughed. ‘I’d not dare, Nick. I value my life far too much!’
     
    Margery Firethorn loved to watch her husband on the stage but domestic concerns kept her well away from the Queen’s Head. As well as raising two lively children, she had to look after the company’s apprentices and ensure that the ten people who slept under her roof were fed, clothed and cared for with maternal diligence. Even with the help of two servants, she had to work long and taxing hours at their home in Shoreditch. There were, however, compensations and they were not limited to the pleasures of seeing her sons enjoy a happy and healthy boyhood. While she knew her husband’s defects all to well, she never ceased to love him nor did she forget how privileged she was to be married to the most celebrated actor in London. Whenever a new play achieved success, Margery was able to revel in her unique position.
    Returning to the house in Old Street early that evening, Richard Honeydew, the most talented of the apprentices, had enthused about the performance and told Margery how well-received it had been. Modest by nature, he said little about his own role as Portia, wife to Julius Caesar, and instead praised the way that Firethorn had brought the Roman emperor back to life on the boards. Margery knew that the audience would not be the only beneficiaries. When her husband returned home that night, she was waiting in the bedchamber with a glass of Canary wine set out for him. Downing it in one gulp, he plucked at his doublet and gave a throaty chuckle.
    ‘I have imperial longings, my love,’ he said, eyes blazing with desire.
    ‘Then take me like the conqueror you are.’
    ‘You’ll always be my most favoured prize.’
    She held out her arms. ‘And you are mine, great Caesar.’
    Tearing off his clothes, he flung himself onto the bed and pleasured his wife until she moaned with ecstasy. Firethorn was at his most virile. Exhilarated by his triumph at the Queen’s Head, and by the heady celebrations that followed, he was in the perfect mood to show his wife just how much he loved her. Margery responded with urgent sensuality. Neither of them minded that the rhythmical creaking of their bed could be heard by the apprentices in the room above, or, judging by the girlish giggles from next door, by the servants as well. At that moment, they were the only two people alive in the whole world and they could do whatever they pleased.
    ‘You are an angel, Margery,’ said Firethorn, rolling off her at last.
    ‘A fallen angel, perhaps.’
    ‘They are the best kind.’ He kissed her on the lips. ‘What a day we have had!’
    ‘Dick Honeydew told me that you were beyond compare.’
    ‘I always am.’
    ‘Between these sheets, you