The Nicholas Bracewell Collection by Edward Marston

there was an explosion of boyish laughter from next door where the apprentices shared a room, he banged the wall and roared them to silence. When his wife sent word that breakfast was ready, he frightened the servant away simply by baring his fangs. At length, be began to come around.
    ‘Experienced, you say?’
    ‘Several years with good companies, Leicester’s among them.’
    ‘He can con lines quickly?’
    ‘It was his trademark.’
    ‘Is he quarrelsome?’ demanded Firethorn. ‘Like Will?’
    ‘No, master. He’s a very peaceful citizen.’
    ‘And why does this worthy fellow lack work?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘He must have some defects.’
    ‘None that I could see. Will vouched for him.’
    ‘Where did Ruff play last?’
    ‘With Banbury’s Men,’ said Nicholas.
    ‘Banbury’s Men!’
    Firethorn’s exclamation rang through the whole house. His interest in Samuel Ruff had just come to an end. The Earl of Banbury and Lord Westfield were sworn enemies who lost no opportunity to score off each other. Their respective dramatic companies were major weapons in the feud and they regarded each other with cold hatred. Banbury’s Men had been in the ascendant at first but they had now been displaced by Westfield’s Men. In the shifting world of London theatre, it was Lawrence Firethorn and his company who now held the upper hand and they were not willing to relinquish it.
    ‘Meet him, at least,’ pressed Nicholas.
    ‘He is not the man for us.’
    ‘But he fell foul of Banbury’s Men through no fault of his own. He was forced to leave.’
    ‘I will not employ him, Nick. It’s unthinkable.’
    ‘Then we must cancel the performance as soon as may be.’
    ‘Hold! I will not gallop into this.’
    ‘The others will be shocked by your decision.’
    ‘It has not been made yet.’
    ‘Give Samuel a chance,’ whispered Nicholas. ‘He’s the man for the hour.’
    ‘Not with that pedigree.’
    ‘Do you know why he left Banbury’s Men?’
    ‘I don’t care,’ snapped Firethorn.
    ‘Shall I tell you what his crime was?’
    ‘Forget him.’
    ‘He spoke in praise of you.’
    There was a pause that was just long enough for the first seed of interest to take root. Nicholas carefully watered it with a few details.
    ‘Giles Randolph took exception to what was said.’
    ‘Randolph is an amateur!’
    ‘He’s full of self-love. It’s not enough for him to be the leading actor with the company. They have to fawn and flatter at every turn to suit his taste, and Samuel could not bring himself to do that. They were playing Scipio Africanus .’
    ‘A miserable piece,’ sneered Firethorn. ‘Nothing but stale conceits and dribbling verse. I’d not soil my hands with it.’
    ‘Giles Randolph was playing the hero. He had a scene with Samuel in the role of a tribune. It was—’ Nicholas broke off abruptly and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Ah, well. You’ve no wish to hear all this.’
    ‘Go on, go on.’
    ‘It may just be idle gossip.’
    ‘What happened, Nick?’
    Lawrence Firethorn was keen to know. He and Giles Randolph were deadly rivals, talented artistes who competed with each other every time they walked onto a stage. Anything that was to the detriment of Randolphwould come as welcome news. Curiosity made Firethorn tap his book holder on the chest.
    ‘Come on, sir. They had a scene together.’
    ‘At an important point in the action.’
    ‘Well?’
    Nicholas had worked with actors long enough to learn some of their tricks. He delayed for a few seconds to heighten the tension then he plunged on.
    ‘When Samuel gave of his best, Randolph complained that his performance was too strong. It stole the hero’s thunder.’
    ‘Ha! Some hero! Some thunder!’
    ‘Samuel is a forthright man. He told the truth.’
    ‘That Randolph is a babbling idiot!’
    ‘That a leading actor should lead and not surround himself with poor players who would make him look all the better.’
    ‘And me?’ said Firethorn,