London - Edward Rutherfurd [335]
The concept was simple. The new indoor theatre would seat less than half what the outdoor amphitheatres could hold, but the audience would be select. Instead of a penny, the lowest cost of entry would be a stiff sixpence. No rowdy apprentices or garlic-breaths could afford that. “Even the whores will have to be of the best sort,” Edmund remarked with a grin. But the risk had been large. The lease and refurbishments had come to a staggering six hundred pounds. Additional help with the financing had been sought.
William Bull had been flattered when his fashionable young cousin had approached him. “It’s an opportunity,” Edmund had explained. “I know the Burbages and they’ve let me in on it. I can put something in for you too, if you like.” The brewery was prosperous but dull. Anyway, his brothers never seemed to let him do much. This venture sounded exciting. So William had lent his cousin fifty pounds which, together with five of his own, had enabled Edmund Meredith to cut a very fine figure indeed when he lent it all, in his own name, to the Burbages. And as proof of how well things were going, soon after this, Edmund had proudly told him that he himself had just been commissioned to write a play for the new theatre when it opened, which had made William doubly proud.
Now, however, Bull had started to become a little nervous. Old Burbage had died that winter, but since his two sons, already seasoned in the business, were carrying on as normal, he was not too worried about that. But then there had come another rumour, of objections to the new theatre from some of the residents of Blackfriars, led by alderman Ducket. They were even petitioning to stop it opening. He had heard that the alderman condemned all the theatres as encouraging disorder and Godlessness and that he was threatening to shut them down. The playhouses had a reputation for rowdiness, and Bull supposed the inhabitants of this quiet and select enclave might object to such an intrusion into their midst. Was it true, he now hesitantly enquired?
“Good heavens, yes.” Meredith could hardly have looked more cheerful.
“You are not concerned?”
“Not at all,” Meredith even laughed. “It doesn’t mean a thing. Some of the people here didn’t realize what sort of plays, and audience, we shall have here. And how could they? This,” he indicated the handsome hall, “has never been done before. Once they realize there’ll be no common or poor folk coming here, the whole thing will blow over.”
“It will go ahead then?”
“We shall be open before this year is out.”
“So,” Bull gave a sigh of relief. “I’ll get my money back.”
Edmund smiled superbly. “Of course.”
No one in the Chamberlain’s company, by that summer, was happier than young Jane Fleming. For it had seemed to her, in recent weeks, that Meredith loved her.
His play was done. She thought by now she must know every line. As Edmund approached the end, his excitement had mounted. How proudly he had read her his favourite lines, or asked her: “Is it all right?” And she had always said: “It’s wonderful.” Certainly, his wit was sparkling.
Once, as she had tried to think of the play as a whole, she had timidly asked: “What exactly is it all about?” But he had started to grow angry, and she had never asked again.
Why should she do anything to spoil the sense of triumph which kept him so attentive to her? Even when he was with his fashionable friends, he hardly ever ignored her.
There was another reason why she felt happy. High summer was approaching. Already, Jane and her parents had been carefully preparing the costumes to be loaded into the wagon. Though she knew it meant she would not see Edmund for a while, she was still excited.
It was on a pleasant July afternoon, as she and Edmund strolled down the lane from Shoreditch that they encountered Alderman Jacob Ducket.
Even on this summer day, he was dressed in black, his white ruff, his silver and diamond-pommelled sword and the silver flash in his hair providing the restrained decoration appropriate to his wealth and stern authority.