London - Edward Rutherfurd [346]
Heads began to pop out of windows. There were cries. Doors opened. Pulling coats round them, neighbours began to emerge – to be met, smiling and even courteous, by Edmund Meredith, who assured them, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, that the noise would soon be over. When asked what the workmen were doing he blankly replied: “Why – dismantling the Theatre. We are taking it away.”
And that is exactly what they did. In an exploit unique in theatrical history, the Burbages took their playhouse apart, timber by timber, and removed it to build another one.
The sun was already well up before Alderman Ducket pushed through the crowd of spectators. His face was white with fury. He demanded to know what was going on.
“We are just taking our playhouse away,” Edmund told him sweetly.
“You can’t touch it! This theatre belongs to Giles Allen and your lease is finished.”
But Meredith only smiled more sweetly still. “The ground belongs to Allen certainly,” he agreed, “but the playhouse itself was built by the Burbages. It belongs to them, therefore, every timber.” This was the flaw he had so cleverly spotted in the lease.
“He’ll take you to court,” Ducket protested.
“I agree,” Edmund said cheerfully. “But we think we shall win.”
“Where the devil is Allen now?” Ducket demanded.
“I do not know,” Edmund shrugged. In fact, he knew very well that the merchant and his family had left to visit friends in the West Country two days before.
“I’ll soon put a stop to this,” Ducket fumed.
“Indeed?” Edmund seemed interested. “On what authority, though?”
“As an alderman of London!” Ducket shouted.
“But, sir,” Edmund gestured around, “surely you forget. This is Shoreditch. We are not in London.” He bowed politely. “You have no authority here.” It was, he often thought afterwards, one of the happiest moments of his life.
By midday, half of the upper gallery had been taken down and the stage had been loaded into carts. Ducket had returned with some workmen to stop them and Meredith had forced them to retire by threatening to charge them with causing an affray and disturbing the king’s peace. By dusk they were starting on the lower gallery and no one was bothering to molest them. As a precaution, however, the men took turns posting a watch by the entrance all night, while Cuthbert Carpenter gleefully kept a small bonfire going in the pit so that they could warm themselves.
By New Year’s Day, the Theatre at Shoreditch had gone.
The operation was not only daring; it was also necessary. Even without the financial problems caused by the Blackfriars failure, the would-be theatre builder faced one huge problem: the price of wood. It was not surprising. In less than a century London’s population had quadrupled and the demand for timber was huge. Above all, the mighty timber of the slow-growing oak, which was needed for a structure to support a boisterous crowd, was at a tremendous premium. The handsome oak-timbered buildings of the Elizabethans were a tribute to their wealth. The huge load of oak that the Burbages now carted away from Shoreditch was worth a fortune.
The site selected by the Burbages for the new theatre was excellent. Occupying a piece of open ground on Bankside, it was in the Liberty of the Clink, but was set apart from the nearby brothels. It enjoyed easy access to the river so that respectable citizens could arrive by barge at the river steps without encountering anything that would offend them. But though the negotiations with the owner of the land were almost complete, the contract was still not signed. It would be necessary to store the timber somewhere for a week or two. There was also one other little difficulty to be avoided.
However angry he might be, Alderman Ducket was a cautious man. He had taken careful advice before he set his trap. The document he intended to use as his authority was signed by several aldermen. The twenty men who would take over the carts were discreetly out of sight. Fortune was also clearly on his side, for his spies had discovered that the Burbages