‘Snuff?’
Thomas Acorn glanced at the ornate gold snuffbox that was offered to him. The precious jewels encrusted on the lid twinkled in the candlelight. ‘No thank you, Mr Bowser. It is not a habit I am partial to.’
Lazarus Bowser looked surprised. ‘This dry snuff is freshly grated from the very best Virginia tobacco.’ He tapped the side of the snuffbox before dipping with practised ease his knarled thumb and index finger into the box. ‘’Tis from my own tobacco supply, which comes through Whitehaven and I have made up by Joseph Wilson of Sharrow Mills in Sheffield.’ Bowser raised the snuff to each nostril in turn and inhaled deeply.
Acorn turned away towards the roaring fire. He rubbed his hands together before holding them out in front of him like a man pushing back a crowd. He was seeking the warmth; winter had settled on the town.
‘So I can count on your support, Mr Bowser?’
Behind him, he heard Bowser click the snuffbox shut. ‘I make one condition. That Mr Courtney stays with the company.’
Slowly, Acorn turned from the fire, a smile upon his lips. ‘Of that you can be sure.’
Bowser’s eyes narrowed quizzically. The face was rough, with an unsightly, old scar down the left cheek. His big-boned features betrayed an uncompromising life. The fine, elegant clothes showed that hardships overcome have tangible rewards.
‘Mr Courtney is the finest actor Newcastle has ever seen. He is the brightest star in your firmament, Mr Acorn. Surely he must have entertained thoughts of gracing the London stage?’
‘Tyler Courtney and I have known each other for many years. Indeed, we have acted together since we were young men. My intimate knowledge of him and his past convinces me that he will remain loyal.’
Bowser took particular note of the reference to Courtney’s “past”, but decided not to press the point. ‘Very well. I am assured. You can depend on my support.’
Acorn smiled. ‘A glass of claret to toast our partnership?’ Bowser nodded. ‘I believe it is your own.’
‘Despite this accursed war, I still have my contacts. I can no longer ship it straight from Bordeaux, but I get it here all the same. At a cost, though.’
Acorn handed Bowser a glass. ‘I will not pry into your methods, sir. I will just enjoy the results of your dedication.’ He raised his glass. ‘To the prosperity of the Theatre in the Bigg Market. I promise you a season that the good citizens of Newcastle will never forget!’
The commotion was behind them. Out in the street, there was the usual late-night hubbub. Loud, coarse singing came drifting through the air from a tavern a few doors down. A group of drunken young men dressed like clerks staggered noisily past them. In the close opposite, a whore was angrily negotiating a fee for services already rendered. The shouting became clearer and Digges grabbed the young man’s arm and swiftly ushered him forward. A hundred yards beyond the tavern, Digges pushed him into a dark alleyway. Hurriedly, they mounted a steep flight of stone steps and then rushed along another narrow, foul-smelling passageway between the grim, tall buildings. The young man tripped over a body. Digges caught him as a drunken oath sent them on their way.
By the time they came to a halt in front of a small wooden door, both were out of breath. All was quiet around them. Digges opened the door and ducked in. The young man lowered his head and followed. The hall was dingy, the only illumination a spluttering candle in the corner.
Digges put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. ‘Jack, you lie low here for a few hours. Then I will get you away from Edinburgh before first light. Now I must go back and see what harm has been done.’
The door closed. Digges was gone. Jack Flyford stood alone and wondered how the hell he had got into such a mess.
Acorn refilled Bowser’s glass. The merchant was sitting in a high-backed chair close to the crackling fire. Acorn replenished his own glass before resuming his seat on the other side of the hearth.
After a few moments contemplating his claret, Bowser looked up. ‘Is Thirsk a serious threat?’ In his attempts to lose his thick local accent, he now spoke in a strange, strangulated halfway house – part Tyneside, part courtly English.
‘Not now that you have added your considerable influence to our cause.’ Acorn crossed his legs, the easy movements of one who has learned the craft of acting. ‘Mr Crichton Thirsk is a man of determination and he has his adherents in the town. Your friend Mr Carr is one.’ Bowser gave an anguished snort. ‘I know that he is attempting to set up a rival theatre, in the Moot Hall I believe. It will not succeed. Once it is known abroad that Mr Lazarus Bowser is behind our theatre, Thirsk’s support will melt away like snow in spring.’
Bowser could not help but smile at the compliment. Though brusque and unflinching in his business dealings, his relatively new elevation in Newcastle society made him susceptible to a silver tongue that confirmed his own feelings of self-importance. Acorn pressed home his advantage.
‘Thirsk requires two things to succeed. One, a ready-made theatre. As a result of your good offices, he will not be able to move us from the Bigg Market because we now have the monies to meet our debts and pay our bills of fare in the future. The second is an outstanding actor that the people of Newcastle will flock to see. Thirsk has no Tyler Courtney. I have.’ Acorn’s thin mouth widened into a grin and he nodded to his guest. ‘Or should I say, we have. Your investment is safe, sir.’
‘My money and your actor. ’Tis good fortune that has brought us together, Mr Acorn.’ Bowser drained his glass and belched. His alehouse manners did not appeal to Acorn, but he was ready to put up with anything to protect his theatre. Bowser rose from his chair and put the glass firmly on the table. ‘I must be gone for I still have business to attend to.’
‘At this late hour?’ Acorn asked in surprise as he also got to his feet.
‘In the world of commerce, no man can stand still. For if he does, he finds another in his place.’ He picked up his large cocked hat from the table and made his way towards the door. As though a thought had suddenly struck him, Bowser turned. ‘I hear there was some trouble at the theatre this morning.’
Acorn stopped and looked hard at the merchant. ‘You are exceedingly well informed, sir.’
‘When I become involved in a matter that concerns my money, I like to know what is afoot.’
‘I had to dismiss one of my players. For some time, I have been concerned that intelligence of my plans was reaching the ear of Mr Thirsk. My suspicions began to rest upon Mr Winkle, who has but recently joined the company from Chester. I had him followed. Last night he met up with Thirsk in the upstairs room of The Eagle.’
‘No man can serve two masters,’ observed Bowser.
‘Now he has but one. Fortunately, he is of no great loss, for his talent was limited and his mannerisms too showy for the minor parts he played.’
Bowser perched his hat on his bewigged head and patted it into place, dislodging a little flurry of white powder in the process. ‘So another actor is required.’
‘Actors are as plentiful as fish in the Tyne, Mr Bowser. Have no fear, it will not take us long to catch ourselves a replacement.’
It was still dark, though it wouldn’t be long before the wintry, early-morning light broke through. And it was cold as only Edinburgh can be cold. The wind cut through the gaps it could find in the packed jumble of high, stark stone buildings, and each time the two men turned a corner, they caught the vicious blasts. Up the bank from Cowgate then down past the brooding pile of St. Giles’ Cathedral. Not far ahead of them, they could see lights moving and hear the impatient neighing of horses. There was activity round the inn doorway. Two men came out and hoisted a large chest onto the top of the coach. A gentleman in a closely wrapped cloak supervised the operation.
Only when they were near the coach did Digges stop. He glanced around uneasily before he spoke. ‘You have got the letter of introduction?’ Jack Flyford reassuringly tapped the bag he was clutching. ‘Good.’
Digges then fished about in his pocket and produced a handful of coins and pressed them into Jack’s hand. ‘This will keep the wolf from the door awhile. I have already paid for the coach.’ As an afterthought: ‘Inside, of course.’
Jack felt a lump in his throat. Digges was so good to him. All he could mutter was an inadequate, ‘Thank you.’
Digges’ handsome faced creased into a smile. It was a smile that never failed to charm. ‘Edinburgh is not a safe place for you, my dear Jack. However, when this unpleasantness has blown over, I will send for you. That I promise.’
A harsh voice behind them shouted, ‘Step aboard.’
West Digges and Jack Flyford hurriedly shook hands. Digges melted into the darkness. Jack disappeared inside the coach.