All around was noise. The mindless calls of drunken men and women, the uneven rattle of carts, the shrill oaths of urchins, the splash of slops thrown from upper windows, the loud entreaties of vendors, the pathetic pleas of beggars, the yelps and moans of frightened livestock, the steady thud of marching militiamen, the high-pitched neighs of impatient horses, the bickering of trollops over a potential client, the growls of skinny dogs mooching in the gutters, the screams of circling gulls. A heavy, pressing mass brought out onto the streets after the sudden thaw. Jack buffeted his way through the milling throng down The Side, the steep thoroughfare that knifed its way from the upper town to the bustling riverside. Near the bottom, The Side opened out at Sand Hill, and before him stood the Guildhall, a fine Tudor structure with a central square clock tower giving way to a spire with a now-twirling weathercock atop. Steps ran from either corner of the front to a central archway below the clock. To the right and left were further arches with balustrades. A confident building. A building that reflected the self-assured attitudes of commercial men. Beyond was the reason for their self-belief, optimism and wealth – tall masts, like a leafless forest above the solid quayside wall, swaying to and fro on the river. The Tyne was the town’s lifeblood.
Jack didn’t cross the open space in front of the Guildhall. Instead, he furtively dodged into Katy’s Coffee House, a popular establishment run by the formidable Catherine Jefferson. At that hour in the morning, the aroma-filled, cubicled room was full of talkative businessmen. Ten o’clock, the man had said. Go straight to the back room, knock on the door three times and he would be waiting. Why had he come? Curiosity, he supposed. Was he being disloyal to Bessie? Yes. Well, he had to keep his options open, had he not? The man – he said his name was Winkle – had accosted him outside the theatre after the funeral and had been most insistent. Nothing ventured…
Jack rapped on the door as instructed and entered. The low-ceilinged room was dark. The one small window let in only a little of the morning brightness; the main source of light came from a merrily sparking fire. Beside it stood the only occupant of the room. ‘I was not sure whether you would come,’ he said, taking a long-stemmed pipe from his mouth. His lace sleeve rustled as he did so.
‘I was not sure either.’
‘Please sit, Mr Flyford.’ The voice was strong – a voice that commanded respect. Jack had admired it that first time when he had heard Thirsk challenging Acorn at the theatre on the night of the latter’s death. Jack sat on the settle drawn up in front of the fire. ‘A coffee? Miss Jefferson’s is the finest in the whole of Newcastle.’
‘No, thank you. I do not think I should even be talking with you, let alone sharing a drink.’
Thirsk smiled. ‘Bowser? That was mere wind from the bellows.’
‘That is not the impression I formed. He obviously believes you are responsible for Mr Acorn’s death.’
‘The man has lost his partner. He wants to protect his interests, so what is more convenient than to shift the blame onto the very person who threatens those interests?’ Thirsk drew on his pipe.
‘Surely he has cause. You appear to be the person who is likely to gain most from Acorn’s death. The theatre.’
‘True,’ he conceded with another disarming smile.
‘You had a public disagreement with him shortly before he was murdered.’
‘Yes, he tore a perfectly good coat. Acorn could never stand a little lively competition.’ With a wave of the pipe, he dismissed further discussion of the topic. ‘I have not asked you here so that you can interrogate me. I have a proposal to make to you.’
‘Very well, but I must warn you that I am not inclined to throw my lot in with someone who may have…’ Jack stopped abruptly, trying to find a more delicate way to phrase the accusation.
‘Killed your paymaster,’ Thirsk completed the sentence for him. ‘I can assure you, Mr Flyford, that I am innocent of Acorn’s death.’ Jack was unconvinced, though he saw no point in pressing the matter. He had made his feelings known, and this helped to salve his conscience at being there in the first place.
Thirsk’s thick eyebrows framed a thoughtful frown. ‘As you have already pointed out, I am likely to gain from my rival’s unfortunate demise. I believe I am set to return to the theatre from which Acorn so skilfully ousted me. Mr Carr and his partners at the bank are once again behind me. That includes the mayor, Mr Bell. I count on Sir Walter Blackett’s support, too.’
‘I do not think Mr Bowser will let you have the theatre without a fight.’
‘He will soon lose interest. I think it will prove to be a passing fancy. After all, he has no one to manage it.’
‘Why not Mr Courtney? He would make a fine actor-manager. And he is the actor all the town wants to see. With respect, from what I hear, the players you have currently assembled at the Moot Hall cannot compare to those in the Bigg Market. As long as Bowser has Courtney, I think you will have to wait longer than you anticipate to regain your theatre.’
Thirsk waited patiently for Jack to finish. ‘Bowser does not have Courtney.’
‘Do not tell me that he has come over to your side!’ Jack was shocked at his own suggestion.
‘No. I have already spoken to him and he stated that it was his intention to go to London before Christmastide. His eyes are fixed upon a greater stage than we can offer him here in Newcastle. The wonder is that he has not done so before.’ Jack’s mind flashed back to his conversation with Southby and an uncomfortable thought started to form. ‘That is why,’ Thirsk continued, ‘I have no fears about Bowser. Without Acorn and Courtney, why should he carry on? He will begin to lose money, and that he will not tolerate. From the gossip on the quayside, I hear he has other problems too. One of his London-bound colliers was taken by a French privateer off Flamborough Head. That is the third this year. It will cost him a pretty penny to ransom it back.’
‘So you get back your theatre. Where does that leave the rest of us?’
‘That is why I want to speak to you. I hear that you come from Edinburgh with a considerable reputation.’ That would make Digges laugh, thought Jack. Acorn’s pompous enthusiasm had created that mistaken impression – certainly it was not based on his acting since his arrival. ‘I need someone I can build a strong company of players around. It is you that I have in mind.’ Jack was astonished and flattered. ‘You and Miss Balmore, of course. The two of you would be most excellent together. I have great plans for the opening. Mr Charles Avison has promised to compose a piece for the concert we will give. Have you read his treatise, An Essay on Musical Expression?’
‘No, I seemed to have missed that one.’ The name of the town’s famous composer and St. Nicholas’ Church organist was unknown to Jack.
‘To tell the truth, so have I. Anyway, I think we will perform something very popular and boisterous. Gay’s Beggar’s Opera would be perfect.’ This brought back recent painful memories, but Jack was finding it difficult not to get caught up in Thirsk’s excitement. The ash from his pipe was flying everywhere as he waved his arms around. ‘You could play MacHeath. Can you sing?’ He did not wait for an answer. ‘Miss Balmore would make a most decorous Polly Peacham. We would invite the most important people in the town to see you. Two young, vibrant talents. Antony and Cleopatra, Dido and Aeneas. What a success you will be together!’
This was beginning to sound wonderful. Jack’s mind raced ahead. He saw them upon the stage, acknowledging the cheers of the crowd, smiling at the audience, and adoringly at each other. Afterwards, the plaudits of the leading folk of the town, the invitations to fine entertainments, the balls where they would turn every head, and then the moments when they would be together in one another’s arms – the passion, the…
‘Miss Balmore has not agreed as yet,’ he heard Thirsk say, ‘but when she sees which way the wind blows, I am sure she will.’ This brought Jack’s flights of fancy winging swiftly down to earth. ‘Naturally, if you were the leading man in my theatre, I am sure your friend Mr Garrick would favour us with a visit to see how you were progressing.’
So that was it. His Garrick story must have reached Thirsk’s ears. And Thirsk wanted him to attract Garrick. All the flattery and leading man rubbish was just to smooth the path to his request. Not even Acorn had asked him outright if he could tempt the famous actor north. He could imagine Thirsk rushing off to his backers with the promise that the country’s most famous theatrical talent would perform in humble Newcastle. What a coup for Thirsk! What a moneymaker! What a let down when Garrick failed to appear.
Thirsk saw the doubt in Jack’s face and immediately misinterpreted it. ‘Of course, as my leading man you would be handsomely paid. I will match the sum that Acorn was paying Courtney.’ Still no response. ‘And I am sure Mr Carr and his associates would find you a fine house in which to reside.’
He was just as scheming as Digges, Acorn and all the rest. Was the offer conditional on producing Garrick? Jack thought it best not to ask directly in case the answer was ‘yes’. Yet a straight refusal would burn a very useful, short-term bridge. He would keep Thirsk waiting until the fate of the theatre was clearer. If he joined Thirsk, he would be well paid and he could prevaricate on the Garrick issue until it was time to head back to Edinburgh. Then he remembered bitterly that Edinburgh was no longer an alternative. That bastard Digges was never going to take advantage of him again. He would have to make his way in Newcastle or move on. But where to? At least he was wanted here, even if the motives were ulterior.
‘Sir, I thank you for your offer,’ said Jack as he raised himself from the settle. ‘You have given me much to ponder. However, you will appreciate it is not a matter that I would want to make a hasty decision over. I do have other irons heating gently in the fire. Only yesterday, I received a letter from Mr Digges imploring me to return to the New Concert Hall, for the actor who replaced me is not of the calibre expected by the sophisticated Edinburgh public. I have also considered London. Though I have much to learn, I am sure David Garrick will find me a position at Drury Lane.’
‘I well understand, Mr Flyford,’ Thirsk put in hurriedly. He could see his trump card being lost. ‘I will not press you for an immediate answer. However,’ and here Thirsk rummaged in his low-hung coat pocket, ‘maybe this will show how serious I am in obtaining your services.’ He produced a small leather pouch. The jangle was unmistakable. ‘Thirty guineas.’
‘For me?’ Jack said incredulously. That was more than Digges had paid him in two years!
‘Let us say it is gift from one friend to another.’ Jack had never been willingly given money before, except for Digges’ pathetic offering the day he fled Edinburgh. He didn’t know how to respond. ‘Go on, take it. There will be plenty more from whence that came.’
Gingerly, Jack took the pouch and self-consciously slipped it into his own pocket. He was so taken aback that he left without saying another word.