Treason Read online

  At the back of the theatre he saw a few people gathered round a young orange-seller: a pretty young girl with shiny brown hair in ringlets and bright blue, canny eyes. John joined the back of the queue and waited patiently to be served. His attention wandered around the theatre, a place he had never visited in his life before.

  It was an impressive sight – a tall building with several tiers of seats, slowly beginning to fill up now. The wealthy in their finery were down in the pit and up in the boxes, and the commoner folk high in the upper gallery, gazing down and squawking excitedly like starlings on a clothes line. The stage itself was magnificent, with enormous arches either side that seemed to belong to some grand building of ancient Rome. Above the stage ornately carved figures flanked the royal coat of arms, all picked out in scarlet and gold and glittering in the candlelight. John’s eyes glazed over as he imagined the deep blue velvet-looking curtains pulling back and Beth Johnson striding across the stage towards the audience...

  Then he heard a voice that made him freeze.

  “I’ll take two of your juiciest oranges, my dear...” The man was trying to sound friendly enough, but it was a cruel, rasping tone – one that John had heard before. Then the man reached out to offer his money, and John saw the short stub where the middle finger of his left hand should have been.

  How could the villain possibly have tracked him down here? John was sure he had given the man’s two chasing henchmen the slip, and London was one of the biggest, busiest cities in the world. He could have been anywhere by now. Why on earth was the fingerless man here now?

  He quickly slipped away from the queue before the man could turn round, and found a seat behind the tallest person he could see, hunching up his shoulders and sinking as low into the shadows as possible.

  Chapter Eight - Turning the Tables

  Beth took a deep breath to steady herself. No matter how many plays she performed in, nor how popular she became, she always felt like this just before the curtain was about to open. Her legs felt unsteady, there was a queasiness in her stomach, and she had to fight off the old fear that she would forget her lines and the cast and the whole audience would be staring at her in silence, waiting for her to say something. She rubbed her cheeks vigorously with her hands and reminded herself that she had learned her lines well, that everything had gone really smoothly in rehearsal. It worked. Her nerves began to settle, and she could finally enjoy looking forward to entertaining the gathering audience. That was, until she heard the whining tones of Benjamin Lovett behind her.

  “It vexes me so to see how much make-up that child wears! And did you see how gaudily it is applied? She looks like a—”

  Beth marched right up to Lovett. “Too much make-up? Well then, sir, I had better get rid of some!”

  She planted a big kiss on his forehead, leaving a large crimson imprint of her lips slap in the middle. Lovett spluttered indignantly, and the actors standing nearby burst into laughter, but this was quickly cut short by William Huntingdon, the theatre manager.

  “Hush, now! One minute ’til curtain up – to your positions, and good luck, everyone!”

  * * *

  As soon as the curtain had risen and the play was under way, Beth forgot her nerves completely and began to relish her role as Henry, soon to be revealed as Henrietta. But Lovett, whom she played opposite in most of her scenes, had a worrying, self-satisfied smirk on his face tonight which was beginning to make Beth feel edgy. Perhaps she should never have given him that kiss. She knew what he was like, and she guessed he was planning his revenge.

  In the play, Lovett’s evil character wants to marry Beth’s sister. There was a scene where Beth – as Henry – embraces and kisses her sister on the cheek. Lovett’s character thinks this proves they are lovers, and attacks. However, William Huntingdon had been so impressed by Beth’s spirited swordplay during rehearsals, and was so sure that the audience would love it too, that he had changed this scene completely. In the new version, Beth was to win the fight, and she couldn’t wait to play the scene!

  However, she suspected that if Lovett was going to try anything, it would be now. He was nothing if not predictable, and she wouldn’t put it past him to try and turn the tables yet again and get the better of her. But considering how easily Beth had beaten him on the previous occasion, she was not unduly worried.

  Not until, that was, she discovered how he planned to defeat her...

  “Unhand that maiden, thou cursed varlet!”

  When Lovett bounded in to confront her and drew his sword, she immediately saw that it was not a flimsy stage prop like the one she had, but a real duelling broadsword with a powerful steel blade and a razor-sharp cutting edge. She heard gasps from the actors in the wings.

  “’Tis wealth and property you seek and naught else! Thou hast no love for this woman!” he cried.

  Drawing her weapon, Beth’s eyes widened and she felt the blood coursing through her veins. She knew Lovett wouldn’t try to injure her; he simply wanted to destroy her narrow, fragile blade and declare himself the champion, getting back to the way the script had been written in the first place. The trouble was, he was as clumsy as he was pompous. If she wasn’t careful, she could easily imagine him running her through by mistake. Yet how could she parry his blows when one strike from his sword would cut hers in two as if it were made of matchsticks?

  “’Tis a love none can thwart, thou treacherous creature!”

  He was hamming things up for all he was worth, and Lovett now edged towards her in fighting stance. Beth began to back up, but she soon felt scenery at her back blocking her retreat. He raised his sword and struck at her, his face red with ire and the veins in his neck standing out with the effort. Beth quickly swayed to one side and felt the broad blade whistle past her face and brush the shoulder of her costume.

  “Thou shall marry her over my dead body!” she shouted and made a lunge with her own sword, and although it had a blunted end, the poke in his stomach was still enough to make Lovett yelp and jump back. There were titters from the audience, but this only served to enrage him further.

  “Ha! Then let it be so!”

  He came at her like a charging bull, but this was just what Beth had been expecting. She faked a move to his left, causing him to jab in that direction with his sword, but then launched into a forward roll to the right of him. She finished the movement by coming up onto her feet right behind him, and swished at the belt encircling his enormous belly, which held his breeches in place. She then lightly skipped backwards to give herself room, and as he lumbered after her, his breeches slithered down to his knees, causing him to stumble, finally ending up around his ankles. He crashed to the stage in a cloud of dust and with a loud groan, where he floundered helplessly like a beached whale.

  The audience roared with laughter, and there were cheers as Beth placed one foot lightly on his back and raised her sword aloft with one hand, while whisking off her cloak with the other to reveal women’s clothes below.

  “I, Henrietta, sister of Isabella, declare myself her champion!”

  As Beth basked in the applause, she caught sight of a familiar pair of eyes in the audience. He was ducking down behind a beanpole of a man, but there was no doubting it was John Turner from the Navy Board – perhaps he was going to take her up on her invitation to come backstage? Her mind clicked back into spy mode and she tried to catch his eye, but he seemed more interested in scanning the faces in the audience around him than looking at the stage. In fact, the poor boy looked terrified of something. But what? Just as she was returning her attentions to the stage, another young figure attracted her gaze. Standing in the shadows in the far corner was the silhouette of a youth with a distinctive glint of an earring in one ear. She couldn’t see his features, but she knew he was staring back at her.

  So she hadn’t shaken him off.

  He was good. Very good. But what was he doing here? And why was he so interested in her?

  Chapter Nine - Stage-struck

&
nbsp; John tried to look out of the corner of his eye without turning his head and making it obvious that he was aware he was being sought. He had spotted that the man with the missing finger was on the prowl, like a black shadow in the darkness of the auditorium, stalking up and down the aisles, scanning the rows of faces. As he drew ever nearer, John, who was about six seats from the aisle, leaned forwards so that he was hidden by the tall man in front of him. But soon his hunter would be level with him, and that ploy would not be enough. The audience was currently so captivated by a tender scene involving Beth and the girl playing her sister that the earlier noisy enthusiasm had settled into a sympathetic silence, and John could just detect the rasping breath of his tracker as he climbed the last step that would bring him onto his row. At the last second, John bent down as if to adjust the buckle on his boot. As he did so he turned and got an upside-down view of the swarthy man lifting his foot as if to move on – but then pausing, like a cat stalking a mouse he knows is hiding somewhere close by. How long could John remain in this bent-over position without it being obvious that he was trying to avoid being seen? He played with his buckle, he tugged at his heel as if the boot was uncomfortable, he silently prayed...

  At last, the man continued on, breathing huskily, searching; John felt as though he could breathe again. He slowly straightened up, still looking at the man with the missing finger, and he saw a piece of paper sticking out of the man’s pocket. John immediately recognized the feminine handwriting scrawled on it. It was the playbill Beth had given to him. One of his pursuers must have found it during the chase and handed it to their chief.

  Even though he hadn’t been spotted this time, John knew he was a sitting duck. His hunter clearly wasn’t the sort to give up and would continue searching ’til he had cornered his quarry. So as soon as he had gone a couple of steps further, John slipped out of his seat and quietly crept away in the opposite direction. He moved to the far side of the theatre where there was another exit, hastening more and more the further he got from his tracker. But what he saw at this exit brought him to a sudden halt.

  It was one of the men who had been chasing him through the streets. There wasn’t enough light to see his face, but John would have recognized his outline anywhere, and knew it was the bigger of the two men. He glanced across to the other exit, and the smaller, rat-faced accomplice guarded that one too. He was trapped. All they had to do was wait ’til the play had finished and everyone began to leave.

  John crouched down in the aisle to give himself thinking time. What would Captain Jack Turner of the Revenge do now? Probably cut a rope holding the scenery up, swing across the stage into the wings and out through a back door. But that might not go too well with the theatre-goers – not to mention Beth, who seemed to be building up to the climax of the play judging from the drama on stage and the increasing clamour of the audience, who were crying out her character’s name and encouraging her to overcome the villain. He had just come back on stage and was being booed and hissed every time he spoke.

  In crouching down, John was now at eye level with one of the few spare seats in the house. On that seat, a man had placed his cloak and hat. The hat was a large one with a broad, floppy brim, and the man was totally engrossed in the play: shouting, clapping, booing. And the hat and cloak were both within reach...

  John quickly discovered that the hat was much too big for him – which was a good thing, because it almost came down over his eyes. The wide brim, together with the high collar of the cloak, did the rest of the work, casting his face in deep shadow. Captain Jack, in addition to being a swashbuckling naval hero, was a master of disguise. Well, he hadn’t been ’til now, but still ... The henchmen would be looking for a young, upright man, so John added to his masquerade by stooping and shuffling along stiffly in the hope that it made him look much older.

  With his head down, he lumbered towards the exit guarded by the bigger man. But he had picked the wrong moment. Someone was coming his way and instinct told him it was the man with the missing finger. John veered away from the exit and found himself walking towards the girl with the tray of oranges. She was standing with her back to a wall at the side of the theatre, and as he approached she held one out for him and began to say something, but he ignored her and walked on, positioning himself behind her. If he kept low and in her shadow, perhaps...

  But it was too late for that. They were coming his way, and if they got much closer they would surely see through his disguise. Peering round the orange girl’s bonnet, John saw the man with the missing finger catch the eye of the guard at the exit and nod in his direction. The big man began to move in, and the rat-faced man was also leaving his post and heading this way. It looked like his cover was already blown.

  There seemed to be no escape, but Captain Jack Turner wouldn’t be so easily beaten. He was clever, resourceful, and afraid of nothing. If the back of theatre was blocked off, then he would just have to leave the front way.

  He set off towards the brightly lit stage with its woodland scenery and its cast in resplendent, colourful costume. But the closer he got the more he found that Captain Jack was fading rapidly from his imagination, and it was shy John Turner, the lowly clerk, who was walking on rather wobbly legs towards his embarrassing fate. Reality was kicking in fast and with sickening clarity. Those were real actors being watched by a real audience, and it felt as if the whole building was closing in on him as he hovered by the edge of the stage, hesitating, gulping and feeling the sticky dryness of his throat.

  There were only five steps between him and the stage now, but it looked like the tallest mountain, and his knees had turned to a quivering mush. He could hear the rasping voice close behind now, yet didn’t think he could bring himself to go up there in front of all these people...

  Then he heard a woman’s voice calling down at him from the stage. Strangely, although his name wasn’t mentioned, the proclamation definitely seemed to be aimed at him. Which was impossible – wasn’t it?

  “I said ... EGAD! My aged Uncle George doth arrive – the wealthiest merchant in London and one who hath the ear of the King himself. He shall save us!”

  Beth Johnson, the finest actress in all England, was looking down at John and holding out her hand, willing him to come up and take it. He saw her glancing briefly but urgently towards his pursuers as she waited.

  Somehow, she understood what was happening! Hearing the low, conspiratorial whispers of the men getting closer, John felt himself propelled forward as if attracted by a magnet until he finally grasped Beth’s slim hand. She was stronger than she looked and he allowed himself to be pulled up on stage. A murmur of intrigue rippled through the audience at this development.

  Once up there, dazzled by the lights yet still able to make out the rows and rows of faces all apparently directed at him, John froze, unsure what to do next. He was no actor and his nerves and desire not to be caught by his stalkers had meant he’d hardly taken in what the play was about. Something to do with Beth dressed as a man but really being a woman, and the fat old actor Lovett’s character being angry with her? Lovett had just grabbed the other actress on stage from behind and was holding a knife to her throat, saying something about how if he couldn’t have her, no one would.

  “You may have bested me with the sword, but now I have the prize we both covet,” the portly actor cried.

  As the other actress wailed pitifully and wriggled in his grasp, Beth turned to John.

  “Oh, Uncle, whatever shall we do?” Seeing John’s horrified look under the brim of his great hat, she nodded imperceptibly but encouragingly. The audience were waiting in silent expectation for his reply.

  “Er ... Well, we could ... perchance ... try to...” He couldn’t help peering out from under his hat into the audience to see if the game was up and the man with the missing finger was racing towards him. But his enemy seemed to have been as fooled as the audience about his being a part of the play. After a brief glance, he said something to his henchmen and they began
another sweep of the theatre.

  “Speak up, Uncle!” Beth urged him. Lovett eyed John contemptuously and looked as if he might storm off the stage at any moment. He needed to pull himself together quickly.

  “I say that we should ... we might ... I say that I am not your aged Uncle George, but your brother Captain Jack of His Majesty’s ship Revenge!” John cried.

  A cheer went up from the audience as he bounded across the stage and snatched Beth’s sword from where it lay on the boards.

  “My brother – my hero!” swooned Beth.

  “Eh?” said Lovett.

  John ran towards Lovett, dived onto his front and slid between both his and Isabella’s legs, springing up behind them and pointing his sword at Lovett’s bottom.

  “Oh Lord, not again...” Lovett whined.

  The audience erupted into laughter, and there were cries of “Make a pin cushion of him!” and “Prod the villain good and proper!”

  Lovett had finally reached breaking point. “THIS IS ALL WRONG!” he roared. “THIS CANNOT BE ALLOWED!”

  “But it shall be, Alexander!” Beth countered, standing with her hands defiantly on her hips. “If you value your life – and your bottom – you shall release my sister!”

  Almost drowned out by laughter, Lovett kept his grip on Isabella and his knife to her throat. “Never!”

  “PROD! PROD! PROD!” came the chant from below.

  So John did.