The Bawdy Basket Read Free Page A

source of his grief.’
    ‘Tell him to pattern himself on me.’
    ‘His troubles are not related to a wife and children.’
    ‘Then they are mild by comparison,’ boasted Firethorn. ‘Marriage is the highroad to suffering. It’s nothing but a case of wedding, bedding and woe. What, then, irks FrankQuilter, a single man? Has his mother been robbed of her purse? Does he have a sister who has unwisely parted with her maidenhood?’ His sarcasm deepened. ‘Or is it some more distant family catastrophe? A second cousin who has mislaid his hat, perhaps? A nephew with a speck of dust in his eye?’
    ‘Something far worse than all these together.’
    ‘Then tell me – as long as you expect no sympathy.’
    ‘I ask for nothing but understanding,’ said Nicholas calmly. ‘The reason that Frank Quilter faltered out there this afternoon is quite simple. His father will be executed at Smithfield next week.’
     
    Francis Quilter was in a quandary. Wanting to escape to the privacy of his lodging, he felt obliged to stay at the Queen’s Head in order to make peace with his fellows. If he stole away, he feared, he would only set up resentment among the others, yet if he joined them in their celebrations, he was sure to be the target for ridicule and tart comment. There was no easy way out. Having enjoyed the privileges of being a member of the company, he had to pay the penalties that were sometimes involved. Accordingly, Quilter gritted his teeth and entered the taproom. A flurry of jibes greeted his appearance.
    ‘Look!’ said Owen Elias, pointing a finger at him. ‘Wonder of wonders! Frank has entered through the correct door for once.’
    ‘I’ll warrant that he won’t remember the correct lines,’ observed Barnaby Gill.
    ‘He won’t even remember the title of the play.’
    ‘Or the name of the playwright,’ sighed Edmund Hoode. ‘When I wrote the tragedy of
Hannibal
, I thought I was its sole creator. This afternoon, I learnt that I had a co-author, for Frank invented new speeches every time he opened his mouth.’
    ‘What will you call the piece now, Edmund?’ teased Elias with an arm around Hoode’s shoulder. ‘
Hannibal and Quilter?’
    ‘
Quilter and Hannibal
,’ decided Gill. ‘For the former conquered the latter.’
    ‘Not with intent,’ said Quilter with an apologetic shrug.
    ‘You mean that you could have ruined the play even
more
?’
    ‘I offer a thousand pardons to you all.’
    Gill was dismissive. ‘It will take more than that to buy off me.’
    ‘My price is lower,’ said Elias, downing his ale in one monstrous gulp. ‘Fill up my tankard, Frank, and we are friends again.’
    ‘Gladly!’ agreed Quilter.
    ‘You do not need to spend your way into my good graces,’ said Hoode. ‘Though you stumbled through the first half of the play, you trotted through the rest with the grace of an Arab stallion. The final scene has never been played with more poignancy, even though I’ve taken your role myself on more than one occasion. Welcome to the company, Frank! We are glad to have you.’
    ‘Yes,’ added Elias with an affectionate chuckle, ‘there’sno shame in what you did. None of us is perfect. We all have poor days upon the boards.’
    ‘Speak for yourself,’ said Gill with disdain.
    ‘All of us except Barnaby,’ joked the Welshman.
    ‘Consistency is the mark of true art.’
    ‘Is that why you have nothing
but
poor days?’
    Gill’s apoplectic reply was lost beneath the guffaws of his fellows. While they praised his comic skills onstage, they detested his self-glorification whenever he left it. Gill was far too arrogant and condescending. Firethorn and Elias were the only two members of the company who were able to pierce his pomposity with a verbal rapier thrust. Such moments were savoured by the others. A servingman was called and fresh ale was ordered by Quilter for his friends. The taproom was now full. Hot weather was good for business. Spectators who had sweated in the