Without a twinge of conscience, he turned the death of a hired man into a direct attack upon his reputation. On the following afternoon, Will Fowler was due to appear in the company's latest offering at The Queen's Head, playing the most important of the secondary roles. Since the other hired men were already doubling strenuously, it was impossible to replace him. The whole performance was threatened and Firethorn worked himself up into a fine frenzy as he contemplated it.

'Shameful!' he boomed. 'Utterly shameful!'

'Regrettable,' conceded Nicholas.

Westfield's Men have never cancelled before. We would set a dreadful precedent. The audience would be robbed of a chance to see me! You must take some blame for this, Nicholas.'

'Why, master?'

'It was you who kept Will Fowler employed.'

'He was a good actor.'

'You stopped me tearing up his contract a dozen times.'

'Will was a valuable member of the company.'

'He was too quarrelsome. Sooner or later, he was bound to pick a fight with the wrong person. God's blood! If only I'd followed my own instincts and not yours!'

They were in the main bedchamber at Firethorn's house and the actor was rampaging in a white shirt. After a sleepless night, Nicholas had repaired to Shoreditch soon after dawn to break the sad news. His report was not well received.

'It's so unfair on me!' stressed Firethorn.

'My thoughts are with Will,' said Nicholas pointedly.

'One of my hired men stabbed in a tavern brawl-a pretty tale! It will stain the whole company. Did you not think of that when you took him to that vile place last night?'

'He took me.'

'It makes no difference, I am the one to suffer. Heavens, Nick, we take risks enough flouting the City regulations. The last thing we need is a brush with the authorities.'