The Devil's Apprentice

Chapter Ten

The search for Davy Stratton was swift, thorough and entirely fruitless. Led by Nicholas Bracewell, three of them combed the stables, the cottages and the immediate environs. The boy had vanished, taking his meagre belongings with him and leaving behind no clues as to where he might have gone. Opinions about his disappearance varied. Lawrence Firethorn was at first delighted, Nicholas was very disturbed and Owen Elias occupied a middle position between them, relieved that Davy was not there to cause them any more trouble yet concerned for his safety. It was late afternoon as the trio stood outside the stables to review the situation.

‘No question about it,’ said Elias. ‘Davy has gone.’

‘Good riddance!’ said Firethorn.

‘The lad is our responsibility,’ Nicholas reminded them. ‘We can’t have him wandering about the countryside in weather like this.’

‘That’s not what he’s doing, Nick,’ said Elias.

‘How do you know?’

‘I don’t but it’s what instinct tells me. Consider this possibility. Davy didn’t run away from us. Supposing that he ran to somebody else?’

Nicholas was dubious. ‘Well, it certainly wasn’t his father, Owen. Master Stratton is still here. All the boy had to do was to stay at Silvermere if he wanted his father.’

‘Jerome Stratton is the last person he wants.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ said Firethorn. ‘I wouldn’t want that slimy merchant for a distant cousin, let alone a parent. On the other hand, I suppose that he ought to be told that his son’s absconded yet again.’

‘No,’ said Nicholas, thinking hard. ‘Keep him ignorant for the time being. The boy can be retrieved without any recourse to Master Stratton.’

‘But he knew where to find him last time,’ observed Elias. ‘They caught the lad on foot in the woods because they were looking in the right place.’

‘Where had Davy been in the meantime? That’s the critical question, Owen, and I’m inclined to agree with you. The boy might have had a destination nearby,’ concluded Nicholas. ‘Who did he go to see that day and why?’

‘I’ve no idea, Nick.’

‘Nor I,’ said Firethorn, ‘and I don’t care. He’s flown the coop and that’s that. Why should we bother to retrieve someone who’s been such a damnable nuisance?’

‘Because we have to,’ said Nicholas reasonably. ‘Davy Stratton is ours and we can’t disown him, whatever antics he may get up to. Since he misbehaved so badly today, it might suit us to have him out of the way but he’s bound to Westfield’s Men by contract and must return sooner or later. This is no blind dash for freedom,’ he went on. ‘Davy has a refuge in the vicinity. Someone is looking after him.’

Firethorn was bitter. ‘Good luck to them!’

‘One thing is certain,’ said Nicholas, glancing at the stables. ‘The lad’s on foot. He didn’t take one of the horses. That means the place he’s heading for can’t be too far away. He’s had a good start on us but it might be worth giving chase. This light will hold out for another hour or so. I’m going after him,’ he decided on impulse. ‘Will you bear me company, Owen?’

‘Gladly,’ said the Welshman.

‘But you don’t know which way he went,’ Firethorn pointed out.

‘Towards the village, at a guess,’ said Nicholas, gazing in the direction of Stapleford. ‘That’s where the nearest habitation is. Perhaps he has friends there. He certainly doesn’t have any at Holly Lodge, his old home.’

‘Who on earth would want to take in a mischievous wretch like Davy?’

‘We were all capable of mischief at that age, Lawrence,’ said Owen with a grin. ‘You may hate the lad at the moment but you liked him at first. So did we all. Remember that and join in the hunt for him.’

‘No. I’m more likely to attack Davy than coax him back.’

‘Stay here, then.’

‘Meanwhile,’ suggested Nicholas, ‘don’t let this upset the rest of the company. They’ve taken enough blows as it is. Find some simple explanation for Davy’s absence.’

‘Yes,’ said Elias. ‘Nick is right. Show no anxiety or it will spread like wildfire. Dick Honeydew knows the truth of it but will keep it to himself. The others can be told that Davy is visiting relations in the area.’

‘What are they called?’ asked Firethorn. ‘Lucifer and Belial?’

Elias laughed but Nicholas had already gone into the stables to saddle one of the horses. The other two men followed him and the Welshman began to tack up his own mount. Looking around, Firethorn heaved a sigh of relief.

‘I suppose we should be grateful he didn’t try to burn this place down,’ he said.

‘The boy is waggish,’ argued Nicholas, ‘and not destructive. He’d do nothing like that to harm us. We’ve still to find the man who did try to set fire to the stables last night.’ He rubbed his head gingerly. ‘He has a friend I’d like to meet again as well.’

‘I’ll be there to watch your back next time, Nick,’ said Elias.

‘Thank you, Owen.’

‘What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?’ asked Firethorn.

‘Carry on as if nothing has happened,’ advised Nicholas.

The actor was scornful. ‘Oh, that will be very easy. Nothing has happened,’ he said with heavy sarcasm. ‘Our performance was ruined, a member of the audience was poisoned and one of apprentices has taken to his heels. It’s the kind of happy, normal, uneventful day that we always have.’

‘You’ve forgotten something, Lawrence,’ said Elias.

‘Have I?’

‘You’ve gone through another whole day without an illness.’

‘Blindness is still to come,’ moaned the other. ‘I’ve that to look forward to.’

‘While you still have eyes to see,’ mocked the Welshman.

He and Nicholas finished saddling their horses and led them outside. Both men were armed. After a few parting words with Firethorn, they mounted up and set off. Nicholas took them in the direction of the village, glad that the weather was milder and that the frozen track had started to thaw at last. Since dusk would not be long in coming, they rode side by side at a brisk canter, eyes peeled for any glimpse of the fugitive. Davy Stratton was nowhere to be seen. Stapleford was fairly close but there was no guarantee that the boy had gone there. They might well be heading the wrong way altogether. Seeing the bleak landscape around them, Elias began to have doubts.

‘It’s like searching for a needle in a cartload of hay,’ he said gloomily.

‘Davy has to be tracked down.’

‘Where do we start, Nick?’

‘At the first house we come to.’

‘We can’t knock on every door in the village.’

‘Yes, we can,’ said Nicholas. ‘You never know what we might find.’

Isaac Upchard was still in pain. His wounded wrist was smarting and he felt a sharp twinge whenever he put any weight on his right ankle. A black eye, a bruised chin and a broken nose were further souvenirs of his nocturnal visit to Silvermere. Feeling very sorry for himself, he was perched on a chair in Reginald Orr’s house, grimacing wildly. His friend was unsympathetic.

‘It was your own fault,’ he said coldly. ‘You made too much noise.’

‘I could hardly see in the dark, Reginald.’

‘All that you had to do was to set light to some straw.’

‘That fellow was on me before I could start the blaze.’

‘Yes,’ said Orr. ‘If I hadn’t been there to help you out, he’d have overpowered you for certain. You failed, Isaac. Miserably.’

‘Not for want of trying.’

‘We had the perfect opportunity to put this theatre company to flight. Burn down those stables and we’d have scattered their horses halfway across the county. Westfield’s Men wouldn’t have dared to stay at Silvermere a moment longer.’

‘According to you,’ recalled Upchard with another hideous grimace, ‘they’d never even get there.’

‘I thought we’d turned them back for sure.’

‘That’s not so easily done, Reginald. They’re too determined. The one who attacked me was as strong as an ox. If the others are like him, nothing will stop them.’

‘Oh, yes, it will,’ said Orr quietly.

‘What do you mean?’

His companion was brusque. ‘Never you mind. The important thing now is to cover our tracks. You can’t stay here any longer, Isaac. It’s far too dangerous.’

‘But I must,’ said Upchard, indicating his face. ‘I can’t be seen abroad in this state. And how do I explain this wound on my wrist?’

‘You won’t have to explain it if you go to ground for a while. Sir Michael has set a search in motion. I’ve already had a visit from the constable,’ said Orr with disdain, ‘but, luckily, that oaf could not detect a crime if it happened right under his big nose. I quickly disposed of him. But others may come in his wake, Isaac, and they may not be as easily turned away as a brainless constable. Whatever happens, you must not be found under my roof.’

Upchard was hurt. ‘Would you turn me out?’

‘Only for your own good.’

‘For your good as well, Reginald.’

‘I’m not thinking of myself here,’ said the other. ‘The simple fact is that I’m bound to come under suspicion. I spoke out boldly against this vile theatre troupe and told the vicar in so many words that I’d fight to keep them at bay. They’re certain to question me again,’ he predicted, ‘but they’ve no evidence to tie me to that escapade last night at Silvermere. With you, Isaac, it’s a different matter.’

‘Is it?’

‘Your attacker knows that he wounded you, man. You bear his marks upon you. If they catch you here, they’ll have the evidence they need to arrest us both.’

‘But I’d swear that you had nothing to do with it.’

‘Your word might not be enough to save me.’ Orr stood over him. ‘Do you want me to be imprisoned when we’re just starting to win converts to our sect? My presence here is vital, Isaac. If I leave, the others will soon fall away. You understand that. I’m the only one who can keep them together.’

‘I know.’

‘Then do as I say. Leave after dark and hide until you recover.’

‘Where?’

‘I’ve friends near Maldon,’ said Orr, moving to sit at the table. ‘I’ll write them a letter to explain. They’ll take good care of you.’ He put a scrap of parchment in front of him and reached for his pen. ‘Tell them no more than you have to, Isaac. All they need to know is that you’re running from persecution.’

‘It’s more than that,’ complained Upchard, pulling a face. ‘We ambushed the company and tried to set fire to some stables. They’re serious crimes.’

‘Necessary evils to drive out a darker malignancy.’

‘That’s not how the court will look at it.’

‘Only if you’re brought to trial,’ said Orr petulantly, ‘and there’s no chance of that if you do as I tell you. Now, let me compose this letter.’

Upchard struggled to his feet. ‘Must I ride all the way to Maldon?’

‘As soon as it’s dark.’

‘Let me spend another night here, Reginald.’

‘No! It’s out of the question.’

He was about to explain why when there was a rapping noise at the door. Upchard twitched guiltily. After putting a finger to his lips to advise silence, Orr nodded towards the kitchen. His visitor limped off into the adjoining room and shut the door behind him. Another rap was heard. Orr rose to his feet and crossed to open the door. He looked into the bruised face of Nicholas Bracewell and saw the bandage around his head. Owen Elias was standing beside his friend.

‘What do you want?’ asked Orr gruffly.

‘We’re looking for a missing boy,’ said Nicholas.

‘He’s not here. I live alone.’ He tried to close the door in their faces but Elias put out a hand to stop it. ‘I’ve no business with you, sirs. Away with you.’

‘Not so fast,’ said Elias, noting his Puritan attire. ‘Would you happen, by any chance, to be Master Reginald Orr?’

‘What if I am?’ came the defiant reply.

‘I’ve a feeling we met before on the road.’

‘Not to my knowledge, sir.’

Nicholas took over. ‘My name is Nicholas Bracewell and this is Owen Elias,’ he said. ‘We’re members of a theatre company visiting Silvermere.’ Orr’s face darkened. ‘I understand that you object to our being there, Master Orr.’

‘Very strongly.’

‘So what have you done to stop us?’ challenged Elias.

‘Nothing outside the law.’

‘You weren’t involved in an ambush a few days ago?’

‘No, sir!’

‘Yet you were heard swearing to keep us out of Essex.’

‘I’ll not bandy words with you,’ said Orr contemptuously. ‘In my view, actors are nothing but rats who gnaw away at everything that’s decent and wholesome.’

Elias grinned provocatively. ‘He likes us, Nick.’

‘You and your kind should be wiped from the face of the earth.’

‘That’s a harsh judgement, Master Orr,’ said Nicholas calmly, ‘and it’s not one shared by Sir Michael Greenleaf. He and Lady Eleanor are good Christians yet they see no harm in letting us into their beautiful home. Would you wipe Sir Michael and his wife from the face of the earth as well?’

‘Good day to you,’ snapped the Puritan but he was again prevented from shutting the door by Elias’s strong hand. ‘Let go at once, man.’

‘Not until you tell us where you were last night,’ warned Elias.

‘I’m not answerable to you.’

‘You’re answerable to the law of the land,’ said Nicholas, ‘and the constable will be asking the same question that my friend just put to you.’

‘He’s already done so,’ sneered Orr, ‘and I sent him packing. I was here in my house last night and did not stir from it. So, Master Elias,’ he added, glaring at the Welshman, ‘may I be allowed to close my own front door?’

Nicholas nodded his assent and Elias stepped back. The door was firmly shut.

Vexed in the extreme, Lawrence Firethorn tried to assimilate all the facts in order to make sense of them. Since their arrival in Essex, his company had been ambushed, his voice had deserted him at an embarrassing moment on stage, the stables adjacent to their sleeping quarters had been a target for arson, his new apprentice had deliberately tried to spoil the afternoon performance and a member of the audience had died in time to rob them of their curtain call. Set against those disasters, the flight of Davy Stratton might be seen as a bonus rather than an additional crisis. When he applied calm thought to the problems, however, Firethorn saw that he might have been leaping to conclusions. The death of an anonymous spectator had not been foreshadowed in Egidius Pye’s play even though the victim was a lawyer. What worried him was Sir Michael’s suggestion that the man might have been poisoned. Had he been murdered in order to disrupt The Insatiate Duke? Did the company have an enemy inside Silvermere?

To learn more about the sudden death of Robert Partridge, he walked back to the house to seek out its owner. Sir Michael was in the entrance hall, talking with an agitated Doctor Winche. Lurking in the background, inevitably, was Romball Taylard. The actor ignored the steward and hurried across to the others.

‘Forgive me for interrupting you, Sir Michael,’ he said with a gesture of apology, ‘but I simply had to hear the latest news.’

Sir Michael smiled sadly. ‘The guests have all departed, Master Firethorn, as you see. Apart from those who are staying under my roof, of course. In the circumstances, they felt that they wanted to get away.’

‘That’s understandable but my real concern is for the unfortunate victim.’

‘Robert Partridge’s body has been removed to the mortuary,’ said Winche. ‘I’ll be able to give it a proper examination there.’

‘Were you able to confirm death by unnatural means, doctor?’

Winche registered surprise. ‘No, Master Firethorn. Why should I?’

‘Sir Michael had the impression that the man may have been poisoned.’

‘It was only an impression,’ stressed Sir Michael.

‘There was no hint of poison,’ said Winche firmly. ‘Robert Partridge died by natural means. It may seem unusual for an apparently healthy man to suffer heart failure but it does happen, especially in winter.’

‘Sir Michael spoke of a strange smell on the victim’s breath.’

‘Doctor Winche explained that,’ said Sir Michael. ‘There was nothing sinister in it, according to him. It could be put down to the rich food on which he dined before coming to the play. I’m sorry if I misled you Master Firethorn. I’m an experimental scientist rather than a physician. My true skill lies in astrology. Indeed, I have better news for you on that score,’ he said with inappropriate glee. ‘When I read the constellations last night, I thought I detected joyful events for Westfield’s Men.’

Firethorn spoke through clenched teeth. ‘Your astrology may be as inexact as your medical knowledge, Sir Michael. We’ve seen no signs of joy as yet.’

‘It will come, dear fellow, it will come.’

‘I’ll believe it when I see it.’

‘Well, I must be off,’ said Winche. ‘I need to visit the mortuary.’

‘Before you go, doctor,’ said Firethorn, detaining him with a hand, ‘do I have your word that there were no suspicious circumstances surrounding this death?’

Winche detached his arm. ‘None, Master Firethorn.’

‘Then what provoked the heart attack?’

‘You might be partly to blame, sir.’

‘Me, doctor?’

‘I fear so,’ said the other with a frown. ‘This is no criticism of your art, Master Firethorn, quite the reverse, but the fact is that you gave such a powerful performance as Duke Cosimo that we were all swept along by it. I’ll confess that you had my own heart pounding in the final scene when I thought you were about to ravish Emilia.’

‘That goes for me, too,’ said Sir Michael. ‘I was throbbing with emotion.’

‘A worthy tribute to an actor’s skill.’

‘Thank you, doctor,’ said Firethorn. ‘But I still don’t see that I’m to blame.’

‘You may not be, sir, but you may unwittingly have contributed to his death. Robert Partridge was a man of high passion. Your performance would have worked on his emotions as it did on ours. It’s not inconceivable that, at the very height of the tragedy, he could take no more. In short, his heart burst with pity, Master Firethorn.’

‘Spectators are not in the habit of dying during my performances.’

‘This was a special case,’ said Sir Michael.

‘A very special one,’ agreed Winche. ‘If any poison was involved, it was administered on stage by brilliant actors. The Insatiate Duke was so affecting that it took hold of Robert Partridge and shook him until he died.’ He moved away. ‘And now, you must excuse me. I promised his widow I’d examine the body properly as soon as I can.’

Firethorn was silenced for a moment but not altogether convinced.

‘What sort of man was the deceased, Sir Michael?’ he asked.

‘Robert Partridge was an able lawyer with a good reputation.’

‘Was he a popular man?’

‘Lawyers are never popular,’ said Sir Michael with a wry smile. ‘They’re rather like undertakers. An unappealing necessity.’

‘Did he have anything to drink before he came into the hall?’

‘Romball would be able to tell you that,’ said his host, indicating the steward.

Taylard glided forward. ‘I believe that Master Partridge enjoyed a cup of wine just before the performance,’ he said easily, ‘but so did most of the guests, including his wife who sat beside him. Nobody else was struck down so the death could not possibly have been the result of poison or the house would be littered with bodies.’

‘One is quite enough,’ said Firethorn sharply. ‘Particularly when it falls to ground during the climax of the drama. If there’s one thing I abhor as an actor, it’s bad timing.’

Sir Michael sighed. ‘Yes, I do hope this will not cast a blight over the other plays. Perhaps it’s just as well there’s no performance tomorrow. It will give people a day to get over the shock. The same goes for you, naturally, Master Firethorn.’

‘I’ll admit that it was a blow to our self-esteem.’

‘An unintentional one.’

‘Everything will soon improve,’ said Sir Michael confidently. ‘My telescope rarely lets me down. It’s in the stars. Westfield’s Men are on the verge of triumph.’

‘Really?’ said Firethorn. ‘How many heart attacks will I provoke next time?’

Stapleford was only a small village but their work still took over an hour. By the time they had finished, darkness was beginning to close in. They rode on to a nearby hamlet but their enquiries drew nothing from the inhabitants there except blank looks and a shake of the head. Nobody had seen Davy Stratton or could give them any information about his whereabouts. Nicholas Bracewell and Owen Elias mounted their horses yet again.

‘We can do no more today, Nick,’ said Elias resignedly.

‘Then we search again tomorrow at first light.’

‘You may have to go without me. Lawrence needs me for rehearsal.’

‘I’m needed as well,’ said Nicholas, ‘but finding Davy is more important than having me there to prompt actors. I’m certain the lad can’t have gone far afield.’

‘Well, he didn’t come this way or somebody would have seen him.’

‘True enough.’

‘We’ve spoken to everyone here and in the village,’ said Elias as they set off at a trot. ‘Including that egregious Reginald Orr.’

‘You and he will never be brothers, Owen.’

‘Why not?’ joked the other. ‘Welshmen are puritanical by nature.’

‘Then you must be the exception to the rule.’

‘What did you make of the fellow?’

‘Master Orr was exactly as they described him,’ said Nicholas. ‘Strong-willed and fanatical. But he wasn’t the man I fought at Silvermere last night.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Completely sure. He’s too old.’

‘That doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved in some way.’

‘Oh, I agree. There were daggers in his eyes. Reginald Orr is certainly capable of setting fire to a stable but I think he’d have preferred to have us inside it at the time.’

‘Why was he so keen to close the door in our faces?’

‘You heard what he said about actors.’

‘There was more to it than that, Nick. He was hiding something.’

‘Or somebody.’

‘Do you think we should go back there?’

‘He won’t open his door to us a second time.’

Aware of a marked drop in temperature, they pulled their cloaks around them and rode on through the dusk, speculating on the whereabouts of their missing apprentice and on the relationship between the boy and his father.

‘Do you think he’ll come back of his own accord?’ said Elias.

‘Not this time, Owen. He’ll be too scared to face us after this.’

‘Davy can’t stay on the run for ever.’

‘No,’ said Nicholas, ‘but we may have to accept that he’s not for us. We can’t keep an apprentice who’s so keen to escape.’

‘That’s not what he did in London, Nick. I know that he caused merry hell in Lawrence’s house but he didn’t actually run away from there. Nor from Bankside, for that matter, when he spent time with you and Anne.’

‘Davy would have been lost in London,’ explained Nicholas. ‘It’s a big city, full of strangers. Where would he go? He needed us to bring him back to Essex. That’s why he was on his best behaviour at the end. So that we wouldn’t leave him behind.’

‘You think that he planned this latest escape?’

‘I’m certain of it. Davy was biding his time. I think that he deliberately created havoc during the performance so that I’d send him away in disgrace. It was the one time when none of us could watch him and he took full advantage of it.’

‘The cunning little devil!’

‘He has an old head on young shoulders.’

‘It won’t stay on there for long if Lawrence gets his hands on the lad.’

‘That’s why I want to reach the boy first. To get the truth out of him.’

‘I think that we already know it, Nick. You said it a moment ago.’

‘Did I?’ asked Nicholas.

‘Yes. Davy is not for us.’

They continued on their way until they got with a couple of hundred yards of the village. A rider then cantered towards them out of the darkness. Seeing them approach, he reined in his horse and swung it off the track as if waiting for them to pass. They were too far away to pick out more than his outline. Elias’s hand went straight to his sword.

‘Another ambush?’ he said.

‘I think not, Owen. Someone just doesn’t want to be seen.’

‘Davy, perhaps?’

‘He has no horse.’

‘What’s to stop him stealing one?’

The two them maintained the same pace to give the impression that they would carry on into the village. When they reached the point where the other rider had veered off, however, they took their horses into the bushes after him.

‘Is that you, Davy?’ called Nicholas.

‘Where are you lad?’ shouted Elias.

But the rider was no fleeing apprentice. He was a well-built young man in black attire and hat. Head down to conceal his face, he kicked his horse into a gallop and shot between the two of them, buffeting Elias across the chest with his forearm. Taken by surprise, the Welshman was knocked from the saddle and let out a roar of pain as he hit the ground. Nicholas did not stop to help him. Spurring his own horse, he went off in pursuit of the phantom rider. If the man had such a pressing reason to keep away from them, Nicholas wanted to know what it was. Caution was thrown to the wind. The man rode hell for leather along the track, ignoring the bushes that flapped against his legs and the stinging caresses of overhanging branches. Nicholas was equally scornful of safety, urging his horse on and sensing the importance of catching his quarry. The lead was gradually cut back. Glancing over his shoulder, the rider winced audibly. When Nicholas got even closer, he could hear gasps of pain.

They did not deter him. With a last spurt, his horse drew level with the other and allowed him to grapple with its rider. The man was strong but he cried in protest when Nicholas took firm hold of his bandaged wrist. It was all the proof that the book holder needed. He was struggling with the same man who had tried to set fire to the stable. Holding the reins in one hand, he swung the other arm with full force against the man’s head, making him reel in the saddle. Nicholas slipped his feet out of the stirrups and flung himself hard at his adversary. Both fell heavily to the ground and rolled over a couple of times. Their horses continued to race on. Nicholas raised a fist to deliver a punch but he did not need to overpower his victim. The man had been knocked unconscious by the fall. His hat had blown off. There was enough moonlight for Nicholas to see his handiwork on the face of Isaac Upchard.

Owen Elias arrived a minute later, sword flailing vengefully in the air. He brought his horse to a halt and looked down anxiously at the two bodies on the ground.

‘Are you hurt, Nick?’ he said.

‘No, Owen.’

‘Do you need any help?’

‘We do,’ said Nicholas, panting. ‘Find the horses for us.’

Among the guests who remained at Silvermere when the bulk of the audience left was Jerome Stratton and he joined the others for a banquet that evening in the Great Hall. The rows of chairs had been cleared and a massive table set in the middle of the room. A sumptuous meal was lit by a series of silver candelabra. Sir Michael was a generous host and Lady Eleanor an assiduous hostess but they could not entirely dispel the shadow that hung over the occasion. Yards from where they were sitting, a man had died during the performance of a play. It affected even the most voracious appetites. Slowly, however, the mood of sadness was replaced by a muted jollity. Stratton even felt able to make light-hearted remarks about the deceased.

‘It’s a dreadful loss for his wife, I grant you,’ he said to Sir Michael in an undertone, ‘but the rest of us may gain. No more huge legal bills from Robert.’

‘He was ever an expensive gentleman,’ agreed Sir Michael.

‘Expensive and unbelievably tardy. The two went together, of course. The longer a case took, the more money he made. The Partridge coat of arms should have been a giant snail carrying a huge bag of gold.’

‘Don’t speak ill of the dead.’

‘It’s not censure, Sir Michael. I admire any man who can make money so well.’

‘Yet you and Robert had profound disagreements, as I recall.’

‘That was purely a business matter,’ said Stratton airily. ‘I always liked him.’

‘So did I. Acute mind. A subtle advocate.’

‘Too subtle for his own good sometimes,’ murmured Stratton.

Romball Taylard suddenly appeared at Sir Michael’s shoulder to whisper in his ear. The old man was torn between pleasure and astonishment. He leapt up at once.

‘Do excuse me, ladies and gentleman,’ he said, moving away, ‘I’ll not be long.’

‘What’s happened?’ asked Lady Eleanor.

‘I don’t know,’ said Stratton, ‘but it must have been important.’

‘Nothing is more important than entertaining guests properly. I’ll give my husband a reprimand when he comes back,’ she said, smiling to show that it was not a serious threat. ‘Enjoy yourselves, my friends!’

A more convivial spirit was now taking over. Putting aside the death that marred one play, the guests began to discuss the others that had been commissioned for their entertainment. Lawrence Firethorn’s name was spoken with relish but other actors earned acclaim as well. Ladies were universally delighted with Barnaby Gill and his comic dances while Richard Honeydew’s portrayal of Emilia gained an ambiguous popularity among the men. Sir Michael was away for some time. When he finally returned, he sat beside Stratton again to confide him.

‘One of the rogues is taken,’ he said proudly.

‘Taken?’

‘By that remarkable Nicholas Bracewell. The stout fellow not only saved the stables from being burnt to a cinder last night, he’s captured the man responsible.’

‘Who was he, Sir Michael?’

‘Isaac Upchard.’

‘Upchard? He’s one of Reginald Orr’s cronies.’

‘Yes, Jerome. And our recalcitrant Master Orr may yet be charged as his confederate. Isaac Upchard, apparently, swears that his friend was not implicated but he may tell a different tale when I have him under oath in court.’ He gave a dry laugh. ‘It’s a shame that Robert Partridge is not here to question him at the trial. He could tear any man to shreds with vicious skill.’

‘Yes,’ murmured Stratton.

‘We’ve something to celebrate,’ said Sir Michael, reaching for his wine. ‘One villain is now behind bars and another may soon join him.’

‘I’ll drink to that, Sir Michael.’

‘Nicholas Bracewell is the man to toast, though perhaps we should couple his name with that of Davy Stratton.’

‘Davy?’

‘Your son achieved a small victory up there on stage, Jerome. He brightened up our afternoon for an instant. He introduced some mirth when we most needed it. You must be very proud of the boy.’

Stratton forced a smile. ‘I am, I am, Sir Michael.’

‘And so you should be.’

Davy Stratton did not dare to approach the house until it was dark. The long walk had been interspersed with bouts of running and he needed time to recover before he made one final effort. He had travelled light, carrying nothing more than a change of clothing in the satchel that was slung across his shoulder. It was cold under the trees and he blew on his hands to keep them warm, stamping his feet at the same time. Only when he felt confident of being unobserved did he creep towards the house and make his way furtively around to the back. Shutters were closed in the upper rooms but candlelight spilt out through the slits in the wood. The climb was a test of his bravery. The stone wall was hard, cold and slippery. It offered little help. Davy inched his way upward, afraid to look down as he groped for each new hand hold, fearing discovery at any moment.

It was a nerve-racking ascent with no promise of success at the end of it but Davy drove himself on nevertheless. When he reached the room he wanted, he clung on to the eaves while he adjusted his footing. He then tapped quietly on the shutters. There was no response. He was filled with dread that the bedchamber was empty and that he might be marooned on the roof for hours. Unsure of his purchase and exposed to the biting wind, he could not stay there indefinitely. The prospect of a fall returned to haunt him. When he made the mistake of looking down, he felt giddy. Davy tapped on the shutters again and was relieved to hear movement inside the room. A new fear troubled him. What if the wrong person opened the shutters? Or what if they were flung back so violently that they knocked him off the wall? He clung on to the eaves more tightly and waited.

The shutters were unbolted and one side pushed tentatively ajar. A face peeped out until it saw a small boy, shivering violently and hanging there in desperation.

‘Davy!’ said an alarmed voice. ‘What ever are you doing out there?’

The meal served in the kitchen at Silvermere could not compare with the banquet in the Great Hall but it was eaten with far more relish. Westfield’s Men were thrilled to hear of the capture of Isaac Upchard and of his incarceration on a charge of arson. Praise for Nicholas Bracewell was unstinting. Owen Elias embroidered his own part in the arrest to garner some plaudits but it was the book holder who was the true hero. The fall from his horse had left Nicholas with several new bruises by way of mementos but no bones had been broken. Seated between Lawrence Firethorn and Barnaby Gill, he was typically modest about his exploit.

‘The man gave himself away,’ he explained. ‘If he’d ridden past us and tipped his hat in greeting, neither Owen nor I would have turned a hair. Because he acted so suspiciously, we were put on our guard.’

‘But how did you know he was the villain who tried to burn down the stable?’ asked Gill. ‘You could hardly recognise him in the gloom.’

‘You can recognise panic in any light.’

‘Yes,’ said Elias. ‘The rogue knocked me from the saddle as he went past.’

‘Are you sure it wasn’t too much drink which did that?’ teased Firethorn.

‘Never!’ denied the Welshman over the mocking laughter. ‘I could drink a barrel of beer and still ride bareback to the top of Mount Snowdon.’

Gill was irritable. ‘Let Nicholas finish.’

‘I was there as well, Barnaby,’ said Elias.

‘Fetching the horses. Yes, we’ve heard.’

‘Owen came along at just the right time,’ said Nicholas, shielding his friend from further derision. ‘I couldn’t have done it without him. We pinioned Master Upchard then hauled him off to the constable.’

Firethorn frowned. ‘That’s the only bit that worries me. These country constables are even worse than our London watchmen. You only get to hold the office if you’ve one eye, one arm, one leg, one tooth, and one foot in the grave.’

‘How many testicles, Lawrence?’ asked Elias, chuckling.

‘Three,’ retorted the other, ‘so you can apply for the post tomorrow.’

‘Is the prisoner safely under lock and key?’ asked Gill over the merriment.

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘The constable is elderly but he knows his job and has put Master Upchard in a cell from which he’ll not escape. I doubt that he’d have strength to do so. I landed on top of him when we fell to the ground.’

‘We should have buried him where he lay,’ said Elias.

Nicholas was pleased to be able to bring back such heartening news. It cheered the whole company. Firethorn had said nothing to them about the flight of their new apprentice and the story of Upchard’s capture diverted attention away from Davy Stratton. With unlimited ale at their disposal, the actors caroused for hours before they began to peel away. Gill was among the first to leave.

‘A word in your ear, Nicholas,’ he whispered to the book holder. ‘Give that young scamp fair warning from me. I’m the clown in this company. If Davy tries to steal a laugh from me on stage again, I’ll cut him into pieces and feed him to the ducks.’

As the kitchen slowly cleared, Nicholas was left alone at the end of the table with Firethorn. The actor was able to confide his worries about the death of Robert Partridge. He recounted in detail the conversation with Sir Michael and Doctor Winche.

‘I felt that the doctor was lying, Nick.’

‘Why should he do that?’

‘I’ve no idea but he wouldn’t even discuss the notion that the man had been poisoned.’ Firethorn bristled. ‘He had the nerve to suggest that I was responsible for the man’s heart attack. Duke Cosimo overexcited the fellow, that was his claim.’

‘A strange diagnosis for a doctor to make.’

‘Yet he cured me when I lost my voice so he’s a competent physician.’

‘I’m sure that he is,’ said Nicholas, ‘or he would not enjoy Sir Michael’s confidence. But we must remember that it was not his medicine that brought back your voice. It was a potion from this Mother Pigbone.’

‘He called her a local wise woman.’

‘How many doctors rely on such an unusual source?’

‘None that I know of, Nick.’

‘I’d like to meet this Mother Pigbone at some point,’ said Nicholas. ‘She must be an extraordinary woman if she can win the trust of someone like Doctor Winche. As to his diagnosis, he may have been simply trying to ward off panic.’

‘In what way?’

‘Sudden death like that is always disturbing. To announce that the victim had been poisoned would have spread even more alarm and distressed the widow beyond bearing. Perhaps that’s why the doctor concealed any hint that the death might be by unnatural means. Besides,’ added Nicholas, ‘he only examined the man in the hall when he had a small audience around him. How could he make a proper diagnosis there?’

‘It was impossible,’ said Firethorn, finishing his drink. ‘The doctor was anxious to make a fuller examination of the corpse. It’s been removed to the mortuary.’

‘Here at Silvermere?’

‘I believe so. It’s at the rear of the family chapel.’

Nicholas ran a meditative finger around the rim of his tankard. ‘Do you think that we should pay our respects to Master Partridge?’ he said at length.

‘Why?’

‘He might tell us something that Doctor Winche is keeping from us.’

‘But he’s stretched out on a slab.’

‘I’ve looked on death more times than I care to remember,’ said Nicholas a pained expression, ‘and it has many guises. When I sailed with Drake around the world, we lost a large number of men. Some were drowned, some killed by hideous accidents on board, a few perished at the end of a rope. Others died of fever, scurvy, fatigue, sweating sickness, eating strange fish or even drinking their own infected urine when fresh water ran out. You can tell by a man’s face if he died happily or not.’

‘Say no more,’ decided Firethorn, reaching for a candle. ‘Let’s introduce ourselves to this lawyer. I can ask him if he enjoyed my performance.’

Nicholas smiled. ‘Don’t expect an answer.’

They left the kitchen and made their way along a passageway. Having been given a tour of the house on his first visit, Nicholas knew how to find the chapel. It was in the east wing of the property, close to the private apartments of Sir Michael and his wife. The mortuary was at the rear of the chapel, a small, stone-flagged chamber that was reached by a flight of steps. Nicholas and Firethorn went slowly down the steps and opened the door. A candle burnt inside the mortuary, casting a pale glow over the corpse on the marble slab. Herbs had been scattered to sweeten the atmosphere but the smell of death and damp was still paramount. Holding his own candle, Firethorn took it across to the body of Robert Partridge and held it close to his head. Nicholas peeled back the shroud to reveal the tortured features of the deceased. He studied the face carefully before pulling the shroud back further in order to look at the torso and arms. Stripped naked, the corpse was still in an attitude of torment.

‘Is this what I did to him?’ whispered Firethorn.

‘Not without help from someone else,’ said Nicholas. ‘I think he was poisoned.’

‘That was Sir Michael’s feeling.’

‘He may be a sounder physician than Doctor Winche.’

‘Or simply a more honest one.’

Nicholas pulled the shroud back over the face of the cadaver and they turned to leave. Both of them started when they saw a tall figure standing in the doorway. In the wavering light of the two candles, they saw the expression of cold anger on the face of Romball Taylard. They had not heard him arrive and had no idea how long he had been there. The steward’s voice was heavy with disapproval.

‘This is private property,’ he said.

Firethorn gave a shrug. ‘We got lost.’

Mother Pigbone sang quietly to herself as she put another log on the fire and adjusted the iron pot that hung above the flames. It was early morning but she had been up since dawn to feed Beelzebub before getting her own breakfast. The black boar was not merely an agreeable companion for her. It gave her warning of the approach of strangers. When she heard a series of loud grunts from the sty, she knew that somebody was coming. Wiping her hands on her grubby apron, she went outside to see who it was. The rider was following the twisting path through the woods before he emerged into the clearing. He came to a halt in front of her hovel and looked down at her.

‘Mother Pigbone?’ he asked.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then I offer you greetings and thanks,’ said Nicholas Bracewell, touching his hat politely. ‘I belong to a company of players who are performing at Silvermere. When one of our number was struck down, you supplied a potion to recover him.’

‘I believe that I did,’ she said cautiously, peering at his bruised features. ‘Have you come for medicine on your own account, sir? I can see that you need it.’

‘It’s information that I seek.’

‘Would you not like some ointment to take away the pain?’

Nicholas dismounted. ‘No, thank you, Mother Pigbone. I’m more interested in the concoction you gave to my friend.’

‘Did it work?’

‘Extremely well.’

‘Then you’ve no complaint.’

‘None whatsoever,’ he said pleasantly. ‘In fact, Master Firethorn, the patient whose voice you brought back, asked me to pass on his congratulations. He’s indebted to your skills.’

‘So is half the county,’ she replied complacently.

‘May I ask what was in the potion you gave him?’

Mother Pigbone cackled. ‘Ask all you want, sir,’ she invited, ‘but you’ll get no answer from me. My remedies are all secret. If I gave them away, people would use them to medicine themselves and I’d lose my custom.’

‘How much custom does Doctor Winche bring you?’

‘That’s between me and him.’

‘Does he come here regularly?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘He obviously trusts you, Mother Pigbone.’

‘More than I trust you, sir,’ she said, folding her arms with suspicion. ‘What brought you here at this time of the morning?’

‘I was curious to meet you.’

‘Well, now that you’ve satisfied your curiosity, you may ride on.’

‘In a moment,’ he said, meeting her stare. A loud grunting noise took his gaze to the little garden. ‘You obviously keep pigs.’

‘Just one, sir. Beelzebub.’

‘A fearsome name.’

‘He’s a fearsome animal. Beelzebub is my guard dog. When I have unwelcome visitors, I let him loose on them. Nobody stops to argue when they see an angry boar coming at them.’

‘A black boar, by any chance?’

‘Beelzebub is as black as can be, sir. Why do you ask?’

‘It’s an odd coincidence,’ he said, thinking of The Witch of Colchester. ‘A character in one of our plays keeps a black boar. But I didn’t come here to discuss our repertoire with you. I wanted your advice.’

She was circumspect. ‘About what?’

‘Poisons.’

‘You want to buy one, sir?’

He watched her closely. ‘Could you provide it if I did?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘But you’d have the means to make poison, I suspect.’

‘Some herbs can save, others can kill.’

‘Would you prepare a compound that could kill?’

‘I work to save lives, sir,’ she said defensively, ‘not to take them.’

‘What if someone wanted to get rid of rats or other vermin?’ he pressed. ‘Surely you’d have something you could sell to them?’

‘I might.’

‘Then that same poison could be used on a human being.’

‘Not with my blessing, sir,’ she said vehemently. ‘If I did sell rat poison — and I’m not saying that I do — it would be solely to poison rats. I can’t be called to account for what use it was put to when it left here. I made a potion for your friend but I had no means of stopping it from being given to a horse or a cat instead.’

‘I’m not here to accuse you, Mother Pigbone,’ he assured her. ‘I merely wanted to establish how well you knew Doctor Winche and to ask about poisons.’

‘Then you’ve no need to linger, have you?’

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘Unless you want some ointment for those bruises,’ she said, softening her tone. ‘You must’ve taken a lot of punishment to get those. Who cracked open your head?’

‘I wish I knew.’

‘You’ve clearly not had a happy time since you came to Essex.’

‘It’s not been without its pleasures. Meeting you is one of them.’

Mother Pigbone cackled again. ‘Your flattery comes twenty years too late for me or I might invite you in for refreshment. If you could stand the smell, that is. Most people can’t. They have the gall to complain that Beelzebub stinks. What else is a pig to do?’

Nicholas was glad to be leaving on a less hostile note. Hauling himself back up into the saddle, he gave her a smile of gratitude then pretended to have an afterthought.

‘You’re rather isolated out here in the woods,’ he observed.

‘That’s the way that Beelzebub and I prefer it.’

‘Visitors would only come for a special reason.’

‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘Like you, sir.’

‘Have you had many callers recently? Apart from Doctor Winche, that is.’

‘That’s for me to know and you to guess.’

‘Then my guess is that somebody may have come here to buy some poison from you, Mother Pigbone. From what I hear, there’s nobody else in this part of the county who could supply it. It had to have come from here.’ He looked down at her. ‘Did it?’

‘Ride on, sir.’

‘Did it?’ he repeated.

Mother Pigbone turned on her heel and walked around to the sty at the bottom of the garden. When she unhooked the gate, the black boar came charging straight out with its mouth open and its teeth glinting. Nicholas did not wait to be formally introduced to Beelzebub. He had his answer and rode swiftly away.