The Devil's Apprentice

Chapter Twelve

Nicholas Bracewell used the journey to Holly Lodge to discuss the implications of his discovery. His nagging suspicion about Jerome Stratton had been confirmed. Riding beside him, Owen Elias was difficult to shift from his original opinion.

‘I still think that Reginald Orr is involved somehow,’ he asserted.

‘No, Owen. I can’t accept that.’

‘Can you accept that he might have attacked you with a cudgel the other night?’

‘Easily.’

‘The difference between a cudgel and a musket is not that great.’

‘It is,’ said Nicholas.

‘Both can be used to kill.’

‘Only in the wrong hands. If it was Master Orr who hit me — and we’ve yet to unmask him as the culprit — then he did so simply to set Isaac Upchard free rather than to knock out my brains. I absolve him completely of the charge of shooting at me.’

‘Well, I don’t, Nick.’

‘How would he get hold of a musket?’

‘Sir Michael is not the only man in Essex who possesses them.’

‘He’s the only one with distinctive markings on his ammunition,’ said Nicholas. ‘He took me to the arsenal again and showed me his supply of musket balls. Each one had the same triangle of dots.’

Elias was scornful. ‘I’m not interested in Sir Michael’s little triangles. All that I’m concerned with is the single round hole that someone tried to put in your head. And my guess is that it was Reginald Orr who pulled the trigger himself or who set someone else on to do it.’

‘I disagree, Owen.’

‘What if he and Jerome Stratton are confederates?’

‘That’s unthinkable. They’d loathe the sight of each other. Can you imagine someone like Orr approving of the way that Master Stratton makes his money? And I hardly think that Davy’s father would consort with a Puritan. No,’ said Nicholas, ‘they live in different worlds.’

‘Different worlds, maybe, but they share the same code.’

‘Code?’

‘If something stands in your way, remove it.’

‘That’s certainly what Master Orr tried to do to us,’ conceded Nicholas.

‘And what better way to do it than to take our book holder away?’ said Elias. ‘Remove you and Westfield’s Men totter. From the moment you caught Isaac Upchard, you were a marked man, Nick. Orr is thirsting for your blood. There’s a sequence here,’ he argued. ‘The ambush, the attack on the stables and that shot in the forest.’

‘You’ve missed out the death of Robert Partridge.’

‘It was murder. We both know that.’

‘Do you lay that at Reginald’s Orr feet as well?’

‘Of course. He’ll do anything to disrupt our performances. I believe that that lawyer was deliberately poisoned so that he’d die during the play. We were fortunate that it happened when it did and not earlier in the action. Orr is to blame,’ he said, smacking his pommel with the flat of his hand. ‘I’d stake my fortune on it.’

‘You don’t have a fortune, Owen.’

The Welshman chuckled. ‘I’d forgotten that.’

‘You also forgot to explain how the poison was administered,’ said Nicholas. ‘Reginald Orr is not allowed anywhere near Silvermere. How did he sneak in there to give the fatal draught to Robert Partridge and why select a harmless lawyer as his victim?’

‘Lawyers are never harmless. Look at Pye.’

‘You’ve not answered me. Master Orr would get into the Palace of Westminster more easily than into Silvermere.’

‘He must have a friend in the house.’

‘I doubt if he has a friend in the whole county apart from Isaac Upchard. You’ve met him, Owen. He’s more skilled at making enemies than friends.’

The Welshman was unconvinced. He still believed that their trail would lead eventually to the inhospitable Puritan on whom they had called before. The two friends agreed to differ and rode on. It was a fairly short journey to Holly Lodge. As they trotted up the drive, Nicholas issued a caution.

‘Say nothing about Davy running away from us.’

‘If that’s what actually happened, Nick.’

‘We know that it was.’

‘Do we? Suppose that he’s been kidnapped by Reginald Orr?’

‘Davy went of his own accord. You can’t blame everything on Master Orr.’

‘Oh, yes, I can. He probably had a hand in the Spanish Armada as well.’

Nicholas laughed and reined in his horse. When they knocked at the door, they were invited into the hall. Jerome Stratton was highly displeased to see them. He already had one visitor at the house and could spare little time for any others. When he came out of the parlour, he left the door faintly ajar.

‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded, strutting over to them. ‘I hope you haven’t come here to tell me that Davy has fled from you again.’

‘No, Master Stratton,’ said Nicholas.

‘Good.’

‘If he did run away, we’d not look for him here.’

‘He’s your responsibility now. Davy is off my hands, thank heaven. So,’ he said, feet astride, ‘why are you bothering me again?’

‘It’s about a musket that you borrowed from Sir Michael Greenleaf.’

Stratton gaped. ‘The two of you came all this way to reclaim a musket? What an extraordinary errand to perform! If Sir Michael is so eager to get it back from me, why not send one of his servants?’

‘Because it’s rather a special weapon, sir,’ said Elias.

‘Special?’

‘It was used to fire at Nicholas in the forest.’

‘That may or may not be true,’ explained Nicholas. ‘Someone shot at me earlier today. The musket ball missed me but I was able to retrieve it. Sir Michael identified it as having come from his own moulds.’

‘So?’ said Stratton. ‘You’re surely not alleging that I fired that shot?’

‘Did you, sir?’

‘Of course not.’

‘You borrowed the musket to shoot rabbits, I understand.’

‘Did you mistake Nick for one?’ asked Elias sarcastically.

‘No, I did not,’ retorted Stratton, flaring up, ‘and I resent the suggestion. You’ve no right to come here hurling wild accusations at me. It’s slanderous.’

‘Could I see the weapon, please?’ said Nicholas quietly.

‘Why?’

‘Because I might be able to tell if it’s been fired recently.’

‘You’d be wasting your time.’

‘Let me be the judge of that.’

‘This is a matter between Sir Michael and me.’

‘I may be unwittingly involved.’

‘You’re not, I promise you.’

‘Show me the weapon and I’ll know for certain.’

‘If you insist,’ said Stratton, realising that it was the only way to get rid of him. He summoned a manservant and snapped an order that sent him scurrying off. ‘The musket hasn’t been fired for weeks because it’s completely jammed. It’s far too dangerous to use. You can take it back to Sir Michael with my compliments.’

‘Do you have any other firearms in the house, sir?’ said Nicholas.

‘Would I need to borrow one if I did?’

‘What about the supply of musket balls? Are they intact?’

Stratton exploded. ‘I’ve better things to do than to spend my time counting a bag of musket balls. If someone shot at you, it wasn’t me though I’m beginning to have some sympathy with the marksman.’

‘Don’t you dare to insult Nick,’ warned Elias, ‘or you’ll answer to me.’

‘Are you threatening me in my own house?’

‘No, Master Stratton,’ said Nicholas in a more conciliatory tone. ‘And we didn’t come here to accuse you, sir, merely to establish certain facts.’

‘Well, here’s one that you can establish,’ said the merchant as his servant returned to hand him the musket. ‘See for yourself. The weapon is useless.’

Taking the musket from him, Nicholas needed only a moment to see that it was damaged. He considered the possibility that Stratton had deliberately put it out of action after firing at him but dismissed it instantly. The man might be angry with him but he had no real motive to kill him. Since his son was now a member of Westfield’s Men, it was in Stratton’s interests to safeguard the company rather than to murder one of its members. Nicholas gave the musket to Elias. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the door of the parlour inch open a little.

‘Where exactly did this attack take place?’ said Stratton.

‘In the forest,’ replied Nicholas. ‘I was returning from Oakwood House.’

‘Oakwood? What took you there?’

‘Private business. Though your name did come into the conversation.’

Stratton was sour. ‘I’m sure that it did. Clement Enderby wastes no opportunity to run me down. You’ll get no endorsements for me at Oakwood House, sir, and none at all at Holly Lodge for Enderby.’

‘Yet it was not always so, I hear,’ probed Nicholas.

‘That’s our affair.’

‘According to Master Enderby, you and he were friends at one time.’

‘I thought you came to Essex to stage some plays,’ said Stratton, ‘not to listen to the local tittle-tattle. Be about your business, the both of you.’

‘We’ve not finished here yet,’ said Elias. ‘The local tittle-tattle has it that you and Robert Partridge were not exactly brothers-in-arms either. Is that true?’

‘Your question is offensive.’

‘Then give me an offensive answer,’ taunted Elias.

‘What Owen was intending to say,’ interrupted Nicholas, silencing his friend with a glance, ‘was that there’s been a new development. It appears that Master Partridge may not, after all, have been the victim of a heart attack.’

Stratton shrugged. ‘But that was Doctor Winche’s verdict.’

‘We have reason to believe otherwise, sir. Poison was used.’

‘Poison!’

‘It’s conceivable that he may have been murdered.’

‘But that’s a ludicrous notion. Who would possibility want to murder him?’

‘Someone who fell out with him,’ said Elias levelly.

‘Oh, I see,’ said Stratton, surprise turning to anger. ‘You’re going to accuse me of that as well, are you? What did I do? Put a supply of poison in the end of the musket and fire it down Robert Partridge’s throat?’

‘Nobody is accusing you of anything, Master Stratton,’ said Nicholas gently.

‘Then be so good as to leave my house.’

‘At once, sir. We apologise for this intrusion.’

‘Let it be the last you ever make on my property.’

Before Elias could deliver a tart rejoinder, Nicholas hustled him out. When they mounted their horses, the Welshman was still holding the musket. He held it up.

‘It’s a pity it’s out of action, Nick, or I’d have put a ball between his eyes.’

‘Jerome Stratton was not my assassin,’ said Nicholas.

‘I’d willingly be his.’

‘He’ll still repay watching, Owen. Did you hear the way that he talked about Davy? When he first brought the lad to London, he played the doting father but not any more. He’s obviously glad to get rid of the boy.’

‘I’d like to know why.’

‘So would I,’ said Nicholas, ‘and there’s another question that intrigues me.’

‘What was that?’

‘Who was listening to us from the parlour?’

It was all that Lawrence Firethorn could do to keep the company together during the rehearsal that afternoon. Deprived of his book holder, shorn of the actor who played the key role of Sir Roderick Lawless and deserted by his latest apprentice, he was finding it hard to concentrate. Egidius Pye’s presence, an unlikely boon at first, became an intense irritation to them all. It was not long before tetchiness crept in. George Dart was a convenient whipping boy.

‘George!’ bellowed Firethorn.

‘Yes, sir?’

‘You’re getting worse.’

‘Am I?’

‘Dreadfully so. I begin to fear for your sanity.’

‘I’m doing my best, Master Firethorn,’ said Dart, deputising as prompter.

‘Well, it’s nowhere near good enough. What is Master Pye to think when he sees his wonderful play ripped to shreds by the galloping incompetence of its prompter? When you say the lines,’ continued Firethorn, exposing him to the ridicule of the company, ‘we can’t hear them. When we hear them, we can’t understand them. And when we finally do understand them, we realise that they’re from entirely the wrong scene in the play.’

‘I went astray, sir.’

‘You were born astray, George.’

Cruel laughter broke out as Dart once again bore the brunt of Firethorn’s abuse. When another break in rehearsal was taken, it was Barnaby Gill who came to Dart’s aid.

‘It’s unjust to single George out for condemnation,’ he said.

‘Yes, Barnaby,’ returned Firethorn. ‘You certainly deserve your share.’

‘Why?’

‘You’re completely out of sorts this afternoon.’

‘It’s you who should take most of the blame, Lawrence. You hardly got through a speech without a stumble. Lord Malady’s malady is forgetfulness.’

‘And yours is spite.’

‘I’m entitled to point out your mistakes.’

‘Not when you make far more yourself, Barnaby.’

Gill stood on his dignity. ‘What mistake did I make?’

‘Entering the profession of acting.’

‘At least I did enter it,’ said the other haughtily. ‘You stumbled into it like a drunken man falling through the door of a leaping house. My mistake was in joining Westfield’s Men while it had someone like you in it.’

Firethorn inflated his chest. ‘I’m not in the company, I am the company.’

Edmund Hoode was poised to intervene before hot words provoked one or other of them to stalk out for effect but his placatory talents were not needed. The door of the Great Hall opened and Anthony Dyment came scurrying over the oaken floor.

‘I need to speak to Nicholas Bracewell,’ he said.

Firethorn rolled his eyes. ‘So do we all, sir.’

‘Is he here?’

‘Alas, no, as you would have seen from the carnage upon this stage.’

Introductions were perfunctory. The vicar did not linger over the niceties.

‘Where might I find him?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Is he still searching for your missing apprentice?’

‘Keep your voice down,’ said Firethorn, looking around to make sure that nobody else heard the visitor. ‘Do not voice it abroad, sir. When Nick confided our little problem to you, he expected you to be discreet not to preach a sermon on the subject.’

‘I’m sorry, Master Firethorn. My lips are sealed on that matter. But if you know that he called at the church, you’ll also know that he fell foul of Reginald Orr.’

‘Who does not?’

‘An apt question, sir.’

‘Has the bellicose Christian been making threats against Nick?’

‘Worse than that, I fear.’

‘Oh?’

‘He’s gone strangely quiet.’

‘Then perhaps God has taken pity on us all and whisked him up to heaven before his time. Is this all your news?’ teased Firethorn. ‘A noisy Puritan has been silenced?’

‘Two noisy Puritans, Master Firethorn.’

‘Two?’

‘The other one’s name is Isaac Upchard.’

‘The very same rogue who tried to serve us charred horse meat for breakfast. Nick caught him setting alight the stables then captured him later in the day. You can forget about Upchard,’ Firethorn assured him. ‘He’s languishing in a cell and wishing he’d never heard of Westfield’s Men.’

‘But that’s the whole point, sir,’ said the vicar. ‘He isn’t.’

‘You mean that he’s glad we happened to cross his path?’

‘Far from it, Master Firethorn.’

‘Your words confuse me, sir. Could you try them in English, please?’

‘Isaac Upchard is languishing in a cell no longer,’ declared Dyment. ‘That’s why I had to warn Nicholas Bracewell. The prisoner has escaped and he was last heard vowing to get his revenge on your book holder.’

‘The devil take him!’

‘The constable thinks that Master Orr may have devised the escape but there’s no proof of that. When the prisoner slipped out of his cell, the constable was fast asleep.’

Firethorn was scathing. ‘Are such imbeciles ever truly awake?’

‘He’s begun a search for the fugitive.’

‘What comfort is that supposed to bring?’

‘None, sir. I share your dismay.’

‘Rural constables are as much use as a hole in the road.’

‘Officers of the law are difficult to find.’

‘This one should have been left where he is. I’m surprised the oaf didn’t give the prisoner the key to his cell before he went off to sleep. Are there no clues? Is there no indication of where Isaac Upchard went?’

‘He’s disappeared into thin air.’

‘What of Reginald Orr?’

‘He, too, has vanished from sight. It’s deeply troubling.’

‘Yes,’ said Firethorn with a worried frown. ‘Thank you for coming to warn us. Nick should certainly be told but I’ve no idea where he is. Luckily, he has Owen Elias at his side. They make a formidable pair when armed.’

‘My fear is that Upchard may somehow waylay them.’

‘He’ll be no match for either of them.’

‘Don’t be fooled by Puritan garb,’ said the vicar.

‘It always makes me laugh.’

‘Before he was converted to his peculiar faith, Isaac Upchard was a soldier who fought in Holland. He’s been trained to fight, Master Firethorn. That’s why I was so eager to raise the alarm. Nicholas Bracewell must be alerted,’ he stressed. ‘Upchard is a dangerous enemy, skilled in the use of sword, dagger and musket.’

Firethorn started. Taking the vicar by the shoulders, he pulled him close.

‘Did you mention the word “musket”?’ he said.

‘What sort of a woman is Mother Pigbone?’ asked Owen Elias. ‘Motherly or pig-like?’

‘A little of both,’ said Nicholas.

‘I’ll play on her emotions and charm the truth out of her.’

‘Not even your skills could charm this lady, Owen. Mother Pigbone is no tavern wench with a bright smile. She’s more seasoned in the ways of the world.’

‘Why, so am I, Nick.’

‘It may not be a meeting of minds.’

Elias grinned lecherously. ‘Who cares about minds? She’s a woman, isn’t she? That’s all I need to know.’

‘Not quite,’ said Nicholas. ‘Beware of Beelzebub.’

‘Is that the black boar you told me about?’

‘He’s very fond of Welsh beef. If you value your legs, keep clear of him.’

After leaving Holly Lodge, they headed in the direction of Stapleford. Nicholas was anxious to speak to Mother Pigbone again, to probe the nature of her relationship with Doctor Winche and to find out for certain if she had sold poison to someone earlier in the week. It was not a reunion he looked forward to with any pleasure. Elias offered to spare him the ordeal altogether.

‘Let me go alone, Nick,’ he volunteered.

‘Why?’

‘Where a gentleman like you failed, a roisterer like me might succeed.’

‘But I didn’t fail, Owen. I touched her on some raw spots, that’s all. Before I could elicit the truth from her, she turned Beelzebub loose on me.’

‘He can’t be any more frightening than Lawrence Firethorn on the rampage.’

Nicholas smiled. ‘There are similarities, I grant you.’

They caught the first whiff of Mother Pigbone’s lair when they were almost fifty yards away and its pungency steadily intensified. Loud grunting noises showed that Beelzebub was aware of their approach. When they reached the house, Mother Pigbone ambled out to size them up, combining surprise and disgust when she saw Nicholas.

‘You dare to come back, sir?’ she sneered.

‘Nick enjoyed his own visit so much,’ said Elias, dismounting and doffing his hat to her with a flourish. ‘And I can see why, Mother Pigbone. I’m delighted to meet you. My name is Owen Elias, actor with Westfield’s Men.’

‘Then go back to them.’

‘Will you not invite us in?’

‘No, sir,’ she said. ‘Leave while you can or I’ll set Beelzebub on you.’

Elias raised the musket. ‘Please do,’ he challenged. ‘He won’t be the first boar I’ve shot dead. Go on, Mother Pigbone. Let him out and you’ll be able to dine off pork for a month.’

She wilted. ‘What do you want?’ she asked, backing away.

‘Some honest answers for a change.’

‘I won’t speak to you, sir.’

‘Then talk to Nicholas instead,’ said Elias, pretending to aim the musket at her. ‘And be sure to tell the truth or my finger may slip on the trigger.’

‘There’s no need to threaten Mother Pigbone,’ said Nicholas, touching the barrel of the musket to lower it. ‘I’m sure that she understands the seriousness of the situation. All that I wish to do is to put two very simple questions to her.’

‘What are they?’ grunted the old woman.

‘You’ve heard them both before.’

‘Shall I jog her memory, Nick?’ asked Elias.

‘No, no. Mother Pigbone will oblige me in time. She’s an intelligent woman. She’d much rather talk to me here than face the same questions in front of Sir Michael Greenleaf when he dons his robe as a Justice of the Peace. Which is it to be?’ he asked, dismounting to stroll across to her. ‘A polite conversation here at your home or a more thorough examination by a lawyer?’

‘I’ve done nothing!’ she protested.

‘Apart from setting that wild beast on Nick,’ said Elias.

‘Beelzebub is not wild.’

‘I wouldn’t let him curl up in my lap.’

‘Leave this to me, Owen,’ said Nicholas. ‘Mother Pigbone knows the law. I fancy she’s had many brushes with it over the years. She’s aware of the penalty for withholding evidence. Aren’t you, Mother Pigbone?’

She glared at him, transferred her hostility to Elias then looked towards the sty.

‘Ask your questions,’ she said at length.

‘What sort of dealings do you have with Doctor Winche?’

‘I sell him a potion or two.’

‘To kill or cure?’

‘To cure,’ she said defiantly. ‘That’s where my skill lies. Whatever they may say about me, I’m no witch. I don’t cast spells. But I know the trick of lifting them. That’s why I was able to give a voice back to your friend,’ she boasted, hands on hips. ‘Doctor Winche had no medicine for that complaint. I did. That’s why he turned to me.’

‘Does he often turn to you?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘He has no need.’

‘But other people come in search of remedies?’

‘It’s how I live.’

‘Are any of these people bewitched?’ asked Nicholas.

‘They believe they are and that amounts to the same thing.’

‘Why do they call you Mother Pigbone?’

Elias wrinkled his nose. ‘I can tell you that, Nick.’

‘Let’s talk about the poison.’

‘What poison?’ she said.

Nicholas met her gaze. ‘The one that Sir Michael Greenleaf will ask you about if you come before him in court. If you’d rather discuss it under oath, you can. But a lawyer will be more ruthless than I am and squeeze you hard until the truth comes out of you like pips from an orange.’ He gave a cold smile. ‘Do you understand, Mother Pigbone?’

There was a long pause. ‘I may have sold poisons in the past.’

‘To whom?’ mocked Elias. ‘Bored wives who want to kill off their husbands?’

‘To people who want to get rid of vermin.’

‘I know a few husbands who’d fit that description.’

‘This is no place for levity, Owen,’ scolded Nicholas. ‘A man’s life was taken against his will. The least that we can do is to find out why. Do you want his widow to go to his funeral thinking that he simply had a heart attack?’ His eyes flicked back to Mother Pigbone. ‘When was the last time you sold a poison?’

‘Some time ago.’

‘This week? Last week? Be more precise.’

‘I can’t be.’

‘Then you’d better come with us,’ he said brusquely. ‘This crime took place under Sir Michael’s own roof so he’s more than willing to issue a warrant for your arrest. Lock up your house, Mother Pigbone,’ he ordered. ‘You may be away for some time.’

‘No!’ she cried.

‘I’ve tired of your lies. Come on.’

‘Wait!’ She pushed away his hand as he tried to reach out for her. ‘If I tell you what I know, will you go away?’

‘Yes,’ said Elias, ‘before we die of the stink.’

Nicholas held his ground. ‘I’ll tolerate no more evasion. We’re talking about murder here, Mother Pigbone. If you deliberately provided the poison to kill Master Robert Partridge, then you’re an accessory.’

‘I didn’t, I didn’t!’ she yelled. ‘I swear it.’

‘Then what did you do?’

She hung her head. ‘Supply a compound to a gentleman.’

‘For what purpose?’

‘To kill off rats, he said. Or I’d not have sold it to him.’

‘When was this?’

‘Two days ago.’

‘What was the man’s name?’

‘I don’t know, sir. I’ve never seen him before.’

‘Have you any idea where he lives?’

‘None whatsoever. Spare me, please,’ she begged, taking his arm. ‘You know everything now. He bought what I sell. That’s all there is to it. I didn’t even get a proper look at the man because he kept his hat pulled down over his face.’

Nicholas stepped back. They had learnt all that they were going to from Mother Pigbone. After issuing a stern warning that they might return, he rode off with Elias. When they were well out of her earshot, Nicholas turned his friend.

‘You threatened to shoot her boar,’ he said.

‘I had to, Nick.’

‘But that musket is broken.’

‘We know that but Mother Pigbone didn’t.’

‘What would you have done if she’d set Beelzebub on to you?’

‘Run like hell,’ confessed Elias with a laugh. He became serious. ‘You really scared her with that talk about a warrant for her arrest. It forced the truth out of her.’

‘Part of the truth, Owen. My guess is that she and Doctor Winche work more closely than she was ready to admit. Why a doctor should fall back on the remedies of a wise woman I don’t know but there’s some connection between them.’

‘Do you think it was the doctor who bought that poison?’

‘No, it was a stranger. I believed Mother Pigbone on that score.’

‘Was it the same poison that killed Master Partridge?’

‘In all probability.’

‘Then why did Doctor Winche say the man died of a heart attack?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Nicholas thoughtfully. ‘The answer may lie in this odd friendship he has with Mother Pigbone.’

‘Do you remember what he said when he brought that potion for Lawrence?’

‘Yes, Owen.’

‘The doctor said it came from the house of last resort.’

‘Mother Pigbone.’

‘I wouldn’t touch any of her foul concoctions.’

‘Don’t disparage them, Owen. She helped to bring back a lost voice.’

‘Yes, but she silenced another one for ever.’

‘Not deliberately,’ said Nicholas. ‘I think that Mother Pigbone sold that poison in good faith to get rid of vermin. She didn’t know how it would be used.’

‘Didn’t know and didn’t care.’

‘Oh, I think she cared a great deal. If it was used to kill a human being, it could easily be tracked back to her. Mother Pigbone wouldn’t want that. But what really puzzles me is why Doctor Winche didn’t recognise the signs of poisoning when he examined the dead body.’

‘He must be incompetent.’

‘No,’ decided Nicholas, ‘there’s another explanation, I feel. Could it be, in some obscure way, that he was trying to protect Mother Pigbone?’

‘Why should he do that?’

‘It’s one of many things we need to find out, Owen. But we mustn’t lose sight of our main task. Hunting for muskets and searching for a source of poison are important, I know, but there’s another mystery to solve first.’

‘Yes,’ said Elias with a sigh. ‘Where is Davy Stratton?’

When he heard footsteps on the staircase, he dived swiftly back into his hiding place beneath the bed. Davy Stratton waited with apprehension. Discovery would be a disaster for him. When the latch was lifted, he closed his eyes tightly and prayed that nobody would look under the bed. His fears were imaginary. The visitor did not even come into the room. Something was pushed hastily inside before the door was shut again and the footsteps retreated. Davy relaxed. When he opened his eyes again, he saw something that made him crawl out of his refuge at once. Bread and cheese were lying on a wooden platter. Snatching it up, he sat on the bed and began to eat his first meal of the day. It tasted good. Davy was content. He felt wanted.

Sir Michael Greenleaf was poring over a table in his laboratory when his visitor arrived.

‘Ah, come in, Doctor Winche,’ said the old man. ‘You find me, as ever, trying to explore the farthest horizons of science.’

‘What are you working on now, Sir Michael? Your new gunpowder?’

‘No, dear fellow. My mind is turning to the manufacture of more peaceful substances. I’m trying to create a liquid that burns brighter than any candle yet lasts much longer.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘I intend to fill Silvermere with light.’

‘You already do that.’

Sir Michael beamed at the compliment and Romball Taylard, standing at his master’s elbow, allowed himself a whisper of a smile. When the old man stepped away from the table, the steward began to clear things up after him.

‘I got your message, Sir Michael,’ said Winche.

‘Good of you to come so quickly.’

‘There was a hint of urgency in the missive.’

‘Quite so. I felt that the matter had to be resolved once and for all.’

‘What matter, Sir Michael?’

‘It’s this business of Robert Partridge’s sudden death.’

‘But that needn’t cause you any more concern,’ said Winche. ‘The body has been removed to St Margaret’s church and a date for the funeral has been set.’

‘The poor fellow died in my house, doctor.’

‘An unfortunate coincidence.’

‘Not according to Nicholas Bracewell.’

‘Oh?’

‘He and Master Firethorn viewed the body when it lay in my mortuary and they reached a conclusion that, I must confess, flitted across my own mind.’ Sir Michael pursed his lips. ‘They feel that Robert Partridge might have been poisoned.’

‘That’s quite out of the question.’

‘Is it?’

‘I examined the body with care.’

‘So did they, Doctor Winche.’

‘But only in the dark,’ said Taylard, easing into the conversation. ‘They went into the mortuary without permission. When I found them there, they were giving the body a very cursory examination with the aid of a single candle. What could they see with that?’

‘An admirable point,’ said Winche, smiling with gratitude. ‘When I visited the mortuary, I had candelabra set up so that I could inspect the corpse properly. And even then, the light was inadequate.’ He gave a laugh. ‘I could have done with some of that magic liquid you’re working on, Sir Michael. Better illumination was needed.’

‘Nicholas Bracewell seemed so certain,’ recalled Sir Michael.

‘Why should it even concern him and Master Firethorn?’

‘Because the death occurred during their play.’

‘Does that mean they’re entitled to become physicians in my stead?’

‘Of course, not.’

‘Then why do they question my judgement?’

‘There’s another aspect of this, Sir Michael,’ said the steward. ‘They had no right to sneak into your private chapel. How would Master Partridge’s widow feel if she knew that two complete strangers had been staring at his corpse? It’s indecent.’

‘And wholly unnecessary,’ added Winche with an edge to his voice. ‘Exactly how long has this Nicholas Bracewell been practicing medicine?’

‘He sailed with Drake,’ explained Sir Michael, ‘and saw a lot of death aboard, including those poor souls who died of food poisoning.’

‘Is that what he thinks Robert Partridge did? Ate some weird fish from the Pacific Ocean and died in agony? The man had a heart attack, Sir Michael,’ he affirmed. ‘Brought on by overwork. Robert pushed himself too hard.’

‘That’s true.’

‘I thought he looked unwell when I saw him before the play.’

‘So did I,’ agreed Taylard. ‘He also drank more wine than the other guests.’

‘Yes,’ said Sir Michael. ‘Robert was always fond of his wine.’

Winche chortled. ‘I don’t blame a man for that. I enjoy a cup of Canary myself. But over-indulgence can be dangerous.’ A thought nudged him. ‘Nobody likes a drink more than actors. After their performance, I daresay they went off to celebrate.’ He turned to the steward. ‘Were wine and ale laid on for them?’

‘As much as they wanted,’ said Taylard.

‘What state were the two men in when you found them in the mortuary?’

‘Drink had certainly been taken, doctor. I smelt it on their breath.’

‘There we are, then, Sir Michael,’ said Winche. ‘On one side, you have the opinion of a doctor who has seen dozens of people struck down by a heart attack. On the other, you have the ludicrous claim of two drunken men who stole into your mortuary on impulse and examined the body by the light of a candle. Whom do you believe?’

‘When you put it like that,’ said Sir Michael, ‘I obviously trust you.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Yet Nicholas Bracewell seemed so convinced.’

‘Mistakenly.’

‘So it appears.’

‘Robert Partridge has been a patient of mine for years. I knew what to look for.’

‘I accept that, doctor, but, as you know, the possibility of poison did occur to me as well. That strange colour in his cheeks.’

‘Too much wine.’

‘That might explain it, I suppose.’

Winche was categorical. ‘Robert Partridge died of a massive heart attack.’

‘You should be grateful to hear that, Sir Michael,’ said Taylard quietly.

‘Grateful that a guest of mine died, Romball?’ asked the old man.

‘No, that was regrettable. It was a dreadful thing to happen. But since it did, Sir Michael, surely it’s better that Master Partridge died from natural causes rather than by any other means.’

‘Be more explicit, man.’

‘The visit of Westfield’s Men means a lot to you.’

‘And even more to my wife.’

‘To you and to Lady Eleanor. Both of you, Sir Michael, have gone to immense pains to offer entertainment to your friends.’

‘Wonderful entertainment!’ said Winche.

‘Everyone accepts that,’ continued Taylard, his face expressionless. ‘But ask yourself this, Sir Michael. How many of your friends would choose to come to the remaining plays if they thought that one of your guests had been poisoned here?’

It was a sobering idea and it made Sir Michael shudder.

Lawrence Firethorn decided that it was time to assert his authority. When they came back empty-handed to Silvermere, he told Nicholas Bracewell and Owen Elias that their place henceforth was with the rest of the company. They could not be spared again.

‘But we haven’t found Davy Stratton yet,’ said Nicholas.

‘Nor will you,’ said Firethorn. ‘He’s done enough damage to us already. I’ll not have him robbing us of our book holder any longer. To be honest, I don’t care if we never see hide nor hair of him again.’

‘He’s tied to us by contract, Lawrence,’ said Elias.

‘So are you, Owen, and I’m enforcing that contract.’

‘What if his father learns that Davy has given us the slip again?’

‘I’m afraid that he’d show scant interest,’ admitted Nicholas. ‘You heard the way that he talked about his son earlier on. He’s effectively disowned him.’

Firethorn glowered. ‘So have I.’

Nicholas gave him a terse account of their travels that afternoon but the actor was only concerned with his own woes. The rehearsal of The Witch of Colchester had ended in bitterness and confusion. Late into the evening, Firethorn still bore the scars.

‘Forget the musket in the forest,’ he ordered. ‘Ignore a miserable lawyer who might have been poisoned. There’s murder enough in Westfield’s Men to keep the pair of you occupied.’ He pointed a finger as he reeled off the names of his intended victims. ‘I plan to put a hundred musket balls into Egidius Pye. I mean to tip a hogshead of poison down Barnaby Gill’s throat. And, as for that mooncalf, George Dart, I’ll shoot, poison and bury him alive in cow dung. The three of them have tormented me.’

Nicholas and Elias listened patiently while he rid himself of some more bitterness. The three men were seated at a table in the kitchen, eating a meal with those members of the company brave enough to stay within Firethorn’s range. Pye cringed over his food at the table farthest away from them, Gill conversed with Edmund Hoode in a corner and the embattled Dart hid behind a side of beef that swung from a hook and hoped that nobody could see him. It was only when he had finished his recriminations that Firethorn thought of another reason why his companions should stay at Silvermere.

‘Isaac Upchard has escaped,’ he announced.

‘How?’ said Nicholas.

‘The constable went to sleep and his prisoner walked calmly out. The vicar brought the news because he was so anxious to warn us. Upchard is a vengeful man. He’ll be on your trail, Nick.’

‘I’ll be ready for him.’

‘No, you won’t. You’ll be here in the safety of Silvermere, doing the job for which we pay you and saving George Dart from an early death.’

‘This is Reginald Orr’s work,’ said Elias. ‘He must have set his friend free.’

‘So the vicar thought but there’s no proof. And if it’s left to the local constable to find it,’ said Firethorn gloomily, ‘there never will be.’

Elias was rueful. ‘I knew that we hadn’t heard the last of Reginald Orr.’

‘He’ll not bother us if we stay here, Owen, and that’s what we’ll do. There’ll be no more expeditions for you or Nick. Everywhere but Silvermere is out of bounds.’

‘I fear for young Davy,’ said Nicholas.

‘He was the one who chose to run away.’

‘I’d hoped to widen the search still further tomorrow morning.’

‘No!’ said Firethorn, banging the table with his fist. ‘You won’t stir an inch from here. We’ve a large audience coming to see us in Henry the Fifth tomorrow. I refuse to rehearse a single line with that mumbling fool, George Dart, as our prompter. We need to have the play in good order.’

‘I agree,’ said Nicholas with reluctance. ‘It’s the least we owe Sir Michael for his hospitality. For tomorrow’s play, he’s offered to loan me gunpowder for some of our alarums. That should keep the spectators awake.’

Firethorn was soulful. ‘I don’t mind them sleeping, Nick, as long as none of them drops down dead on me. Henry the Fifth is supposed to kill the French, not the audience.’

They finished their meal then drifted back to their lodging with the rest of the company. A row of torches burnt in front of the cottages. Two men were on duty with muskets over their shoulders. Romball Taylard was giving them instructions. When he saw the actors coming, he turned to explain.

‘Sir Michael wants the guard maintained,’ he said, indicating the men. ‘Word has reached us that Isaac Upchard has escaped from custody and we don’t wish to take any chances.’

‘Post as many sentries out here as you wish, Master Taylard,’ said Firethorn. ‘I’m in favour of anything that will help the company slumber in safety.’

‘You’ll have no problems tonight, sir.’

The steward bade them farewell and strode towards the house. The approach of a rider made him halt. Nicholas paused to watch the lone horseman coming up the drive, wondering who could be calling so late. It was difficult to identify the newcomer until he dismounted from his horse to talk with Taylard. His profile and gait were distinctive and Nicholas recognised him at once. It was Jerome Stratton.

The reputation of Westfield’s Men had spread quickly and people came from some distance to watch the first of three performances on consecutive days. Sunday would bring them The Happy Malcontent whose wild antics would be offset by the sad grandeur of Vincentio’s Revenge on Monday. For those who flocked to Silvermere on Saturday evening, however, Henry the Fifth was in store. History, comedy and tragedy were set to form a memorable experience over three days. Dozens of guests converged on the front entrance at the same time and the household servants were deployed in large numbers to welcome them and to offer them light refreshment. Diverted by the activity in one part of the building, nobody noticed the arrival of two uninvited guests at the rear of the property. Clad in black and taking advantage of the failing light, they slipped in through a back door and searched for a hiding place.

Lawrence Firethorn was in a buoyant mood. Rehearsals had been uninterrupted, the new stage effects had worked superbly and the company had recovered much of its spirit. A fine stage and a full audience beckoned. Since he no longer had to fear being attacked by a mystery illness, Firethorn was able to concentrate on his kingly duties. When he was costumed in his robes of office, he put the crown on his head and called the company around him in the tiring-house. His voice was low but moving.

‘Friends,’ he said, letting his gaze roam around their faces, ‘we’ve had our setbacks. I’ll be the first to admit that. But they are behind us now and you must banish their memory from your minds. Everything is now in our favour. We may have a few enemies in Essex but we have many admirers and the hall is full of them.’ He raised a finger. ‘Listen!’ he told them. ‘Can you hear that expectant buzz? Can you sense that anticipation? They are won over before we even step out on that stage. And there’s other news I have to tell you that will gladden your hearts. We have the best friend of all in the audience this evening.’

‘What’s her name?’ asked a grinning Elias.

‘I talk of our patron, Lord Westfield.’

‘Then I resign my claim to Barnaby.’

‘Did you hear what I said, Owen?’ continued Firethorn, quelling the sniggers from the apprentices. ‘Sir Michael and Lady Eleanor deserve sterling performances from us. Lord Westfield demands something more. Are we going to make him proud to lend his name to the company?’ Affirmative calls came from all sides. ‘Then let’s buckle on our armour and carry our weapons with bold hearts. We’re not just going to win the Battle of Agincourt out there, we’re going to conquer that audience as never before.’ He drew his own sword to hold it aloft. ‘Onward!’

Nicholas Bracewell could see the effect that the words had on them. Though they had heard Firethorn many times, he still had the power to inspire. With the solitary exception of George Dart, a diffident actor, everyone was straining to get on stage to attest their worth. Even the mild-mannered Edmund Hoode was roused.

‘I feel that I could win a battle single-handed, Nick,’ he said.

‘Well, I don’t advise it,’ replied Nicholas. ‘In the role of the Dauphin, you have to be on the losing side. Win the battle and you fly in the face of history.’

‘Did you know that Lord Westfield was out there?’

‘Not until just now.’

‘Lawrence is a sly old fox. Trust him to keep those tidings until they’d be of most value. The whole company has been cheered.’

‘They need to be lifted. It’s a full-blooded play that calls for lots of energy.’

‘We’ll make Silvermere shake to its foundations.’

Nicholas smiled then made a swift tour of the room to check that all was well. Musicians were dispatched to the gallery and actors took up their positions. As well as playing five different characters, Dart was responsible for the various properties used and he stood nervously beside the table where they were laid out in order. The heavy murmur in the hall faded away as the musicians came into view. Given their signal, they struck up some introductory chords then Owen Elias stepped out to deliver the Prologue. Henry the Fifth was by no means the best of Hoode’s plays but it told a familiar story with vivid clarity and offered its eponymous hero a magnificent role. Firethorn seemed to grow in size when he made his first appearance as the king and gasps of wonder came from the ladies in the audience. Dashing, peremptory and undeniably regal, he dominated the stage even when Barnaby Gill, providing ripe comedy as a reluctant soldier, shared it with him. Long before the end of Act One, the company had achieved its desired effect. The audience was utterly enthralled.

It was during the next scene that Nicholas had the first hint of trouble.

‘There’s someone lurking behind the gallery, Nick,’ whispered James Ingram.

‘Are you sure?’ said Nicholas.

‘I could hear them moving around when I delivered the Herald’s speech.’

‘But nobody is supposed to be up there until the siege.’

‘That’s why I thought you should know.’

Ingram went off to change into the costume of the Governor of Harfleur and left Nicholas in a quandary. Controlling the play from behind the scenes, he could not simply slip away to see if there were intruders behind the gallery. On the other hand, he could not run the risk of disruption, especially as the play was approaching one of its most dramatic points. The siege required a number of effects that had been carefully rehearsed. Nicholas was needed to coordinate them. Yet nobody else was free to investigate the warning from Ingram. The book holder acted on impulse.

‘George!’ he called.

‘Yes?’ said Dart, scurrying across to him.

‘Did you see the way that I lit that gunpowder this afternoon?’

‘With a spark. It made such a wondrous bang.’

‘You’ve got your own chance to make a wondrous bang now,’ said Nicholas, pointing to the crucibles of powder. ‘I have to go for a minute or two. If I’m not back in time, light the touch-powder in the first crucible.’

‘But I don’t know how!’ cried Dart, unequal to such a demand.

Nicholas did not hear him. He was already making for the stairs that led to the gallery. When he reached the top, he saw the glow of candelabra that illumined the stage. The play continued with unabated fury below him. Attired in armour, Henry was trying to rouse his men for another attack on Harfleur, stirring up such a spirit of patriotism in the hall that some voices were urging them on. Nicholas was involved in another battle. It was against an enemy he barely glimpsed in the room on the other side of the gallery. He was trapped. Since he could only get to them by passing in full view of the audience, he had to stay where he was, wondering who the shadowy figures were and what they intended to do. He soon found out.

Having made their way into the little room that led off the gallery, Reginald Orr and Isaac Upchard were biding their time until they could interrupt the play to maximum effect. They chose the siege of Harfleur but the real hero of the hour on this occasion was not Henry the Fifth but the unarmed George Dart. At the very moment when the two Puritans dashed out on to the gallery, the assistant stagekeeper did as he was told. Unsure which of the three crucibles of gunpowder to ignite, he struck sparks madly and contrived to set off all three simultaneously to produce an explosion that took actors as well as audience by surprise. The report was deafening. When Orr and Upchard emerged from their hiding place, therefore, they were completely obscured by billowing smoke. The huge banner that Orr unfurled, proclaiming the sinfulness of all plays, was hidden from view and the musket that Upchard fired to gain attention was unheard in the general pandemonium.

Nicholas could just see enough to spring into action. He felled Orr with a relay of punches then squared up to his companion. Upchard swung the musket viciously at him and Nicholas had to duck under it. He dived for his adversary’s legs and brought him crashing to the floor. Upchard groped for the dagger at his belt but Nicholas gave him no time to reach it. Seizing the fallen musket, he used its butt to pound him hard. Upchard’s groans were drowned out by the sounds of warfare on the stage. Orr was not finished yet. Dragging himself up, he grabbed Nicholas by the throat and squeezed hard, yelling at the top of his voice. Nicholas gave him more reason to yell, jabbing the musket into his groin then hurling himself on to the man as he fell back. The fight was over. Before he could land another punch, Nicholas and his opponents were dragged out by strong hands. The victorious Lawrence Firethorn stepped over them to take up a commanding position in the centre of the gallery.

‘Out of my way!’ he boomed. ‘I’ve just taken Harfleur!’

By the time that the noise had subsided and the smoke cleared, Henry the Fifth was seen in an attitude of triumph atop the city walls, ready to deliver his victory speech. Spontaneous applause broke out. Down in the tiring-house, two dazed Puritans were being bound and gagged by Nicholas so that they could take no further part in the drama.

Dart was apologetic. ‘I set off all the gunpowder by mistake,’ he said.

‘You saved the day, George,’ said Nicholas happily. ‘Congratulations!’

The play surged on to be met by an ovation at its close. Even their patron, who had seen it many times before, rose to his feet to acclaim them. What stuck in the minds of the audience was the brilliant recreation of the siege of Harfleur when ordnance filled the field and three soldiers were dimly seen fighting for their lives on the gallery. Instead of ruining the performance, Orr and Upchard had merely enhanced it. Far from expelling the actors, they had unintentionally joined their ranks. When both men had been arrested and taken off, Nicholas was able to relax at last. A major threat to the company had been decisively removed. Upchard’s possession of a musket singled him out as a possible assassin in the forest. Danger seemed to be over.

Celebrations were in order. The actors were in a state of high excitement and Nicholas was as ready as any of them to make his way to the kitchen. He felt that he had earned his supper and was keen to toast the success of the company. Arm around George Dart, he followed the others down the corridor. Clement Enderby intercepted him.

‘One moment, my friend’ he said. ‘Might I have a word with you?’

‘Of course,’ replied Nicholas. ‘Go on ahead, George.’

Dart went off to the kitchen and left Nicholas alone with Enderby.

‘There’s no need for me to tell you how much I enjoyed the play. It was truly astonishing. Westfield’s Men gave us the most exhilarating event we’ve had in Essex for many a year. It was a priceless gift,’ said Enderby, eyes sparkling. ‘I think that you deserve one in return.’

‘A gift?’

‘His name is Davy Stratton.’

‘You know where he is?’

‘We brought him with us but nobody else knows that he’s here. I felt it wrong to spring him on you when you were just about to mount your performance.’

‘How is Davy?’ asked Nicholas anxiously. ‘Is he hurt in any way?’

‘No, Master Bracewell. I left him at your cottage. Come and see.’

Nicholas found it hard to contain his curiosity but Enderby would give no further explanation. He took his companion out through a side door of the house and across to the cottages. Candles burnt in the lodging used by Nicholas and the others. When the two men went into the parlour, Davy was sitting on a chair in the corner. He looked sad and uncomfortable.

‘Good even, Davy,’ said Nicholas.

‘Good even,’ murmured the boy.

‘Where have you been?’

‘At Oakwood House.’

‘Why?’

A woman stepped out of the shadows. ‘He came to see me, sir.’

‘This is Kate,’ introduced Enderby. ‘Katherine Gowan, as she was known when in service here. She was very unhappy about coming back to Silvermere.’

‘I was, sir. But I want what’s best for Davy.’

She glanced across at him and Davy responded with a wan smile. Nicholas looked first at the attractive young woman in front of him, then across at the boy, then back at Katherine Gowan. In the space of a few seconds, he began to understand a great deal. Enderby came forward to reclaim Davy.

‘Talk to Kate alone,’ he advised. ‘Some of it’s not for Davy’s ears.’

He took the boy into the kitchen and shut the door after them. Nicholas could see how uneasy and embarrassed the woman was. He invited her to sit down then took the stool beside her. Katherine searched his eyes for reassurance.

‘Davy said that I could trust you,’ she said.

‘I’m his friend, Kate.’

‘That’s what he told me.’

‘He didn’t tell me about you,’ said Nicholas softly. ‘I had no idea that his mother was still alive.’

The woman blushed and lowered her head. It was minutes before she could speak. Nicholas was patient, sensing the effort that it was taking her, wondering how he could make it less of a trial. He attempted to coax the words out of her.

‘He went to you, didn’t he?’ he asked. ‘When he ran away from us in the forest that first time, he wanted to be with you.’

‘I told him it was wrong, sir. I made him go back.’

‘And this time?’

She gave a shrug of defeat. ‘I tried to hide him in my room but it was no use. Davy couldn’t stay at Oakwood House forever. Master Enderby is a kind man. He’s been good to me. I couldn’t keep the secret from him.’

‘When did Davy find out himself?’

‘When I came back to Essex, sir. I was sent to Lincoln to work, far away, so that nobody would know. Davy was to be brought up in a fine house. I could never give him that. It seemed right for him. I was in disgrace, sir,’ she said quietly. ‘I had to agree.’

‘But you came back eventually.’

‘He was never out of my mind.’

‘Did you keep in touch with his father?’

‘No,’ she said firmly.

‘Did he want you to come back?’

‘Oh, no!’

‘I can see now why Master Stratton stopped the boy coming to Oakwood House.’

‘But he’s not the father, sir.’

‘Isn’t he?’

‘I’d not let him near me, sir,’ she said with spirit. ‘He’s a harsh man.’ She bit her lip. ‘It’s a long story and I don’t know it all myself. What little I do know makes me ashamed of my part in it.’

‘Why?’

‘It was a cruel thing to do to any woman, sir. It was wicked.’ She became wistful. ‘And it was a terrible thing to do to Davy as well, God forgive me.’

‘What happened?’ asked Nicholas, taking her hand. ‘I’ll not sit in judgement on you. Davy obviously loves his mother so much that he’ll do anything to be with her. You came back in order to be near him, didn’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘And that’s why Master Stratton stopped him coming to Oakwood House to play with his friends. He packed the boy off to London to keep him out of the way.’

‘It hurt Davy so much, sir. To be separated from me.’

‘It must have been agony for you as well.’

‘Oh, it was. I’d had years of it, wondering where my son was and how he was faring. I could stand it no longer. I knew that he could never be mine but I wanted to be close to him somehow.’

‘How did he come to be at Holly Lodge in the first place?’

She took a deep breath. ‘You have to remember that this took place a long time ago. I may not have all the details right but this is what I recall.’ Nicholas could feel her hand trembling. ‘Master Stratton’s wife was desperate to have children and she was heartbroken when she had two stillbirths. Her husband didn’t want her to go through the ordeal again. I can understand that. When she conceived again, he feared the worst.’

Nicholas was ahead of her. ‘The third child was stillborn.’

‘Yes, sir, but she was never told. The dead baby was taken away and she was given a live one in its place, thinking it was her own.’ She lowered her head. ‘My son, Davy, had been born a few days earlier. They took him from me.’

‘They?’

‘Doctor Winche and the midwife.’

‘Where was the baby delivered?’

‘In a cottage on the other side of Stapleford,’ she said, distressed at the memory. ‘They hid me away until my time came then I was sent off to Lincoln to start a new life.’

‘And did Master Stratton’s wife ever learn the full facts?’

‘No, sir. She loved Davy as her own son, poor woman. But he was a bad father. As soon as his wife died, Master Stratton turned on Davy. Then he heard that I’d been taken on at Oakwood House and looked for a way to get rid of him altogether.’ A pleading note sounded. ‘I didn’t come back to cause trouble, sir, truly I didn’t.’

‘How did Davy find out that you were his mother?’

‘He defied his father and sneaked off to play with Master Enderby’s sons. Davy saw me at the house. There are some things a woman can’t hide, sir. Davy soon guessed. We were drawn together. He came whenever he could slip away.’

‘Let’s go back to the birth itself,’ he said gently. ‘You told me that the baby was taken from you by Doctor Winche and the midwife.’

‘That’s right, sir. Mother Pigbone.’

Nicholas was shocked. ‘She helped to bring Davy into the world?’

‘Mother Pigbone was much younger then and kind to me at first.’

‘But what about the legal side of things?’ asked Nicholas. ‘Two people can’t lose their own child and simply reach out for someone else’s. A doctor is supposed to record all stillbirths. How was it hushed up?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Davy must be Master Stratton’s heir yet he’s not legally his son. Were no questions asked at the time? How were you persuaded to part with him?’

‘They forced me to sign a document, renouncing my claim to Davy. Everything was to be kept secret. Doctor Winche knew a lawyer who arranged it all.’

Nicholas guessed his name. ‘Robert Partridge?’

‘I couldn’t tell you that, sir. They kept me out of it.’ She turned to him in quiet despair. ‘What’s going to happen to Davy, sir? He’s apprenticed to your company, I know, but his heart is not in it. He hates being taken away from me. Will you force him to go back to London with you?’

‘It’s not up to me, Kate. It’s something we’ll have to discuss very carefully. But there are other things to be resolved first,’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘Thank you so much for what you’ve told me. I can see how much it’s cost you.’ He pointed to the kitchen door and smiled. ‘Go back to your son.’

‘But there’s something I haven’t told you, sir.’

‘Is there?’

‘The name of Davy’s father.’

‘I think I know that.’

Jerome Stratton was furious. He stamped around the room and waved his arms wildly. During an acrimonious debate, his voice was the loudest and most bitter.

‘Why on earth wasn’t I told about this earlier?’ he demanded.

‘Because you would’ve tried to stop me,’ said Romball Taylard.

‘That’s certainly true.’

‘I wasn’t party to this either,’ said Doctor Winche defensively. ‘Romball acted of his own accord and I had to cover for him.’

Stratton rounded on the doctor. ‘You’re as much to blame as him. Why didn’t you tell me the full truth when you called at my house? Damnation!’ he exclaimed. ‘You were there yesterday when Nicholas Bracewell told me that poison had been used to kill Robert Partridge. You assured me that he was wrong.’

‘What else could I do, Jerome? This has to be kept quiet.’

‘How?’

‘Quite easily,’ said Taylard, trying to take control of the discussion.

The three men were in the steward’s private apartment. While the other guests were still mingling down below, Stratton and Winche had slipped upstairs for an urgent conference with Taylard. Alone of the spectators, they had not enjoyed the performance.

‘All that we have to do is to stick together,’ insisted Taylard.

‘We can’t do that if you keep me in the dark,’ growled Stratton.

‘There was no need for you to know. If that meddling Nicholas Bracewell had not interfered, this whole business would have blown over. Robert Partridge would have gone quietly to his grave and,’ he said pointedly, looking from one man to the other, ‘nobody in this room would have mourned him.’

‘That’s certainly true.’

‘Yes,’ added Winche. ‘Robert was becoming a problem.’

‘He won’t bother us any more,’ said Taylard smoothly. ‘His secrets will be buried with him. I thought to kill two birds with one stone. That’s why I procured the poison from Mother Pigbone. You know how fond Robert was of wine. He drank so much of it before the play that he didn’t notice when I slipped a powder into his cup.’

‘But why?’ asked Stratton.

‘And why not forewarn me?’ bleated Winche.

‘What were you trying to do, man?’

‘Disrupt the performance in the middle,’ said Taylard, ‘and stop it in its tracks. That would have taken the shine off Westfield’s Men. Who would want to come to see them play when they heard about a violent death in the audience? Their visit here might have been brought to a premature end. But,’ he added with a curl of his lip, ‘Robert Partridge had a stronger constitution than I bargained for. The poison was too slow to take effect. By the time he fell, the play was almost over.’

‘Yes,’ said Winche irritably, ‘and I was left in the awkward position of lying about the cause of death.’

‘It’s not the first time you’ve done that, doctor,’ Taylard reminded him. ‘We’d have got away with it if Nicholas Bracewell hadn’t poked his nose in.’

‘He knows too much.’

‘That’s why I tried to silence him as well.’

Stratton was appalled. ‘It was you who shot at him in the forest?’

‘Killing him is the one sure way to evict the company from Silvermere.’

‘But you didn’t succeed, Romball,’ said Winche anxiously, ‘and the fellow’s still on our tail. He’s been hounding Mother Pigbone about the poison.’

‘I want no part of this,’ declared Stratton, heading for the door. ‘I can’t condone murder. You two can dig yourselves out of this hole on your own.’

Winche took his arm to stop him. ‘You’re in this with us, Jerome.’

‘Not any more!’

Stratton flung him aside and stormed out of the room, leaving the door wide open. Winche began to lose his nerve. He moistened dry lips with his tongue.

‘We’re done for, Romball,’ he decided. ‘I’m going to make a run for it.’

‘No!’ shouted Taylard.

‘The truth is going to come out.’

‘Not if we get rid of Nicholas Bracewell.’

‘How can we possibly do that?’

‘I was about to ask the same question?’ said Nicholas, appearing on cue in the doorway. ‘I was hoping to find you here, Master Taylard. I wanted to talk to you about your son — Davy Stratton.’

‘You see?’ cried Winche in alarm. ‘I told you that he knows too much.’

Nicholas smiled. ‘I know everything.’

Taylard reacted with speed. Grabbing hold of the doctor, he pushed him hard in the direction of Nicholas. The collision gave him vital seconds to make his escape into the bedchamber. Nicholas went after him but found the door locked. He tried to force it with his shoulder. When it would not give way, he snatched up a stout chair and used it to pound away at the door. When the lock finally sprung open, he dashed into the room only to find that Taylard was not there. Cold air blew in through an open window. Nicholas ran over to it and was just in time to see a tall figure, making his way across a flat section of the roof towards the tower. He did not hesitate. Clambering through the window, he picked his way carefully across the slippery surface. Taylard disappeared through a door in the side of the tower. By the time that Nicholas reached it, the steward was several yards above him, struggling towards the edge of the parapet with a cannon ball in his hands. Had the stone missile hit him, Nicholas’s head would have been smashed to a pulp but he just managed to dodge it, flinging himself through the door as the cannon ball crashed down through the roof.

Taking out his dagger, he went up the dark stairs with great caution. Taylard was waiting for him at the top with another cannon ball in his hands. Nicholas put his head through the doorway then withdrew it quickly. A second missile passed within inches of him. Before the steward could grab a third, Nicholas darted out on to the top of the tower. Taylard backed away and the two men circled each other slowly.

‘Now I can see why you didn’t want us here,’ said Nicholas. ‘The last person you wished to see at Silvermere was your own son.’ Taylard tried to make for the door but Nicholas cut off his retreat. ‘Katherine Gowan has explained it to me. When she was a servant here, she made the mistake of letting you into her bed. She was soon carrying your child. Like the considerate father you are, Master Taylard, you not only turned her out, you even stole the child from her.’

‘It was for her own good.’

‘That’s not what Kate says.’

‘She should never have come back to Essex.’

‘There are lots of things that should never have happened,’ said Nicholas, jabbing the dagger at him when he tried to move in. ‘You shouldn’t have bought that poison from Mother Pigbone. You shouldn’t have murdered Robert Partridge. You shouldn’t have shot at me in the forest. Yes,’ he continued, still circling his prey, ‘it had to be you, Master Taylard. Who else would have the key to Sir Michael’s arsenal? You took one of the muskets and came after me, didn’t you?’

‘Yes!’

‘Well,’ said Nicholas, tossing his dagger to the floor, ‘I’m still here.’

He spread his arms to invite attack. Taylard responded at once, hurling himself at Nicholas to grapple with him, forcing him back towards the doorway. Nicholas had a firm grip and slowly exerted his strength. Unable to get the better of him, Taylard tried to kick and bite his attacker but that only annoyed him the more. With a sudden burst of energy, Nicholas threw him violently to the ground and stood over him. The steward groped around until he found the discarded weapon. Leaping to his feet, he waved the dagger at Nicholas to keep him at bay. The fight was no longer on equal terms. Taylard manoeuvred him around until Nicholas had his back to the parapet. The lunge finally came. Nicholas was ready for it. He managed to grab the wrist that was holding the dagger and he twisted the weapon free. When it clattered to the floor again, Taylard seemed to go berserk, gathering all his reserves of strength to seize Nicholas and force him steadily backwards until he was up against the parapet.

At the highest point of the house, the two men struggled for their lives. Taylard was spurred on by desperation but Nicholas had the greater willpower. He was not only fighting on behalf Westfield’s Men, he was avenging a small boy and a discarded mother as well. It lent him additional strength. When he felt the cold stone against his spine, he moved sharply to his left and tugged the steward with all his might. Romball Taylard’s momentum was his own undoing. He was pulled irresistibly forward. Instead of pushing Nicholas over the edge of the parapet, he was flung into the void himself and fell through the darkness with a cry of terror before hitting the ground below.

The performance of The Witch of Colchester exceeded all expectations. Westfield’s Men were eager to add their own greetings on Sir Michael Greenleaf’s sixtieth birthday and they achieved an excellence that surpassed even that shown in Henry the Fifth. The Great Hall at Silvermere was packed to capacity to view the phenomenon. Lawrence Firethorn gloried in the role of Lord Malady, able to control his recurring illnesses now instead of being at their mercy. As his arch enemy, Owen Elias revelled in the part of Sir Roderick Lawless while Barnaby Gill clowned his way expertly through the role of Doctor Putrid. Edmund Hoode and James Ingram drew much laughter as a pair of calculating lawyers. Solid support from the rest of the company made the premiere of Egidius Pye’s play the crowning event of their visit and the embattled author was in the audience to weep with gratitude all the way through it.

The occasion was not without sadness for Sir Michael. His joy was tempered with regret. Those who had come to celebrate his birthday surrendered to the magic of the play but it had a deeper resonance for him. The waddling figure of Black Joan reminded him of Mother Pigbone and the death of Shortshrift gave him another jolt as he recalled the poisoning of another lawyer in that very hall. Westfield’s Men could not be blamed for the unsettling coincidences with which their comedy abounded. In exposing the wickedness of Romball Taylard, the trusted steward, Nicholas Bracewell had drawn the poison out of Silvermere itself and that alone justified the visit of the company. The one person whom Sir Michael and Lady Eleanor had hoped to see on the stage was instead seated beside Clement Enderby and his family. Davy Stratton was entranced. The devil’s apprentice was marvelling at the work of accomplished masters of their trade.

Thunderous applause broke out when the play ended. Firethorn beamed at his troupe as they gathered around him to reap the reward of their hard work. He struck the pose that he had used to such effect as Lord Malady.

‘Praise is the best medicine of all,’ he announced. ‘Take as much as you can get.’

The company came out to clapping and cheers that went on for several minutes. The acclaim did not end there. Though they had come as guests of Sir Michael, more than one spectator wanted to express his thanks in monetary terms. Firethorn graciously accepted the bounty. When they later counted their takings, Westfield’s Men learnt that they had made a handsome profit. It helped to erase some of the harsher memories they might have taken away from Silvermere. While birthday celebrations continued in one part of the house, the company had their own banquet in the kitchen. It was a fitting way to end their stay in Essex.

Dawn found them loading their cart for the long trek back to London. Nicholas checked that nothing was left behind. Elias strolled across to pat him on the shoulder.

‘Your cargo is a little lighter now, Nick,’ he observed.

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘We leave with one less apprentice and that may prove a gain rather than a loss. Since he was not legally the boy’s father, Jerome Stratton’s contract with us was null and void.’

‘That lousy merchant broke the law in other ways as well.’

‘He’ll answer for that, Owen.’

‘So will Doctor Winche and Mother Pigbone.’

‘Yes, they were all involved in the conspiracy but the real villain was Romball Taylard. It was so ironic,’ he commented, gazing across at the house. ‘Master Stratton apprenticed Davy to us in order to get rid of him yet the lad’s first engagement as an actor was at Silvermere. Injustice came home to roost.’

‘How will the lad fare?’

‘Very well, I’m sure. Master Enderby showed great kindness in taking him in.’

‘Every boy should be with his mother.’

‘Nonsense!’ said Firethorn, coming to join them. ‘Believe that and we’d never get a single apprentice. Theatre is the best mother of all, Owen. Have you so soon forgotten what happened on that stage last night? She suckled us delightfully.’

After giving the order to mount up, Firethorn hauled himself into the saddle and led his company past the main door of Silvermere. Sad to see them leave, Lady Eleanor and her guests were standing on the steps to wave them off but there was no sign of their host. Firethorn doffed his hat in a gesture of farewell then took the cavalcade around the perimeter of the lake. Seated beside Nicholas on the cart, Egidius Pye was still bubbling with pleasure at the success of his play.

‘Thank you, thank you!’ he said effusively.

‘It’s we who should thank you for a wonderful play,’ said Nicholas.

‘I’ll be a lawyer no more. You’ve changed my life.’

No sooner had he spoken than there was an ear-splitting explosion behind them. Standing beside the smoking culverin that had been winched to the top of the tower, Sir Michael Greenleaf looked on as his cannon ball described a gentle arc through the air before landing in the middle of the lake. The last of the ice was shattered and the departing actors were covered with spray. From his lofty eminence, Sir Michael had added his individual tribute to them.

The Wizard of Silvermere had perfected his new gunpowder at last.