The Devil's Apprentice

Chapter Six

It was well after dawn before he heard the key being inserted in the door. Nicholas Bracewell was waiting. After being roused from his slumber in the night, he had had no further sleep, intent on keeping guard over Davy Stratton whom he had reprimanded as firmly as he dared without waking Owen Elias. Sent back to his own bed, the boy had retreated into a deep sleep. He was still lying there as Nicholas got up and stepped past him to open the door. A servant was walking away along the passageway.

‘Wait a moment,’ called Nicholas.

‘Good morrow, sir,’ said the man, turning back.

‘We were locked in our room last night.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s what I was told to do, sir.’

‘By whom?’

‘The steward, sir.’

‘Did he give you a reason?’

‘No, sir. Only an order.’ He pointed a finger at the neat pile of clothing on the floor. ‘Fresh apparel came from Holly Lodge for the boy. I’ve set it down there.’

‘Thank you.’

Nicholas waved him away. Picking up the clothing, he went back into the room to put it beside Davy. There was no point in reproaching a servant for doing something that he had been instructed to do. The matter would have to be taken up with Romball Taylard himself. It was one thing for the guests to be given a key and advised to lock the door from the inside but that is not what happened. Nicholas had been deliberately imprisoned with the others in the room and he wanted to know why. Owen Elias stirred in his bed. He greeted the day with huge yawn then rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

‘Good morrow, Owen,’ said Nicholas.

‘Are you up already?’

‘I wanted to catch the servant when he let me out.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Elias.

‘After we went off to sleep, someone locked the door from the outside.’

The Welshman sat up. ‘We were trapped in here? I don’t like the sound of that at all. Is this the way they treat their guests?’ he asked, his anger building. ‘You expect this kind of thing in Newgate or the Marshalsea but not in a private house like Silvermere. A pox on it! This is not hospitality.’

‘I’m as annoyed as you are, Owen.’

‘Why did Sir Michael want us under lock and key?’

‘That’s what I’ll demand of the steward. This was done at his behest. As it happens,’ said Nicholas, looking across at their companion, ‘it worked to our advantage. Davy tried to sneak away in the night.’

‘Death and damnation!’ cried Elias, getting out of bed. ‘Let me at him. I’ll flay the skin off his buttocks for this.’

‘No,’ said Nicholas, restraining him. ‘That’s not the way, Owen. Wait until we are clear of Silvermere. That’s the time when we may wheedle the truth out of him.’

‘Why wheedle when we can knock it out of his cunning little head?’

‘Get dressed. I’ll wake the lad and we’ll go in search of breakfast.’

But the raised voice of Elias had already brought Davy out of his sleep. Nicholas had made him undress again before he got back into bed. In his crumpled shirt, the boy looked small and defenceless. The boldness that had prompted the attempt at escape had vanished now. Davy was frightened, fearing a further rebuke from Nicholas and more violent castigation from Elias. Avoiding their gaze, he reached for his clothes then saw that fresh apparel had been provided. He began to put it on. Nicholas poured water into the bowl and washed his face and hands before drying them on a piece of cloth. He turned back to Davy.

‘Wash yourself before we leave, lad.’

‘Yes,’ said Davy.

‘Do you need to use the chamber pot?’

‘No, no.’

‘When you do,’ warned Elias, ‘one of us will hold your pizzle for you. We’re not letting you out of our reach again. Go to the privy and Nick or I go with you.’

Davy swallowed hard and finished dressing. Fifteen minutes later they were clattering along the passageway to the backstairs. When they descended to the kitchen, a servant was waiting to show them to the table and the cook came over take orders from them. The pangs of hunger were too much for the boy to endure and he joined the others in a breakfast of cold turkey pie and bread. The two men drank watered ale but Davy settled for a cup of whey. Nicholas made no mention of events during the night and tried instead to cheer the boy up.

‘You’ll be back with the other apprentices this afternoon, Davy,’ he said.

‘I know.’

‘How are you getting along with them?’

‘I like them well enough,’ muttered Davy.

‘They’ll mock you at first and make you the butt of their jests.’

Davy was rueful. ‘Yes. They have.’

‘Take no notice of it, lad. That’s their way. They did the same to Dick Honeydew when he first joined the company and he’s turned out to be the best of them.’

‘Dick is a friend,’ said the boy, rallying slightly.

‘Does he tease you?’

‘No. Only the others. I want to see Dick Honeydew again.’

It was the one positive sign that he was ready to go back to London with them to resume his life with Westfield’s Men. Nicholas hoped that it was something on which they could build. The meal over, they thanked the cook and were led away by a servant who had retrieved their hats and cloaks for them. They were conducted to the hall. Romball Taylard was hovering patiently by the door to dispatch the visitors.

‘Welcome to the day,’ he said. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Reasonably well,’ said Nicholas tartly, ‘but we’d have slept much better if someone hadn’t locked us in all night. Why did you arrange that?’

‘I thought it needful, sir.’

‘Needful!’ roared Elias. ‘Did you fear that we’d roam around the house in search of drink and women? Hell’s teeth! We’re grown men. We don’t need to be shut away like dangerous animals.’

‘I’m sorry if it upset you,’ said Taylard calmly.

‘Oh, I’m far more than upset.’

‘So am I,’ added Nicholas, fixing the steward with a stare. ‘I think that you owe us an explanation. I can’t believe that Sir Michael sanctioned this outrage.’

‘No,’ admitted Taylard. ‘I was not acting on behalf of Sir Michael.’

‘This was your invention, then?’

‘Not entirely. But I readily agreed to the suggestion when it was put to me.’

‘By whom?’

‘Master Stratton.’

Nicholas recalled the brief exchange between the steward and the departing father on the previous night. He also understood the reasoning behind the request. To make sure that his son did not abscond from the house Jerome Stratton wanted him securely locked in. Before Nicholas could speak, the steward anticipated his question.

‘Why did I not give you the key to lock the door from the inside?’ he said. ‘The answer is simple. I feared that you might fall deeply asleep and be unaware of someone stealing the key from you.’ He glanced at Davy who reddened slightly. ‘I apologise for this and take the blame without complaint.’

‘Well, I’ve a complaint or two to make,’ growled Elias.

‘Another time, Owen,’ decided Nicholas, cutting him off with a glance. ‘Nothing will be served by hot words and wild accusations at this time in the morning. We’ve heard an explanation and it must suffice — though I still can’t understand why we weren’t told what you planned to do.’

Taylard was bland. ‘On reflection, that would have been best.’

‘Don’t you dare play a trick like this on us again,’ said Elias with vehemence.

‘It was no trick, sir. It had a purpose. Nobody could leave the room.’

‘Did you expect that one of us would?’ pressed Nicholas.

‘Master Stratton felt that it was a possibility.’

‘And where did he think his son would go?’

‘That’s not for me to speculate,’ said the steward. ‘The salient point is that three of you went into that room last night and all three of you came out again together.’

‘How many other occupants of the house were jailed?’ said Elias.

‘None, sir. This was a special case.’

‘Dictated by Master Stratton,’ observed Nicholas. ‘Did Sir Michael know about this? Is he aware that his steward is taking orders from someone outside his house? I venture to suggest that the master of Holly Lodge wouldn’t let Sir Michael have a say in the running of his home.’ Taylard was faintly discomfited for the first time. ‘Do you intend to acquaint Sir Michael with what took place?’

‘Sir Michael can’t be bothered with every minor detail, sir.’

Elias was enraged. ‘Minor detail! Turning three guests into convicted felons?’

‘All that I can do,’ said Taylard, trying to mollify him with an apologetic smile, ‘is to give you my word that nothing like this will ever happen again. When you return next week with the rest of your company, you’ll be given the freedom of the cottages, the outbuildings and the grounds. There’ll be no hint of incarceration.’

‘We’ll hold you to that,’ said Nicholas sternly.

Continued argument with the steward was pointless. He had instigated something that had fulfilled its function. It prevented Davy’s escape. In doing that, Nicholas now saw, Jerome Stratton had given himself away. The merchant’s glib explanation of his son’s disappearance in the forest was now exposed as a lie. Davy Stratton had fled from his two companions. In making sure that the lad did not escape a second time, the father was admitting that there had been a precedent.

Owen Elias rid himself of some ripe expletives into the steward’s ear but Taylard was unruffled. Having weathered the storm of protest, he opened the front door for them to hurry them on their way.

‘The office of steward is more lowly than I imagined,’ said Nicholas.

Taylard stiffened. ‘Lowly?’

‘I would have thought you’d risen above such mundane duties as opening doors.’

‘Not to mention locking them in the night!’ added Elias with asperity.

‘I happen to be here as you depart,’ said the steward.

‘Then be so good as to summon Sir Michael,’ ordered Nicholas, adopting a tone he might use to an awkward servant. ‘Before we take our leave, we’d like to thank him for his kind hospitality.’

‘That’s impossible, alas,’ said Taylard.

‘Why?’ asked Elias. ‘Is he shooting at wildfowl with cannon ball?’

‘No, sir. He’s talking to a visitor. The vicar arrived only a moment ago on urgent business. He and Sir Michael must not be disturbed.’

‘In that case,’ continued Nicholas, determined not to be sent on his way by the supercilious Taylard, ‘we’ll speak to Lady Eleanor or can you devise a reason why she, too, is unable to bid farewell to her guests?’

The steward hesitated. ‘I suppose that I could see if Lady Eleanor is available.’

‘I think that you should do that or there may be repercussions. Sir Michael and his wife will be justifiably annoyed if they learn that we left without speaking to either of them. It’s common courtesy on our part.’ Nicholas gave a gentle smile. ‘Why not fetch Lady Eleanor yourself?’

Romball Taylard was saved the trouble of making a reply. Footsteps echoed on the oak floor and two figures came into the hall. Deep in conversation, they did not at first see the group by the front door. Sir Michael Greenleaf had regained more of his dignity now that he had cleaned himself up. His attire was also more appropriate to his position as owner of the estate. One arm around Anthony Dyment, he was clearly fretful. When Sir Michael looked up to see his guests, he brightened at once.

‘Ah!’ he declared. ‘I’m glad that I caught you before you left. Oh, this is my chaplain, Anthony Dyment, by the way,’ he said, touching his companion. Nicholas and Elias gave the vicar a nod of acknowledgement. ‘I was just telling Anthony what splendid fellows you both were and how much my wife and I are looking forward to the visit of Westfield’s Men. Unhappily, our enthusiasm is not shared by everyone, it seems.’

‘No, Sir Michael,’ said Elias with a meaningful glance at the steward.

‘As well as being my chaplain, Anthony is also the vicar of St Christopher’s …’ He broke off as Dyment whispered something to him. ‘Of course, of course, Anthony. Leave at once if you have a christening to perform. It was kind of you to postpone it briefly while you rode over here.’

‘I felt that I had to speak to you at once, Sir Michael,’ said Dyment.

‘A wise decision, dear fellow. But away with you.’

Gesturing both farewell and apology, the vicar went swiftly out through the door. Sir Michael turned to the others with his brow furrowed. He shook his head sadly.

‘We’ve encountered a problem,’ he told them. ‘It’s not insurmountable but it’s definitely a problem. Anthony is the first to catch wind of it.’

‘Of what, Sir Michael?’ asked Nicholas.

‘Opposition to your arrival.’

‘Opposition?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ said the old man. ‘We have a small but active Puritan community nearby and they hold trenchant opinions. One of their number — Reginald Orr — has been a thorn in my flesh for years. Orr can be a confounded nuisance.’

‘We fight against Puritan disapproval every day in London,’ said Nicholas.

‘Then I don’t need to explain what an unflattering view they take of actors.’

Elias grinned. ‘The kindest thing they call us is “fiends from hell.”’

‘Reginald Orr will not stop at calling names,’ said Sir Michael solemnly. ‘And it isn’t only Westfield’s Men who have aroused his ire. He and I have a long history. As a Justice of the Peace, it’s fallen to me to fine him on several occasions for breaches of the peace and to have him twice set in the stocks. He bears grudges.’

‘This narrow-minded ninny will not upset us,’ said the Welshman airily. ‘We’re used to such madmen trying to drive us off from the stage.’

‘I doubt if you’ve met someone quite as single-minded as this man,’ continued Sir Michael, sucking on his teeth. ‘Anthony Dyment was accosted in his church by the rogue this very morning. Reginald Orr issued a direct threat against you.’

‘He can surely not object to our visit to a private house,’ said Nicholas.

‘Oh yes, he can.’

‘Will he try to disrupt our performances?’

‘Worse than that,’ said Sir Michael.

‘Worse?’

‘I’m afraid so. He’s vowed to stop you even reaching Silvermere.’

Having shaken off his mystery illness completely, Lawrence Firethorn was in high spirits as he arrived at Edmund Hoode’s lodging. He banged on the door and was admitted by the playwright himself. Hoode looked more harassed than ever.

‘Is the fellow here?’ asked Firethorn.

‘Yes, Lawrence. Since the crack of dawn. His enthusiasm is crippling me.’

‘What progress have you made?’

‘None at all.’

‘What!’

‘He’s still having second thoughts about decisions we made yesterday.’

‘Fire and brimstone!’ exclaimed his visitor. ‘Let me talk to the villain.’

Followed by Hoode, he went swiftly up the stairs and into the room. Egidius Pye was seated at the table in the window, quill in hand as he crossed something out on a page to replace it with different wording. He gave a chuckle of self-congratulation but it changed to a gurgle when Firethorn loomed over him.

‘Good morrow, sir,’ said the actor with a cold smile.

‘Oh, good morrow, Master Firethorn. This is an unexpected pleasure, sir. We are working well together, as you see. In fact,’ he said, indicating the page before him, ‘I’ve just made a significant change in the Prologue.’

‘Again?’ groaned Hoode.

‘It’s almost finished now.’

Firethorn was horrified. ‘You’re still dallying with the Prologue?’

‘Be glad that we’ve got this far, Lawrence,’ said Hoode. ‘Master Pye spent the first hour arguing over the title of the play.’

‘Not arguing,’ corrected the lawyer. ‘Striving to improve, that is all.’

Firethorn glanced down at the Prologue and saw a plethora of alterations. He gritted his teeth. They had been too kind to the apprentice playwright. It was high time to acquaint him forcefully with the realities of life in the theatre. He gathered up the sheaves of parchment and thrust the whole pile into the lawyer’s hands.

‘Take your play away, sir,’ he ordered.

Pye was shocked. ‘But why?’

‘Because it will not make the journey to Essex with us.’

‘But it must, Master Firethorn.’

‘When its author is still haggling over the title? Place your witch in Colchester, Rochester, Winchester or York, for all I care! She’ll not travel with Westfield’s Men.’

‘This is unjust.’

‘No, Master Pye. It’s necessary.’

‘But we have a contract,’ said the lawyer. ‘I’ll hold you to that in court. You’ve agreed to buy and present my play.’

‘That’s true.’

‘Then abide by the terms of the contract.’

‘I will,’ said Firethorn, ‘and all that the contract obliges us to do is to stage your play. No date of performance is given. We may not be able to put it into rehearsal for a year or more. By that time, you may actually have finished improving it.’

Hoode was dubious. ‘In a mere year? Allow him a decade at least.’

‘But I want it staged now,’ whimpered Pye. ‘I’ve set my heart on it.’

‘Then you should have been more amenable to correction.’

‘I have been. Master Hoode will tell you.’

‘He’s been far too amenable,’ confirmed the playwright. ‘Master Pye wants to correct everything. A minute later, he wants to restore the original lines again.’

Firethorn was brutal. ‘I’ve heard enough. Take the piece away.’

‘No!’ howled Pye. ‘Please.’

‘You were engaged to work with Edmund, not against him.’

‘That’s what I have been doing, sir.’

‘Not to my satisfaction. Thus it stands. We leave for Essex on Monday and your play is still in tatters. How can we do it justice if we do not rehearse it properly? And how can we rehearse it,’ he stressed, putting his face close to Pye’s, ‘unless we have the piece finished. I’m sorry, sir, but we’d wait until Doomsday for you to make up your mind.’

Egidius Pye went silent. He looked down sadly at the sheaf of pages in his hand and contemplated failure. They could see him weighing up the possibilities. Firethorn winked at Hoode. The ruse was working.

‘I’m profoundly sorry,’ said Pye at length. ‘I suppose that I have been taking my time but that comes from my training as a lawyer, sir. Caution is everything.’

‘Not on the stage,’ asserted Firethorn. ‘Boldness is in demand there. Who, in God’s name, wants a cautious play? We perform in a theatre, Master Pye, not in a church. Our patrons call for action and excitement. They yearn for laughter.’

‘I thought that’s what I was giving them.’

‘It is,’ said Hoode, taking a gentler tone with him. ‘Your play is bursting at the seams with all it takes to make a fine comedy into an excellent one, Master Pye, but it needs certain changes. And they’ll never be made if you insist on disputing every comma and going into battle over the title.’

‘Take it away and work on it at your leisure,’ advised Firethorn. ‘If and when we deem it ready for the stage, we’ll perform it to the best of our ability.’

Pye drooped. ‘But you said it would be ideal for your visit to Essex.’

‘It would be if I could hand it to the scrivener today so that he could begin to copy it out. But that is plainly out of the question. You’re too protective of your work, Master Pye. It happens with all raw playwrights,’ he said dismissively. ‘They sit over their words like a hen sitting on eggs, pecking everyone who comes near. Words are made to be heard, sir. Eggs are laid to be broken open and eaten.’

The lawyer went off into another long period of meditation. Hoode collected another wink from Firethorn. He was sorry that the actor-manager was forced to take such drastic action but it was the only route open to them. Egidius Pye eventually came around to the suggestion that Firethorn knew he would make.

‘There is one remedy,’ he said meekly.

‘Yes,’ agreed Firethorn. ‘We perform another play.’

‘No, no. You take The Witch of Colchester. I endorse the title wholeheartedly and was foolish to question it. And I agree with everything that Master Hoode has said about the piece. His experience far outweighs mine. His instinct is far surer.’ He held out the play to Hoode. ‘Is there any chance that you might rescue it on your own?’

‘That’s asking a great deal of Edmund,’ said Firethorn with mock seriousness. ‘Even he might not be able to make the necessary changes in time.’

‘But I was told there wouldn’t be many alterations.’

‘That’s what I hoped, Master Pye,’ said Hoode wearily. ‘But you kept altering the alterations at every turn until they multiplied out of all recognition.’

‘Help me, Master Hoode,’ pleaded the lawyer. ‘I beg you.’

‘It’s up to you, Edmund,’ said Firethorn. ‘I have grave doubts.’

Pye leapt to his feet. ‘No, no. Don’t say that, please.’

He looked appealingly at Hoode. It was not a commission that the playwright could enjoy. In Pye’s position, he would be mortified if someone else took responsibility for making changes to his work but there were mitigating factors. The alterations would not be radical and they had already been agreed in discussion beforehand. What went on stage in The Witch of Colchester would be substantially the invention of Egidius Pye and all the credit would go to him. The deciding factor, however, was the one contained in the invitation from Sir Michael Greenleaf. As a condition of their visit, a new play had been requested and the only one available to them was now being held out in the clammy hands of its author. If Hoode did not take on the task of amending it at speed, Westfield’s Men would have to cancel their visit and return to the miseries of unemployment. The fate of the whole company had to be set against the blow to one man’s pride.

‘Well, Edmund?’ asked Firethorn. ‘What do you say? Will you work through the night to save Master Pye’s play or shall we take one of the many other new pieces we have awaiting performance?’

The lawyer winced. His situation took on new pathos. Hoode gave a nod.

‘I’ll take on the chore,’ he agreed.

‘Oh, thank you, thank you, sir!’ said Pye, thrusting the play into his hands then embracing him so closely that he was hit by a veritable gust of bad breath. ‘Change what you will. I have complete faith in you.’

‘And I have complete faith in the play,’ said Hoode with sincerity. ‘It’s just a pity that it comes to us when we cannot afford time to work slowly on it.’

‘Begin at once, Edmund,’ ordered Firethorn, crossing to open the door. ‘I’ll pass on the good tidings to the company when we meet this morning.’

‘I’ll hold you up no longer, Master Hoode,’ said Pye, gathering up his satchel. ‘I merely want to thank you once again for your kindness. You’ve true nobility, sir.’

Firethorn hustled him out then shut the door again. He waited until he heard the lawyer going out into the street below then he burst out laughing and clapped his friend hard on the back.

‘True nobility, eh?’ he said. ‘Arise Sir Edmund Hoode.’

‘You were too cruel to him, Lawrence.’

‘Cruel to him and kind to Westfield’s Men. Would you have us lose this golden opportunity?’ He laughed again. ‘Did you notice the way he jumped when I suggested that we had many other new plays at our disposal?’

‘That was the cruellest touch of all.’

‘Who cares, man? It worked. Still,’ he went on, ‘you don’t want me to waste your precious time. Every minute is important. We need at least some of the piece in the scrivener’s hands today.’

‘It will be,’ promised Hoode. ‘Act One needs little improvement. I simply have to transpose to scenes to achieve more impact. Master Pye accepted that when I pointed it out to him. The long scene with Lord Malady is stronger if it comes last.’

‘Which scene is that, Edmund?’

‘The one where he has his first illness. You recall it, Lawrence. Lord Malady is struck down by a mysterious fever. I remember you telling me how much you were looking forward to playing that particular scene.’

Firethorn was pensive. ‘I think that I’ve already done so.’

‘You’ll milk a lot of humour from the way he collapses in his wife’s arms.’

‘There was no humour in it, I assure you,’ said the actor grimly. ‘Remind me, Edmund. I read the play but once so my knowledge of it is less exact than your own. Does not Lord Malady get struck down by a fever that miraculously disappears before the doctor can even medicine him?’

‘That’s right. Barnaby will your be physician. Doctor Putrid.’

Firethorn thought of the sudden illness that afflicted him and gave a shudder.

‘He was called Doctor Whitrow last night,’ he murmured.

The return journey was largely uneventful. There were no robbers to evade this time and Davy Stratton made no attempt to escape from them. Instead, he offered them an apology as soon as they left Silvermere and seemed truly penitent. He was riding between the two men, his pony keeping up a brisk trot with the horses.

‘I’m sorry if I caused you any concern,’ he said. ‘It was wrong of me.’

‘That’s not what I’d call it, lad,’ said Owen Elias. ‘It was sinful. You worried the life out of us. Why go charging off like that?’

‘I couldn’t help it.’

‘Don’t tell us that arrant lie about your pony bolting,’ warned Elias, ‘because you’d have cried out if that had happened. You were the one who bolted, Davy. We were fretting about you for hours.’

‘I was going to come back to you, honestly,’ said the boy.

‘But why disappear in the first place?’ wondered Nicholas Bracewell. ‘You weren’t acting on impulse. It was deliberate. You took us into that forest in order to shake us off. That was the whole reason for coming to Essex with us, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ admitted Davy.

‘Don’t you like us?’

‘Of course, Master Bracewell.’

Elias glowered. ‘You’ve a peculiar way of showing it.’

‘Don’t you want to be apprenticed to Westfield’s Men?’ asked Nicholas.

‘Yes,’ said Davy without conviction.

‘Then why desert us like that?’

‘I told you. It was only for a while. I was coming to find you at Silvermere.’

‘Where did you go meanwhile?’

The boy shrugged. ‘Away.’

‘We want a more honest answer than that, Davy,’ said Nicholas.

‘It’s the truth,’ insisted Davy. ‘I just wanted to be on my own for a while. To get away so that I could think properly. And that story about Hotspur bolting wasn’t really a lie,’ he said, turning to Elias. ‘It may not have been exactly the way my father described it but I was knocked from the saddle later on. It grew dark and I lost my way. When some animal let out a terrible cry, Hotspur was frightened and bolted. The branch of a tree hit me to the ground. That’s when I got my bruises.’

‘You’d have a few more, if it was left to me,’ said Elias.

‘What about last night?’ resumed Nicholas. ‘You were running away again.’

‘No,’ said Davy.

‘It looked like it to me. And your father had anticipated it. That’s why he advised that you be locked in the room.’

‘I wasn’t running away, I promise. I would have come back.’

‘From where?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I think you do, Davy.’

‘I just wanted to be alone again, that’s all,’ explained the boy. ‘I would’ve sneaked back while you and Master Elias were still asleep. You wouldn’t have known anything about it.’

‘We do now,’ said Elias sternly. ‘And we don’t like it.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It was your fault that we got locked in that bedchamber last night, Davy.’

‘Let’s forget that, Owen,’ said Nicholas, trying to calm his friend. ‘If anyone is to blame, it’s Master Stratton and he’s not here to answer for his actions. His son is back with us, that’s the main thing. Davy may have got off to a poor start but he may yet turn out to be worthy apprentice.’ He looked at the boy. ‘If he puts his mind to it, that is.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ said the boy.

‘Make sure that you do, lad. When you joined Westfield’s Men, you became part of a family. We’re all bonded together. We don’t expect anyone to flee from us.’

‘I just went away for a short while.’

‘To be on your own,’ said Nicholas quietly. ‘I know. You told us. The question is this. Why did you have such an overpowering desire to get away? What was it that you needed to think about?’

‘Lots of things.’

‘Such as?’

Davy quivered slightly. ‘What’s going to happen to me.’

The boy looked so small and vulnerable that Nicholas wanted to reach out to comfort him. He saw a hint of genuine despair in Davy’s eyes. It did not go unnoticed by Elias. The Welshman became more sympathetic.

‘I’ll tell you what’s going to happen to you, Davy,’ he said cheerfully. ‘You’re going to have the time of your life with Westfield’s Men. You’ll be taught to sing, dance, fence, fight, use a gesture, play a part and enjoy yourself to the full. It’ll be a lot more fun than falling off your pony, I warrant you.’

‘We’ll look after you,’ said Nicholas. ‘Have no fear.’

Davy was reassured. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I’m not really afraid.’

As soon as the track widened, they increased their speed to a canter. Conditions for travel had improved. It was noticeably milder and there was no wind. When they stopped at an inn shortly after noon, Nicholas was pleased with the progress they had made. He was even more pleased with the change in Davy Stratton. Having made his apology, the boy wanted to commit himself to Westfield’s Men. He talked with interest about the forthcoming visit to Silvermere and pressed for details of the plays that would be staged. By the time they set off on the next part of their journey, they had put the upsets of the previous day firmly behind them.

In spite of its proximity to the capital, Essex was curiously isolated from London. The River Lea and its many courses presented a formidable barrier and the undrained wetlands near the River Thames caused additional problems. Winter came to their aid. Marshland that would have been impassable was now frozen solid, allowing them to pick their way through to firm ground and cut off a mile or two in the process. They crossed the series of bridges at Stratford atte Bow and watched the largest city in England being conjured up ahead of them. Afternoon sun gilded the rooftops and the church spires. The sheer bulk of St Paul’s dominated. The Tower was gleaming.

‘Not far to go now,’ said Nicholas. ‘It’s good to be back.’

‘Yes, Nick,’ added Elias with a grin. ‘Back home again.’

‘I’ll go to the Queen’s Head to seek out the company there.’

‘Look for me later on. I have to return this horse to the lady who loaned it to me and her gratitude may delay me somewhat.’ He chuckled with glee. ‘That’s the best way I know to get rid of saddle sores. The pain will be rubbed delightfully away.’

‘What about you, Davy?’ asked Nicholas. ‘Are you happy to be back?’

Davy Stratton nodded enthusiastically but he said nothing.

A productive day left Lawrence Firethorn glowing with satisfaction. Egidius Pye had been beaten into submission, the rehearsal at the Queen’s Head had been excellent and news had arrived from Edmund Hoode that the first two acts of The Witch of Colchester were now with the scrivener. Parts had already been assigned and work on the play could begin the following day. Only the sharers had been involved in the rehearsal, the privileged actors who invariably played the major roles. Firethorn adjourned to the taproom with them. He was emptying a cup of Canary wine when he saw Nicholas Bracewell enter.

‘Nick, dear friend!’ he said, leaping to his feet. ‘You come upon your hour.’

‘I was hoping to find you still here,’ said Nicholas.

‘How did you fare in Essex?’ asked James Ingram.

‘Did they agree to let us stage Cupid’s Folly?’ said Barnaby Gill. ‘Sir Michael and his friends deserve to see me at my best.’

‘Let the fellow draw breath,’ ordered Firethorn. ‘And make way for him on that settle, James. Nick has ridden a long way in the service of the company. He deserves a seat and a cup or two of ale.’

Nicholas exchanged greetings with the others and lowered himself on to the oak settle between Ingram and Gill. His drink soon arrived and he sipped it gratefully.

‘Where are the others?’ asked Firethorn.

‘I left Davy with your wife in Shoreditch,’ said Nicholas. ‘The lad was tired.’

‘Margery will have a warm meal ready for him. What of Owen?’

‘He’s returning his horse to a lady.’

Firethorn laughed. ‘That means he’ll be riding bareback by now,’ he said. ‘And why not? Every man to his trade. But let’s forget that rampant satyr of a Welshman. Tell us about your visit, Nick? What sort of a place is Silvermere? What sort of man is Sir Michael Greenleaf? Are we truly welcome there?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘We’re blessed in every way.’

Tactfully omitting the unpleasant aspects of the visit, he gave them a concise account of what had transpired. They were delighted to hear about the Great Hall in which they would perform and the spectators whom they would entertain. It was only when Nicholas announced the repertoire that had been agreed that he sparked off a dissentient voice. Inevitably, it came from Gill.

‘You made no mention of Cupid’s Folly,’ he said sharply.

Nicholas shrugged an apology. ‘It had to be left out, I fear,’ he explained. ‘Only three comedies could be included. Since we are bound to take The Witch of Colchester, that only left room for The Happy Malcontent and Double Deceit. We were not able to please everyone. Sir Michael’s wife wanted Love’s Sacrifice but that, too, was put aside. We’ve The Insatiate Duke and Vincentio’s Revenge as our tragedies and Henry the Fifth to add a little history.’

‘In short,’ said Firethorn triumphantly, ‘the very six plays we chose at the start.’

‘I was promised Cupid’s Folly,’ argued Gill.

‘Only to shut you up, Barnaby.’

‘It’s a better play than Double Deceit.’

‘But too crude and simple for the audience we are likely to find.’

‘A rustic comedy would sit happily in a country house.’

‘Not in the case of Silvermere,’ said Nicholas persuasively. ‘Cupid’s Folly would have been my own choice, perhaps, but the Great Hall is not the place to stage it. We could never set up the maypole there and that’s essential to the piece. Besides,’ he went on, using flattery to placate the actor, ‘the play they really wished to see you in was The Happy Malcontent. Lady Eleanor could not stop talking about your performance in that. She told me that you had flights of genius.’

Gill smiled. ‘It’s true that I scale the heights in that,’ he said vainly.

‘It atones for the way you plumb the depths in other dramas,’ teased Firethorn.

‘Jealousy does not become you, Lawrence.’

‘Oh, I agree. You have a monopoly on that emotion, Barnaby.’

‘There’s one thing more,’ said Nicholas, heading off another row between the two rivals. ‘Sir Michael is a scientist and inventor. He’s working on a new kind of gunpowder and offered to let us have use of it for our new play. I think I can devise an explosion that will bring us great benefit.’

‘So could I,’ said Firethorn, grinning provocatively at Gill.

‘Mock on, mock on,’ said Gill, rising up with dignity. ‘I am needed elsewhere.’

‘Be early tomorrow, Barnaby. We begin our witchcraft.’

As soon as Gill had left, the others began to drift slowly away. Nicholas was left alone with Firethorn. After calling for more drinks, the actor moved in close to him.

‘Now, then, Nick,’ he said. ‘Let’s have the truth.’

‘You’ve heard it already.’

‘But not every scrap of it, I fancy. You’re holding something back.’

‘I am,’ confessed Nicholas, ‘because I didn’t want to disturb the others.’

‘Go on.’

‘We were set on by highwaymen on the way there.’

Firethorn was alarmed. ‘Was anyone injured? Owen? Davy?’

‘The only ones who suffered were the rogues themselves. We gave them a few wounds to lick and they didn’t stay around to wait for us to return. There were only four of them. When we travel as a company, we’ll frighten off twice that number.’

‘Is this all that you kept from us?’

‘I fear not. We have to contend with two unforeseen problems.’

‘What are they?’

‘The first goes by the name of Reginald Orr,’ explained Nicholas. ‘He’s a fiery Puritan who is the bane of Sir Michael’s life. According to the vicar, this truculent Christian has somehow heard of our arrival and threatens to repel us.’

‘Puritans are always repellent. This is no problem to vex us.’

‘It could be. Sir Michael says that the man is desperate.’

‘What will he do?’ said Firethorn contemptuously. ‘Wave banners and hurl insults at us? We’ve suffered so much of that here at the Queen’s Head that we no longer even notice it. Reginald Orr can be discounted. Let the fool rant on.’

‘I hope that’s the height of his protest,’ said Nicholas.

‘What’s the second problem?’

‘A more serious one, alas.’

‘Oh?’

‘Davy Stratton.’

Space was severely restricted at the house in Old Street and none of the occupants had the luxury of a bedchamber to themselves. Three of the apprentices shared the same bed in a room at the back of the house. The fourth, Richard Honeydew, had been put in with Firethorn’s own children but the arrival of Davy Stratton had altered the sleeping arrangements. The two servants were evicted from their room in the attic and moved down to the cellar. Davy found himself sharing the tiny bedchamber under the roof timbers with Honeydew. When they retired for the night, the latter was full of questions.

‘Tell me all, Davy,’ he urged.

‘There’s nothing to tell.’

‘You rode all the way to Silvermere and back. Something must have happened.’

‘We saw the house, slept there overnight and came back.’

Honeydew was disappointed. ‘Were there no adventures?’

‘None to speak of,’ said Davy off-handedly. ‘Except for the robbers.’

‘Robbers!’

‘They tried to attack us but Nicholas Bracewell and Owen Elias beat them off.’

‘How exciting!’

‘It was over in seconds.’

‘Were you frightened, Davy?’

‘Not really.’

‘I would’ve been,’ admitted the other. ‘Will we enjoy it at the house?’

‘I think so. The Wizard and his wife are very hospitable.’

‘Wizard?’

‘That’s what they call Sir Michael Greenleaf. He has a laboratory where he does strange experiments. Some people laugh at him for that but he’s a kind man and a very generous one. His nickname is the Wizard of Silvermere.’

Honeydew laughed. ‘I’ve never met a Wizard before.’

‘You’ve certainly never met one like Sir Michael.’

Curled up in the same bed, they talked in the darkness until tiredness got the better of Honeydew. When he was sure that his friend was fast asleep, Davy slipped out of bed and moved towards the door. His eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom now and he knew exactly what he was going to do. Opening the door, he left it slightly ajar then reached for the little stool on which he had left his clothes. When he found that, he groped around for the chamber pot.

Richard Honeydew showed a keen interest in his friend’s visit to Essex but the other apprentices were more envious, resenting the fact that Davy had gone while they had remained under the watchful eye of Margery Firethorn. Envy was bound to lead to spite. In the short time he had been back, Davy had already been the victim of several jests and a few sly punches but he knew that there would be worse to come. John Tallis was the most likely attacker. He had more cause than either Martin Yeo or Stephen Judd, the other apprentices, to strike out at the newcomer. Davy had dispossessed him. It rankled with Tallis. Only four of the boys were being taken to Silvermere and he was the one to be excluded. Davy Stratton was to blame and Tallis wanted his revenge.

The new apprentice got back silently into bed but remained awake. He did not have long to wait before he heard the telltale sound of a foot on the stair. He also heard a squeaking noise. The footsteps came nearer then paused outside the door. An eye was applied to the gap. Davy lay under the sheets and pretended to be asleep. The nocturnal intruder took one more fatal step. The result was ear-splitting. As he opened the door, John Tallis dislodged both the stool that was balanced upside down on it and the full chamber pot that was cradled within the three legs. Both suddenly landed on his head with astonishing accuracy. Taken by surprise and hurt by the heavy objects, Tallis emitted a yell of pain and fell to the floor, kicking over a small table and releasing the live mouse he had brought to slip down Davy Stratton’s neck.

Margery Firethorn was the first to react. She came thundering up the stairs with a lighted candle to see what had caused the commotion. John Tallis was humiliated. Seated on the floor and soaked by the contents of the chamber pot, he rubbed the lump that was already sprouting on his skull and let out a long cry of despair. Margery lifted the candle in the direction of the bed where two pale-faced apprentices were sitting up with surprise.

Davy Stratton spoke with a voice of pure innocence.

‘I think that John had an accident,’ he said.