The Devil's Apprentice (31 page)

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.