The Devil's Apprentice (12 page)

‘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.

Notwithstanding its erratic landlord and its many defects, the Queen’s Head was the spiritual home of Westfield’s Men and they were delighted to be back there, albeit in such adverse conditions. Early rehearsals involving only the sharers had been held in a hired room at the inn but, now that the entire company was assembled, a larger space was required so they steeled themselves against the cold and went out into the deserted yard. Priority was given to
The Witch of Colchester.
The others five plays to be staged at Silvermere were stock dramas from their repertoire, works that needed only a limited amount of rehearsal. Egidius Pye’s comedy, however, required the close attention they paid to every new play as they explored its potentialities. Edmund Hoode had worked throughout two whole nights to make the necessary changes to the play and was now able to join the others at the Queen’s Head to rehearse his own
role in it. While one scrivener hastened to finish a single complete copy of the play, another had copied out the sides for individual actors.

As the book holder, Nicholas Bracewell was the only person who had a copy of the whole play and he marvelled at the way that Hoode transformed it. Fearing that he would interfere and impede, Lawrence Firethorn had banned Pye from the rehearsals but promised him that he could attend its premiere at Silvermere. Nicholas felt sure that the lawyer would be pleased with what he witnessed, relieved to observe that his play was largely intact yet markedly improved by Hoode’s deft professional touches. Since it was the last of the six dramas to be presented,
The Witch of Colchester
could be rehearsed throughout their entire stay there, enabling the company to give a confident performance. Actors swooped happily on their parts and went through their scenes with relish. There was none of the insecurity and bickering that usually attended work on a new piece.

Nicholas was thrilled to be back at the helm again. Westfield’s Men had come out of their winter hibernation and their joy was touching. Even those hired men who would not be travelling with the company came to watch the rehearsal to warm their hands at the fire of a lively new drama and to share in the general pleasure. Davy Stratton was also there. He made only two fleeting appearances in the play as a servant and spoke only one line but he took it all very seriously. Davy had mixed feelings when he watched the other apprentices, taking the women’s roles with such persuasive skill, wondering when he would suffer the indignity of wearing female attire. Absorbed as he was
in what was going on, the boy kept a wary eye out for John Tallis, who, ousted and humiliated by the newcomer, was prowling vengefully on the fringes.

At the end of a full day, Firethorn strolled across to the book holder.

‘We owe you our thanks, Nick,’ he said, patting his shoulder.

‘Why?’ said Nicholas.

‘For reminding us that we had such a splendid new play available.’

‘It’s even more splendid now that Edmund has worked his magic on it.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Firethorn with a chuckle, ‘but he was not above bowing to self-interest. The role he enlarged most substantially was the one he takes himself, that of Longshaft, the lawyer. Shortshrift, the other lawyer, was given short shrift.’

‘They’re both excellent parts.’

‘There’s no dull character in the whole play, Nick, even though it’s written by that very personification of dullness, the quibbling Master Pye.’

‘Give him his due,’ said Nicholas with admiration. ‘He has an acute mind.’

‘Too acute for Edmund’s liking!’

‘Don’t be harsh on him. Master Pye has many virtues. But you’ve no need to thank me for recommending his play,’ Nicholas continued. ‘I stand to benefit from it as much as anyone else. It’s a delight to be employed again and to see the happy faces of our fellows. The jollity even seems to have touched Davy at last.’

‘Yes,’ said Firethorn with reservation in his voice, ‘he’s acquitted himself well in his tiny role here. I just wish that he didn’t cause so many problems under my roof.’

‘That incident you told me about was clearly John Tallis’s fault. He went up to the attic to give Davy a fright and got one himself instead.’

‘Oh, I agree. John Tallis was deservedly baptised by a full chamber pot. But the boyish antics didn’t end there, Nick. Our new apprentice has been stirring up trouble on his own account. He baited Martin Yeo, hid Stephen Judd’s clothes, swore at one of the servants and stamped on the other’s toe.’

‘Did your wife remonstrate with him?’

‘Only when she finally caught him,’ said Firethorn bitterly. ‘The little devil did his favourite trick and disappeared. It took Margery an hour to find him.’

‘Where was he?’

‘On the roof. He’d climbed out through the window.’

‘In this weather?’ said Nicholas in alarm. ‘Frost has made the thatch treacherous. The lad might have fallen and injured himself.’

‘I almost wish that he had, Nick. It would have taught him a lesson.’

‘Why is Davy being so mischievous?’

‘I wish I knew. I warned him that, if it goes on like this, he’ll get the thrashing of his young life from Margery. But even that doesn’t seem to have stopped the imp.’ He sighed wearily. ‘Honestly, Nick, I never thought I’d say this but I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t taken him in. He’s upsetting the whole house.’

Nicholas was surprised. When he looked across at Davy, the apprentice was talking earnestly to Richard Honeydew. There was no hint of devilment in either of them. Davy Stratton, in particular, had an almost angelic expression on his face.

‘Let me have a word with him,’ volunteered Nicholas.

‘Please do,’ said Firethorn. ‘He has a great respect for you.’

‘It didn’t stop him abandoning me in the middle of that forest.’

‘I’m starting to see why his father was so eager to get rid of the lad. If Davy behaves like that at home, he must be an absolute menace. Margery and I are bracing ourselves for another difficult night with him.’

‘Is it that serious?’

‘Yes, Nick. Martin, Stephen and John Tallis are all out for his blood and there’s no telling what Davy will get up to next.’

Nicholas grew thoughtful. ‘Perhaps he needs time away from the house.’

‘Either he does or
we
do.’

‘How would you feel if he stayed in Bankside for a night or two?’

‘Profoundly guilty.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it would be unfair to inflict Davy on you and Anne.’

‘He’ll behave himself with us, I’m sure,’ said Nicholas. ‘Being with the other apprentices is what sets him off. Divide and rule. It’s the sensible way.’

‘I’d be eternally grateful to you and Anne.’

‘I’ll have to speak to her first, of course, because it’s Anne’s house but I don’t think she’ll object. Besides,’ said Nicholas, ‘I like Davy. If we spend some time together, I may be able to find out why he’s misbehaving so badly like this.’

Further discussion was halted by the arrival of Barnaby Gill who wanted to argue for some changes in his lines and petition for an additional dance in Act Three. Edmund Hoode soon joined the debate. Nicholas took the opportunity to detach the troublesome apprentice from the others.

‘Come on, Davy,’ he said.

‘Where are we going?’ asked the boy, trotting across to him.

‘To teach you something about taking the company on tour. It’s easy enough when we play here at the Queen’s Head where we keep our costumes, properties and scenery. If we travel outside London, we have to ensure that we take only what we need.’

‘I see.’

‘George!’ called Nicholas.

‘Coming!’ replied a voice from within a melee of actors.

‘We must check the properties.’

‘At once.’

The diminutive figure of George Dart emerged from the group to join them. As assistant stagekeeper, Dart was able and conscientious. As an actor, however, he was intermittently disastrous and, even though shielded by Nicholas, often became the company’s whipping boy. The
book holder led Dart and Davy off to the room where the properties were stored, drawing a gasp of astonishment from the apprentice when he unlocked the door. Objects of all colour and description were piled high. The place was so crammed with the accumulated properties of Westfield’s Men that there was barely enough room for all three of them to enter.

‘You can help George,’ instructed Nicholas.

‘Yes, Master Bracewell,’ said Davy.

‘And be careful while you’re about it. We don’t want anything to be damaged.’

‘We’ll need the small throne for
The Insatiate Duke
,’ said Dart, anxious to impress with his knowledge of the plays, ‘and the larger one for
Henry the Fifth.’

‘One throne will suffice for both plays,’ decided Nicholas. ‘It will save space in the cart. King Henry will have to make do with the small throne on this occasion. We’ll set it up high for him so that it seems larger than it is.’

George Dart nodded. ‘Shall we get it out now?’

‘No, we’ll work through this list I’ve prepared. Are you ready, Davy?’

‘Yes,’ said the boy, staring in horror at a human skull.

‘Item, Cupid’s bow and quiver; the cloth of the Sun and Moon. Put them out in the passageway for the time being,’ said Nicholas, pointing. ‘We’ll load them into the cart and lock it in the stables for safety.’

Helped by the apprentice, Dart searched for the required items. When they were found, Nicholas consulted the long list that he had so patiently written out, taking care to select items that could serve in more than one play.

‘Item, four wooden targets; one breastplate of armour and three foils.’ They were swiftly retrieved from the mass of properties. ‘Item, one lion skin, one bear skin and one snake.’

‘A snake?’ said Davy, anxiously. ‘Is it a live one?’

‘Only when it’s on stage in
The Happy Malcontent
,’ said Nicholas.

‘I don’t like snakes.’

‘Wait until you see our serpent,’ said Dart, finding the items requested. ‘It scares me every time even though I know that it’s only made out of painted cloth.’

‘Item,’ continued Nicholas, ‘two coffins, a boar’s head and a cauldron.’

‘What play will they be in?’ wondered Davy.

‘
The Witch of Colchester
.’

‘It’s the wildest comedy I know,’ said Dart, giggling. ‘I could hardly stop laughing when we rehearsed it today.’

‘Yes, George,’ chided Nicholas, gently, ‘you were so busy shaking with mirth that you missed your own entrance. Plays are there to make the spectators laugh, not the actors performing them. Take especial care with that cauldron. It’s heavy.’

Locating the cauldron under a wooden canopy and a pile of assorted crowns, they rolled it out into the passageway. Davy was struck by its enormous size.

‘What is the witch of Colchester going to put in there?’ he said.

‘All sorts of things,’ replied Nicholas with a smile. ‘Herbs, flowers, wine, water, bits of dead animals and any new apprentice who doesn’t behave himself properly.’

His light-hearted remark struck home in a way he had not intended. Blushing a bright crimson, Davy let out a cry, backed away in embarrassment then charged quickly out of the room. Nicholas was almost as surprised as the open-mouthed George Dart.

Reginald Orr was not a man to make idle threats or to be deflected from a course of action once he had committed himself to it. Though he was highly respected in the small Puritan community of which he was the acknowledged head, he was privately feared by a number of his sect who felt that his beliefs were too extreme and his inclination to violence very worrying. Nothing seemed to deter Orr, a man sufficiently wealthy to be untroubled by any fines imposed on him and sufficiently robust to withstand being set in the stocks. He lived in a sizeable house on the edge of Stapleford, a meeting hall for his fellow Puritans and, more often than not, their place of worship. Only one person called on him that evening and he was given a most cordial welcome.

‘Come in, come in, Isaac,’ invited Orr.

‘Thank you, Reginald,’ said the other, breathless from the long ride.

‘Did you find anything out in London?’

‘Eventually.’

‘Then take a seat and tell me all.’

Isaac Upchard was grateful to slump into the high-backed wooden chair beside the fire. He was a swarthy young man in his early twenties whose ugly features were exaggerated by his habit of grimacing frequently and inappropriately as if in pain.

‘It was not a task I could enjoy,’ he admitted. ‘Like you, I never cross the threshold of an inn but necessity compelled me to lurk at the Queen’s Head for hours. It’s a foul establishment, Reginald, full of roaring men and lewd women who drank and sported in the most heathen way.’

‘Such places should be burnt to the ground,’ said Orr.

Upchard nodded in agreement. ‘What made it worse for me was that I had to discard the sober attire I wear with such pride and don the kind of clothing that would allow me to enter the inn freely. It was an effort to do so.’

‘But not without results, it seems.’

‘No. Actors are very talkative. I got close enough to listen.’

‘But not close enough to fall in with them, I hope.’

‘Oh, no!’

‘That would have been a gross error,’ warned Orr. ‘Apart from the corruption with which you’d have been threatened, there’s the question of safety. They mustn’t know that you spied on them, Isaac. We don’t want any of them recognising you and finding a link to me.’

‘I was very discreet,’ said Upchard, pulling a face as if suddenly impaled on a sharp spear. ‘Luckily, the actors were not. Their boasting filled the whole taproom.’

‘What you heard was the voice of the Devil incarnate.’

‘That came from the throats of women, Reginald. I’ve never met such brazen creatures. They made vile suggestions in my ear of a kind that no decent man should ever have to endure. It was an ordeal.’

‘I’m sorry that you had to go through with it, my
friend, but the truth is that I could not. Had I been in the middle of such lecherous company, I would’ve risen up and condemned them in the sternest tones. You, fortunately,’ he said, sitting opposite his visitor as the latter produced an alarming series of grimaces, ‘were able to control yourself enough to mingle unseen by them. Now, Isaac. Tell me what you discovered.’