The Devil's Apprentice (7 page)

‘What ails you, man?’ asked Firethorn. ‘Another disastrous love affair?’

‘Not this time, Lawrence.’

‘Then what?’ His eye ignited. ‘Unlooked for fatherhood?’

‘Not even that,’ said Hoode mournfully. ‘At least some pleasure would have been involved in that instance.’

‘Pleasure and repentance.’

‘It’s all repentance here. I bitterly regret my lunacy in agreeing to it. Pregnancy of a kind is indeed the root of my misery. I wish that I’d never been persuaded to act as midwife to Egidius Pye’s play.’

‘I thought that you admired the piece.’

‘I did, Lawrence. I still do.’

‘Then where’s the problem?’

‘Walking home to the Middle Temple with that ridiculous hat on his head.’

‘The fellow’s a lawyer,’ said Firethorn contemptuously. ‘He deserves ridicule.’

‘Pye is insufferable,’ wailed Hoode. ‘He disputes every vowel and defends every consonant as if they were brought down from Mount Sinai on a stone tablet. And the worst of it is that he does it without rancour or spleen. Master Pye is Politeness itself. He doesn’t even grant me an excuse to lose my temper with him.’

‘What’s the import of all this?’

‘The brace of happy poets you spied are really a pair of bickering snails.’

‘Has the play not been improved, Edmund?’

‘Only with painful slowness.’

‘That will not do,’ said Firethorn warningly. ‘Let me speak to Master Pye. I’ll light such a fire beneath that arse of his that he’ll burn with zeal to work faster.
The Witch of Colchester
must be finished soon so that we can start rehearsals on it. Every other play we take to Silvermere has been tried and tested at the Queen’s Head. We could perform some of them with our eyes closed. But not this new piece.’

‘It was a mistake to accept it,’ said Hoode dolefully.

‘Nick Bracewell spoke up for it. So did you at first.’

‘I stand by that judgement. There are parts of it I would be proud to have written, Lawrence, and I confess it freely. Had we the play without the playwright, all would be well. But we do not. The witch comes with a spell called Egidius Pye.’

Firethorn laughed. ‘Leave him to me. I’ll put the wretch in his place.’

‘I’m coming around to the view that only a sharp sword could do that.’

‘Now, now, Edmund, you were a callow author once. Spread a little forgiveness. Bake him aright and this Pye will be delicious when he comes out of the oven.’ His eye fell on the pages littering the table. ‘What changes have you made?’

‘Only the obvious ones so far.’

‘Keep the essence of the piece. It has quality. And retain the bawdy, Edmund,’ he instructed. ‘Master Pye is wonderfully coarse and comical at the same time.’

‘That was the alteration he resisted most strenuously.’

‘What was?’

‘The bawdy,’ said Hoode. ‘I pointed out that we must bear our audience in mind. Ribaldry that would please the stinkards at the Queen’s Head might only offend the more refined sensibilities we’ll encounter at Silvermere.’

‘I don’t agree.’

‘We play to the gentry, Lawrence.’

‘So? The crudest laughter always comes from the gentry, not to mention the aristocracy. I’m at one with Egidius Pye on this. Leave his bawdy unmolested. Lord Westfield will also be in the audience, remember. Our patron will complain loudly if there’s no base humour to set him roaring.’

‘What of the other guests?’

‘They’ll split their sides at some of Pye’s jests, I warrant you.’

Hoode shook his head. ‘I still have my doubts, Lawrence.’

‘Then leave the matter until Nick Bracewell returns. He means to discuss the repertoire with Sir Michael Greenleaf to see what is and what’s not in demand. We’ll soon know if the people of Essex enjoy some cheerful vulgarity in their drama.’ He put a consoling hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘Take heart, Edmund. All is well.’

‘Not to my eye. I fear for the whole enterprise.’

‘That’s treasonable talk. Would you rather sit out the winter writing sonnets or composing epitaphs for dear departed loved ones whom you never met?’

‘No.’

‘Then rejoice in our good fortune.’

‘I did until I met Egidius Pye.’

‘He’s one small part of a very large bounty,’ said Firethorn. ‘We have work at last, Edmund. Gainful employment. You should have seen the faces of the company when we had our first rehearsal today. They shone with happiness. It was as if they’d just been let out of the darkest dungeon in Newgate. They are actors once more. Would you deprive your colleagues of such joy?’

‘I share it with them.’

‘Then why these sad looks and silly fears?’

‘I have a presentiment of catastrophe.’

‘A hard winter was our catastrophe. It almost froze our art to death. Suddenly, a thaw has set in,’ said Firethorn, swallowing the last of his wine with a gurgle. ‘Our work is in demand and our finances are repaired. Six plays at Silvermere will bring in as much money as a dozen at the Queen’s Head and we’ve no lugubrious landlord to bark at our heels. Then there is the additional benison of a new apprentice.’

‘Davy Stratton has yet to show his mettle.’

‘I have no qualms about the lad. Nor about his father, for that matter.’

‘His father?’

‘Yes, Edmund,’ said Firethorn, pouring himself some more wine. ‘I’ve more good news for you. Master Jerome Stratton not only gave us thirty pounds when the contract was signed. He has promised us another five pounds out of his own pocket when we perform at Silvermere.’

Hoode was impressed. ‘That’s very generous of him.’

‘Generosity may break out in other places. Who knows? If we give a good account of ourselves in Essex, other
spectators may be moved to put their hands in their purses. Westfield’s Men are in the ascendant,’ he declared, raising an arm aloft. ‘We travel on the road to glory. Nothing can stop us now.’

Nicholas Bracewell paced out the Great Hall to get a more precise idea of its dimensions then he ran his eye over the gallery to estimate its distance from the floor. Owen Elias, meanwhile, was declaiming a speech from
Love’s Sacrifice
at the request of Lady Eleanor, using the soliloquy both to display his vocal gifts and to test them in the new performing venue. His voice reached every corner of the room without effort. When the speech came to an end, he gave his standard bow and Lady Eleanor applauded him. Hers were not the only palms that were clapped together. Standing in the doorway with his steward beside him was Sir Michael Greenleaf.

‘Well done! Well done, sir!’ he congratulated.

As he walked down the hall towards them, Elias gave him a bow of his own. Romball Taylard displayed no admiration. Remaining at the door, he looked on with a mixture of curiosity and reproach.

‘Ah!’ said Lady Eleanor, hands outstretched. ‘Here is my husband!’

Sir Michael Greenleaf took her hands in his and kissed them both before turning to regard the visitors. Introductions were performed by his wife. Sir Michael greeted both men warmly, treating them more like honoured guests at Silvermere than members of an itinerant theatre company. It was another paradox. With a social position that entitled
them to condescension, Sir Michael and Lady Greenleaf were friendly and approachable. It was their household steward who gave himself the airs and graces to which he had no legitimate claim. Surprised by their host’s affability, Nicholas and Owen were startled by his appearance. Sir Michael was no slave to fashion. Plain doublet and hose of a greenish hue were supplemented by a white ruff that was coming adrift from its moorings. He was a short, rotund man in his late fifties with an unusually large head that was topped with the last of his hair. The few surviving silver wisps were clogged with a dark substance, as were his beard and his ruff. Cheeks, nose and forehead were also blackened.

Lady Eleanor saw the look of astonishment on the visitors’ faces.

‘You must excuse my husband,’ she said smoothly. ‘He has been experimenting with a new gunpowder. Unsuccessfully, by the look of it.’

‘Not at all, not at all, Eleanor,’ he said excitedly. ‘It’s almost perfect.’

‘Almost?’

‘I still have to cure the cannon’s tendency to backfire.’

Elias was amazed. ‘You make your own gunpowder, Sir Michael?’

‘Of course,’ replied the other. ‘It’s vastly better than any that I could purchase and may soon be ready for use. I just need to mix the ingredients more exactly.’

‘You mentioned a cannon?’ said Nicholas.

‘That’s right. A culverin of my own design.’

‘I’d be interested to see it, Sir Michael.’

‘Then you shall, my friend.’

‘Nick sailed around the world with Drake,’ explained Elias, proud of his friend’s achievement. ‘He has first-hand experience of firing a cannon.’

‘Wonderful!’ exclaimed Sir Michael. ‘I insist that you see my whole arsenal. I thought you had the look of a seafaring man about you. A voyage with Drake. What a splendid adventure. I envy you, sir. It must mean that you know how to read the stars.’

Nicholas nodded. ‘There was nothing else to do through all those long nights.’

‘You must see through my telescope while you’re here.’

‘Thank you, Sir Michael.’

‘Reading the stars is another hobby of mine.’

‘My husband has so many scientific interests,’ said his wife indulgently.

‘But why do you need a cannon, Sir Michael?’ wondered Elias.

‘To mount on the tower, of course,’ said the other. ‘As soon as the gunpowder is perfected, I’ll have the servants winch the culverin up there.’

Elias was baffled. ‘But why? Do you fear attack?’

‘No, my good sir.’

‘Then why mount a cannon on your house?’

‘Because of the wildfowl.’

‘Wildfowl?’ gasped the Welshman. ‘Am I hearing you aright, Sir Michael? You’re going to shoot at birds with cannon balls?’

Sir Michael went off into a peal of laughter. ‘Of course, not,’ he said when he finally controlled himself. ‘That would be absurd. I love wildfowl. Why else do you think I
had the lake built? The problem is that, at this time of year, it freezes over. The ice is inches thick. It’s a real effort to break through it so that the ducks, geese and swans have at least a portion of their water back.’

Nicholas anticipated him. ‘I think I see your plan, Sir Michael. A cannon ball fired from the top of the house would smash a large hole in the ice.’

‘Exactly, sir. Especially when fired at night.’

‘Night?’ said Elias with disbelief. ‘Why, then?’

‘Because that’s when the temperature reaches its lowest point,’ explained Sir Michael. ‘Wait until morning and the ice had already hardened. Strike it when it is newly formed and you shatter it beyond repair. That, at least,’ he admitted, ‘is my theory.’

‘I understand your reasoning, Sir Michael,’ said Nicholas, careful not to smile, ‘but isn’t there a serious problem here? When you put your theory to the test, you’ll make the most deafening noise.’

‘Guests who stay at Silvermere are used to strange happenings during the night,’ said Lady Eleanor airily. ‘My husband has a passion for nocturnal experiments.’

‘I steer by the stars, Eleanor,’ he said.

‘Turn your mind to more immediate matters. These gentlemen have ridden a long way in order to meet you. Put your gunpowder aside for an hour.’

‘Gladly, my dear. Now,’ said Sir Michael genially, ‘I bid you welcome, sirs. I’m so glad that Master Firethorn and I came to composition. Westfield’s Men will make a major contribution to the festivities. Is the Great Hall to your taste?’

‘It’s ideal, Sir Michael,’ replied Nicholas.

‘Ask for what you will and Romball will supply it. You’ve met my steward, I hear,’ he said, indicating the figure still lurking at the door. ‘An excellent fellow. But for Romball Taylard, we’d be in a sorry state.’

‘Our first request can only be met by you, Sir Michael,’ resumed Nicholas. ‘It concerns the plays we offer. The new piece has been chosen but five others must be selected as well and Master Firethorn is anxious to offer you variety. He suggests comedies such as
Double Deceit
and
The Happy Malcontent
but he feels that your guests should also be given at least one harrowing tragedy.’

‘Two,’ insisted Lady Eleanor. ‘Too much comedy will lead to boredom.’

‘There’s your answer,’ said her husband, beaming at her. ‘Four comedies and two tragedies. Though a little bit of history would not go amiss.’

‘So we thought, Sir Michael. If you approve the choice, Master Firethorn would like us to present
Henry the Fifth
by Edmund Hoode, a play that has elements of comedy and tragedy in it. Will that appeal?’

‘Very much,’ said Sir Michael. ‘Eleanor?’

‘I am more than content,’ she answered. ‘Comedies, tragedies and a stirring history. This is wondrous fare to set before our guests. What we do need to know, however, is the name of the new play for that will have a special place.’

‘Why is that, Lady Eleanor?’ asked Elias.

‘Because it will be the last of the six to be presented and will coincide with a highly important event.’ She turned to Sir Michael. ‘You explained that in your invitation, surely?’

‘It slipped my mind, Eleanor.’

‘Heavens!’ she cried. ‘Who else but you would forget his own birthday?’ She squeezed his arm affectionately. ‘You’re going to be sixty on that very day.’

‘Congratulations, Sir Michael!’ said Nicholas.

‘Yes,’ added Elias. ‘Ice or no, the cannon will have to be fired in salute that night. As to the new play, I hear that it’s a riotous comedy with some darker moments in it. Nick will confirm that. He’s read it from start to finish.’

‘That’s true,’ said the book holder. ‘The play will bring our visit to Silvermere to a rousing conclusion. It’s not only a brilliant piece of work by a new author, it has a fortuitous link with the county of Essex.’

‘What’s the title?’ wondered Lady Eleanor.

‘
The Witch of Colchester.
’

‘I love it already.’

‘So do I,’ said her husband, chortling happily. ‘You could not have chosen anything more appropriate, gentlemen. Do you know my nickname in these parts?’