The Nicholas Bracewell Collection (43 page)

‘Stop, stop!’ cried Isobel. ‘This is far too complicated for me, Grace. What are you trying to tell us?’

‘If it can be proved that someone is too insane to manage his own affairs, he can legally be relieved of ownership. David’s brother would be well aware of this
because he has been a student of the law.’

‘Are you certain that this is what happened?’ said Nicholas.

‘There can be no other explanation, sir.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘How else could they keep me away from him? I was within six weeks of becoming his wife. No two people could have been closer. No matter how bad his injuries, David would have sent for me.’

‘Then why did he not do so?’ said Isobel.

‘It was not just his body that was damaged,’ said Grace. ‘It was his mind.’

The cottage was exactly the same and yet there were some radical changes. All sign of habitation had gone. The rough cosiness had been replaced by an atmosphere of neglect. His wife was no longer there to clean and tend and fill the place with her chatter. It was no longer a home.

Jack Harsnett threw down his axe and walked to the window. He looked in the direction of Parkbrook House. All his misfortunes could be placed at the door of the new master and he wanted recompense. After his talk with the one-eyed man, it was not only on his own behalf that he sought redress. Others had been wronged, too.

There was no hurry. He was safely hidden away in his woodland clearing and nobody would bother him there for a while. He would bide his time until his moment came.

Then he would pay a call on Master Francis Jordan.

The ride back gave Nicholas time to reflect on the extraordinary development in the situation. He had been so moved by Grace’s story and by the poignancy with which she told it that he could almost forgive her what she had done in the name of revenge. Convinced that Lord Westfield was most to blame, she launched her attack at something that was very dear to him. She became involved with Edmund Hoode so that he could, unwittingly, feed her the information she required, even down to precise details of text, staging and costume.

Another point struck Nicholas. The theatre was the only place where Grace Napier could get anywhere near Lord Westfield. To cause him maximum embarrassment, she seized on the opportunity provided by
The Merry Devils
, a play discussed freely in advance by its co-author. Had the performance ended in the fiasco she hoped, it would have taken Westfield’s Men a long time to regain their credibility.

Grace Napier had caused untold upset. Having learned how vital the book holder was to the staging of
Vincentio’s Revenge
, she was even ready to contrive the arrest of Nicholas Bracewell to keep him out of the way. He still felt jangled by the experience but now took a more philosophical view about his night in the Counter. If nothing else, it had introduced him to Leonard who had pointed him in the direction of the fair. There was thus a gain as well as a loss involved.

It was dark when Nicholas reached Parkbrook. He stabled his horse and strolled towards the west wing,
intending to go right around to the main entrance of the house. Something alerted him. There was a clump of rhododendron bushes ahead of him and he thought he caught a glimpse of movement behind them. Preparing himself for trouble, he continued his walk as if he had seen nothing. When he reached the bushes, he jumped into them to confront whoever lurked in wait.

The horse whinnied and tried to nuzzle his shoulder.

He could not understand why it was tethered in such a secluded place then he noticed the small door at the rear of the west wing. He tried it, found it open and went in. To his right was the corridor that ran towards the main building but directly ahead of him was something of much more interest. It was the steward’s private staircase and he could hear muffled voices at the top of it.

Nicholas withdrew into the shadows as feet descended with an echoing clatter. Joseph Glanville led a middle-aged man in dark attire to the door and showed him respectfully out. The horse was heard trotting off with the visitor then the steward returned.

He was startled when Nicholas came over to him.

‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded angrily.

‘I lost my way.’

‘The main staircase is
that
way.’

‘Can I not get up to my room here?’

‘No, sir,’ said Glanville sharply. ‘I have told you before that this is my private mode of access. You may not use it.’

Nicholas watched him shrewdly then put a question.

‘You do not like plays, do you?’

‘No, sir.’

‘If it was left to you, Westfield’s Men would not come here.’

‘Most certainly not.’

‘What do you have against us?’

‘I do not care for strangers in my house.’

Glanville went off up the staircase with dignity.

Nicholas returned to his own room by the recommended means and slept well. After breakfast early next morning, he completed his work in the Great Hall then got ready to leave. He managed to spare a few minutes to call on Jane Skinner. Lying in bed with splints on her leg, she was flattered by his interest and told him how the accident had occurred. He also pumped her about Glanville and heard how she had revised her former good opinion of the man.

The book holder wished her a speedy recovery and went off to begin the long ride home. Francis Jordan detained him at the stables.

‘We look forward to your next visit, sir.’

‘Thank you, Master Jordan.’

‘The cream of the county will be your audience.’

‘It is a pity that your brother will not be among them, sir.’

‘My brother?’ Jordan shot him a hostile glance.

‘I hear that he was very fond of plays.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘Jane Skinner.’

Francis Jordan squirmed. The incident with the chambermaid was still a grave embarrassment to him. He
had warned his staff not to speak about it to anyone. If the guest had actually talked with the girl herself, he might know the story and be in a position to carry it to Lord Westfield. Jordan’s manner became openly antagonistic.

‘Goodbye, sir!’ he said dismissively.

‘May I ask you one question?’ said Nicholas casually. ‘Where
is
your brother now?’

‘Don’t be so damned impertinent, man!’

‘Nobody seems to know, sir, and he must be somewhere.’

Jordan treated him to a glare of fierce hatred.

‘He is in the best place he could be.’

Nell was pleased to see him again. Of all her regular clients, Ralph Willoughby was the most generous and the most likeable. His departures were sometimes abrupt but they usually enjoyed themselves together. When Nell came into the taproom of the Bull and Butcher that night, she saw Willoughby through the thick fug. Drink in hand and dressed with his customary extravagance, he was singing a bawdy ballad to his companions. Seeing her amble over to him, he put an arm around her and welcomed her with a warm kiss.

‘Nell, my heart’s delight!’ he said effusively.

‘Away with that talk, you traitor,’ she teased. ‘I have been lying in a cold bed since you left me, sir. I have not seen hide nor hair of you for five or six nights.’

‘That is all changed, Nell.’

‘I think you have another sweetheart.’

‘Oh, I do! She is called
The Witch of Oxford
and she has
kept me groaning with pleasure at night. I have been bent over her until now, but her hold on me is at an end. She went off to Banbury today so I am a free man again. That is why I came post haste to you, Nell.’

‘Will you stay the night?’ she coaxed.

‘No.’

‘You scurvy rogue! Am I not good enough for you any longer?’

‘Shall I tell you why I will not stay the night?’

‘Go back to your witch of Oxford!’

‘But you may like my reason,’ he said. ‘I will not stay the night because I intend to stay the whole week.’

Nell let out a roar of approval and flung herself at him.

Bedlam was vibrating with noise. The public came to see the lunatics at play and egged them on to wilder antics. There was trouble in a private cell from an old man who tried to hang himself. Another patient attempted to escape and had to be restrained. It was a day when Rooksley was under immense pressure and he did not welcome casual visitors.

‘I am sorry, but I may not speak with you now,’ he told them.

‘Stay awhile, sir,’ said the younger of the two men.

‘Bedlam has gone mad and I must doctor its madness.’

‘That is my interest,’ said the older man.

Nicholas Bracewell had brought Grace Napier and Doctor John Mordrake with him to the hospital. Her love for David Jordan had been proved beyond a doubt. No matter how sad or wretched his condition, she wished to
dedicate herself to his care. While she was excited at the prospect of a reunion, therefore, she was also fearful. To be locked away in Bedlam would turn a sane man into a lunatic. She wondered what state her beloved would now be in.

‘We have come to see Master David Jordan,’ said Nicholas.

‘Who, sir?’ Rooksley was uncooperative.

‘You heard the name.’

‘I hear it but I do not recognise it,’ said the keeper. ‘We have nobody of that name here, sir, and I am acquainted with them all. I can tell you their date of birth, the colour of their hair and eyes, what food they eat each day and at what time of the morning they are like to pass water. I know everything in Bedlam, sir, but I do not know a Master Jordan.’

Grace Napier looked crushed but Nicholas did not give up.

‘He must be here,’ he insisted. ‘Lord Westfield would not let a nephew of his rot away in a county asylum. This is the only place to which he would commit the young man.’ He indicated the others. ‘You do not know what distinguished company you are in, sir. This is Mistress Napier, who is affianced to Master Jordan, and beside her is Doctor John Mordrake, sometime astrologer to Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth.

Rooksley was impressed. Mordrake’s name was known to everyone.

‘Come, sir,’ said Nicholas briskly. ‘You are busy, we can see. Do but have someone conduct us to Master Jordan and
we will trouble you no longer. Do I have to go back to Lord Westfield himself to get a written permission from him?’

The head keeper pondered. The clamour of madness intensified. Nicholas helped him to reach a decision by slipping some coins into his hand. Rooksley pocketed them and nodded.

‘That will buy you five minutes with him.’ He went off for a moment and Grace turned to thank Nicholas.

‘You are wonderful, sir. I thought of Bedlam and sent my brother here to enquire, but he did not get past the door. They told him the lies that we have just heard.’

‘Nobody should be in this place,’ said Mordrake, looking around with scholarly disgust. ‘The insane need special care.’

Rooksley returned with Kirk and handed the keeper a bunch of keys. Kirk led the visitors down a long corridor then swung right. Grace Napier was increasingly tense and Nicholas understood how difficult this moment might be for her. The man whom she loved had parted from her in prime health. What she would now see would be a grotesque shell of that same person.

Kirk was interested that his friend had visitors.

‘Have you come from Parkbrook House?’ he asked.

‘Indirectly, sir.’

‘David is a good young man. We have no trouble from him.’

‘What state is he in, sir?’ asked Mordrake.

‘His brain is addled and he has the sleeping sickness.’

‘Ah yes,’ sighed the old man. ‘That often follows if a
violent blow damages the mind. Memory will go and the patient will lapse back into childhood.’

‘Who committed him, sir?’ asked Nicholas. ‘Do you know that?’

‘His physician, master. ‘I have seen the records. One Francis Jordan pays the charges to keep him here, but he was delivered to Bedlam by another hand.’

‘What was the name?’

‘Joseph Glanville.’

Nicholas reacted with interest but his companions did not even hear the keeper. They were peering eagerly through the grille of the door outside which Kirk stopped. Inside the chamber, sitting motionless with his back to them, was the young man in the now ragged white shirt and dark breeches. He was staring up at the window and humming quietly to himself.’

As the door was unlocked, Grace Napier could hardly contain her emotions. A long and painful journey had at last come to an end. She had found the man she loved.

Kirk had to hold her back as she tried to lunge in.

‘Do not touch him,’ he warned. ‘Stay by me.’

He let them step into the room then spoke to the patient.

‘Hello, my friend.’

The young man stirred as if waking from a deep sleep. ‘You have visitors.’

He looked at the wall ahead of him in search of them.

The tension was now agonising. Grace was biting her lip and shaking so much that she seemed to be on the verge of collapse. Nicholas supported her with one hand but kept
his attention on the young man, anxious to meet the person who had indirectly caused such trouble for Westfield’s Men. Mordrake was there in his professional capacity as a physician to see if the patient was beyond hope or if there was some way that he could recover his wits.

‘Come, sir,’ said Kirk. ‘Welcome your friends.’

‘David,’ whispered Grace. ‘It’s me.’

Mention of his name made the young man turn round. His face became a childlike beam when he saw Grace Napier but her expression changed at once. Pain and disappointment overwhelmed her.

‘What ails you?’ asked Nicholas. ‘Is this not David Jordan?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I have never seen this man before.’

Jack Harsnett was back on his own territory. He knew where to forage and how to hide. Nobody else on the estate was aware of his return or of the grim purpose which prompted it. He kept Parkbrook under surveillance. It was early on a Tuesday morning when he heard the rumble of carts and the trot of horses. Having broken their journey with a night at a nearby inn, Westfield’s Men now headed for their next venue with alacrity. While the rest of the company travelled in the carts with the scenery, costumes and properties, Lawrence Firethorn led the procession on a chestnut mare. Spotting the house, he waved a commanding arm. ‘Onward!’