The Merry Devils

'How now, dear lady?'

'Was not that the most excellent play in Creation?' ; 'I have never seen the like.'

'It has left me in such a mood for pleasure.'

The courtesan was a shapely young woman of middle height in a tight red bodice with patterning in gold thread, an ornate ruff that was decorated with cut-work embroidery and edged with lace, and a French wheel farthingale with the skirt gathered in folds. She was no punk from the stews of Bankside. She plied her trade in the upper echelons and had picked Drewry out as a man of substance. They were soon standing arm in arm and exchanging banter.

The relationship lasted only a few minutes.

'What brings you to this hideous place, Henry?'

'Oh!'

'I did not expect to find you here, sir.'

Isaac Pollard stood in front of the Alderman and the four supplementary Puritans surrounded him. He was ringed by religion and shook off his new acquaintance as if she were diseased.

'It was your playbill that fetched me here, Isaac,' he said.

'Indeed?'

'That and the holy fire of your sermon.'

'You have read it?'

'Twice,' lied Drewry who had not struggled beyond the first paragraph. 'It is an inspiration to us all. I intend to read it to my wife and daughter this very evening. Isobel is a good girl but a trifle wayward at times. I shudder at the thought of her frequenting such a vile establishment as this.'

'My brethren here were astounded by what they saw.'

So was I, sir. I came hither to judge for myself and I am now totally of your opinion. The Rose is a flower of indecency.'

Tear the place down, Henry.'

Alas, we cannot. It lies outside the city boundary.

'Then close the Queen's Head,' insisted Pollard. 'Plays demean the human soul and players are men who prostitute their art. Let us begin in Gracechurch Street.'

'I will look diligently into the matter.'

'We shall discuss it on our journey. You have your coach here?' It is at hand, Isaac'

'My brethren and I will gladly accept your transport,' said Pollard. 'We all have views that we would impress upon you.'

Drewry gazed wistfully across at the courtesan who had now transferred her attentions to an elderly nobleman who leaned upon a stick. In place of her charms, the Alderman had to settle for five earnest Puritans. Pollard observed the woman as well and his eyebrow rippled quizzically. Drewry threw in a hasty explanation.

A widowed lady who dwells in my ward,' he said. She seeks advice about her husband's estate. An Alderman must help such stricken wives.'

Flanked by the five, he turned his back on pleasure.

*

Roper Blundell lay on the table in the private room to which Nicholas Bracewell carried him. The corpse was covered in a piece of hessian, a rough but not inappropriate shroud. Small in life, the body looked even smaller in death, the shrunken relic of a man who had served the theatre in his lowly capacity for many years. Word of Blundell's demise had not been released to the company and there was a whirlwind of panic. Nicholas stood guard over the body to ensure it some privacy. Edmund Hoode and Barnaby Gill were his agitated companions.

'Why was I not told?' said Gill angrily. 'I would have not acted with a dead man beneath my very feet.'

'That is why I withheld the intelligence,' said Nicholas.

'You were right,' decided Hoode.

'I am a sharer in this company and should know everything that happens when it happens!' Gill went stamping around the room. 'Lawrence was informed and so should I have been!'

Nicholas glanced meaningfully at the corpse. Gill accepted the reproof and showed his respect by reducing his voice to a hiss. Not surprisingly, he saw the incident entirely from his own point of view.

'This is aimed at me, sirs.'

'How can you think that?' said Hoode.

'It is as plain as a pikestaff.'

'Not to us, master,' said Nicholas quietly.

'At the Queen's Head, I summon up a devil and Hell itself answers my call. During Cupid's Folly, I climb up a pole and some fiend contrives my downfall. Here at The Rose, I sprinkle my magic powder and one of my devils is killed. Can you not see the connections? In every case, it is I who stand at the centre of the action.'

'The wish was father to the thought,' observed Hoode.

'Do not mock me, Edmund!'

'Then do not invite mockery.'

'I remind you of my rank in this company!'

'Will you ever let us forget it, sir?'

'Gentlemen, please,' said Nicholas, indicating the shrouded Figure. 'Roper had little enough respect from us when he was here. Let us give the poor fellow his due amount now that he has gone.'

They mumbled an apology. Gill drifted over to the window.

'Where is Lawrence?'

'Lord Westfield sent for him,' said Nicholas.

'He should be here.'

'His lordship was insistent.'

'I could have dealt with our patron,' said Gill airily. 'Lawrence's place is in this room.'

He stared out of the window and brooded on what had happened and how it affected him. Hoode had a whispered conversation with the book holder.

'What caused the death, Nick?'

'We will not know until the surgeon arrives.'

'Did Caleb Smythe not enlighten you?'

'He is as ignorant as the rest of us.'

'But he was down there with the others.'

'His back was to Roper,' explained Nicholas. 'It is gloomy and they were in any case half-hidden from each other's gaze by the props that hold up the stage. Caleb saw nothing.'

'He must have heard something was amiss?'

Nicholas shook his head. He was deafened by the first explosion. He could not hear if Roper's powder went off or if his trap-door opened. Besides, Caleb had much to do. He had to pull his own tray of gunpowder into position, set the charge, mount the steps and make his entrance. That left him no time to look across at Roper Blundell.'

'I understand it now.'

'The first that Caleb knew of any accident was when he popped up on the stage and saw that George Dart was the only devil there. He took the action he saw fit.'

'We must be grateful that he did.'

Hoode walked across to the table and uncovered the face of the corpse. Roper Blundell still stared upwards with his mouth agape. A costume which might have provoked horror and humour on stage looked singularly out of place now. Blundell had worked on all the playwright's work for the company. Hoode spared him the tribute of a passing sigh. It grieved him that something he had written should be the scene of the man's death.

There was a faint knock on the door and it opened to reveal a wizened figure in a long robe. He introduced himself with a dark smile.

'Doctor John Mordrake!'

His reputation gained him a polite welcome. Even Barnaby Gill was temporarily cowed in the presence of so eminent a man.