The Merry Devils

'Where is Nick?' demanded Firethorn.

'Master Bracewell is not here, sir,' said George Dart.

'Of course, he is here, you ruinous pixie! He is always here. Rather tell me that the Thames is not here or that St Paul's has tip-toed away in the night. Nicholas is here somewhere.'

'I have searched for him in vain.'

'Then search again with your eyes open.'

'No fellow has seen him today, master.'

'You will be the first. Away, sir!' He watched the other trudge slowly away. 'Be more speedy, George. Your legs are made of lead.'

'And my heart, sir.'

'What's that?'

'I miss Roper.'

'So do we all, so do we all.'

Firethorn saw the tears in his eyes and crossed to put a hand of commiseration on his bowed shoulder. For all his bravado, the actor-manager had been shaken by the incident at The Rose.

'Roper died that we may live,' he said softly. 'Cherish his memory and serve the company as honestly as he did.'

George Dart nodded and went off more briskly.

Almost everyone had arrived by now and it was time for the rehearsal to begin. The musicians, the tiremen, the stagekeepers all needed advice from Nicholas Bracewell. The carpenters could not stir without him. The players grew restless at his absence. Barnaby Gill caused another scene and demanded a public reprimand for the book holder. He and Firethorn were still arguing when George Dart returned. He had been diligent in his search. Nicholas was nowhere at the Queen's Head.

'Then run to his lodgings and fetch him from his bed!'

'Me, sir?' asked Dart. 'It is a long way to Bankside.'

'I will kick you every inch of it if you do not move, sir!' , 'What am I to say to Master Bracewell?'

'Remind him of the name of Lawrence Firethorn.'

'Anything else, sir?' :'That will be sufficient.'

But George Dart's journey was over before it had even begun. As he turned to leave, the figure of a handsome woman swept in through the main gates and crossed the inn yard towards them. Anne Hendrik moved with a natural grace but there was no mistaking her concern. Firethorn gave her an extravagant welcome and bent to kiss her hand.

'Is Nicholas here?' she said.

'We hoped that he would be with you, dear lady.'

'He did not return last night.'

'This is murky news.'

'I have no idea where he went.'

'I can answer that,' said Edmund Hoode, stepping forward. 'Nick came with me to my lodging to share some ale and discuss some private business. It was late when he left for Bankside.'

'He never arrived,' said Anne with increased anxiety.

Firethorn pondered. He knew the dangers that lurked in the streets of London and trusted his book holder to cope with most of them. Only something of a serious nature could have detained Nicholas.

'George Dart!' he called.

'Here, master.'

'Scour the route that he would have taken. Retrace his steps from Master Hoode's lodging to his own. Enquire of the watch if they saw anything untoward in that vicinity. Nicholas is a big man in every way. He could not vanish into thin air.' Roper Blundell did,' murmured the other.

'Think on hope and do your duty.'

George Dart went willingly off on his errand and several others volunteered to join in the search. Nicholas was a popular member of the company and everyone was keen to find out what had befallen him.

'Let me go, too,' said Hoode.

'No, sir.'

'But I am implicated, Lawrence.'

'You are needed here.'

'Nothing is as important as this.'

'It is--our art. We must serve it like professional men." Firethorn raised his voice for all to hear. 'The rehearsal will go on.'

'Without Nick?' said Hoode.

'It is exactly what he would have wished, Edmund.'

'Yes,' agreed Anne. 'It is. Nick always put the theatre first.'

'To your places!'

Firethorn's command sent everyone scurrying off into the tiring-house. A difficult couple of hours lay ahead of them. They all knew just how much the book holder contributed to the performance.

Anne Hendrik searched for a crumb of reassurance.

'Where do you think he can be, Master Firethorn?'

'Safe and sound, clear lady. Safe and sound.'

'Is there no more we can do, sir?'

'Watch and pray.'

Anne took his advice and headed for the Church of St Benet.

*

Francis Jordan gave her a couple of days to muse upon her fate then issued his summons. He wanted Jane Skinner to come to his bedchamber that night. Implicit in his order was the threat of reprisal if she failed to appear, but he had no doubt on that score. The girl had been meek and submissive when he spoke to her and all resistance had gone. He would enjoy pressing home his advantage.

Glanville reacted quickly to orders. He had drafted in some extra craftsmen and work on the Great Hall was now advancing at a much more satisfying pace. Jordan gave instructions for the banquet and the invitations were sent out. He began to relax. The steward ran the household efficiently and gave him no real cause for complaint so the new master could enjoy the fruits of his position. Jane Skinner was one of them. Riding around his estate was another.

'Good morning, sir.'

'What do you want?'

'A word, sir.'

'We've said all we need to say to each other.'

'No, sir.'

'Get out of my path.'

'Listen.'

The unkempt man with the patch over one eye was lurking around the stables as Jordan rode out. There was the same obsequiousness and the same knowing smirk as before. He bent and twisted as he put his request to the master of Parkbrook House.

'They tell me Jack Harsnett's gone, sir.'

'I dismissed him for insolence.'

'So his cottage is empty?'

'Until I find a new forester.'

'Let me live there, sir.'

'You're not fit for the work.'

'I've always liked that cottage, sir,' said the man, sawing the air with his hands and trying an ingratiating grin. 'I'd be warm in winter there. It's a quiet place and I'd be out of the way.'

'No.'

'I ask it as a favour, sir.'

'No!'

The reply was unequivocal but it did not dismay him. The smirk came back to haunt and nudge Jordan who fought against the distant pull of obligation. The man revolted him and reminded him.

'You weren't always master here, sir.'