The Merry Devils

He could hear them talking as he went around to the rear of their booth. The woman entered and discussed the takings. Nicholas called out and asked if he could come in.

'What do you want, sir?' said a high voice.

'To discuss a business proposition.'

The flap of the booth opened and a midget studied him. At length, he held the flap back so that Nicholas could enter. The other two men and the woman were resting on benches. Now that he could see them closer, Nicholas could discern that there were age differences. The man who had let him in was older than the others.

'I am Dickon, sir,' said the man, then indicated the others with his doll-like hand. 'This is my wife and these are our two sons.'

'You mentioned a business proposition,' said the woman.

'It's one that concerned Westfield's Men,' he said.

The two sons started guiltily but the father calmed them by showing the palms of his hands. He confronted Nicholas without fear.

'What are you talking about, sir?'

'Merry devils.'

'We do not understand.'

'I think your sons do.'

They tried not to fidget so much and averted their eyes.

'Leave us alone!' said Dickon with spirit.

'You caused a great deal of trouble, sir.'

'We are poor entertainers.'

'I saw your entertainment at the Queen's Head in Gracechurch Street,' said Nicholas. "The Curtain in Shoreditch. The Rose in Bankside. I was not amused.'

'Get out of our booth, sir!'

Dickon had the ebullience of a man twice his height and weight. He was going to admit nothing unless he had to do so. His sons, however, were less skilled in deception. Nicholas decided to play on their fears with a useful fiction.

'Lord Westfield is a very influential man,' he said.

'So?' replied Dickon.

'He could close this whole fair down if he chose. He could get your licence revoked, then your booths would not be able to stand anywhere. That is what he threatened to do but I tried to talk him out of it.'

Dickon had a brief but wordless conversation with the others. Alarm had finally touched him and he was not sure what to do about it. Nicholas quickly exploited his advantage.

'Unless I go back with some answers, Lord Westfield will pursue this fair through the courts. He wants revenge.'

Another silent exchange between the midgets then one of the sons cracked, jumping up and running across to the visitor.

'We did not mean to do any harm, sir.'

'Who put you up to it?'

'It was all in jest, sir. We are clowns at a fair.'

'There's nothing clownish in the sight of a dead man.'

'That was my doing, sir!' wailed the son. 'I still have nightmares about it. I did not mean to fright him so.'

The mother now burst into tears, both sons talked at once and Dickon tried to mediate. Nicholas calmed them all down and asked the father to give a full account of what happened. Dickon cleared his throat, glanced at the others, then launched into his narrative.

The fair was at Finchley when a young man approached them and asked if they would like to earn some money. All that they had to do was to play a jest on a friend of his. Dickon undertook the task himself. A costume was provided and details of when and how to make his sudden appearance. The young man was evidently familiar with the details of the performance.

'How did you get into the Queen's Head?' said Nicholas.

'In the back of a cart, sir.'

'Then you hid beneath the stage?'

'When you are as small as us, concealment is not difficult.'

'You were told to cause an uproar then disappear.'

'That is so.'

'What about The Curtain?'

'I did not even have to dress up for that,' said Dickon. 'When you all withdrew after the rehearsal, I came out from behind the costume basket where I lay hidden. It was the work of five minutes or so to saw through that maypole.'

'Did you not think of the damage it could cause?'

'The young man assured us nobody would be hurt.'

'What of The Rose?'

'My sons were both employed there.'

Dickon's account was straightforward. Instructed in what they had to do, the two boys had visited the theatre in costume on the eve of performance to search for places of concealment and to rehearse their antics. Hearing footsteps up on the stage, they could not resist shooting up through the trap-doors to startle whoever it was. Nicholas admitted that he had been duly startled.

The boys had slipped under the stage after the performance had starred and lay hidden under sheets in a corner. When Roper Blundell came down to prepare for his own ascent from Hell, he nipped over one of the sheets and lifted it. The mere sight of a douching devil had been enough to frighten him to death. Terrified themselves, the two brothers fled as soon as they could and did not make the double entry on stage that had been planned.

Nicholas felt that he was hearing the truth. The midgets were not responsible for what they did. They were only pawns in the game. Paid for their services, they were told that everything was a practical joke on friends. That joke turned sour at The Rose and they refused to work for the young man again. Nicholas saw no virtue in proceeding against this peculiar family. It was the person behind them who was the real villain. He sought help.

'Was he a well-favoured young man with a ring on his right hand?'

'Yes, sir,' said Dickon. 'It bore his initials.'

'Do you know what they stand for?'

'No, sir. Except that...well, there was one time when his coachman called him Master Gregory.'

G.N. Master Gregory. It was enough for Nicholas.

He now knew who their enemies really were.

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Chapter Ten

Sunday was truly a day of rest for Henry Drewry. It was the end of the worst week of his life and he was exhausted from his labours. He could not even stir to take himself off to matins. Having tried to prevent his daughter from going to the country with Grate Napier, he felt an immense relief when she actually left the house. Her presence now diminished him in every way. Terrified to offend her lest she speak to her mother about a Bankside theatre, he crept around quietly and kept out of her way. All hope of marrying the girl off could now be abandoned. He had too much compassion to wish such a creature on any other man.