The Merry Devils

The new master pointed to the far end of the room.

'I think that the stage should be set up there to catch the light on two sides. Tables will be arranged in a horseshoe so that our guests may eat and drink while they view the entertainment. There is a door in the corner, as you see, sir, and the room beyond can be your tiring-house.' He smiled complacently. 'I believe I have thought of everything.'

'Not quite, Master Jordan,' said Nicholas, looking around with interest. 'It would far better suit our purposes if we played at this end of the hall.' He used his hands to indicate. 'There is a minstrels' gallery above that is ideal for our musicians. If we hang curtains down from that, it forms a tiring-house beneath the balcony. The stage will thrust out in this direction and your tables can be set the other way around. Your guests may still dine while we act.'

'But you throw away the best of the light.'

'That is the intention, sir. We would in any case draw the curtains on all the windows to darken the interior. You have seen The Merry Devils and know its supernatural elements. They will flourish more by candlelight. We have to take advantage of our playing conditions, sir. We are open to the sky in London and may not control the light at all. Here we may manipulate it to our own ends and to the greater pleasure of our spectators.'

The argument was convincing but Jordan was nevertheless peeved that his suggestions had been ruled out so effortlessly. He threw up another objection out of churlishness.

'If you play at this end of the hall, sir, you block the main entrance. How are my guests to come into the place?'

'Through that door you commended to me but now,' said Nicholas. 'I notice that the room looks out upon that broad lawn. If the weather is as fine as we have a right to expect, you would receive your guests in the garden, conduct them into that room for drinks then usher them through into here for the banquet and the performance.'

'Leave the arrangements to me, please, sir!' snapped Jordan.

'I was only replying to your question, master.'

The book holder was right and the other finally conceded it. A practical man of the theatre knew how to pick his ground and his view had to be respected.

'You'll need to take measurements and make drawings,' said Jordan curtly. 'I'll send my steward in to attend to your needs.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'I still feel that my idea was the most sensible.'

He flounced out and left Nicholas in the hall. The book holder did not waste his time. In the two minutes that it took Glanville to appear, Nicholas chatted to one of the painters and learned why the new master was so disliked, how the forester had been dismissed and what happened to one of the chambermaids. Parkbrook House was not a happy place. The coldness of its exterior was reflected inside as well.

A tall, stately figure glided in through the entrance.

'Master Bracewell?'

'Yes, sir.'

'I am Joseph Glanville, steward of the household.'

"Well met!'

'How may I best help you?'

'I have a number of enquiries...'

There was something about the steward that alerted Nicholas. Accustomed to working among actors, he could usually discern when someone was masking his true self. Glanville was altogether too plausible and controlled for his liking. The man answered all his questions very courteously but he was holding something back all the time, and Nicholas was keen to know what it was.

'What about your stage, sir?' asked the steward.

'We shall bring our own and set it up on trestles.'

'Master Jordan is anxious to spare you that trouble. We have enough carpenters at our command and they can build to order. You will have plenty to bring from London as it is.'

Nicholas closed with the offer. Transporting the stage was a problematic business as they found when they were obliged to go on tour in the provinces. Besides, the one used at the Queen's Head was far too high for their needs at Parkbrook House. Glanville was surprised when told this.

'Will you not need trap-doors for your devils, sir?'

'They will enter by some other means.'

'Not from below, as Master Jordan described to me?'

'No, sir,' said the other. 'A height of eighteen inches will content us. Two feet at most. There will be no crawling beneath the stage on this occasion.' He thought of George Dart and Caleb Smythe. 'That will gladden the hearts of our devils, I can tell you.'

They talked further then Glanville escorted him up to show him the bedchamber that had been assigned to him. It was on the first floor in the west wing and as they walked down the long corridor towards it, Nicholas probed.

'I hear that one of your chambermaids had an accident.'

'That is so, sir.' I 'A broken leg, they say.'

'The girl is recovering in the servants' quarters.'

'I may find time to visit her,' volunteered Nicholas. 'I know the misery of a leg in splints.'

'Oh, I could not permit that, sir, said Glanville firmly. 'Jane Skinner is in a state of shock. The physician has advised against stray callers. They tire the girl.'

Nicholas did not believe the explanation and wondered why he was being kept from the invalid. They stopped outside a door. Nothing the circular staircase at the far end of the corridor, the guest asked if if led down to the Great Hall.

'It is not for general use,' said Glanville smoothly. 'I am the only person allowed to use it, Master Bracewell, and it is a privilege that I jealously guard.

'Is it not a quicker way down for me?' said Nicholas.

'That is immaterial. You may not use it.'

'What is the punishment for offenders, sir?'

There was a note of ironic amusement in the question but the steward did not hear it. His response was deadly serious. Behind the unruffled calm was a surge of hostility.

Nicholas saw that he had made an enemy.

*

He sold the horse and cart in the first village. All that he kept or needed was his axe and it was always by his side. Jack Harsnett went to the nearest inn and drank himself to distraction. It was a few days before he was ready to move on. A mornings trudge brought him to a wayside tavern and he slumped down on to the settle that stood out in the sun. Food and drink was brought out to him and he began to recover his breath. He was far too old to tramp the roads for long.

Laughter from inside the tavern made him prick his ears and a few snatches of conversation drifted out. Though he could not hear what was being said, he recognised the principal voice in the group. It made him sit tight and wait. One by one, the customers tumbled out and went back to their work or their homes. The man for whom Harsnett was waiting was the last to leave. Drink had blurred the sight of his one eye and he walked past the forester without paying any heed.

Harsnett followed and cornered him against a wall.