The Merry Devils

'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 horn 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 The rough cosiness had been replaced by an atmosphere of neglect.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 our 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.'