The Merry Devils

'What ails you?' asked Nicholas. 'Is this not David Jordan?

'No,' she said. 'I have never seen this man before.'

*

Jack Harsnett was back on his own territory. He knew where to forage and how to hide. Nobody else on the estate was aware of his return or of the grim purpose which prompted it. He kept Parkbrook under surveillance. It was early on a Tuesday morning when he heard the rumble of carts and the trot of horses. Having broken their journey with a night at a nearby inn, Westfield's Men now headed for their next venue with alacrity. While the rest of the company travelled in the carts with the scenery, costumes and properties, Lawrence Firethorn led the procession on a chestnut mare. Spotting the house, he waved a commanding arm.

'Onward!'

The forester hid behind some bushes and watched. Evidently, there was to be an entertainment of some sort at Parkbrook and that would mean that the whole household would be preoccupied. It could be just the chance for which Harsnett was waiting. As the last of the carts wended its way down the slope, he left the bushes and padded off through the wood until he reached his cottage. He picked up his axe and took from his pocket the stone which he kept to sharpen it.

With patient care, he began to hone the blade.

*

Westfield's Men arrived at Parkbrook House to find a stage set up in the Great Hall. Curtains hung from the minstrels' gallery to create a tiring-house beneath the balcony. Everything was exactly as requested. Glanville gave them a polite but muted welcome, then left them alone. Adapting at once to their new performing conditions, they set up and rehearsed. It was a surprisingly refreshing experience. A play which had always been so problematical before now unfolded smoothly and without error. The amended version of The Merry Devils worked uncannily well.

It was as if a curse had been lifted from it.

When the company adjourned for a meal at noon, they were in a happy, almost optimistic, mood. They now had three hours before they were due to give their command performance before a select audience. It gave them time to relax.

Nicholas Bracewell did not join them. Ever since his visit to Bedlam, he puzzled over something that might now be resolved. While his colleagues enjoyed their food and their banter, he slipped off to the west wing of the building and ascended the private staircase, slapping his feet down hard so that there was an echoing clack on the oak treads. It achieved the desired result.

Joseph Glanville appeared at the top of the stairs.

'What does this mean, sir?' he said with subdued anger.

'I have come to see you, Master Glanville.'

'This staircase is closed to all but me.'

'Then why does the physician use it?'

'Physician?'

'I believe I saw him with you the other night,' said Nicholas. 'You descended together in earnest conference. He came down the steps like a man well-used to their peculiarities.'

Glanville was as enigmatic as ever. His face betrayed nothing. Return to your company, Master Bracewell, he said. I hey have need of you. There is no reason for you to be here.'

'There is, sir.'

'What?'

'David Jordan.'

The steward blinked but his voice was still calm.

'I have nothing to say to you on that subject,' he returned easily. 'Your concern is solely with the staging of your play and I suggest that you go back to it now. I myself have urgent duties.'

Nicholas caught at his sleeve as Glanville moved away.

'Who is that young man in Bedlam?' he asked. Bedlam?' I here was more than a blink this time. You delivered the wrong David Jordan. Why?'

The steward glared at him then tried to push him away but Nicholas would not be shifted. Grabbing the man by the shoulders, he pinned him against the door of his own room.

'I have come for some answers, Master Glanville,' he said with emphasis, 'and I will not leave until I have them. It is not on my own account. I am here on behalf of Mistress Grace Napier who was contracted to marry Master Jordan. She is in grave distress and I would ease that distress with the truth.' He tightened his hold. 'Speak, sir. Tell me what happened to the gentleman.'

Glanville was wrestling with his thoughts, quite unsure what to do. He made an attempt to Tight his way free but he was overpowered by the book holder. The steward fell back on an excuse.

'It was the physician who called the other night,' he said. 'He came to see Jane Skinner.'

'At such a late hour?'

'The girl was in some pain.'

'Physicians do not come at the beck and call of a chambermaid,' said Nicholas. 'Besides, I called on Mistress Skinner the next morning. She told me she had not seen her physician for days.' He exerted even more pressure on the other. 'Tell me the truth. Master Glanville.'

It was the only option left to the steward. His composure fell away to be replaced by candid apprehension. The calm voice now took on a note of apprehension.

'Help us, sir. We are almost there.'

'We?'

'Do not undo our good work.'

'Explain, Master Glanville.'

'Step into my room.'

Nicholas released him then followed him into the room. The steward closed the door, turned the key in the lock and slid home the heavy bolt. The book holder glanced around. It was a small but neat apartment. The oak floor and the panelled walls gleamed. Clearly, the occupant had a passion for order and tidiness. Nicholas turned on him.

'Who is that patient at Bedlam?'

'A miller's son from the next county, sir.'

'How came he there?'

'He fell from a loft and injured his head badly. Doctor Renwick, the physician whom you saw, heard of the case. The symptoms were almost identical. The boy's mother had died and there was nobody to tend him. Putting him into Bedlam was Doctor Renwick's idea.'

'So that Master David. Jordan could be spared that ordeal.

'Yes, sir.'

'Where is he now?'

'Where he can be looked after properly,' said Glanville with obvious sincerity. 'I could never desert my old master, sir, nor see him consigned to a place like that. Though it cost my life, I would rescue him from such a fate. It has been difficult, Master Bracewell. It has been the Devil's own work but we have stuck to our task and our caring has been rewarded. The old master is steadily recovering.'

Nicholas studied him and realised how mistaken he had been in the man. Instead of being an enemy, Joseph Glanville was the most loyal friend. To protect David Jordan, he had risked everything. If the new master had learned what he had done, dismissal was the least that the steward would have faced. Glanville was brave as well as constant.

Wrong about him, Nicholas was right about one thing. : M believe that he is here, sir.' ' 'In the next room, Master Bracewell.'

'I should like to meet him.'

Glanville thought it over then crossed to the door.

*

Distinguished guests began to arrive in their carriages from all over the county. Luxuriating in his role as the new master of Parkbrook House, Francis Jordan welcomed them on his lawn then guided them into the ante-room for a cup of wine. Word of the play had leaked out and provoked much excitement. The reputation of Westfield's Men extended well outside the city. Last to appear, the company's esteemed patron was the first to take his seat in the Great Hall where the sumptuous banquet had been laid out in the shape of a horseshoe. Francis Jordan sat beside his uncle at the very heart of the horseshoe, diametrically opposite the stage.