The Merry Devils

'Would you have these merry devils in your home, Francis?' ,

'They will bring a feast of joy to the occasion.'

'Have you no qualms, nephew?'

'None, sir. Parkbrook welcomes such jollity.'

'So be it, then. I'll indulge your whim.'

'Thank you, uncle, with all my heart!'

Francis Jordan had recently taken possession of a property on Lord Westfield's estate in Hertfordshire and he was having alterations made before he moved in. He planned to have a banquet to mark his arrival as the new master of Parkbrook House and that day of celebration would now include The Merry Devils as its central feature.

Lord Westfield voiced a slight reservation.

'When will the work be done, Francis?'

'In a month or so.'

'That is too long to wait,' said his uncle impatiently. 'I'll not tarry until Parkbrook be in a fit state to receive my company. In ten days, I return to the country myself. These merry devils will caper for my delight before I leave. See to it, Master Firethorn.'

The actor-manager started and gave an apologetic shrug. : 'Your request is not easy to satisfy, my lord.'

'Then my request will become my command.'

'But we already have plans for our next performances.'

'Change them, sir.'

'The Merry Devils does not figure in our list.'

'Insert it.'

Firethorn gritted his teeth. Having survived one ordeal with the play, he did not wish to be confronted with another quite so soon. Nor did he relish the idea of forcing a reluctant company to present a work which had such unfortunate associations for them.

'Is there no other comedy in our repertoire that would please you, my lord?' he said. 'You have only to choose.'

'That is what I have done, sir.'

'The Merry Devils will be very difficult to mount again.'

'No more evasion,' said his patron with a dismissive sweep of his hand. 'We would have this play again and we would have it with that fiery creature in his flash of red smoke. We shall know when to expect him next time and he will not make our hearts leap so readily into our mouths.' He drained his wine. 'Make arrangements, sir.'

'And do not forget the visit to Parkbrook House," said Jordan seriously. 'That still stands, Master Firethorn. I would have devilry in my own home, so I would. You will be recompensed.'

Lawrence Firethorn capitulated with a deep bow.

'We are, as always, my lord, your most obedient servants.'

A submissive smile covered his face but his mind was wrestling with practical problems. If they risked staging the play again, how could they guarantee the requisite number of devils? Would the intruder deign to return on cue? Could they, indeed, prevent him from doing so?

*

St Benet Grass Church had served its parishioners with unwavering devotion for over four long centuries and in that time it had witnessed all manner of worship, but it had never before encountered anything quite so incongruous as the sight which now presented itself in the chancel. Kneeling at the altar rail was a figure of such showy elegance that he seemed more fitted for a gaming den than for a house of prayer. It was as if he had wandered into the church by mistake and been vanquished by the power of God. A shudder went through his body then he prostrated himself on the cold stone steps, assuming an attitude of extreme penitence so that he could have conference with his Maker.

A mitred bishop in the meanest brothel could not have looked more out of place. The man remained prone for several minutes, a colourful guest in the consecrated shadows, a living embodiment of the sacred and the profane. When he raised his eyes to the crucifix, they were awash with tears of contrition. Racked with guilt and speared with pain, he muttered a stream of prayers under his breath then slowly dragged himself to his feet. He backed down the aisle and genuflected when he reached the door.

Ralph Willoughby went out into bustling Gracechurch Street.

His affability returned at once. In his cheerful progress through the crowd, there was no hint of the malaise which took him to St Benet's, still less of the turbulence he experienced while he was there. His innermost feelings were cloaked once more. Willoughby now gave the impression that he did not have a care in the world.

When he reached the Queen's Head, he went straight to the yard where the stage was being dismantled. Westfield's Men were not due to perform there until the following week and so their temporary playhouse could make way for the ordinary business of the inn. Everybody worked with unwonted alacrity, eager to clear away all trace of The Merry Devils so that they could put behind them the memory of what had happened that afternoon. There was none of the usual idle chat. They went about their task in grim silence.

Nicholas Bracewell came out of a door and crossed the yard. He had laboured long and hard with Marwood and the effort had taken its toll, but it had brought a modicum of success. The landlord had been sufficiently quelled by the book holder's reasoning to hold back from tearing up the contract with Westfield's Men. The players were neither welcome nor expelled from the Queen's Head. Nicholas had won them a period of grace.

Pleased to see Willoughby, he bore down on him.

'A word in your ear, Ralph,' he said.

'As many as you choose, dear fellow.'

'Master Firethorn was roused by that third devil of ours.'

'So we were all!'

'His anger glows. Avoid him until it has cooled.'

'Why so, Nick?'

'Be warned. He lays the blame on you.'

'Ah!' sighed the other softly.

'Away, sir!' urged Nicholas. 'He'll be here anon. He stays but for brief converse with Lord Westfield.'

'This is kind advice but I'll stand my ground in spite of it.'

'Fly the place now, Ralph.'

'I'll not turn tail for any man.'

'Master Firethorn will rant and rave unjustly at you.'

'He has good cause.'

'What's that?'

'It was my fault.' Willoughby shook his head and smiled wryly. 'Lay it at my door, Nick. I penned that scene and I summoned that furious devil from Hell.'

'No, not from Hell. His journey was of much shorter length.'

'How say you?'

'It was a creature of flesh and blood, Ralph.'

'But I saw the fiend with my own eyes.'

'Only in a twinkling.' Nicholas pointed to the trestles that were being taken down. 'If that was one of Satan's brood, why did he leave by an open trap whose device had been cut for the purpose?'

'A devil may do as he wishes,' argued Willoughby. 'He could have disappeared down the trap or up the nearest chimney, if fancy had seized him that way. This was no illusion, Nick. It was real and authenticate.'