Edward Marston - The Devil's Apprentice

‘You let him get away from you?’ he demanded.

‘We had no reason to suppose he wanted to go,’ said Nicholas.

‘It could be that he simply went astray,’ suggested Elias.

Stratton was bitter. ‘No question of that, sir! I own that forest and use it to supply timber. Davy often went there. He played with friends among the trees and loved to watch the woodcutters at work. He didn’t go astray,’ he emphasised. ‘Davy knows that forest better than anyone. He ran off.’

‘Why?’ said Elias.

‘That’s what I intend to find out.’

‘Where could he have gone?’

‘Not to Holly Lodge, that’s for sure.’

‘But this is his home, Master Stratton.’

‘He’s an apprentice with Westfield’s Men now,’ retorted the other. ‘When you have the sense to keep hold of him. Why did you let him go, you idiots?’

The Welshmen tensed and Nicholas stepped in before Elias lost his temper.

‘We’re as sorry as you are, Master Stratton,’ he said evenly, ‘and we’ll do all we can to retrieve the boy. When someone expresses a desire to join the company, it never occurs to us that he will take flight at the earliest opportunity. And if you really take us to be idiots, you should not have entrusted your son to us.’

‘No,’ added Elias testily. ‘We were ambushed on the road and saved Davy’s life. If that be idiocy, then have the pair of us locked up in Bedlam.’

‘I spoke too hastily,’ said Stratton, eyes darting as his mind grappled with the problem. ‘Forgive me, gentlemen. This is sorry news but it’s wrong to blame it on you.’

‘Perhaps Davy is not suited to the theatre,’ said Nicholas, probing gently.

‘He is, he is. The lad spoke of nothing else.’

‘Who first put the notion into his head?’

‘I did, of course.’

‘Even though it meant that he would leave home?’

‘Davy’s a restless boy. He wanted to spread his wings.’

‘Was your wife equally ready to lose a son?’

Stratton coloured slightly and he gritted his teeth. ‘My dear wife passed away last autumn,’ he said. ‘Were she here, she would have wanted for Davy exactly what I want.’

‘Then it was your decision to have him indentured?’

‘It was a decision my son and I reached together.’

Elias was blunt. ‘Why has the little devil gone back on it?’

It took Stratton a few moments to rein in his anger. Summoning up his last reserves of bonhomie, he gave a flabby smile and crossed to open the front door.

‘Thank you for coming, gentlemen,’ he said cheerily. ‘I am indebted to you both. But this is a domestic matter and I’ll resolve it as quickly as possible.’

‘But we’re concerned for Davy,’ said Nicholas.

‘Yes,’ said Elias. ‘We’d hate any harm to come to the lad. Although he deserves a box on the ear for the way he left us stranded in the middle of the forest. We need the imp back, if only to guide us home to London.’

‘You shall have him back,’ Stratton assured him.

‘Then you know where he is?’

‘Forget about Davy. Ride on to Silvermere to meet Sir Michael. I daresay you have come to see the Great Hall before you play in it. Discharge the duty that brought you to Essex in the first place, gentlemen. Sir Michael will be expecting you,’ he continued, opening the door even wider. ‘I bid you farewell. Continue on the road and you cannot miss the house.’

The visitors traded a look then went out past him. Nicholas turned back.

‘What about Davy?’ he asked.

‘I’ll find him for you,’ said Stratton.

‘Where?’

‘That’s my business, sir.’

And he closed the door firmly in their faces.

Silvermere lived up to its name. Standing at the very heart of the Greenleaf estate, it was a vast house built of a light-coloured brick that took on a silver hue in the afternoon sun. Visitors first had to skirt the kidney-shaped lake that fronted it, an expanse of water that added to the beauty of the property and acted as a kind of moat. Fringed by reeds and frozen solid, the lake was a silver mirror in which Nicholas Bracewell and Owen Elias could see their reflections as they rode around its edge. It had a fairy tale sheen to it. They were pleased to observe that someone had cleared away the ice at the far end to give the wildfowl access to the water. Two ducks paddled their way bravely across their depleted habitat. A large black swan waddled uncertainly down the bank towards the water.

The house itself made Holly Lodge look modest by comparison. Its central feature was a high turreted gate-tower that rose up defiantly and gave the place the fleeting appearance of a castle. Wings stretched out on either side then turned back to form a courtyard at the rear. Silvermere comprised a Great Hall, a small dining parlour, a chapel, family apartments, guests’ lodgings, steward’s lodgings, porter’s quarters, servants’ quarters, great kitchens, brew house, bake house, larders and cellars. The stable block stood off to the right of the property, linked to a series of outbuildings and a few small cottages. Out of sight at the back of the house was a walled garden with a small pond and a collection of statuary that was covered in moss and pitted with age. There was no hint of timber or thatch in the exterior of Silvermere. Brick and slate predominated.

‘Look at the size of those chimneys!’ said Elias, gaping. ‘They’re enormous.’

‘All the better to warm up the house, Owen.’

‘How many servants would you need to run a place like this?’

‘None,’ said Nicholas, ‘for I’d never covet such a home.’

‘I would. I’d invite the entire population of Wales to stay with me and still have a few rooms left empty. It’ll be a positive joy to perform our work here. Silvermere puts the Queen’s Head in the shade.’

‘Don’t you miss our friendly landlord?’

‘Yes!’ said Elias with feeling. ‘I miss Alexander Marwood with pleasure.’

Nicholas grinned. ‘I fancy that we’ll have a kinder reception here.’

‘I hope that it’s kinder than the one we had at Holly Lodge. If he has a father like Jerome Stratton, I’m not surprised that Davy took to his heels.’

‘But he ran away from us, Owen.’

‘I know and I can’t understand why.’

‘You frightened him off by threatening to kiss him on stage,’ teased Nicholas.

‘Where on earth could he have gone?’

‘His father knows.’

‘Does he?’

‘Yes. I saw it in his eyes.’

When they dismounted at the front entrance, an ostler came to lead their horses off to the stables. A servant admitted them and took their cloaks and hats. The visitors then found themselves confronted by the household steward. Romball Taylard was a tall, stately man in his early forties with an impassively handsome face and watchful eyes. Black hair rose in curls from the high forehead and the beard was meticulously trimmed. Taylard was so immaculately dressed and exuded such an air of quiet confidence that he seemed more like an occupant of the house than someone who was merely employed there. After introducing himself and his companion, Nicholas explained why they had come and asked if they could meet Sir Michael Greenleaf. The steward’s voice was deep and melodious.

‘That will not be possible at the moment, sir,’ he said.

‘Is Sir Michael not at home?’ enquired Nicholas.

‘He’s otherwise engaged. You’ll have to wait until he’s finished. Sir Michael will brook no interruption when he’s working on one of his experiments.’

‘Experiments?’ repeated Elias. ‘Of what kind?’

‘A private nature.’

Taylard managed to make a polite reply sound like a rebuff. Elias smarted under the man’s searching gaze and bit back the sarcastic remark he felt impelled to make. Nicholas, too, caught the faint whiff of disapproval that emanated from the steward. Whoever had conceived the idea of inviting Westfield’s Men to perform at the house, it had evidently not been Romball Taylard but, since they would need to work closely with the man, Nicholas made an effort to win him over.