Edward Marston - The Devil's Apprentice

Owen Elias liked the man as much as Nicholas. Not only had their host provided Westfield’s Men with a worthy auditorium in his Great Hall, he gave the visitors a guided tour of the house, showed them his extensive arsenal, discussed the manufacture of his gunpowder and even offered to take them up to the top of the tower. The Welshman glanced through the window with misgivings.

‘It’s pitch dark out there, Sir Michael,’ he said.

‘Exactly, my friend. The stars will be out. Wouldn’t you like to come up on the roof to look through my telescope?’

‘No thank you. It’ll be freezing.’

‘What’s a little discomfort in the interests of astrology?’

‘It’s a kind offer, Sir Michael,’ said Nicholas, aware of the passage of time, ‘and I’ll be delighted to accept it on another occasion but we’ve already stayed longer than we intended. Master Stratton told us that Stapleford is only a mile away. Put us on the road to the village and we’ll seek lodging at the inn.’

‘Inn?’

‘I believe that it’s called The Shepherd and Shepherdess.’

‘But you’re going to stay here, Master Bracewell.’

‘Are we?’

‘Yes,’ insisted Sir Michael. ‘I wouldn’t dream of turning you out. My wife and I will be your shepherd and shepherdess. A chambermaid is already preparing a room for you. When the whole company descends upon us, of course, you’ll have to make use of those little cottages set apart from the house, perhaps even of the outbuildings as well. Tonight, however, the pair of you will lay your heads beneath the roof of Silvermere.’

‘That’s most generous of you, Sir Michael.’

‘We accept on one condition,’ said Elias.

‘Condition?’

‘Yes,’ added the Welshman with a grin. ‘Give us fair warning before you fire any cannon balls from the roof in the middle of the night.’

Sir Michael burst out laughing and clapped his hands to his side like young bird making its first clumsy attempts at flight. The three of them were alone in a room at the rear of the property that served its owner as library, laboratory and workshop all in one. Along the back wall, oak shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, filled to the last inch with hefty tomes and piles of documents. One vast table was covered with scientific instruments of every description while another looked more like a carpenter’s bench. The culverin was kept beside the furnace in the adjoining outhouse. Seeing it all by the light of candelabra, Nicholas was impressed. Sir Michael was no Egidius Pye. There was a sense of order and calculation in the room. It was also impeccably clean. The scientist looked after his possessions with great care. This was his private world where he sought, in his own small way, to push forward the frontiers of science.

There was a knock on the door and Romball Taylard entered. He looked almost sinister as he emerged from the shadows but his manner towards the visitors was more pleasant now that he knew that they would be staying overnight. With good news to pass on, he even contrived a smile.

‘Yes, Romball?’ asked his employer.

‘You have visitors, Sir Michael.’

‘At this time of night?’

‘Master Stratton sends his apologies for calling so late.’

‘Oh, I see. It’s Jerome, is it? Well, he can come at any time he likes. Does he wants to speak to me or to Lady Eleanor.’

‘He’s really here to see your guests, Sir Michael,’ said the steward, glancing at the two of them. ‘Master Stratton has brought someone with him.’

‘And who might that be?’

‘His son.’

‘Davy?’ asked Nicholas, cheered by the tidings.

‘Where has the rascal been?’ said Elias.

Taylard smiled again. ‘Only Master Stratton will be able to tell you that.’

‘Then let’s go and find him at once,’ urged Sir Michael, leading the way.

The four of them went off down a long corridor that was lit at regular intervals by candelabra. Dancing flames threw their profiles against the walls as they passed and gave the house a ghostly quality. When the quartet came into the entrance hall, Jerome Stratton was standing beside a marble bust of Plato, holding his son by the hand and making an effort to appear relaxed. Davy Stratton, by contrast, was sullen and subdued, his face bearing some dark scratches and his attire torn and soiled. He did not look up as the others arrived. Taylard faded quickly into the background but stayed within earshot.

‘The prodigal son has returned,’ said Stratton with forced geniality. ‘I’m sorry to intrude at this hour, Sir Michael, but I was hoping to catch your visitors before they went off to Stapleford.’

‘But they’re not going to the inn,’ said Sir Michael.

‘Surely they don’t mean to travel back to London at night?’

‘Of course not, Jerome. You must think us uncivilized even to suggest such a thing. We’d never turn out guests when we have twenty rooms or more unoccupied. They’ll be staying here until morning.’

‘I see,’ said Stratton, adjusting swiftly to the news. ‘In that case, I must request a favour, Sir Michael. Is it possible that you could find a corner where Davy might bed down as well?’

‘Need you even ask? The boy is more than welcome.’

‘Thank you.’ He nudged his son. ‘Davy?’

‘Thank you, Sir Michael,’ mumbled Davy without looking up.

‘Perhaps I might ask a favour as well, Sir Michael,’ said Nicholas politely. ‘Since Davy is to stay, is there any chance that he might share the room with Owen and me?’

‘A sensible notion,’ said Sir Michael. ‘Romball?’

The steward materialised out of the gloom. ‘Yes, Sir Michael?’

‘Speak to the chambermaid, will you?’

‘At once, Sir Michael.’

Taylard backed away again and went silently up the stairs. Nicholas knelt down in front of Davy to inspect his face and clothing. The boy looked up guiltily for a second then lowered his eyes again.

‘Those are nasty scratches you have, Davy,’ said Nicholas with sympathy. ‘And you’ve a bruise on your temple. How did you come by those?’

‘His pony bolted and he was thrown,’ explained Stratton before his son could open his mouth. ‘That’s why he didn’t hear you when you called for him in the forest. Hotspur — that’s his pony — took fright and bolted. Davy was knocked senseless when he hit the ground. By the time he recovered, you’d both ridden off.’

‘But the lad’s such a fine horseman,’ said Nicholas.

‘Hotspur caught him unawares.’

‘And us,’ said Elias. ‘One moment, Davy was there; the next, he was gone.’

‘Thrown from the saddle. He was still dazed when he tried to find Hotspur and stumbled into a holly bush. Hence the scratches on his face and the torn clothing. The bruise must have come from the fall.’ He put a gentle hand on the back of his son’s neck. ‘Davy doesn’t recall too much about it, do you, Davy?’

‘No, Father,’ said the boy dutifully.

‘He’ll be much better after a good night’s sleep,’ promised Stratton easily. ‘I apologise for bringing him to you in such a state but we were much nearer to Silvermere when the search party found him. My men say that he was running blind like a startled rabbit.’ He patted the boy on the head. ‘I’ll have fresh attire sent over first thing in the morning. We can’t have him riding back to London in that state.’

Nicholas was puzzled. If the father were so concerned about his son, he wondered why Stratton did not take the boy back to Holly Lodge for the night. Word of his return could have been sent to Silvermere and Davy could have been reunited with his travelling companions the following morning. Nicholas also had grave suspicions about the account that Jerome Stratton had given of his son’s disappearance. A fall from the pony and a charge through woodland might have been responsible for his wounds and his dishevelled state but several hours had passed since Davy had vanished. Where had the boy been in the interim? Nicholas was surprised that someone who was supposed to know every path in the forest managed to get himself lost for such a long time. Many questions needed to be put to Davy but not in the presence of his father. As long as Jerome Stratton was there, Nicholas saw, the boy would not dare to tell the truth.