Edward Marston - The Devil's Apprentice

‘We’ll have breakfast when we get back,’ she said.

‘Yes, Mistress Hendrik.’

‘Do you like church, Davy?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Do you go regularly at home?’

‘Oh, yes,’ he said with a rueful smile ‘We have to. My father makes sure that we never miss a service on Sundays. Some of the people he does business with also go to St Christopher’s.’

‘What sort of man is the vicar?’ asked Nicholas.

‘Reverend Dyment is a devout man.’

‘He seemed rather harassed when we met him at Silvermere.’

‘He has a lot of trouble from some parishioners.’

‘Do they include this infamous Reginald Orr?’

‘I think so.’

‘Have you met the man yourself, Davy?’

‘No, but my father has,’ said the boy. ‘He had Master Orr arrested.’

‘Why?’ said Anne.

‘For causing a disturbance in the village.’

‘It’s time to be on our way,’ suggested Nicholas as a sonorous bell began to toll in the distance. ‘We don’t want to be late.’

They let themselves out and walked briskly along the street. The sun was out but it was still decidedly cold. Nicholas hoped that they would not see any more victims of the winter, frozen to death in lanes or alleyways. Several other people were heading towards the church for matins and they joined the swelling congregation. Anne was plainly enjoying Davy’s company, chatting easily to him about his home life and making him feel that someone was taking an interest in him. Nicholas could still not understand why the boy had misbehaved so much at Firethorn’s house and put it down to the proximity of the other apprentices. Attacking three of the other boys was Davy’s form of defence. They had mocked him continuously since his arrival. He could take no more.

‘Do you like being with Westfield’s Men?’ asked Anne.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Davy. ‘I love it at the rehearsals.’

‘What sort of an actor do you want to be when you grow up?’

‘I want to be like Master Firethorn.’

‘Nobody is quite like him, Davy,’ said Nicholas, fondly. ‘Lawrence Firethorn is the best actor in London. Even his rivals concede that.’

‘Then I’ll try to be more like Master Gill.’

Anne suppressed a smile. ‘He, too, would be very difficult to imitate.’

‘But he makes me laugh so,’ said Davy, ‘and he’s a wonderful dancer.’

‘You’ll learn a lot from simply watching Barnaby Gill,’ said Nicholas. ‘And the rest of the players, for that matter. Owen Elias is a fine actor. So is Edmund Hoode when he has the right part.’

‘What about George Dart?’

‘George tries . He may never actually succeed, but he never stops trying.’

‘Why does everyone make fun of him?’

‘Because they don’t appreciate him, Davy. George Dart loves the company so much that he’d die for Westfield’s Men. Get to know him better,’ advised Nicholas. ‘In his own quiet way, George has a lot to teach you as well.’

They walked on until the church came into sight. People were converging on it from all directions and they had to slow right down when they reached the porch. As they shuffled forward in the queue, Davy was ahead of them, allowing Nicholas to have a private word with Anne. He leant over to whisper to her.

‘I think you’ve tamed him, Anne.’

‘He doesn’t seem to need any taming.’

‘You should speak to Lawrence Firethorn.’

‘Was the boy really that bad?’ she said.

‘Apparently.’

‘I hope that they had a quieter night out in Shoreditch last night.’

‘I’m sure that they did,’ said Nicholas. ‘Without young Davy to set them all by the heels, they’ll have had no problems. I expect that they’re kneeling down in church at this moment to offer up a prayer to the Almighty for sending them Anne Hendrik.’ He gave her a warm smile. ‘I intend to do the same thing myself.’

Religion had only an uncertain hold on Lawrence Firethorn. Though he could be seized with Christian zeal on rare occasions, he could also blithely forget some of the Ten Commandments at times and lapse unthinkingly into sinful behaviour without any compunction. Guilt and repentance invariably followed but they were only temporary restraints. Sunday, however, brought out the spiritual side of him and not merely because his company were unable to play on the Sabbath by virtue of the fact that the Queen’s Head was within the city limits. The Theatre and The Curtain, both in Shoreditch, enjoyed the freedom of being outside city jurisdiction and performed regularly on Sundays. Turning his back on his rivals, Firethorn preferred to celebrate it as a day of rest.

Marshalled by his wife, the whole household, ten of them in all, set off for the parish church in strict formation. The apprentices led the way, the children came next, Firethorn and his wife were on their tail and the two servants brought up the rear. They took up a whole bench in the freezing cold knave, squeezing tightly up against each other in the interests of warmth. After he had said his prayers, Firethorn, seated by the aisle, glanced along the row at juvenile faces that were either drawn with fatigue or glazed with boredom. He was content. Order had been restored. The absence of Davy Stratton had allowed the house to resume its quiet, normal, unhurried pace. Margery Firethorn was thinking the same thing.

‘Where do you imagine he is now, Lawrence?’ she hissed.

‘Davy?’ he said. ‘He’s probably making Anne’s life a misery.’

‘Nick would never allow that.’

‘No, Margery. On second thoughts, I think you’re right. If anyone can control him, it’s Nick. Maybe the fault isn’t in Davy at all but in us.’

‘Us?’ she repeated, bridling. ‘Are you criticising me, Lawrence?’

He grinned. ‘I’d never dare do that, my love. Least of all in a church.’

‘Good.’

‘Shoreditch is not the ideal place for Davy to be. That’s all I meant. Trapped inside a small house in this dreadful weather where we’re all falling over each other. The lad will be fine once we’re out on the road.’

‘That wasn’t what Nick and Owen Elias found.’

‘True,’ he conceded.

‘Davy ran away from them.’

‘But he came back in due course.’

‘From what you told me, it sounded as if his father dragged him back.’

‘That was Nick’s feeling.’

‘I trust in his instinct, Lawrence. What’s to stop the boy vanishing again?’

‘Loyalty to the company. He’ll soon settle down.’

Margery was sad. ‘I hope so. I do so want to like young Davy.’

A hush fell on the congregation as some chords on the organ announced the entrance of the vicar who came walking down the aisle with stately tread to begin the service. Firethorn was involved from the start, nestling into the familiar ritual as into a favourite chair. It was only when the sermon began that his mind wandered. The text was taken from an obscure part of Deuteronomy, the sermon was contradictory rather than explanatory, and it was delivered in such a monotonous drone that it inspired none of the parishioners and eased a few into a blissful slumber.

Lawrence Firethorn was not among the sleepers. In his mind, he was already at Silvermere, thrilling an audience as Henry the Fifth, working on their emotions as the tragic Vincentio and rendering them helpless with laughter by his portrayal of Lord Malady in The Witch of Colchester . The spiritual setting helped to soften his view of the hapless Egidius Pye. The man deserved sympathy. He had written an outstanding play yet had been exiled from its rehearsal. Firethorn wondered if he should have relented and let the lawyer at least watch the piece being slowly put together by the actors. If nothing else, Pye would benefit from the experience. He was still musing on the new play when the vicar reached the climax of his peroration.