Edward Marston - The Devil's Apprentice

‘Did he have anything to drink before he came into the hall?’

‘Romball would be able to tell you that,’ said his host, indicating the steward.

Taylard glided forward. ‘I believe that Master Partridge enjoyed a cup of wine just before the performance,’ he said easily, ‘but so did most of the guests, including his wife who sat beside him. Nobody else was struck down so the death could not possibly have been the result of poison or the house would be littered with bodies.’

‘One is quite enough,’ said Firethorn sharply. ‘Particularly when it falls to ground during the climax of the drama. If there’s one thing I abhor as an actor, it’s bad timing.’

Sir Michael sighed. ‘Yes, I do hope this will not cast a blight over the other plays. Perhaps it’s just as well there’s no performance tomorrow. It will give people a day to get over the shock. The same goes for you, naturally, Master Firethorn.’

‘I’ll admit that it was a blow to our self-esteem.’

‘An unintentional one.’

‘Everything will soon improve,’ said Sir Michael confidently. ‘My telescope rarely lets me down. It’s in the stars. Westfield’s Men are on the verge of triumph.’

‘Really?’ said Firethorn. ‘How many heart attacks will I provoke next time?’

Stapleford was only a small village but their work still took over an hour. By the time they had finished, darkness was beginning to close in. They rode on to a nearby hamlet but their enquiries drew nothing from the inhabitants there except blank looks and a shake of the head. Nobody had seen Davy Stratton or could give them any information about his whereabouts. Nicholas Bracewell and Owen Elias mounted their horses yet again.

‘We can do no more today, Nick,’ said Elias resignedly.

‘Then we search again tomorrow at first light.’

‘You may have to go without me. Lawrence needs me for rehearsal.’

‘I’m needed as well,’ said Nicholas, ‘but finding Davy is more important than having me there to prompt actors. I’m certain the lad can’t have gone far afield.’

‘Well, he didn’t come this way or somebody would have seen him.’

‘True enough.’

‘We’ve spoken to everyone here and in the village,’ said Elias as they set off at a trot. ‘Including that egregious Reginald Orr.’

‘You and he will never be brothers, Owen.’

‘Why not?’ joked the other. ‘Welshmen are puritanical by nature.’

‘Then you must be the exception to the rule.’

‘What did you make of the fellow?’

‘Master Orr was exactly as they described him,’ said Nicholas. ‘Strong-willed and fanatical. But he wasn’t the man I fought at Silvermere last night.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Completely sure. He’s too old.’

‘That doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved in some way.’

‘Oh, I agree. There were daggers in his eyes. Reginald Orr is certainly capable of setting fire to a stable but I think he’d have preferred to have us inside it at the time.’

‘Why was he so keen to close the door in our faces?’

‘You heard what he said about actors.’

‘There was more to it than that, Nick. He was hiding something.’

‘Or somebody.’

‘Do you think we should go back there?’

‘He won’t open his door to us a second time.’

Aware of a marked drop in temperature, they pulled their cloaks around them and rode on through the dusk, speculating on the whereabouts of their missing apprentice and on the relationship between the boy and his father.

‘Do you think he’ll come back of his own accord?’ said Elias.

‘Not this time, Owen. He’ll be too scared to face us after this.’

‘Davy can’t stay on the run for ever.’

‘No,’ said Nicholas, ‘but we may have to accept that he’s not for us. We can’t keep an apprentice who’s so keen to escape.’

‘That’s not what he did in London, Nick. I know that he caused merry hell in Lawrence’s house but he didn’t actually run away from there. Nor from Bankside, for that matter, when he spent time with you and Anne.’

‘Davy would have been lost in London,’ explained Nicholas. ‘It’s a big city, full of strangers. Where would he go? He needed us to bring him back to Essex. That’s why he was on his best behaviour at the end. So that we wouldn’t leave him behind.’

‘You think that he planned this latest escape?’

‘I’m certain of it. Davy was biding his time. I think that he deliberately created havoc during the performance so that I’d send him away in disgrace. It was the one time when none of us could watch him and he took full advantage of it.’

‘The cunning little devil!’

‘He has an old head on young shoulders.’

‘It won’t stay on there for long if Lawrence gets his hands on the lad.’

‘That’s why I want to reach the boy first. To get the truth out of him.’

‘I think that we already know it, Nick. You said it a moment ago.’

‘Did I?’ asked Nicholas.

‘Yes. Davy is not for us.’

They continued on their way until they got with a couple of hundred yards of the village. A rider then cantered towards them out of the darkness. Seeing them approach, he reined in his horse and swung it off the track as if waiting for them to pass. They were too far away to pick out more than his outline. Elias’s hand went straight to his sword.

‘Another ambush?’ he said.

‘I think not, Owen. Someone just doesn’t want to be seen.’

‘Davy, perhaps?’

‘He has no horse.’

‘What’s to stop him stealing one?’

The two them maintained the same pace to give the impression that they would carry on into the village. When they reached the point where the other rider had veered off, however, they took their horses into the bushes after him.

‘Is that you, Davy?’ called Nicholas.

‘Where are you lad?’ shouted Elias.

But the rider was no fleeing apprentice. He was a well-built young man in black attire and hat. Head down to conceal his face, he kicked his horse into a gallop and shot between the two of them, buffeting Elias across the chest with his forearm. Taken by surprise, the Welshman was knocked from the saddle and let out a roar of pain as he hit the ground. Nicholas did not stop to help him. Spurring his own horse, he went off in pursuit of the phantom rider. If the man had such a pressing reason to keep away from them, Nicholas wanted to know what it was. Caution was thrown to the wind. The man rode hell for leather along the track, ignoring the bushes that flapped against his legs and the stinging caresses of overhanging branches. Nicholas was equally scornful of safety, urging his horse on and sensing the importance of catching his quarry. The lead was gradually cut back. Glancing over his shoulder, the rider winced audibly. When Nicholas got even closer, he could hear gasps of pain.

They did not deter him. With a last spurt, his horse drew level with the other and allowed him to grapple with its rider. The man was strong but he cried in protest when Nicholas took firm hold of his bandaged wrist. It was all the proof that the book holder needed. He was struggling with the same man who had tried to set fire to the stable. Holding the reins in one hand, he swung the other arm with full force against the man’s head, making him reel in the saddle. Nicholas slipped his feet out of the stirrups and flung himself hard at his adversary. Both fell heavily to the ground and rolled over a couple of times. Their horses continued to race on. Nicholas raised a fist to deliver a punch but he did not need to overpower his victim. The man had been knocked unconscious by the fall. His hat had blown off. There was enough moonlight for Nicholas to see his handiwork on the face of Isaac Upchard.