Edward Marston - The Devil's Apprentice

‘Might I make a suggestion?’ asked Nicholas.

‘By all means,’ said Firethorn.

‘Davy is patently the sort of boy you seek. Only one thing remains to convince you of his suitability and that’s to hear him read a part. Could he not be given a few minutes to study a short speech while you and Master Stratton discuss the terms of an apprenticeship?’

‘A most sensible notion, Nick.’

‘So it is,’ said Gill, rising to his feet. ‘Find me some lines and I’ll take the lad into the next room to school him in how they should be delivered.’

‘Thank you, Barnaby,’ said Firethorn, quelling him with a glare, ‘but you’re not the teacher for this lesson. Since the play we choose will probably have been written by Edmund, he is the best person to instruct young Davy.’

‘I’d value Nick’s help,’ insisted Hoode, getting up as Gill slumped back into his seat. ‘Between us, I’m sure we can coax a performance from the boy.’

‘So could I!’ said Gill under his breath.

‘It’s settled,’ declared Firethorn, crossing to a large cupboard. ‘Step into the next room with Davy. I’ve a hundred scraps of plays in here,’ he continued, opening a door and burrowing inside. ‘The very thing!’ he said, reappearing with a scroll in his hand. ‘A speech from The Merchant of Calais, a role that was tailored for me from the best cloth that Edmund Hoode ever provided. The son of one merchant will counterfeit the lover of another. Here, Nick. Have the piece.’

Nicholas took the parchment from him then went into the adjoining room with Davy Stratton and Edmund Hoode. The boy gave a shudder as they left a warm fire to enter the cold chamber where the family ate their meals. It was a long narrow room with a window at the far end. After glancing at the speech, Nicholas handed it to Davy.

‘Here, lad,’ he said softly. ‘Stand over there where you get the best of the light and read the lines to yourself. If there’s anything you do not understand, ask the author for he is here beside me.’

Davy did as he was told, face puckered with concentration as he read the lines.

‘I seem to remember that you helped greatly in the play’s creation,’ said Hoode in a confiding whisper, always ready to give credit where it was due. ‘There’s something of your own father in my merchant, Nick. Robert Bracewell casts a long and welcome shadow. You and Davy have something in common. Both of you were brought up in merchant households.’

Nicholas winced slightly at the reminder. ‘Let’s give him time to study the piece before we hear it,’ he advised. ‘It’s a speech that will test him.’

‘Where is it from?’

‘Act Five. Mary fears that she has lost him forever.’

‘Dick Honeydew squeezed tears out of the lines when he played the part.’

‘We must expect a little less from Davy.’

‘I’m ready, sirs,’ said the boy.

Hoode was impressed. ‘That was quick.’

‘The speech is not difficult, only a little mawkish.’

‘Mary is speaking from the heart,’ said the playwright, stung by the comment.

‘I meant no offence, Master Hoode. I like the verse.’

‘Then let’s hear it,’ said Nicholas, concealing his amusement at Hoode’s mild upset. ‘And take your time, Davy. They are fine words. Don’t gabble them.’

Davy Stratton nodded, cleared his throat then read the lines.

‘Where can he be? To whom should I complain?

What hope remains for me, his cherished love,

If he is cast adrift upon the sea

Or wrecked upon some distant, hostile shore

Where merchants’ bones but thicken up the stew

To feed some wild and heathen cannibal?

If he be swallowed by the ocean deep

A thousand miles from home, then I am lost,

Bereft of all that helps to keep the flame

Of life alive. Why does my lover hide

From one who is his designated bride?’

He had a good, if reedy, voice and gave a competent performance. What it lacked was any real expression or sense of character. Hoode was a kind critic.

‘Well done, Davy!’ he said. ‘Considering that you’ve never seen them before, it was brave stab at the lines. The lady who speaks them in the play is called Mary and she is agonising over her lover’s long absence. Since he’s a merchant whose ship has gone astray, she begins to suspect all kinds of horrors. Mary is in a state of panic. If you can, try to show us her anguish.’

‘Yes, Master Hoode.’

‘Say the lines as if you really mean them,’ said Nicholas.

‘I will,’ promised the boy.

He took a deep breath before launching himself into the speech once more. There was much more emotion in his voice this time even though it was uncontrolled. Nicholas exchanged a glance with the playwright. Both reached the same conclusion.

‘That was markedly better,’ said Hoode.

‘Yes,’ added Nicholas. ‘But don’t let your voice get too shrill or the words will be lost. And listen to the rhythm of the verse. You must keep to that at all costs.’

‘Shall I try it again?’ volunteered the boy.

‘In a moment.’ He regarded him shrewdly before speaking. ‘Do you really wish to join the company, Davy?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Is that your idea or your father’s?’

There was an awkward pause. ‘We both agreed on it,’ he said at length.

‘Did you not wish to become a merchant like your father?’

‘Not in a hundred years!’

‘You seem determined on that point. Life in the playhouse is dogged by all kinds of problems. You’d have a softer time in trade and it would be more profitable. Why do you turn your back so decisively on your father’s profession?’

‘It’s no more than you did, Master Bracewell.’

Nicholas was taken aback, unaware that he had overheard his earlier exchange with Hoode. The playwright burst out laughing and gave him a nudge.

‘A tidy answer, Nick. You stand rebuffed. Now, let’s hear the piece again.’

A third reading showed a definite improvement, a fourth gave the speech power and definition. Keen to show how easily the boy took direction, they escorted him back into the parlour where Firethorn was discussing the financial implications with Stratton.

‘Back so soon?’ he said.

‘The speech is in a fit state to be heard, Lawrence,’ said Hoode.

‘Then let’s have it. Take a seat, gentlemen,’ he invited, moving across to a chair himself. ‘Now, Davy. You have a captive audience. Imagine that you’re on stage in front of hundreds of spectators, all needing to pick up every word you say. When you’re ready, let’s hear you pine for your missing lover.’

Davy looked at almost all of them in turn, avoiding only Jerome Stratton whose face was wreathed in smiles. After running his tongue over his lips, the boy began

‘Where can he be? To whom should I complain?

What hopes remain for me, his cherished love …’

Firethorn was delighted, Gill was entranced and Stratton’s smile became a grin of triumph. Nicholas and Hoode were pleased to see that the boy had heeded their advice. Davy put much more feeling into the speech, overdoing it at times but nevertheless turning lines on a page into something akin to a performance. When it was over, the father clapped appreciatively and Firethorn leapt to his feet.

‘You’re a born actor, Davy!’ he declared.

‘Thank you, Master Firethorn,’ said the boy modestly.

‘What did the rest of you think?’

Hoode spoke without hesitation. ‘Davy would be a gift to us.’

‘Nick?’

‘I agree,’ said Nicholas. ‘He learns quickly.’