Edward Marston - The Devil's Apprentice

‘Barnaby?’

‘Davy has a natural charm, it’s true,’ said Gill slowly, ‘but he’ll need more than that to hold the spectators at the Queen’s Head. Can he sing, I wonder? Can he dance? Perhaps I should teach him a little jig so that we may judge his movement?’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Firethorn heavily. ‘I think that we’ve seen all that we need to. It’s merely a question of getting our lawyer to draw up the contract and Davy Stratton becomes a member of Westfield’s Men.’

‘You didn’t specify the length of his apprenticeship,’ noted Stratton.

‘That’s because it varies with each boy. Some take six or seven years before they grow to maturity, others, like John Tallis,’ said Firethorn with rancour, ‘arrive at that stage much earlier. We’ll have it entered in the contract that Davy is bound to us for three years, a period that can be extended as soon as it’s expired. Will that content you, sir?’

‘Admirably.’

Firethorn turned back to the boy. ‘What about you, Davy? Are you ready to pledge yourself to us for the next three years?’

Stratton was peremptory. ‘He’ll do as I tell him, Master Firethorn.’

‘I’d prefer to hear it from his own lips. Well, Davy?’

Ignoring his father once again, the boy looked around the other faces. Firethorn beamed at him, Gill produced his first smile, Hoode gave him a wink of encouragement and Nicholas nodded a welcome. Davy Stratton made his decision.

‘I’m yours,’ he said boldly.

Anne Hendrik was delighted at the news. Even though it meant that they would be apart for a while, she was genuinely pleased on his behalf. She knew from experience just how depressing it was for Nicholas Bracewell when the company had a lengthy period of unemployment.

‘These are good tidings, Nick,’ she said happily. ‘A new apprentice, a new play and a new venue. Fortune is smiling on you at last.’

‘Thank heaven!’ he sighed.

‘But it’s a pity that you had the apprentice and the play forced upon you.’

‘Not necessarily, Anne. Both may turn out to be prime assets to the company. Davy Stratton has enormous promise and The Witch of Colchester, as it is now entitled, has won everyone’s approval. When he read the part assigned to him, even Barnaby Gill was overjoyed and he’s the most difficult person to satisfy.’

‘What does he think of the new boy?’

Nicholas arched an eyebrow. ‘Need you ask?’

‘Keep him well clear of the lad,’ she counselled. ‘As an actor, Barnaby Gill is a genius; as a man, he has serious shortcomings.’

‘That’s a discreet way of putting it, Anne,’ he said with a smile. ‘But have no fear. There are enough friendly eyes to watch over Davy Stratton. Besides, the other apprentices will soon warn him. They know Master Gill of old.’

Nicholas was having breakfast with her at the house in Bankside where he lodged. Anne Hendrik was no typical landlady. The English widow of a Dutch hat maker, she took charge of the business after his death and ran it with great efficiency in the premises adjoining her house. Anne had taken a lodger in the interests of security rather than from financial necessity. Nicholas Bracewell proved an ideal choice. Considerate and reliable, he became her close friend and, in due course, her lover. They had drifted apart at one stage but, reunited again, found that the bond between them was stronger than ever.

‘When will you leave for Essex?’ she asked.

‘Tomorrow.’

‘So soon?’

‘The company will not set out then,’ he explained, finishing his drink. ‘I’m being sent on ahead to take a look at the house where we’ll perform. Measurements have to be taken, decisions made. Sir Michael Greenleaf has invited us to play in the Great Hall of his home but, until we actually see the place, it’s impossible to know how to make best use of it. We’ve no idea, for instance, what scenery we should take.’

‘I hope that you’re not going alone,’ she said with concern. ‘A solitary rider would be a certain target for robbers.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so, Anne. Winter has put paid to most highwaymen. It’s far too cold to lurk among the trees in case a traveller rides past. In any case, I’ll not be on my own. Owen Elias has volunteered to come with me. If we should meet trouble, there’s nobody in the company more skilled with a sword than Owen.’

‘Except their book holder.’

‘That was one more advantage of sailing with Drake,’ he said, wistfully. We were drilled in the use of weapons of all kinds. And the voyage itself toughened us beyond measure. Only the most robust managed to survive.’

Anne touched his hand softly. ‘I’m glad that you were one of them.’

‘So am I.’

Their eyes locked as mutual affection surged but the moment soon passed. The maidservant came in to clear the table. Anne withdrew her hand and sat upright. She waited until the girl had gone before she spoke again.

‘It will be a cold journey for you, Nick.’

‘Not with that new hat you kindly made for me,’ he said. ‘When I’m wearing that, I feel snug and warm. Then there’s the cloak that Lawrence Firethorn gave me.’

‘It suits you.’

‘He used it in dozens of plays until it faded and wore thin. Our tireman, Hugh Wegges, sewed on a patch or two for me and the cloak is as good as new.’

‘You should have let me use my needle on it.’

‘No, Anne. You do enough for me as it is.’

‘I wish that I could do more.’

‘Thank you.’

He reached across the table to squeeze her hand in gratitude. The maidservant entered again to disturb a tender moment. She was carrying a few logs. When she had put them on the fire, she went out again.

‘You’ll have to train that girl better,’ said Nicholas with a grin.

‘The house has to be kept warm.’

‘It’s always warm when you are in it, Anne.’

She acknowledged the compliment with a smile. ‘I’ll miss you,’ she said.

‘And I’ll miss you,’ he replied. ‘I’m sorry that we’ll be separated for a while. On the other hand, I’m glad that Westfield’s Men will at last have employment. It irks me when we are forced to stand idle.’

‘Nobody could accuse you of being idle, Nick. You’ve found a hundred things to keep you occupied during this long wait and I’ve been the beneficiary. Think of all the repairs you made to the house.’

‘I prefer to think of those who are not so well placed, Anne. Hired men like Ned Rankin or Caleb Smythe or little George Dart. They’ve suffered mightily. Then there’s old Thomas Skillen, our stagekeeper. I’m not even sure if he’s made it through the winter. Peter Digby and his musicians have had a desperate time as well.’

‘What of the sharers themselves?’

‘Most have other professions to fall back on, Anne. Walter Fenby, for example, was a silversmith before he turned to the theatre. Rowland Carr was a scrivener. Actors of the stature of Lawrence Firethorn and Barnaby Gill, of course, are always in demand for solo performances at private houses so they’ve still had an income of sorts.’

‘What of Edmund Hoode?’

‘Poems and epitaphs.’

‘Epitaphs?’ she echoed.

‘Winter has filled the graveyards,’ he sighed. ‘Both the nobility and the gentry like to send their loved ones off to heaven with an epitaph written especially for them. Edmund has a gift for penning such memorials. It grieves him that he profits from others’ misfortune but even poets must eat.’

‘It’s good, honest, important work.’

‘Not in Edmund’s eyes. He thinks himself a vulture, feeding off the dead.’

‘How many of the company will travel to Essex?’