Edward Marston - The Merry Devils

'Shall we ever be free of these uncanny happenings?'

'No question but that we shall.'

'I am anxious, Master Bracewell.'

'Overcome your anxiety.'

‘It is too great, sir.'

‘Fight it, George. Strive to better it.'

'Roper thinks that Satan has set his cloven hoof upon us.'

'Roper Blundell has a wild imagination.'

'He was sober when he spoke.'

‘Sober or drunk, he is not to be heeded.'

'Then who did attack us today, master?'

'I have no answer to that,' admitted Nicholas, 'but this I do know. There was sawdust in the tiring-house where the maypole was kept before it was used. Some person cut through that solid oak when the place was unattended. Satan would have no need of such careful carpentry. He could have split the pole at his will.’

'And may yet do that!'

George Dart was desolate. Spared the ordeal of an acting role in Cupid's Folly, he and Roper Blundell did make an appearance on stage when they set up the maypole. In carrying it on, they unwittingly assisted in the downfall of Barnaby Gill and it preyed on them. Nicholas tried to reassure the assistant stagekeeper but Dart was inconsolable. There had been two calamities on stage already.

'When will the third strike us, Master Bracewell?'

'We must ensure that it does not.'

George Dart shrugged helplessly and trudged off. He and Roper Blundell left the theatre together, companions in misery. Their lowly position in the company made their jobs thankless enough at the best of times. Now they were being put on the rack as well. Neither would survive another devil or a second broken maypole.

After a final tour to check that all was in order, Nicholas came out of the playhouse himself. He was just in time to witness a brief but affectionate leavetaking. Two young ladies, dressed in their finery, were parting company with Edmund Hoode. Both were attractive but one had the more startling beauty. Yet he ignored her completely. Transfixed by the quieter charms of the other, he took her proffered hand and laid a tender kiss upon it, blushing in the ecstasy of the moment. The women raised their masks to their faces then sailed gracefully off to the carriage that was waiting for them. Hoode watched until the vehicle rattled away down Holywell Lane.

Nicholas strolled across to his still-beaming friend.

'You wanted to speak with me, Edmund.'

'Did I?'

'We arranged to meet when my work was done.'

'Ah, yes,' said Hoode, clutching at a vague memory. 'Forgive me, Nicholas. My mind is on other matters.'

'Let us turn our feet homeward.'

They walked in silence for a long while. Suppressing his natural curiosity, Nicholas made no mention of what he had just witnessed. If his companion wished to discuss the subject, he would raise it. For his part, Hoode was torn between the need for discretion and the urge to confide. He wanted both to keep and share his secret. Nicholas was a close friend who always showed tact and understanding. It was this consideration which finally made Hoode blurt out his confession.

'I am in love!'

'The possibility occurred to me,' said Nicholas wryly.

'Yes, I wear my heart on my sleeve. It was ever thus.'

'Who is the young lady?'

The loveliest creature in the world!'

It was a description that Edmund Hoode used rather often. Drawn into a series of unsuitable and largely unproductive love affairs, he had the capacity to put each failure behind him and view his latest choice with undiminished wonder. It was the triumph of hope over cynicism. Hoode was indeed a true romantic.

'Her name is Grace Napier,' he said proudly.

'It becomes her well.'

'Did you not see that eye, that lip, that cheek?'

'I was struck at once by her qualities.'

'Grace is without compare.'

'Of good family, too, I would judge.'

'Her father is a mercer in the City.'

Nicholas was duly impressed. The Mercers' Company included some of the wealthiest men in London. Merchants who dealt in fine textiles, they gained their royal charter as early as 1394 and were now so well-established and respected that they came first in order of precedence at the annual Lord Mayor's Banquet. If Grace Napier were the daughter of a mercer, she would want for nothing.

'How did you meet her?' asked Nicholas.

'She is bedazzled by the theatre and never tires of watching plays. Westfield's Men have impressed her most.'

'And you have been the most impressive of Westfield's Men.'

'Yes!' said Hoode with delight. 'She singled me out during Double Deceit. Is that not a miracle?'

'Double Deceit is one of your best plays, Edmund.'

'Grace admired my performance in it as well.'

'You always excel in parts you tailor for yourself.'

'Her brother approached me,' continued Hoode, 'and told me how much they had enjoyed my work. I was then introduced to Grace herself. Her enthusiasm touched me to the core, Nick. We authors have poor reward for our pains but she made all my efforts worthwhile. I loved her for her interest and our friendship has grown from that time on.'

Nicholas was touched as he listened to the full story and could not have been more pleased on the other's behalf. Hoode had a fatal tendency to fall for women who-for some reason or another-were quite unattainable and his ardour was wasted in a fruitless chase. Grace Napier was of a different order. Young, unmarried and zealous in her playgoing, she was learning to welcome his attentions and thanked him warmly for the sonnet she inspired. The luck which eluded the playwright for so long had at last come his way.

'And who was that other young lady, Edmund?'

'What other young lady?'

The point was taken. Nicholas withdrew his enquiry. After letting his friend unpack his heart about Grace, he tried to guide him back to the reason that had brought them together on their walk. Shoreditch had now become Bishopsgate Street. Through a gap between two houses, they could see cows grazing in the distance.

"Why did you seek me out?' said Nicholas.

'Why else but to talk of Grace?'

'You had some other purpose, I fancy.'

'Oh.' Hoode's face clouded. 'I had forgot.' -

As the conversation took on a more serious tone, they stopped in their tracks. Neither of them noticed that they were standing outside Bedlam. Nor did they guess that something which might have an important bearing on their own lives was going on behind its locked doors. The hospital was simply a backdrop to their exchange.

'It is Ralph Willoughby,' said Hoode.

'What of him?'

'I need his help with The Merry Devils'

'But he has been outlawed by Master Firethorn.'

'That will not deter me.'

There was a defiant note in his voice but a question in his raised eyebrow. He was ready, of course, to disregard a major decision taken by Lawrence Firethorn. What he needed to know was whether or not Nicholas would support him in his action

‘I’ll not betray you, Edmund.'

'Thank you.'

'Ralph was not well-treated by us,' said Nicholas. 'I've no quarrel with him and would be glad of his advice about the play.' 'He wrote that scene and only he should alter its course.'

'I accept that.'

'It would be wrong to proceed without him.'

'Work together in private and nobody will be the wiser.'

'I am vexed by a problem, Nick.'

'Of what nature?’

'There is no sign of Ralph.'

'You have been to his lodging?'

'He has not slept there for nights,' said Hoode. 'I can gain no clue as to his whereabouts. That is why I came to you for some counsel. Ralph Willoughby has vanished from London.'

*

The house in Knightrider Street was a large, lackadaisical structure whose half-timbered frontage sagged amiably forwards. Through the open window on the first floor came the rich aroma of a herbal compound, only to lose its independence as it merged with the darker pungencies of the street. A face appeared briefly at the window and a small quantity of liquid was dispatched from a bowl. It fell to the cobbled surface below and sizzled for a few seconds before spending itself in a mass of bubbles. The face took itself back into the chamber.