Edward Marston - The Merry Devils

Kirk sought to keep at least one person clear of it.

'I've brought your meal, David.'

'Ah.'

'You have to do better than that, sir,' coaxed the other. 'I will nor feed you else. Come, sir, what is that word we learned this morning?'

David's brow knotted with concentration for a moment.

Kirk prompted. 'If I give you something, what is my reward?'

' Th… ank…'

'Try again, David.'

' Th… ank…you…'

'Well done, sir! That deserves a meal.'

David was sitting on the bed in his featureless cell. The keeper sat down beside him and put the plate into the patient's lap. Taking hold of David's right hand, he Pitted the spoon into it then guided him down to his meal. The first mouthful was soon being chewed with slow deliberation. David was being helped to feed himself. He smiled at his minor triumph. It was another small sign of advance.

Kirk knew that nothing could be rushed. David could now say his name and mouth a few words bur that was all. He had to be taught again from the beginning and that would require time and patience. When the meal was over, Kirk waited expectantly. David was at first puzzled, then he grinned as he realised what was wanted.

Th… ank…'

'Speak up, sir.'

'Thank you!'

'Excellent!'

Kirk patted him on the back by the way of congratulation. There was still the vacant look in David's eye but he was not so completely beyond reach as the others believed. It was merely a question of opening up a line of communication with him.

'What's your name, sir?' asked Kirk.

' Da… vid.'

'Again.'

'David.'

'Again!'

'David. David. David.'

'And where do you live, David?'

The patient's face clouded over and his lips quivered.

'Where is your home?' said the keeper.

David glanced around and gestured with both hands.

'No, not here. Not Bedlam. This is where you live now, David. But where did you live before?'

The question completely baffled the patient. He looked lost and hurt. Kirk tried to jog his memory with a gentle enquiry.

'Was it in London?'

Unsure at first, David gave a hesitant shake of his head.

'Was it in a city?'

A longer wait then another uncertain shake of the head.

'Then you must have lived in the country, David.'

Bewilderment contorted the other's face. He was lost again.

'Did you live in the country?' prodded Kirk. 'Fields and woods around you? Can you not recall animals and birds?'

A radiant smile lit David's face. He nodded enthusiastically.

'You lived in the country. Was it in a village?'

David was more confident now. He shook his head at once.

'On a farm? In a cottage somewhere?'

The patient was clearly grappling with his past in order to wrest some details out of it. A jumble of memories made his expression change with each second. Kirk nudged his mind again.

'Did you live in a small house, David?'

'N…n…n…'

'No. Good. Was it a large house, then?'

David produced the beaming smile again. He laughed aloud.

'A large house in the country. Is that where you lived?'

'Y…y…ye…ye…' The word finally spurted out. 'Yes!'

*

Parkbrook was a hive of activity. The presence of its new master had put everyone on their mettle. Francis Jordan was a man who liked to exert his authority and the dismissal of Harsnett was a grim warning to other employees in the house and on the estate. The old order had changed with a vengeance. Those who laboured in the Great Hall hardly dared to look up from their work. Even; he serene Joseph Glanville was forced to glance over his shoulder. Unease spread everywhere.

Francis Jordan spent the morning on a tour of inspection around the house, cracking the whip of his bad temper whenever he felt inclined. Having coveted Parkbrook for so long, he knew exactly how he wished to run it. He was particularly interested in the wine cellar and checked the stock which his predecessor had laid in. Several bottles were sent up. Over a leisurely meal that was taken alone in the spacious dining room, Jordan worked his way through some of the premier vintages. It left him in a more expansive mood. He hauled himself up the oak staircase and swayed towards the master bedroom. Intending to flop down and sleep off his over-indulgence, he paused when he saw that the room was occupied.

A young chambermaid was changing the linen on the fourposter.

'Who's here?' he asked with a vinous smirk.

'Oh!' She turned around in alarm.

'Do not be afraid, my dear.' I did not expect you to be here, sir.'

'I am very glad that I am.'

'Would you like me to leave?'

'No, mistress. What is your name?'

'Jane Skinner, sir.'

'Well, Jane Skinner, I am your new master.'

'Yes, sir,' she said with a dutiful curtsey.

'Finish what you were doing.'

The chambermaid returned to her task. She was a rather plain, plump girl with a country shine to her cheeks and a mop of brown curls. Francis Jordan, however, was roused by the sight of her generous curves and her bobbing posterior. Her simple apparel seemed somehow to heighten her appeal. Leaning against the doorframe, he watched her flit about her work. The bed was soon made and she turned down the counterpane.

'Help me across,' he said.

'Are you not well, sir?'

'A little tired, Jane. I need but a shoulder to rest on.'

'I have that, sir.'

Jane Skinner tripped over to him with a face of youthful innocence. When Jordan lurched at her, she obligingly took his weight. As she helped him across the room, he kneaded her shoulder and took an inventory of her other charms. They reached the bed and lie swung round to fall backwards on to it.

'Lift up my feet, Jane.'

'Yes, sir,' she said, scooping his legs up on to the bed.

'Come closer for I would whisper to you.

'Yes, sir.'

As she bent over him, he got her wrist in a firm grip and gave her a lecherous grin. He liked Jane Skinner more with each moment.

'Undress me.’

'Master!' she exclaimed.

'Undress me slowly, mistress.'

'I will call a valet presently.'

'This is woman's work, Jane.’

'You are hurting my arm, sir.'

'Then do as you are told.'

'But it is not my place.'

'You are mine to command, girl.'

Hope flickered. 'Haply, you jest with me, sir.'

'This is no jest, I assure you. Come, let me give proof of it.'

Jordan made a concerted effort to sit up so that he could catch hold of her properly. There was a fierce struggle. In those few frantic seconds, Jane Skinner may have lost her innocence but she was determined not to yield her virtue. When he pulled her down on the bed and tried to kiss her, she reacted with such vigour that he was shaken off. Before he could stop her, she raced across the room and went out through the door. Jordan's annoyance was dissipated in a huge yawn. The chambermaid faded from his mind and he lapsed back into deep sleep.

Jane Skinner, meanwhile, was crying into her apron and telling her story to Glanville. He listened with controlled outrage and calmed the girl as best he could. She had been very lucky to make her escape.

But she might not be so fortunate next time.

*

Thoroughness was the hallmark of Nicholas Bracewell's approach. Since the company were due to appear at The Rose on the morrow, he found time that evening to visit the theatre. There were very few people still there and most of those soon drifted away. The book holder had the place virtually to himself. His first task was to test the trap-doors. The stage was much higher than the makeshift one used at the Queen's Head and he was able to move more freely beneath it. Short steps led up to each trap which was fitted with a spring. As merry devils shot up on to the stage, the doors would snap back into position.