Edward Marston - The Merry Devils

'But you were not forced to stop, Nick.'

'Master Firethorn and Master Gill were the heroes there,' he said. 'When that creature leapt out of the trap-door at the Queen's Head, everyone turned tail except Master Firethorn. He held the play together when it might have collapsed in ruins.'

'And at The Curtain?'

'It was Master Gill who showed his experience. When the maypole broke, he made light of the accident in front of the spectators. The aim was to disrupt our performance but once again it was foiled.

'What of this afternoon?'

'A merry devil died. That would stop most companies.'

'Yet Westfield's Men carried on and the audience was none the wiser. I saw no hindrance in the action from where I sat. And since you kept Blundell's death a secret from the company, they were able to continue their performance.'

'Yes, Anne. It brings me back to my first assumption.'

'Which is?'

Some jealous rival seeks to undermine us.'

‘Your reasoning?'

'They know best how to do it-on the stage itself.'

'But that requires a knowledge of the play.'

'That is the most puzzling aspect of it all,' admitted Nicholas. 'I guard the prompt books scrupulously yet someone knows their contents.'

'A discontented member of the company?'

'We have enough of those, I fear. Master Firethorn has never been too generous with wages or too swift in their payment. We have our share of grumblers but none of them would sink to this kind of villainy. Were it successful, it would harm their own position.'

'Then it must be some former member of Westfield's Men.'

'There you may have ir, Anne.'

'Players with a grudge?'

'Two or three have left us of late,' he said. 'Embittered men who went off cursing. They might not have been able to attack us in this way but they could give help to those that could.'

'We come back to Banbury's Men.'

'I harbour doubts on that score.'

She put her head back on his chest and he stroked her hair with absent-minded affection, inhaling its fragrance. He looked at the week ahead with some misgivings.

'Tomorrow we return to the Queen's Head.'

'That will please Master Marwood,' she said with irony.

'Thank goodness that Roper did not pass away on his premises. Our landlord would not have liked a corpse beneath our stage. It would have given him fresh grounds for breaking his partnership with us.'

'How many days are you there?'

'Three, Anne.’

'Not on Saturday?'

'We perform at Newington Butts then I'm away.'

'Away where, sir?'

'Did I not tell you of my commission?'

'You hardly spoke at all when you got home tonight.'

'Master Firethorn wants me to reconnoitre.'

'Where, Nick?'

'Parkbrook House.’

'On the Westfield estate?'

Yes,' he said, playfully turning her over on to her back. 'I'm running away from you, Anne.'

'Treachery!'

'I go to the country.'

'Not for a while, sir.'

She kissed him full on the lips and desire stirred again.

*

'There is no question of your visiting the country!'

'Why not, father?'

'Because you are needed here.'

'By whom?'

'By me and by your mother.'

'But you never even notice whether I am in the house or not, and mother has already given her blessing to the idea. London is stifling me. I long to breathe some country air in my lungs.'

'No!'

'Would you prevent me?'

'By force, if need be.'

Isobel Drewry expected opposition from her father but not of this strength. For all his faults, he could be talked around on occasion. This time it was different. Under normal circumstances, his daughter would have backed off and tackled him at a more auspicious moment but their old relationship had dissolved. After the incident at The Rose on the previous afternoon, she no longer accepted him as the source of authority in her life. Isobel was finding it difficult to conceal the vestigial shock of what had happened. Pushed any further, she knew that her true feelings might show through.

They were in the room that he used as his office. Drewry sat -importantly behind a large oak table that was covered with business correspondence. On a court cupboard to his right stood the symbol of his trade. It was a Vivyan Salt, some sixteen inches in height. Made of silver-gilt with painted side panel, the salt cellar had a figure representing Justice on its top. Isobel caught sight of it. She wanted her share of justice now.

Henry Drewry moved from cold command to oily persuasion. He tried to convince his daughter that his decision was in her own interests.

'Come, Isobel,' he said with a chuckle, 'do but think for a moment. Nothing ever happens in the country. You will waste away from boredom within the hour. London has much more to offer.'

'Not if you deny me access to it, father.'

'Do you really wish to dwindle away in some rural seat?'

'Yes, sir,' she said firmly. I have an invitation.'

'Refuse it.'

'But Grace is anxious for me to accompany her.'

'Mistress Napier can flee to the country on her own,' he said with some asperity. 'It may be the best place for her.'

'What do you mean?'

'She is not a good influence on you, Isobel.'

'Grace is my closest friend.’

'It is time that friendship cooled somewhat."

'But she has asked me to join her at their country house.'

'You are detained here.'

Isobel gritted her teeth and held back rising irritation.

Drewry felt that he had reason to dislike Grace Napier. Her father was one of the most successful mercers in London and his burgeoning prosperity was reflected in the estate he had bought himself near St Albans. Naked envy made Drewry hate the man. His own business flourished but it did not compare with that of Roland Napier. Hatred of the father led to disapproval of a daughter who was better educated and better dressed than his own. There was also a self-possession about Grace Napier that he resented. It was time to terminate the friendship.

'In future, you will not see so much of Mistress Napier.'

'Why?'

'She is not a fit companion for you.’

'Grace is sweetness itself.'

'I do not like her and there's an end to it.'

Her father's peremptory manner made her inhibitions evaporate. She would not endure his dictates any longer. It was the moment to play her trump card.

'You do not like her, you say. It has not always been so.'

'No,' he agreed. Most of the time I have detested her.'

'Where were you yesterday afternoon, father?' she challenged.

'Yesterday?'

'Mother says you were at a meeting of the City Fathers.'

'Yes, yes, that is true. I was at a meeting.'

‘Did it take place at The Rose in Bankside?'

Drewry went crimson and jumped up from his chair.

'Why do you mention that vile place to me?' he demanded.

'Because Grace was there,' said Isobel. 'She and a friend went to see Westfield's Men play The Merry Devils. It was another brilliant performance, by all accounts. Grace and her friend enjoyed it.’

'What has this got to do with me?' he blustered.

'Grace believes that she may have seen you there.'

'That is utterly impossible! A slander on my good name!'

'Her friend confirms that it was you.'

'A monstrous accusation!'

'But they saw you, father.'

'I deny it!' he said vehemently. 'The Rose holds hundreds and hundreds of spectators-or so I am told. How could they pick one man out in such a large crowd?'

'He picked them out, sir.'

The crimson in his cheeks deepened. He swallowed hard and leaned on the table for support. Before he could even try to defend himself, she delivered the killer blow.

'Grace and her friend wore veils,' she said. 'They say that you stopped them as they left the theatre. Taking them for women of looser reputation than they were, you made suggestions of a highly improper nature. So you see, sir-you liked Grace well enough then. Rather than discover themselves, they hurried away in a state of shock.' Isobel affected tears. 'How could my own father do such a thing? And with someone young enough to be his own daughter. You forbade me to go near the playhouse yet you went there yourself. Mother will be destroyed when she hears this.'