The Devil's Apprentice (27 page)

‘No?’

‘It’s the first matter I wanted to discuss,’ said Nicholas. ‘You may remember telling us that your first impression was that the victim had not died from natural causes at all. You spoke of poison.’

‘Too hastily. Doctor Winche overruled me.’

‘Then perhaps he spoke too hastily as well.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The case interested us, Sir Michael. It’s not every day that someone drops down dead during one of our performances. Master Firethorn and I decided to pay our respects to the victim. I hope that you don’t think it presumptuous of us,’ said Nicholas, ‘but we entered your chapel without asking permission.’

‘It’s always open to my guests.’

Nicholas told him what they had found in the mortuary, explaining his own familiarity with death by poisoning and calling into question the doctor’s diagnosis.

Sir Michael was shocked. ‘Doctor Winche is an experienced physician.’

‘Everyone makes mistakes.’

‘Well, yes, I know. It’s what I did when I first saw the body.’

‘Your opinion is supported by my own, Sir Michael.’

‘Then why do we differ from Doctor Winche?’

‘Who knows?’ replied Nicholas. ‘Perhaps we are both in error. All I ask is that you take a closer look at the victim with me now.’

‘But that’s impossible, my friend.’

‘I merely wish to point out the signs that I detected.’

‘You’re too late,’ said Sir Michael. ‘The body of Robert Partridge was removed from here first thing this morning. He lives in the parish of St Margaret’s. Since the church is big enough to have its own mortuary, that’s where he’s been taken. Doctor Winche was here to supervise the transfer of the cadaver.’

‘I see.’

‘He takes his duties very seriously, Master Bracewell.’

Nicholas was not sure that the man’s duties involved the removal of a dead body from one mortuary to another but he said nothing. Sir Michael’s faith in Doctor Winche was clearly unshaken. The whole subject needed to be postponed.

‘What’s the other matter you have to raise with me?’ asked Sir Michael.

‘It concerns this,’ said Nicholas, opening the palm of his hand to disclose the musket ball. ‘It was fired at me earlier today.’

Sir Michael was startled. ‘By whom?’

‘I wish I knew.’

‘Where did the shot occur?’

‘A few miles away. In the middle of the forest.’

‘May I see it?’

‘Please do, Sir Michael,’ said Nicholas, passing it to him. ‘There can’t be too many people in this part of the county who possess a musket. You have several in your arsenal and are clearly an expert on firearms.’

‘They’ve always fascinated me.’

‘When I was at sea, I was trained in the use of a musket so I know how unreliable they are. Even over short distances, aim is sometimes difficult.’

‘That fact may have been your salvation, sir,’ said Sir Michael, holding the musket ball to his eye to study it. ‘This would have killed you outright.’ He looked across at Nicholas. ‘What were you doing in the forest?’

‘Returning from Oakwood House.’

‘You had business with Clement Enderby?’

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas, careful not to divulge the full details. ‘Davy Stratton went across there this morning to visit Master Enderby’s children who are old friends of his. When the lad was late returning, I went in search of him but Davy had already come back to Silvermere by another route so my journey was in vain.’

‘And almost fatal.’

‘So it seems.’

‘How did you find Clement Enderby?’

‘In good spirits, Sir Michael, and looking forward to the performance of
Henry the Fifth
tomorrow. He was delighted that you invited him to Silvermere. He spoke very well of someone who used to be in service here.’

‘Oh? Who was that?’

‘A young woman called Kate, I believe.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Sir Michael. ‘Katherine Gowan. We were sorry to lose her. My wife, especially. But the girl upset Romball in some way and she had to go. I never interfere in disputes between my steward and his staff. That would be foolish.’ He handed the musket ball back to Nicholas. ‘My eyes are not what they were, Master Bracewell. Look closely. Do you see any marks upon it?’

‘What sort of marks, Sir Michael?’

‘Three dots in the form of a triangle.’

‘I can see one, I think,’ said Nicholas, peering at the ball. ‘And there’s a trace of a second. If there was a third, it was scraped away when the ball hit the tree.’ He licked a finger and rubbed. ‘There are certainly two dots. I can see the second clearly now.’

‘As I suspected.’

‘Do you know what sort of musket fired it?’

‘Only too well,’ admitted Sir Michael, tugging nervously at his beard. ‘That musket ball was made here in one of my own moulds. We mark all ammunition with three dots when the molten iron starts to harden.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I regret to tell you that you came close to being killed by one of my own muskets.’

‘Who has access to them?’

‘Nobody but myself. As you saw, they’re kept under lock and key.’

‘Somebody must have got into your arsenal.’

Sir Michael paled. ‘They didn’t need to, Master Bracewell. I’ve just remembered. I lent a musket and some ammunition to a friend when he was overrun with rabbits. He borrowed the weapon to control their numbers.’

‘And who was this friend, Sir Michael?’

‘I hesitate to say his name.’

‘Why?’ pressed Nicholas. ‘Who was it?’

‘Jerome Stratton.’

Nicholas Bracewell used the journey to Holly Lodge to discuss the implications of his discovery. His nagging suspicion about Jerome Stratton had been confirmed. Riding beside him, Owen Elias was difficult to shift from his original opinion.

‘I still think that Reginald Orr is involved somehow,’ he asserted.

‘No, Owen. I can’t accept that.’

‘Can you accept that he might have attacked you with a cudgel the other night?’

‘Easily.’

‘The difference between a cudgel and a musket is not that great.’

‘It is,’ said Nicholas.

‘Both can be used to kill.’

‘Only in the wrong hands. If it
was
Master Orr who hit
me – and we’ve yet to unmask him as the culprit – then he did so simply to set Isaac Upchard free rather than to knock out my brains. I absolve him completely of the charge of shooting at me.’

‘Well, I don’t, Nick.’

‘How would he get hold of a musket?’

‘Sir Michael is not the only man in Essex who possesses them.’

‘He’s the only one with distinctive markings on his ammunition,’ said Nicholas. ‘He took me to the arsenal again and showed me his supply of musket balls. Each one had the same triangle of dots.’

Elias was scornful. ‘I’m not interested in Sir Michael’s little triangles. All that I’m concerned with is the single round hole that someone tried to put in your head. And my guess is that it was Reginald Orr who pulled the trigger himself or who set someone else on to do it.’

‘I disagree, Owen.’

‘What if he and Jerome Stratton are confederates?’

‘That’s unthinkable. They’d loathe the sight of each other. Can you imagine someone like Orr approving of the way that Master Stratton makes his money? And I hardly think that Davy’s father would consort with a Puritan. No,’ said Nicholas, ‘they live in different worlds.’

‘Different worlds, maybe, but they share the same code.’

‘Code?’

‘If something stands in your way, remove it.’

‘That’s certainly what Master Orr tried to do to us,’ conceded Nicholas.

‘And what better way to do it than to take our book
holder away?’ said Elias. ‘Remove you and Westfield’s Men totter. From the moment you caught Isaac Upchard, you were a marked man, Nick. Orr is thirsting for your blood. There’s a sequence here,’ he argued. ‘The ambush, the attack on the stables and that shot in the forest.’

‘You’ve missed out the death of Robert Partridge.’

‘It was murder. We both know that.’

‘Do you lay that at Reginald’s Orr feet as well?’

‘Of course. He’ll do anything to disrupt our performances. I believe that that lawyer was deliberately poisoned so that he’d die during the play. We were fortunate that it happened when it did and not earlier in the action. Orr is to blame,’ he said, smacking his pommel with the flat of his hand. ‘I’d stake my fortune on it.’

‘You don’t have a fortune, Owen.’

The Welshman chuckled. ‘I’d forgotten that.’

‘You also forgot to explain how the poison was administered,’ said Nicholas. ‘Reginald Orr is not allowed anywhere near Silvermere. How did he sneak in there to give the fatal draught to Robert Partridge and why select a harmless lawyer as his victim?’

‘Lawyers are never harmless. Look at Pye.’

‘You’ve not answered me. Master Orr would get into the Palace of Westminster more easily than into Silvermere.’

‘He must have a friend in the house.’

‘I doubt if he has a friend in the whole county apart from Isaac Upchard. You’ve met him, Owen. He’s more skilled at making enemies than friends.’

The Welshman was unconvinced. He still believed that their trail would lead eventually to the inhospitable Puritan
on whom they had called before. The two friends agreed to differ and rode on. It was a fairly short journey to Holly Lodge. As they trotted up the drive, Nicholas issued a caution.

‘Say nothing about Davy running away from us.’

‘If that’s what actually happened, Nick.’

‘We know that it was.’

‘Do we? Suppose that he’s been kidnapped by Reginald Orr?’

‘Davy went of his own accord. You can’t blame everything on Master Orr.’

‘Oh, yes, I can. He probably had a hand in the Spanish Armada as well.’

Nicholas laughed and reined in his horse. When they knocked at the door, they were invited into the hall. Jerome Stratton was highly displeased to see them. He already had one visitor at the house and could spare little time for any others. When he came out of the parlour, he left the door faintly ajar.

‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded, strutting over to them. ‘I hope you haven’t come here to tell me that Davy has fled from you again.’

‘No, Master Stratton,’ said Nicholas.

‘Good.’

‘If he did run away, we’d not look for him here.’

‘He’s your responsibility now. Davy is off my hands, thank heaven. So,’ he said, feet astride, ‘why are you bothering me again?’

‘It’s about a musket that you borrowed from Sir Michael Greenleaf.’

Stratton gaped. ‘The two of you came all this way to reclaim a musket? What an extraordinary errand to perform! If Sir Michael is so eager to get it back from me, why not send one of his servants?’

‘Because it’s rather a special weapon, sir,’ said Elias.

‘Special?’

‘It was used to fire at Nicholas in the forest.’

‘That may or may not be true,’ explained Nicholas. ‘Someone shot at me earlier today. The musket ball missed me but I was able to retrieve it. Sir Michael identified it as having come from his own moulds.’

‘So?’ said Stratton. ‘You’re surely not alleging that
I
fired that shot?’

‘Did you, sir?’

‘Of course not.’

‘You borrowed the musket to shoot rabbits, I understand.’

‘Did you mistake Nick for one?’ asked Elias sarcastically.

‘No, I did not,’ retorted Stratton, flaring up, ‘and I resent the suggestion. You’ve no right to come here hurling wild accusations at me. It’s slanderous.’

‘Could I see the weapon, please?’ said Nicholas quietly.

‘Why?’

‘Because I might be able to tell if it’s been fired recently.’

‘You’d be wasting your time.’

‘Let me be the judge of that.’

‘This is a matter between Sir Michael and me.’

‘I may be unwittingly involved.’

‘You’re not, I promise you.’

‘Show me the weapon and I’ll know for certain.’

‘If you insist,’ said Stratton, realising that it was the only
way to get rid of him. He summoned a manservant and snapped an order that sent him scurrying off. ‘The musket hasn’t been fired for weeks because it’s completely jammed. It’s far too dangerous to use. You can take it back to Sir Michael with my compliments.’

‘Do you have any other firearms in the house, sir?’ said Nicholas.

‘Would I need to borrow one if I did?’

‘What about the supply of musket balls? Are they intact?’

Stratton exploded. ‘I’ve better things to do than to spend my time counting a bag of musket balls. If someone shot at you, it wasn’t me though I’m beginning to have some sympathy with the marksman.’

‘Don’t you dare to insult Nick,’ warned Elias, ‘or you’ll answer to me.’

‘Are you threatening me in my own house?’

‘No, Master Stratton,’ said Nicholas in a more conciliatory tone. ‘And we didn’t come here to accuse you, sir, merely to establish certain facts.’

‘Well, here’s one that you can establish,’ said the merchant as his servant returned to hand him the musket. ‘See for yourself. The weapon is useless.’

Taking the musket from him, Nicholas needed only a moment to see that it was damaged. He considered the possibility that Stratton had deliberately put it out of action after firing at him but dismissed it instantly. The man might be angry with him but he had no real motive to kill him. Since his son was now a member of Westfield’s Men, it was in Stratton’s interests to safeguard the company rather than to murder one of its members.
Nicholas gave the musket to Elias. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the door of the parlour inch open a little.

‘Where exactly did this attack take place?’ said Stratton.

‘In the forest,’ replied Nicholas. ‘I was returning from Oakwood House.’

‘Oakwood? What took you there?’

‘Private business. Though your name did come into the conversation.’

Stratton was sour. ‘I’m sure that it did. Clement Enderby wastes no opportunity to run me down. You’ll get no endorsements for me at Oakwood House, sir, and none at all at Holly Lodge for Enderby.’

‘Yet it was not always so, I hear,’ probed Nicholas.

‘That’s our affair.’

‘According to Master Enderby, you and he were friends at one time.’

‘I thought you came to Essex to stage some plays,’ said Stratton, ‘not to listen to the local tittle-tattle. Be about your business, the both of you.’

‘We’ve not finished here yet,’ said Elias. ‘The local tittle-tattle has it that you and Robert Partridge were not exactly brothers-in-arms either. Is that true?’

‘Your question is offensive.’

‘Then give me an offensive answer,’ taunted Elias.

‘What Owen was intending to say,’ interrupted Nicholas, silencing his friend with a glance, ‘was that there’s been a new development. It appears that Master Partridge may not, after all, have been the victim of a heart attack.’

Stratton shrugged. ‘But that was Doctor Winche’s verdict.’

‘We have reason to believe otherwise, sir. Poison was used.’

‘Poison!’

‘It’s conceivable that he may have been murdered.’

‘But that’s a ludicrous notion. Who would possibility want to murder him?’

‘Someone who fell out with him,’ said Elias levelly.

‘Oh, I see,’ said Stratton, surprise turning to anger. ‘You’re going to accuse me of that as well, are you? What did I do? Put a supply of poison in the end of the musket and fire it down Robert Partridge’s throat?’

‘Nobody is accusing you of anything, Master Stratton,’ said Nicholas gently.

‘Then be so good as to leave my house.’

‘At once, sir. We apologise for this intrusion.’

‘Let it be the last you ever make on my property.’

Before Elias could deliver a tart rejoinder, Nicholas hustled him out. When they mounted their horses, the Welshman was still holding the musket. He held it up.

‘It’s a pity it’s out of action, Nick, or I’d have put a ball between his eyes.’

‘Jerome Stratton was not my assassin,’ said Nicholas.

‘I’d willingly be his.’

‘He’ll still repay watching, Owen. Did you hear the way that he talked about Davy? When he first brought the lad to London, he played the doting father but not any more. He’s obviously glad to get rid of the boy.’

‘I’d like to know why.’

‘So would I,’ said Nicholas, ‘and there’s another question that intrigues me.’

‘What was that?’

‘Who was listening to us from the parlour?’

It was all that Lawrence Firethorn could do to keep the company together during the rehearsal that afternoon. Deprived of his book holder, shorn of the actor who played the key role of Sir Roderick Lawless and deserted by his latest apprentice, he was finding it hard to concentrate. Egidius Pye’s presence, an unlikely boon at first, became an intense irritation to them all. It was not long before tetchiness crept in. George Dart was a convenient whipping boy.

‘George!’ bellowed Firethorn.

‘Yes, sir?’

‘You’re getting worse.’

‘Am I?’

‘Dreadfully so. I begin to fear for your sanity.’

‘I’m doing my best, Master Firethorn,’ said Dart, deputising as prompter.

‘Well, it’s nowhere near good enough. What is Master Pye to think when he sees his wonderful play ripped to shreds by the galloping incompetence of its prompter? When you say the lines,’ continued Firethorn, exposing him to the ridicule of the company, ‘we can’t hear them. When we hear them, we can’t understand them. And when we finally do understand them, we realise that they’re from entirely the wrong scene in the play.’

‘I went astray, sir.’

‘You were
born
astray, George.’

Cruel laughter broke out as Dart once again bore the brunt of Firethorn’s abuse. When another break in rehearsal was taken, it was Barnaby Gill who came to Dart’s aid.

‘It’s unjust to single George out for condemnation,’ he said.

‘Yes, Barnaby,’ returned Firethorn. ‘You certainly deserve your share.’

‘Why?’

‘You’re completely out of sorts this afternoon.’

‘It’s you who should take most of the blame, Lawrence. You hardly got through a speech without a stumble. Lord Malady’s malady is forgetfulness.’

‘And yours is spite.’

‘I’m entitled to point out your mistakes.’

‘Not when you make far more yourself, Barnaby.’

Gill stood on his dignity. ‘What mistake did I make?’

‘Entering the profession of acting.’

‘At least I did enter it,’ said the other haughtily. ‘You stumbled into it like a drunken man falling through the door of a leaping house. My mistake was in joining Westfield’s Men while it had someone like you in it.’

Firethorn inflated his chest. ‘I’m not
in
the company, I
am
the company.’

Edmund Hoode was poised to intervene before hot words provoked one or other of them to stalk out for effect but his placatory talents were not needed. The door of the Great Hall opened and Anthony Dyment came scurrying over the oaken floor.

‘I need to speak to Nicholas Bracewell,’ he said.

Firethorn rolled his eyes. ‘So do we all, sir.’

‘Is he here?’

‘Alas, no, as you would have seen from the carnage upon this stage.’

Introductions were perfunctory. The vicar did not linger over the niceties.

‘Where might I find him?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Is he still searching for your missing apprentice?’

‘Keep your voice down,’ said Firethorn, looking around to make sure that nobody else heard the visitor. ‘Do not voice it abroad, sir. When Nick confided our little problem to you, he expected you to be discreet not to preach a sermon on the subject.’

‘I’m sorry, Master Firethorn. My lips are sealed on that matter. But if you know that he called at the church, you’ll also know that he fell foul of Reginald Orr.’