‘The prodigal son has returned,’ said Stratton with forced geniality. ‘I’m sorry to intrude at this hour, Sir Michael, but I was hoping to catch your visitors before they went off to Stapleford.’
‘But they’re not going to the inn,’ said Sir Michael.
‘Surely they don’t mean to travel back to London at night?’
‘Of course not, Jerome. You must think us uncivilized even to suggest such a thing. We’d never turn out guests when we have twenty rooms or more unoccupied. They’ll be staying here until morning.’
‘I see,’ said Stratton, adjusting swiftly to the news. ‘In that case, I must request a favour, Sir Michael. Is it possible that you could find a corner where Davy might bed down as well?’
‘Need you even ask? The boy is more than welcome.’
‘Thank you.’ He nudged his son. ‘Davy?’
‘Thank you, Sir Michael,’ mumbled Davy without looking up.
‘Perhaps I might ask a favour as well, Sir Michael,’ said Nicholas politely. ‘Since Davy is to stay, is there any chance that he might share the room with Owen and me?’
‘A sensible notion,’ said Sir Michael. ‘Romball?’
The steward materialised out of the gloom. ‘Yes, Sir Michael?’
‘Speak to the chambermaid, will you?’
‘At once, Sir Michael.’
Taylard backed away again and went silently up the stairs. Nicholas knelt down in front of Davy to inspect his face and clothing. The boy looked up guiltily for a second then lowered his eyes again.
‘Those are nasty scratches you have, Davy,’ said Nicholas with sympathy. ‘And you’ve a bruise on your temple. How did you come by those?’
‘His pony bolted and he was thrown,’ explained Stratton before his son could open his mouth. ‘That’s why he didn’t hear you when you called for him in the forest. Hotspur — that’s his pony — took fright and bolted. Davy was knocked senseless when he hit the ground. By the time he recovered, you’d both ridden off.’
‘But the lad’s such a fine horseman,’ said Nicholas.
‘Hotspur caught him unawares.’
‘And us,’ said Elias. ‘One moment, Davy was there; the next, he was gone.’
‘Thrown from the saddle. He was still dazed when he tried to find Hotspur and stumbled into a holly bush. Hence the scratches on his face and the torn clothing. The bruise must have come from the fall.’ He put a gentle hand on the back of his son’s neck. ‘Davy doesn’t recall too much about it, do you, Davy?’
‘No, Father,’ said the boy dutifully.
‘He’ll be much better after a good night’s sleep,’ promised Stratton easily. ‘I apologise for bringing him to you in such a state but we were much nearer to Silvermere when the search party found him. My men say that he was running blind like a startled rabbit.’ He patted the boy on the head. ‘I’ll have fresh attire sent over first thing in the morning. We can’t have him riding back to London in that state.’
Nicholas was puzzled. If the father were so concerned about his son, he wondered why Stratton did not take the boy back to Holly Lodge for the night. Word of his return could have been sent to Silvermere and Davy could have been reunited with his travelling companions the following morning. Nicholas also had grave suspicions about the account that Jerome Stratton had given of his son’s disappearance. A fall from the pony and a charge through woodland might have been responsible for his wounds and his dishevelled state but several hours had passed since Davy had vanished. Where had the boy been in the interim? Nicholas was surprised that someone who was supposed to know every path in the forest managed to get himself lost for such a long time. Many questions needed to be put to Davy but not in the presence of his father. As long as Jerome Stratton was there, Nicholas saw, the boy would not dare to tell the truth.
‘Well,’ said Sir Michael, ‘may we offer you refreshment, Jerome?’
‘I think not,’ said Stratton. ‘I have guests of my own at Holly Lodge and they’ll start to feel neglected if I stay away any longer. Thank you for taking Davy under your wing, Sir Michael. Though it grieves me to part with him,’ he added, giving the boy a token embrace, ‘I’ll abide by the terms of the contract. He belongs to Westfield’s Men now.’ His eyes glinted as they turned on Nicholas. ‘Please take better care of him this time. Davy is very precious to me.’
‘He’ll be safe in our hands, Master Stratton,’ promised Nicholas.
‘Yes,’ said Elias. ‘We won’t let him out of our sight again.’
‘Make sure that you don’t,’ said Stratton sternly. His tone softened. ‘I’m glad that you both came to Silvermere. Is the Great Hall to your liking?’
‘Completely so,’ replied Nicholas. ‘The company will be thrilled when they see where they will stage their work. We cannot thank Sir Michael and Lady Eleanor enough for their kind invitation.’
‘I had something to do with that,’ hinted Stratton. He looked at his son. ‘Well, Davy, we must part again. Ride your pony more carefully tomorrow and do exactly what you’re told. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Father,’ murmured Davy.
‘I expect to hear good reports of you from now on.’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘The next time I see you,’ he said with a smile, ‘will be on stage here in a play.’
It was not a prospect that lifted the boy’s spirits. He glanced up at his father with a respect that was tempered with fear. Nicholas took note of his response. After a flurry of farewells, Stratton moved off and Romball Taylard glided out of a dark corner to open the front door for him. Nobody had even heard the steward return. Stratton had a brief word with the man before going outside to his waiting horse. Closing the door, Taylard drifted quietly across to his master’s side to await further orders. Sir Michael raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
‘Is everything in order, Romball?’
‘Yes, Sir Michael,’ said Taylard smoothly. ‘A meal awaits our guests when they are ready to eat it.’
‘I’m ready now,’ announced Elias, rubbing his stomach. ‘It seems an age since we last had any food. What about you, Davy? I daresay that you’re famished as well.’
Davy lifted a weary head. Sir Michael produced an avuncular chuckle.
‘The lad is plainly tired and hungry,’ he said. ‘Who wouldn’t be after all the adventures he’s had today? A good meal and an early night are what I recommend. Take good care of them, Romball.’
‘I will, Sir Michael,’ said the steward.
After another exchange of farewells, he took the visitors off down a corridor.
Margery Firethorn sat on the edge of her chair. Racked with anxiety and unable to relax, she played nervously with the edge of her apron and gazed upwards at the low ceiling. In the bedchamber above, her husband lay in a desperate condition. She had never seen Firethorn in such a poorly state. It had taken three of them to help him to his bed and, after sending for the doctor, Margery had sat loyally beside the patient, soothing him with soft words and mopping his fevered brow with a wet cloth. Instructed by her mistress, the servant fed both the apprentices and the children of the house before packing them off to bed. Margery did not want them bothering her while Firethorn was in such distress. He needed all her attention. When the doctor finally arrived, he insisted on banning Margery from the bedchamber while he examined the sick man. The long wait below in the parlour was a trial.
Eventually, she heard footsteps on the stairs and jumped up from her seat. When the door creaked open, however, it was not the doctor who came into the room but the forlorn figure of Richard Honeydew, the youngest and most talented of the apprentices. Clad only in a thin shirt, the boy was trembling with cold and blanched by unease. His soft features allowed him to impersonate a whole range of beautiful young women on stage but he was no gorgeous damsel or impassioned princess now. He was a frightened little boy with tousled fair hair, his face marred by crow’s feet of concern, his slender frame sagging with dismay. Before she could stop herself, Margery snapped at him with unnecessary harshness.