‘Not to my satisfaction.’
‘Nothing is ever done to your satisfaction, Reginald,’ said the vicar, glad that his churchwarden was beside him and even more glad that Orr stopped in his tracks. ‘We have talked theology these past couple of years and you’ll not be shifted.’
‘I follow the true path.’
‘There’s more than one way to heaven.’
‘Yes,’ said Tuke, keen to associate himself with the notion. ‘There’s more than one way to heaven, Reginald Orr, but I doubt that we’ll ever meet you there.’
The visitor bristled with anger and seemed to be about to lunge forward at the churchwarden but Tuke’s broad shoulders and brawny arms dissuaded him from intemperate action. Anthony Dyment was never quite sure how to cope with Orr. The man was a zealous Puritan, too scornful of the Anglican service to attend one himself and too intolerant to let others do so in peace. The only time that the man ever came through the door of the church was when he could cause trouble. The vicar braced himself for another argument with his most recalcitrant parishioner.
‘I’ll have no raised voices in here, Reginald,’ he warned. ‘This is the Lord’s house. Speak with moderation or you must leave.’
Orr curled a lip. ‘Do you think I want to enter this Romish den?’
‘It’s the parish church of St Christopher in the county of Essex.’
‘Filled with the stink of the Pope.’
‘If that’s what you believe, why force yourself to come here?’
‘Because I need to speak with you.’
‘Then you’ll have to wait until another time,’ said Dyment briskly. ‘I have to conduct a service of Holy Baptism in here later on this morning. Jared and I need to prepare the church properly for that. Good day to you, sir.’
‘I’ll not budge till I get an answer,’ warned Orr, folding his arms and spreading his feet. ‘Since you’re Sir Michael’s lackey, you’ll be able to give it to me.’
‘Don’t insult the vicar,’ said Tuke sharply.
‘I wasn’t talking to you, Jared.’
‘Show some respect.’
‘Let him speak,’ said Dyment wearily. ‘If that’s the only way to get rid of him.’
The Puritan nodded. ‘It is, believe me. All I want to know is whether this ugly rumour is true or false?’
‘Rumour?’
‘They say that a troupe players will soon come to Silvermere.’
‘That is so,’ conceded the vicar. ‘Sir Michael invited them.’
‘Have you raised no protest?’
‘Why should I?’
‘Heavens, man!’ exclaimed Orr in horror. ‘It’s your bounden duty. Do you want a company of vile and despicable actors to befoul this county? Do you want them to stage heathenish plays in which boys disguise themselves as women and do all manner of lewd things? You’re not merely vicar of this church. You’re chaplain to Sir Michael as well. Use your influence. Make him turn these rogues away.’
‘But Sir Michael and Lady Eleanor hold the players in high regard.’
‘Theatre is anathema. It corrupts all who touch it.’
‘That’s a matter of opinion, Reginald.’
Orr was shocked. ‘Are you saying that you condone this visit?’
‘Not entirely,’ said Dyment, wilting slightly before the man’s pulsing rage. ‘But it’s not my place to criticise Sir Michael or to tell him whom he can invite to his own home. It would be a gross intrusion of his privacy.’
‘Stop these actors spreading their venomous poison!’
‘They’re merely coming to entertain the guests at Silvermere.’
‘No,’ said Orr, raising a finger of doom. ‘They’re coming to ensnare and defile. Playhouses are steaming pits of… inquity. They purvey bawdy, foolery and idolatry. They feed on virginity and sneer at decency. They steal the innocence of children. Actors are born lechers. No woman within ten miles is safe while they are here. Stop them,’ he insisted, banging a fist into the palm of the other hand. ‘Stop these players from coming anywhere near Silvermere. If you don’t do it,’ he threatened darkly, ‘someone else will.’
Chapter Six
It was well after dawn before he heard the key being inserted in the door. Nicholas Bracewell was waiting. After being roused from his slumber in the night, he had had no further sleep, intent on keeping guard over Davy Stratton whom he had reprimanded as firmly as he dared without waking Owen Elias. Sent back to his own bed, the boy had retreated into a deep sleep. He was still lying there as Nicholas got up and stepped past him to open the door. A servant was walking away along the passageway.
‘Wait a moment,’ called Nicholas.
‘Good morrow, sir,’ said the man, turning back.
‘We were locked in our room last night.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s what I was told to do, sir.’
‘By whom?’
‘The steward, sir.’
‘Did he give you a reason?’
‘No, sir. Only an order.’ He pointed a finger at the neat pile of clothing on the floor. ‘Fresh apparel came from Holly Lodge for the boy. I’ve set it down there.’
‘Thank you.’
Nicholas waved him away. Picking up the clothing, he went back into the room to put it beside Davy. There was no point in reproaching a servant for doing something that he had been instructed to do. The matter would have to be taken up with Romball Taylard himself. It was one thing for the guests to be given a key and advised to lock the door from the inside but that is not what happened. Nicholas had been deliberately imprisoned with the others in the room and he wanted to know why. Owen Elias stirred in his bed. He greeted the day with huge yawn then rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.
‘Good morrow, Owen,’ said Nicholas.
‘Are you up already?’
‘I wanted to catch the servant when he let me out.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Elias.
‘After we went off to sleep, someone locked the door from the outside.’
The Welshman sat up. ‘We were trapped in here? I don’t like the sound of that at all. Is this the way they treat their guests?’ he asked, his anger building. ‘You expect this kind of thing in Newgate or the Marshalsea but not in a private house like Silvermere. A pox on it! This is not hospitality.’
‘I’m as annoyed as you are, Owen.’
‘Why did Sir Michael want us under lock and key?’
‘That’s what I’ll demand of the steward. This was done at his behest. As it happens,’ said Nicholas, looking across at their companion, ‘it worked to our advantage. Davy tried to sneak away in the night.’
‘Death and damnation!’ cried Elias, getting out of bed. ‘Let me at him. I’ll flay the skin off his buttocks for this.’
‘No,’ said Nicholas, restraining him. ‘That’s not the way, Owen. Wait until we are clear of Silvermere. That’s the time when we may wheedle the truth out of him.’
‘Why wheedle when we can knock it out of his cunning little head?’
‘Get dressed. I’ll wake the lad and we’ll go in search of breakfast.’
But the raised voice of Elias had already brought Davy out of his sleep. Nicholas had made him undress again before he got back into bed. In his crumpled shirt, the boy looked small and defenceless. The boldness that had prompted the attempt at escape had vanished now. Davy was frightened, fearing a further rebuke from Nicholas and more violent castigation from Elias. Avoiding their gaze, he reached for his clothes then saw that fresh apparel had been provided. He began to put it on. Nicholas poured water into the bowl and washed his face and hands before drying them on a piece of cloth. He turned back to Davy.
‘Wash yourself before we leave, lad.’
‘Yes,’ said Davy.
‘Do you need to use the chamber pot?’
‘No, no.’
‘When you do,’ warned Elias, ‘one of us will hold your pizzle for you. We’re not letting you out of our reach again. Go to the privy and Nick or I go with you.’
Davy swallowed hard and finished dressing. Fifteen minutes later they were clattering along the passageway to the backstairs. When they descended to the kitchen, a servant was waiting to show them to the table and the cook came over take orders from them. The pangs of hunger were too much for the boy to endure and he joined the others in a breakfast of cold turkey pie and bread. The two men drank watered ale but Davy settled for a cup of whey. Nicholas made no mention of events during the night and tried instead to cheer the boy up.