‘I’ll do my best,’ said the boy.
‘Make sure that you do, lad. When you joined Westfield’s Men, you became part of a family. We’re all bonded together. We don’t expect anyone to flee from us.’
‘I just went away for a short while.’
‘To be on your own,’ said Nicholas quietly. ‘I know. You told us. The question is this. Why did you have such an overpowering desire to get away? What was it that you needed to think about?’
‘Lots of things.’
‘Such as?’
Davy quivered slightly. ‘What’s going to happen to me.’
The boy looked so small and vulnerable that Nicholas wanted to reach out to comfort him. He saw a hint of genuine despair in Davy’s eyes. It did not go unnoticed by Elias. The Welshman became more sympathetic.
‘I’ll tell you what’s going to happen to you, Davy,’ he said cheerfully. ‘You’re going to have the time of your life with Westfield’s Men. You’ll be taught to sing, dance, fence, fight, use a gesture, play a part and enjoy yourself to the full. It’ll be a lot more fun than falling off your pony, I warrant you.’
‘We’ll look after you,’ said Nicholas. ‘Have no fear.’
Davy was reassured. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I’m not really afraid.’
As soon as the track widened, they increased their speed to a canter. Conditions for travel had improved. It was noticeably milder and there was no wind. When they stopped at an inn shortly after noon, Nicholas was pleased with the progress they had made. He was even more pleased with the change in Davy Stratton. Having made his apology, the boy wanted to commit himself to Westfield’s Men. He talked with interest about the forthcoming visit to Silvermere and pressed for details of the plays that would be staged. By the time they set off on the next part of their journey, they had put the upsets of the previous day firmly behind them.
In spite of its proximity to the capital, Essex was curiously isolated from London. The River Lea and its many courses presented a formidable barrier and the undrained wetlands near the River Thames caused additional problems. Winter came to their aid. Marshland that would have been impassable was now frozen solid, allowing them to pick their way through to firm ground and cut off a mile or two in the process. They crossed the series of bridges at Stratford atte Bow and watched the largest city in England being conjured up ahead of them. Afternoon sun gilded the rooftops and the church spires. The sheer bulk of St Paul’s dominated. The Tower was gleaming.
‘Not far to go now,’ said Nicholas. ‘It’s good to be back.’
‘Yes, Nick,’ added Elias with a grin. ‘Back home again.’
‘I’ll go to the Queen’s Head to seek out the company there.’
‘Look for me later on. I have to return this horse to the lady who loaned it to me and her gratitude may delay me somewhat.’ He chuckled with glee. ‘That’s the best way I know to get rid of saddle sores. The pain will be rubbed delightfully away.’
‘What about you, Davy?’ asked Nicholas. ‘Are you happy to be back?’
Davy Stratton nodded enthusiastically but he said nothing.
A productive day left Lawrence Firethorn glowing with satisfaction. Egidius Pye had been beaten into submission, the rehearsal at the Queen’s Head had been excellent and news had arrived from Edmund Hoode that the first two acts of The Witch of Colchester were now with the scrivener. Parts had already been assigned and work on the play could begin the following day. Only the sharers had been involved in the rehearsal, the privileged actors who invariably played the major roles. Firethorn adjourned to the taproom with them. He was emptying a cup of Canary wine when he saw Nicholas Bracewell enter.
‘Nick, dear friend!’ he said, leaping to his feet. ‘You come upon your hour.’
‘I was hoping to find you still here,’ said Nicholas.
‘How did you fare in Essex?’ asked James Ingram.
‘Did they agree to let us stage Cupid’s Folly?’ said Barnaby Gill. ‘Sir Michael and his friends deserve to see me at my best.’
‘Let the fellow draw breath,’ ordered Firethorn. ‘And make way for him on that settle, James. Nick has ridden a long way in the service of the company. He deserves a seat and a cup or two of ale.’
Nicholas exchanged greetings with the others and lowered himself on to the oak settle between Ingram and Gill. His drink soon arrived and he sipped it gratefully.
‘Where are the others?’ asked Firethorn.
‘I left Davy with your wife in Shoreditch,’ said Nicholas. ‘The lad was tired.’
‘Margery will have a warm meal ready for him. What of Owen?’
‘He’s returning his horse to a lady.’
Firethorn laughed. ‘That means he’ll be riding bareback by now,’ he said. ‘And why not? Every man to his trade. But let’s forget that rampant satyr of a Welshman. Tell us about your visit, Nick? What sort of a place is Silvermere? What sort of man is Sir Michael Greenleaf? Are we truly welcome there?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘We’re blessed in every way.’
Tactfully omitting the unpleasant aspects of the visit, he gave them a concise account of what had transpired. They were delighted to hear about the Great Hall in which they would perform and the spectators whom they would entertain. It was only when Nicholas announced the repertoire that had been agreed that he sparked off a dissentient voice. Inevitably, it came from Gill.
‘You made no mention of Cupid’s Folly,’ he said sharply.
Nicholas shrugged an apology. ‘It had to be left out, I fear,’ he explained. ‘Only three comedies could be included. Since we are bound to take The Witch of Colchester, that only left room for The Happy Malcontent and Double Deceit. We were not able to please everyone. Sir Michael’s wife wanted Love’s Sacrifice but that, too, was put aside. We’ve The Insatiate Duke and Vincentio’s Revenge as our tragedies and Henry the Fifth to add a little history.’
‘In short,’ said Firethorn triumphantly, ‘the very six plays we chose at the start.’
‘I was promised Cupid’s Folly,’ argued Gill.
‘Only to shut you up, Barnaby.’
‘It’s a better play than Double Deceit.’
‘But too crude and simple for the audience we are likely to find.’
‘A rustic comedy would sit happily in a country house.’
‘Not in the case of Silvermere,’ said Nicholas persuasively. ‘Cupid’s Folly would have been my own choice, perhaps, but the Great Hall is not the place to stage it. We could never set up the maypole there and that’s essential to the piece. Besides,’ he went on, using flattery to placate the actor, ‘the play they really wished to see you in was The Happy Malcontent. Lady Eleanor could not stop talking about your performance in that. She told me that you had flights of genius.’
Gill smiled. ‘It’s true that I scale the heights in that,’ he said vainly.
‘It atones for the way you plumb the depths in other dramas,’ teased Firethorn.
‘Jealousy does not become you, Lawrence.’
‘Oh, I agree. You have a monopoly on that emotion, Barnaby.’
‘There’s one thing more,’ said Nicholas, heading off another row between the two rivals. ‘Sir Michael is a scientist and inventor. He’s working on a new kind of gunpowder and offered to let us have use of it for our new play. I think I can devise an explosion that will bring us great benefit.’
‘So could I,’ said Firethorn, grinning provocatively at Gill.
‘Mock on, mock on,’ said Gill, rising up with dignity. ‘I am needed elsewhere.’
‘Be early tomorrow, Barnaby. We begin our witchcraft.’
As soon as Gill had left, the others began to drift slowly away. Nicholas was left alone with Firethorn. After calling for more drinks, the actor moved in close to him.