‘Isaac Upchard has escaped,’ he announced.
‘How?’ said Nicholas.
‘The constable went to sleep and his prisoner walked calmly out. The vicar brought the news because he was so anxious to warn us. Upchard is a vengeful man. He’ll be on your trail, Nick.’
‘I’ll be ready for him.’
‘No, you won’t. You’ll be here in the safety of Silvermere, doing the job for which we pay you and saving George Dart from an early death.’
‘This is Reginald Orr’s work,’ said Elias. ‘He must have set his friend free.’
‘So the vicar thought but there’s no proof. And if it’s left to the local constable to find it,’ said Firethorn gloomily, ‘there never will be.’
Elias was rueful. ‘I knew that we hadn’t heard the last of Reginald Orr.’
‘He’ll not bother us if we stay here, Owen, and that’s what we’ll do. There’ll be no more expeditions for you or Nick. Everywhere but Silvermere is out of bounds.’
‘I fear for young Davy,’ said Nicholas.
‘He was the one who chose to run away.’
‘I’d hoped to widen the search still further tomorrow morning.’
‘No!’ said Firethorn, banging the table with his fist. ‘You won’t stir an inch from here. We’ve a large audience coming to see us in Henry the Fifth tomorrow. I refuse to rehearse a single line with that mumbling fool, George Dart, as our prompter. We need to have the play in good order.’
‘I agree,’ said Nicholas with reluctance. ‘It’s the least we owe Sir Michael for his hospitality. For tomorrow’s play, he’s offered to loan me gunpowder for some of our alarums. That should keep the spectators awake.’
Firethorn was soulful. ‘I don’t mind them sleeping, Nick, as long as none of them drops down dead on me. Henry the Fifth is supposed to kill the French, not the audience.’
They finished their meal then drifted back to their lodging with the rest of the company. A row of torches burnt in front of the cottages. Two men were on duty with muskets over their shoulders. Romball Taylard was giving them instructions. When he saw the actors coming, he turned to explain.
‘Sir Michael wants the guard maintained,’ he said, indicating the men. ‘Word has reached us that Isaac Upchard has escaped from custody and we don’t wish to take any chances.’
‘Post as many sentries out here as you wish, Master Taylard,’ said Firethorn. ‘I’m in favour of anything that will help the company slumber in safety.’
‘You’ll have no problems tonight, sir.’
The steward bade them farewell and strode towards the house. The approach of a rider made him halt. Nicholas paused to watch the lone horseman coming up the drive, wondering who could be calling so late. It was difficult to identify the newcomer until he dismounted from his horse to talk with Taylard. His profile and gait were distinctive and Nicholas recognised him at once. It was Jerome Stratton.
The reputation of Westfield’s Men had spread quickly and people came from some distance to watch the first of three performances on consecutive days. Sunday would bring them The Happy Malcontent whose wild antics would be offset by the sad grandeur of Vincentio’s Revenge on Monday. For those who flocked to Silvermere on Saturday evening, however, Henry the Fifth was in store. History, comedy and tragedy were set to form a memorable experience over three days. Dozens of guests converged on the front entrance at the same time and the household servants were deployed in large numbers to welcome them and to offer them light refreshment. Diverted by the activity in one part of the building, nobody noticed the arrival of two uninvited guests at the rear of the property. Clad in black and taking advantage of the failing light, they slipped in through a back door and searched for a hiding place.
Lawrence Firethorn was in a buoyant mood. Rehearsals had been uninterrupted, the new stage effects had worked superbly and the company had recovered much of its spirit. A fine stage and a full audience beckoned. Since he no longer had to fear being attacked by a mystery illness, Firethorn was able to concentrate on his kingly duties. When he was costumed in his robes of office, he put the crown on his head and called the company around him in the tiring-house. His voice was low but moving.
‘Friends,’ he said, letting his gaze roam around their faces, ‘we’ve had our setbacks. I’ll be the first to admit that. But they are behind us now and you must banish their memory from your minds. Everything is now in our favour. We may have a few enemies in Essex but we have many admirers and the hall is full of them.’ He raised a finger. ‘Listen!’ he told them. ‘Can you hear that expectant buzz? Can you sense that anticipation? They are won over before we even step out on that stage. And there’s other news I have to tell you that will gladden your hearts. We have the best friend of all in the audience this evening.’
‘What’s her name?’ asked a grinning Elias.
‘I talk of our patron, Lord Westfield.’
‘Then I resign my claim to Barnaby.’
‘Did you hear what I said, Owen?’ continued Firethorn, quelling the sniggers from the apprentices. ‘Sir Michael and Lady Eleanor deserve sterling performances from us. Lord Westfield demands something more. Are we going to make him proud to lend his name to the company?’ Affirmative calls came from all sides. ‘Then let’s buckle on our armour and carry our weapons with bold hearts. We’re not just going to win the Battle of Agincourt out there, we’re going to conquer that audience as never before.’ He drew his own sword to hold it aloft. ‘Onward!’
Nicholas Bracewell could see the effect that the words had on them. Though they had heard Firethorn many times, he still had the power to inspire. With the solitary exception of George Dart, a diffident actor, everyone was straining to get on stage to attest their worth. Even the mild-mannered Edmund Hoode was roused.
‘I feel that I could win a battle single-handed, Nick,’ he said.
‘Well, I don’t advise it,’ replied Nicholas. ‘In the role of the Dauphin, you have to be on the losing side. Win the battle and you fly in the face of history.’
‘Did you know that Lord Westfield was out there?’
‘Not until just now.’
‘Lawrence is a sly old fox. Trust him to keep those tidings until they’d be of most value. The whole company has been cheered.’
‘They need to be lifted. It’s a full-blooded play that calls for lots of energy.’
‘We’ll make Silvermere shake to its foundations.’
Nicholas smiled then made a swift tour of the room to check that all was well. Musicians were dispatched to the gallery and actors took up their positions. As well as playing five different characters, Dart was responsible for the various properties used and he stood nervously beside the table where they were laid out in order. The heavy murmur in the hall faded away as the musicians came into view. Given their signal, they struck up some introductory chords then Owen Elias stepped out to deliver the Prologue. Henry the Fifth was by no means the best of Hoode’s plays but it told a familiar story with vivid clarity and offered its eponymous hero a magnificent role. Firethorn seemed to grow in size when he made his first appearance as the king and gasps of wonder came from the ladies in the audience. Dashing, peremptory and undeniably regal, he dominated the stage even when Barnaby Gill, providing ripe comedy as a reluctant soldier, shared it with him. Long before the end of Act One, the company had achieved its desired effect. The audience was utterly enthralled.