It was during the next scene that Nicholas had the first hint of trouble.
‘There’s someone lurking behind the gallery, Nick,’ whispered James Ingram.
‘Are you sure?’ said Nicholas.
‘I could hear them moving around when I delivered the Herald’s speech.’
‘But nobody is supposed to be up there until the siege.’
‘That’s why I thought you should know.’
Ingram went off to change into the costume of the Governor of Harfleur and left Nicholas in a quandary. Controlling the play from behind the scenes, he could not simply slip away to see if there were intruders behind the gallery. On the other hand, he could not run the risk of disruption, especially as the play was approaching one of its most dramatic points. The siege required a number of effects that had been carefully rehearsed. Nicholas was needed to coordinate them. Yet nobody else was free to investigate the warning from Ingram. The book holder acted on impulse.
‘George!’ he called.
‘Yes?’ said Dart, scurrying across to him.
‘Did you see the way that I lit that gunpowder this afternoon?’
‘With a spark. It made such a wondrous bang.’
‘You’ve got your own chance to make a wondrous bang now,’ said Nicholas, pointing to the crucibles of powder. ‘I have to go for a minute or two. If I’m not back in time, light the touch-powder in the first crucible.’
‘But I don’t know how!’ cried Dart, unequal to such a demand.
Nicholas did not hear him. He was already making for the stairs that led to the gallery. When he reached the top, he saw the glow of candelabra that illumined the stage. The play continued with unabated fury below him. Attired in armour, Henry was trying to rouse his men for another attack on Harfleur, stirring up such a spirit of patriotism in the hall that some voices were urging them on. Nicholas was involved in another battle. It was against an enemy he barely glimpsed in the room on the other side of the gallery. He was trapped. Since he could only get to them by passing in full view of the audience, he had to stay where he was, wondering who the shadowy figures were and what they intended to do. He soon found out.
Having made their way into the little room that led off the gallery, Reginald Orr and Isaac Upchard were biding their time until they could interrupt the play to maximum effect. They chose the siege of Harfleur but the real hero of the hour on this occasion was not Henry the Fifth but the unarmed George Dart. At the very moment when the two Puritans dashed out on to the gallery, the assistant stagekeeper did as he was told. Unsure which of the three crucibles of gunpowder to ignite, he struck sparks madly and contrived to set off all three simultaneously to produce an explosion that took actors as well as audience by surprise. The report was deafening. When Orr and Upchard emerged from their hiding place, therefore, they were completely obscured by billowing smoke. The huge banner that Orr unfurled, proclaiming the sinfulness of all plays, was hidden from view and the musket that Upchard fired to gain attention was unheard in the general pandemonium.
Nicholas could just see enough to spring into action. He felled Orr with a relay of punches then squared up to his companion. Upchard swung the musket viciously at him and Nicholas had to duck under it. He dived for his adversary’s legs and brought him crashing to the floor. Upchard groped for the dagger at his belt but Nicholas gave him no time to reach it. Seizing the fallen musket, he used its butt to pound him hard. Upchard’s groans were drowned out by the sounds of warfare on the stage. Orr was not finished yet. Dragging himself up, he grabbed Nicholas by the throat and squeezed hard, yelling at the top of his voice. Nicholas gave him more reason to yell, jabbing the musket into his groin then hurling himself on to the man as he fell back. The fight was over. Before he could land another punch, Nicholas and his opponents were dragged out by strong hands. The victorious Lawrence Firethorn stepped over them to take up a commanding position in the centre of the gallery.
‘Out of my way!’ he boomed. ‘I’ve just taken Harfleur!’
By the time that the noise had subsided and the smoke cleared, Henry the Fifth was seen in an attitude of triumph atop the city walls, ready to deliver his victory speech. Spontaneous applause broke out. Down in the tiring-house, two dazed Puritans were being bound and gagged by Nicholas so that they could take no further part in the drama.
Dart was apologetic. ‘I set off all the gunpowder by mistake,’ he said.
‘You saved the day, George,’ said Nicholas happily. ‘Congratulations!’
The play surged on to be met by an ovation at its close. Even their patron, who had seen it many times before, rose to his feet to acclaim them. What stuck in the minds of the audience was the brilliant recreation of the siege of Harfleur when ordnance filled the field and three soldiers were dimly seen fighting for their lives on the gallery. Instead of ruining the performance, Orr and Upchard had merely enhanced it. Far from expelling the actors, they had unintentionally joined their ranks. When both men had been arrested and taken off, Nicholas was able to relax at last. A major threat to the company had been decisively removed. Upchard’s possession of a musket singled him out as a possible assassin in the forest. Danger seemed to be over.
Celebrations were in order. The actors were in a state of high excitement and Nicholas was as ready as any of them to make his way to the kitchen. He felt that he had earned his supper and was keen to toast the success of the company. Arm around George Dart, he followed the others down the corridor. Clement Enderby intercepted him.
‘One moment, my friend’ he said. ‘Might I have a word with you?’
‘Of course,’ replied Nicholas. ‘Go on ahead, George.’
Dart went off to the kitchen and left Nicholas alone with Enderby.
‘There’s no need for me to tell you how much I enjoyed the play. It was truly astonishing. Westfield’s Men gave us the most exhilarating event we’ve had in Essex for many a year. It was a priceless gift,’ said Enderby, eyes sparkling. ‘I think that you deserve one in return.’
‘A gift?’
‘His name is Davy Stratton.’
‘You know where he is?’
‘We brought him with us but nobody else knows that he’s here. I felt it wrong to spring him on you when you were just about to mount your performance.’
‘How is Davy?’ asked Nicholas anxiously. ‘Is he hurt in any way?’
‘No, Master Bracewell. I left him at your cottage. Come and see.’
Nicholas found it hard to contain his curiosity but Enderby would give no further explanation. He took his companion out through a side door of the house and across to the cottages. Candles burnt in the lodging used by Nicholas and the others. When the two men went into the parlour, Davy was sitting on a chair in the corner. He looked sad and uncomfortable.
‘Good even, Davy,’ said Nicholas.
‘Good even,’ murmured the boy.
‘Where have you been?’
‘At Oakwood House.’
‘Why?’
A woman stepped out of the shadows. ‘He came to see me, sir.’
‘This is Kate,’ introduced Enderby. ‘Katherine Gowan, as she was known when in service here. She was very unhappy about coming back to Silvermere.’
‘I was, sir. But I want what’s best for Davy.’
She glanced across at him and Davy responded with a wan smile. Nicholas looked first at the attractive young woman in front of him, then across at the boy, then back at Katherine Gowan. In the space of a few seconds, he began to understand a great deal. Enderby came forward to reclaim Davy.
‘Talk to Kate alone,’ he advised. ‘Some of it’s not for Davy’s ears.’
He took the boy into the kitchen and shut the door after them. Nicholas could see how uneasy and embarrassed the woman was. He invited her to sit down then took the stool beside her. Katherine searched his eyes for reassurance.
‘Davy said that I could trust you,’ she said.