‘But why?’ asked Stratton.
‘And why not forewarn me?’ bleated Winche.
‘What were you trying to do, man?’
‘Disrupt the performance in the middle,’ said Taylard, ‘and stop it in its tracks. That would have taken the shine off Westfield’s Men. Who would want to come to see them play when they heard about a violent death in the audience? Their visit here might have been brought to a premature end. But,’ he added with a curl of his lip, ‘Robert Partridge had a stronger constitution than I bargained for. The poison was too slow to take effect. By the time he fell, the play was almost over.’
‘Yes,’ said Winche irritably, ‘and I was left in the awkward position of lying about the cause of death.’
‘It’s not the first time you’ve done that, doctor,’ Taylard reminded him. ‘We’d have got away with it if Nicholas Bracewell hadn’t poked his nose in.’
‘He knows too much.’
‘That’s why I tried to silence him as well.’
Stratton was appalled. ‘It was you who shot at him in the forest?’
‘Killing him is the one sure way to evict the company from Silvermere.’
‘But you didn’t succeed, Romball,’ said Winche anxiously, ‘and the fellow’s still on our tail. He’s been hounding Mother Pigbone about the poison.’
‘I want no part of this,’ declared Stratton, heading for the door. ‘I can’t condone murder. You two can dig yourselves out of this hole on your own.’
Winche took his arm to stop him. ‘You’re in this with us, Jerome.’
‘Not any more!’
Stratton flung him aside and stormed out of the room, leaving the door wide open. Winche began to lose his nerve. He moistened dry lips with his tongue.
‘We’re done for, Romball,’ he decided. ‘I’m going to make a run for it.’
‘No!’ shouted Taylard.
‘The truth is going to come out.’
‘Not if we get rid of Nicholas Bracewell.’
‘How can we possibly do that?’
‘I was about to ask the same question?’ said Nicholas, appearing on cue in the doorway. ‘I was hoping to find you here, Master Taylard. I wanted to talk to you about your son — Davy Stratton.’
‘You see?’ cried Winche in alarm. ‘I told you that he knows too much.’
Nicholas smiled. ‘I know everything.’
Taylard reacted with speed. Grabbing hold of the doctor, he pushed him hard in the direction of Nicholas. The collision gave him vital seconds to make his escape into the bedchamber. Nicholas went after him but found the door locked. He tried to force it with his shoulder. When it would not give way, he snatched up a stout chair and used it to pound away at the door. When the lock finally sprung open, he dashed into the room only to find that Taylard was not there. Cold air blew in through an open window. Nicholas ran over to it and was just in time to see a tall figure, making his way across a flat section of the roof towards the tower. He did not hesitate. Clambering through the window, he picked his way carefully across the slippery surface. Taylard disappeared through a door in the side of the tower. By the time that Nicholas reached it, the steward was several yards above him, struggling towards the edge of the parapet with a cannon ball in his hands. Had the stone missile hit him, Nicholas’s head would have been smashed to a pulp but he just managed to dodge it, flinging himself through the door as the cannon ball crashed down through the roof.
Taking out his dagger, he went up the dark stairs with great caution. Taylard was waiting for him at the top with another cannon ball in his hands. Nicholas put his head through the doorway then withdrew it quickly. A second missile passed within inches of him. Before the steward could grab a third, Nicholas darted out on to the top of the tower. Taylard backed away and the two men circled each other slowly.
‘Now I can see why you didn’t want us here,’ said Nicholas. ‘The last person you wished to see at Silvermere was your own son.’ Taylard tried to make for the door but Nicholas cut off his retreat. ‘Katherine Gowan has explained it to me. When she was a servant here, she made the mistake of letting you into her bed. She was soon carrying your child. Like the considerate father you are, Master Taylard, you not only turned her out, you even stole the child from her.’
‘It was for her own good.’
‘That’s not what Kate says.’
‘She should never have come back to Essex.’
‘There are lots of things that should never have happened,’ said Nicholas, jabbing the dagger at him when he tried to move in. ‘You shouldn’t have bought that poison from Mother Pigbone. You shouldn’t have murdered Robert Partridge. You shouldn’t have shot at me in the forest. Yes,’ he continued, still circling his prey, ‘it had to be you, Master Taylard. Who else would have the key to Sir Michael’s arsenal? You took one of the muskets and came after me, didn’t you?’
‘Yes!’
‘Well,’ said Nicholas, tossing his dagger to the floor, ‘I’m still here.’
He spread his arms to invite attack. Taylard responded at once, hurling himself at Nicholas to grapple with him, forcing him back towards the doorway. Nicholas had a firm grip and slowly exerted his strength. Unable to get the better of him, Taylard tried to kick and bite his attacker but that only annoyed him the more. With a sudden burst of energy, Nicholas threw him violently to the ground and stood over him. The steward groped around until he found the discarded weapon. Leaping to his feet, he waved the dagger at Nicholas to keep him at bay. The fight was no longer on equal terms. Taylard manoeuvred him around until Nicholas had his back to the parapet. The lunge finally came. Nicholas was ready for it. He managed to grab the wrist that was holding the dagger and he twisted the weapon free. When it clattered to the floor again, Taylard seemed to go berserk, gathering all his reserves of strength to seize Nicholas and force him steadily backwards until he was up against the parapet.
At the highest point of the house, the two men struggled for their lives. Taylard was spurred on by desperation but Nicholas had the greater willpower. He was not only fighting on behalf Westfield’s Men, he was avenging a small boy and a discarded mother as well. It lent him additional strength. When he felt the cold stone against his spine, he moved sharply to his left and tugged the steward with all his might. Romball Taylard’s momentum was his own undoing. He was pulled irresistibly forward. Instead of pushing Nicholas over the edge of the parapet, he was flung into the void himself and fell through the darkness with a cry of terror before hitting the ground below.
The performance of The Witch of Colchester exceeded all expectations. Westfield’s Men were eager to add their own greetings on Sir Michael Greenleaf’s sixtieth birthday and they achieved an excellence that surpassed even that shown in Henry the Fifth. The Great Hall at Silvermere was packed to capacity to view the phenomenon. Lawrence Firethorn gloried in the role of Lord Malady, able to control his recurring illnesses now instead of being at their mercy. As his arch enemy, Owen Elias revelled in the part of Sir Roderick Lawless while Barnaby Gill clowned his way expertly through the role of Doctor Putrid. Edmund Hoode and James Ingram drew much laughter as a pair of calculating lawyers. Solid support from the rest of the company made the premiere of Egidius Pye’s play the crowning event of their visit and the embattled author was in the audience to weep with gratitude all the way through it.
The occasion was not without sadness for Sir Michael. His joy was tempered with regret. Those who had come to celebrate his birthday surrendered to the magic of the play but it had a deeper resonance for him. The waddling figure of Black Joan reminded him of Mother Pigbone and the death of Shortshrift gave him another jolt as he recalled the poisoning of another lawyer in that very hall. Westfield’s Men could not be blamed for the unsettling coincidences with which their comedy abounded. In exposing the wickedness of Romball Taylard, the trusted steward, Nicholas Bracewell had drawn the poison out of Silvermere itself and that alone justified the visit of the company. The one person whom Sir Michael and Lady Eleanor had hoped to see on the stage was instead seated beside Clement Enderby and his family. Davy Stratton was entranced. The devil’s apprentice was marvelling at the work of accomplished masters of their trade.