The Merry Devils

They were in the room that he used as his office. Drewry sat -importantly behind a large oak table that was covered with business correspondence. On a court cupboard to his right stood the symbol of his trade. It was a Vivyan Salt, some sixteen inches in height. Made of silver-gilt with painted side panel, the salt cellar had a figure representing Justice on its top. Isobel caught sight of it. She wanted her share of justice now.

Henry Drewry moved from cold command to oily persuasion. He tried to convince his daughter that his decision was in her own interests.

'Come, Isobel,' he said with a chuckle, 'do but think for a moment. Nothing ever happens in the country. You will waste away from boredom within the hour. London has much more to offer.'

'Not if you deny me access to it, father.'

'Do you really wish to dwindle away in some rural seat?'

'Yes, sir,' she said firmly. I have an invitation.'

'Refuse it.'

'But Grace is anxious for me to accompany her.'

'Mistress Napier can flee to the country on her own,' he said with some asperity. 'It may be the best place for her.'

'What do you mean?'

'She is not a good influence on you, Isobel.'

'Grace is my closest friend.'

'It is time that friendship cooled somewhat."

'But she has asked me to join her at their country house.'

'You are detained here.'

Isobel gritted her teeth and held back rising irritation.

Drewry felt that he had reason to dislike Grace Napier. Her father was one of the most successful mercers in London and his burgeoning prosperity was reflected in the estate he had bought himself near St Albans. Naked envy made Drewry hate the man. His own business flourished but it did not compare with that of Roland Napier. Hatred of the father led to disapproval of a daughter who was better educated and better dressed than his own. There was also a self-possession about Grace Napier that he resented. It was time to terminate the friendship.

'In future, you will not see so much of Mistress Napier.'

'Why?'

'She is not a fit companion for you.'

'Grace is sweetness itself.'

'I do not like her and there's an end to it.'

Her father's peremptory manner made her inhibitions evaporate. She would not endure his dictates any longer. It was the moment to play her trump card.

'You do not like her, you say. It has not always been so.'

'No,' he agreed. Most of the time I have detested her.'

'Where were you yesterday afternoon, father?' she challenged.

'Yesterday?'

'Mother says you were at a meeting of the City Fathers.'

'Yes, yes, that is true. I was at a meeting.'

'Did it take place at The Rose in Bankside?'

Drewry went crimson and jumped up from his chair.

'Why do you mention that vile place to me?' he demanded.

'Because Grace was there,' said Isobel. 'She and a friend went to see Westfield's Men play The Merry Devils. It was another brilliant performance, by all accounts. Grace and her friend enjoyed it.'

'What has this got to do with me?' he blustered.

'Grace believes that she may have seen you there.'

'That is utterly impossible! A slander on my good name!'

'Her friend confirms that it was you.'

'A monstrous accusation!'

'But they saw you, father.'

'I deny it!' he said vehemently. 'The Rose holds hundreds and hundreds of spectators--or so I am told. How could they pick one man out in such a large crowd?'

'He picked them out, sir.'

The crimson in his cheeks deepened. He swallowed hard and leaned on the table for support. Before he could even try to defend himself, she delivered the killer blow.

'Grace and her friend wore veils,' she said. 'They say that you stopped them as they left the theatre. Taking them for women of looser reputation than they were, you made suggestions of a highly improper nature. So you see, sir--you liked Grace well enough then. Rather than discover themselves, they hurried away in a state of shock.' Isobel affected tears. 'How could my own father do such a thing? And with someone young enough to be his own daughter. You forbade me to go near the playhouse yet you went there yourself. Mother will be destroyed when she hears this.'

'She must not!' he gasped. 'Besides, it is all a mistake.'

'Mother will want an explanation. The first thing she will do is find out if there was a meeting yesterday. If there was not, she will know who to believe.'

Henry Drewry sagged. His predicament was harrowing. He had been found out by his own child. The bombast and hypocrisy he had used to sustain their relationship over the years were now useless. She saw him for what he was and his wife might now do the same. He was a broken man. The indiscretions of one afternoon had stripped his authority from him. His daughter reviled him. His wife might do more.

'Say nothing to your mother!' he begged hoarsely.

In the silence that followed there was a decisive shift in the balance of power within the family. An agreement was reached. She would not betray him to his wife and he would no longer constrain her in any way. For the first time in her life, Isobel Drewry felt that she had some control over her own destiny. It was a heady sensation.

Her hither flopped down into his chair with head bowed.

'When will you go to the country?' he asked meekly.

'Whenever I choose!'

Isobel was learning how to rub salt into the wound.

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Chapter Eight

Glanville gave her sensible advice. He told her to make sure that the new master was busy elsewhere before she entered his bedchamber. He urged her to leave doors and windows open while she was busy at her work. In the event of any further attack, her screams would be heard and help would soon come. Jane Skinner listened to it all with solemn concentration. She did exactly what the steward told her and the problem soon vanished. There was never a chance of her being caught by Francis Jordan in his bedchamber. She was circumspect.

Her anxieties eased and her confidence slowly returned. She was less furtive in her duties. What happened before could be put down to the new master's visit to the cellars. Too much wine had put lechery in his mind and lust in his loins. It would not occur again. Jane Skinner talked herself into believing it. She was making the bed in a chamber on the top storey when that belief was fractured. The door shut behind her and she turned to see Francis Jordan resting his back against it.