'Well met!'
'How may I best help you?'
'I have a number of enquiries…'
There was something about the steward that alerted Nicholas. Accustomed to working among actors, he could usually discern when someone was masking his true self. Glanville was altogether too plausible and controlled for his liking. The man answered all his questions very courteously but he was holding something back all the time, and Nicholas was keen to know what it was.
'What about your stage, sir?' asked the steward.
'We shall bring our own and set it up on trestles.'
'Master Jordan is anxious to spare you that trouble. We have enough carpenters at our command and they can build to order. You will have plenty to bring from London as it is.'
Nicholas closed with the offer. Transporting the stage was a problematic business as they found when they were obliged to go on tour in the provinces. Besides, the one used at the Queen's Head was far too high for their needs at Parkbrook House. Glanville was surprised when told this.
'Will you not need trap-doors for your devils, sir?'
'They will enter by some other means.'
'Not from below, as Master Jordan described to me?'
'No, sir,' said the other. 'A height of eighteen inches will content us. Two feet at most. There will be no crawling beneath the stage on this occasion.' He thought of George Dart and Caleb Smythe. 'That will gladden the hearts of our devils, I can tell you.'
They talked further then Glanville escorted him up to show him the bedchamber that had been assigned to him. It was on the first floor in the west wing and as they walked down the long corridor towards it, Nicholas probed.
'I hear that one of your chambermaids had an accident.'
'That is so, sir.' I 'A broken leg, they say.'
'The girl is recovering in the servants' quarters.'
'I may find time to visit her,' volunteered Nicholas. 'I know the misery of a leg in splints.'
'Oh, I could not permit that, sir, said Glanville firmly. 'Jane Skinner is in a state of shock. The physician has advised against stray callers. They tire the girl.'
Nicholas did not believe the explanation and wondered why he was being kept from the invalid. They stopped outside a door. Nothing the circular staircase at the far end of the corridor, the guest asked if if led down to the Great Hall.
'It is not for general use,' said Glanville smoothly. 'I am the only person allowed to use it, Master Bracewell, and it is a privilege that I jealously guard.
'Is it not a quicker way down for me?' said Nicholas.
'That is immaterial. You may not use it.'
'What is the punishment for offenders, sir?'
There was a note of ironic amusement in the question but the steward did not hear it. His response was deadly serious. Behind the unruffled calm was a surge of hostility.
Nicholas saw that he had made an enemy.
*
He sold the horse and cart in the first village. All that he kept or needed was his axe and it was always by his side. Jack Harsnett went to the nearest inn and drank himself to distraction. It was a few days before he was ready to move on. A mornings trudge brought him to a wayside tavern and he slumped down on to the settle that stood out in the sun. Food and drink was brought out to him and he began to recover his breath. He was far too old to tramp the roads for long.
Laughter from inside the tavern made him prick his ears and a few snatches of conversation drifted out. Though he could not hear what was being said, he recognised the principal voice in the group. It made him sit tight and wait. One by one, the customers tumbled out and went back to their work or their homes. The man for whom Harsnett was waiting was the last to leave. Drink had blurred the sight of his one eye and he walked past the forester without paying any heed.
Harsnett followed and cornered him against a wall.
The single eye blinked until it managed to focus.
'Jack!' said the man with the patch. 'How are you?'
'What do you care?'
'I heard you'd left Parkbrook.'
'Thrown out.'
'Master Jordan is a hard man, sir.'
'I heard you use his name in the tavern.'
'Did I?' An evasive smile came. 'I doubt it.'
'What did you say?' grunted the forester.
'Who knows?'
'Tell me.'
'About Master Jordan?' He gave a drunken laugh then became rueful. 'There's things I could say about that one! He's bad, Jack, bad as they come. He gave me this here on my face.' He exhibited the long scar that had been caused by the riding crop. 'Keep out of his way.'
'Why?'
'No matter. I must go.'
'Answer me,' said Harsnett, holding him by his hair.
'More than my life's worth, Jack, and that's the truth.'
'Tell me about Master Jordan,' insisted the forester.
The man with the black patch twitched and whined.
'He'll kill me if T do that.'
Harsnett thrust the blade of his axe against the other's throat.
'I’ll kill you if you don't.'
*
It was a pleasant ride across the estate. Nicholas borrowed a horse from the stables so that his own could recover against its journey on the morrow. Having got directions from the ostler, he headed in the direction of the adjoining property and reached it after a couple of miles. It was less of a mansion than an overgrown cottage but its half-timbering was well-maintained and the thatch was recent. Stables and outbuildings spread out behind it and it was towards these that Nicholas now spurred his horse.
The man was cleaning the carriage with a rag that he dipped into a bucket of water. Though his back was to the visitor, Nicholas knew him at once. The thick bandage that was wound around his head and down over the top of one eye was further confirmation.
Hearing the approach of hooves, the man turned around with easy curiosity. His smile froze when he saw who it was and he dropped his rag back in the water. Nicholas dismounted, tethered his horse then came across for a confrontation. From his garb and his bearing, it was clear that the man was a coachman.
'I was arrested at your suit, Master Grice.'
'Yes, sir.'
'I did not like my lodging at the Counter.'
'Nor I the cut over my eye,' said Grice warily. 'Besides, you would have been released after a couple of days. The case would have been dropped long before it came to court.'
'That does not salve my wounds.'
He took a step towards Grice who put up his large fists.
'Stay where you are, sir, or you'll feel the weight of my punches again.' He turned to the house to raise the alarm. Master!'
Reaching for the driving seat of the carriage, he then grabbed his long whip and drew back his arm but he was given no chance to demonstrate his skill. As he tried to lash Nicholas, the latter stepped smartly out of the way then dived at Grice, twisting the whip from his hand within seconds. Grice was powerful but he had none of the
