for her. The man whom she loved had parted from her in prime health. What she would now see would be a grotesque shell of that same person.
Kirk was interested that his friend had visitors.
'Have you come from Parkbrook House?' he asked.
'Indirectly, sir.'
'David is a good young man. We have no trouble from him.
'What state is he in, sir?' asked Mordrake.
'His brain is addled and he has the sleeping sickness.'
'Ah yes,' sighed the old man. 'That often follows if a violent blow damages the mind. Memory will go and the patient will lapse back into childhood.
'Who committed him, sir?' asked Nicholas. 'Do you know that?'
'His physician, master. I have seen the records. One Francis Jordan pays the charges to keep him here but he was delivered to Bedlam by another hand.'
'What was the name?'
‘Joseph Glanville.'
Nicholas reacted with interest but his companions did not even hear the keeper. They were peering eagerly through the grille of the door outside which Kirk stopped. Inside the chamber, sitting motionless with his back to them, was the young man in the now ragged white shirt and dark breeches. He was staring up at the window and humming quietly to himself.'
As the door was unlocked, Grace Napier could hardly contain her emotions. A long and painful journey had at last come to an end. She had found the man she loved.
Kirk had to hold her back as she tried to lunge in.
'Do not touch him,' he warned. 'Stay by me.'
He let them step into the room then spoke to the patient.
'Hello, my friend.'
The young man stirred as if waking from a deep sleep.
'You have visitors.'
He looked at the wall ahead of him in search of them.
The tension was now agonising. Grace was biting her lip and shaking so much that she seemed to be on the verge of collapse. Nicholas supported her with one hand but kept his attention on the young man, anxious to meet the person who had indirectly caused such trouble for Westfield's Men. Mordrake was there in his professional capacity as a physician to see if the patient was beyond hope or if there was some way that he could recover his wits.
‘Come, sir,' said Kirk. 'Welcome your friends.'
'David,' whispered Grace. 'It's me.'
Mention of his name made the young man turn round. His face became a childlike beam when he saw Grace Napier but her expression changed at once. Pain and disappointment overwhelmed her.
'What ails you?' asked Nicholas. 'Is this not David Jordan?
'No,' she said. 'I have never seen this man before.'
*
Jack Harsnett was back on his own territory. He knew where to forage and how to hide. Nobody else on the estate was aware of his return or of the grim purpose which prompted it. He kept Parkbrook under surveillance. It was early on a Tuesday morning when he heard the rumble of carts and the trot of horses. Having broken their journey with a night at a nearby inn, Westfield's Men now headed for their next venue with alacrity. While the rest of the company travelled in the carts with the scenery, costumes and properties, Lawrence Firethorn led the procession on a chestnut mare. Spotting the house, he waved a commanding arm.
'Onward!'
The forester hid behind some bushes and watched. Evidently, there was to be an entertainment of some sort at Parkbrook and that would mean that the whole household would be preoccupied. It could be just the chance for which Harsnett was waiting. As the last of the carts wended its way down the slope, he left the bushes and padded off through the wood until he reached his cottage. He picked up his axe and took from his pocket the stone which he kept to sharpen it.
With patient care, he began to hone the blade.
*
Westfield's Men arrived at Parkbrook House to find a stage set up in the Great Hall. Curtains hung from the minstrels' gallery to create a tiring-house beneath the balcony. Everything was exactly as requested. Glanville gave them a polite but muted welcome, then left them alone. Adapting at once to their new performing conditions, they set up and rehearsed. It was a surprisingly refreshing experience. A play which had always been so problematical before now unfolded smoothly and without error. The amended version of The Merry Devils worked uncannily well.
It was as if a curse had been lifted from it.
When the company adjourned for a meal at noon, they were in a happy, almost optimistic, mood. They now had three hours before they were due to give their command performance before a select audience. It gave them time to relax.
Nicholas Bracewell did not join them. Ever since his visit to Bedlam, he puzzled over something that might now be resolved. While his colleagues enjoyed their food and their banter, he slipped off to the west wing of the building and ascended the private staircase, slapping his feet down hard so that there was an echoing clack on the oak treads. It achieved the desired result.
Joseph Glanville appeared at the top of the stairs.
'What does this mean, sir?' he said with subdued anger.
'I have come to see you, Master Glanville.'
'This staircase is closed to all but me.'
'Then why does the physician use it?'
'Physician?'
'I believe I saw him with you the other night,' said Nicholas. 'You descended together in earnest conference. He came down the steps like a man well-used to their peculiarities.'
Glanville was as enigmatic as ever. His face betrayed nothing. Return to your company, Master Bracewell, he said. I hey have need of you. There is no reason for you to be here.'
'There is, sir.'
'What?'
'David Jordan.'
The steward blinked but his voice was still calm.
'I have nothing to say to you on that subject,' he returned easily. 'Your concern is solely with the staging of your play and I suggest that you go back to it now. I myself have urgent duties.'
Nicholas caught at his sleeve as Glanville moved away.
'Who is that young man in Bedlam?' he asked. Bedlam?' I here was more than a blink this time. You delivered the wrong David Jordan. Why?’
The steward glared at him then tried to push him away but Nicholas would not be shifted. Grabbing the man by the shoulders, he pinned him against the door of his own room.
'I have come for some answers, Master Glanville,' he said with emphasis, 'and I will not leave until I have them. It is not on my own account. I am here on behalf of Mistress Grace Napier who was contracted to marry Master Jordan. She is in grave distress and I would ease that distress with the truth.' He tightened his hold. 'Speak, sir. Tell me what happened to the gentleman.'
Glanville was wrestling with his thoughts, quite unsure what to do. He made an attempt to Tight his way free but he was overpowered by the book holder. The steward fell back on an excuse.
'It was the physician who called the other night,' he said. 'He came to see Jane Skinner.'
'At such a late hour?'
'The girl was in some pain.'
'Physicians do not come at the beck and call of a chambermaid,' said Nicholas. 'Besides, I called on Mistress
