Two more questions now presented themselves for answer.
Why did the creature need to have a prepared exit?
More to the point, was the trap-door in a makeshift stage set up in a London inn yard the legitimate route to the domain or Hell?
Nicholas brightened. When he went off to find the landlord, lie did so with a new spring in his step. I he case was altered somewhat. Marwood might yet be pacified.
*
Lord Westfield was surrounded, as was customary, by an adoring coterie of friends. Seated in a high-backed oak chair in a private room at the Queen's Head, he sipped his Canary wine and basked in the glow of admiration as his companions scattered their superlatives.
'Your lordship has the finest company in London.'
'In England, I vow! In the whole of Europe.'
‘And this was their greatest triumph.'
'Was ever a piece so full of mirth as The Merry Devils?’
'Could anything so fright a man out of his skin?'
'Can any actor in the world challenge this Firethorn?'
'He's a crown prince among players.'
'The jewel of his profession.'
'Your lordship made an exquisite choice in this fellow.'
Among those showering the patron with this praise was a tall, thin, complacent individual in his twenties. Attired in a black satin doublet trimmed with black and gold lace, he sported a plumed hat that was almost as ostentatious as that of Lord Westfield himself. His name was Francis Jordan, as smooth, plausible and ready with a quip as any in the group, a man well-versed in the social graces. As the favourite nephew of Lord Westfield, he enjoyed a position that he had learned to exploit in all manner of subtle ways. Francis Jordan had style.
'What think you, nephew, of Casttato?' asked Lord Westfield.
'He will cause no offence to the ladies.'
'Did not this fellow carry his part well?'
'Only because he had less weight in his codpiece.'
'Come, sir. This Castrato was no true castrato?
'That Doctor was doctored,' said Jordan with a comic gesture to indicate a pair of shears. 'He is strangely fallen off, uncle.'
'Barnaby Gill is a cut above most players.'
'And a cut below most honest men!'
There was general amusement at this banter and brittle laughter filled the room. It was terminated by the arrival of Lawrence Firethorn, who was ushered in by a liveried servant and who began with a dramatic bow to his patron. Gloved hands clapped him and plaudits came thick and fast. He waved his gratitude. All trace of the hapless Justice Wildboare had left him now and he stood there as a supreme actor, handsome and mesmeric, exuding a confidence that bordered on arrogance and conveying a sense of virility and danger.
Lord Westfield performed the introductions and Firethorn responded with beaming humility, lingering over his contact with the two ladies in the group. Nothing delighted him so much as the approbation of beautiful women and he wooed them with pleasantries as he kissed each of them on the hand. Francis Jordan was the last to meet Firethorn but he proved more effusive than all the rest.
'Your playing was truly magnificent, sir!'
'We strive to do our best,' said the actor.
'Such a work has never been seen on a stage before.'
'That much is certain,' conceded the other with slight unease.
'How came that third devil into the action?'
'Yes,' said Lord Westfield. 'What brought him forth like that? He stirred us all up into such a sudden flood of terror. Who was he?
'A hireling with the company, my lord.' His antics were exceeding merry.'
'The fellow but obeyed direction.'
'By what means did he burst forth in such a fine frenzy?'
'A cunning device, my lord,' said Firethorn, airily gliding over the truth of the matter. 'It was conceived by Nick Bracewell, our book holder, as artful a soul as any in this strange profession of ours. More than that, I cannot tell you lest it discredit his mystery.'
Lord Westfield toyed with his pomander while the two ladies buzzed around him in a flurry of satin. Their whispered entreaties were very much to his taste and helped him to reach a decision.
'I would see this comedy again, sir.'
'Again, my lord?' Firethorn concealed his rising disquiet. Yes, uncle,' said Jordan with genial enthusiasm. 'I would have it played at Parkbrook House, in the long hall, when my refurbishment is complete. Order shall be given for it. The idea grows on me apace. With your permission, I am resolved on it.'
'Would you have these merry devils in your home, Francis?',
'They will bring a feast of joy to the occasion.'
'Have you no qualms, nephew?'
'None, sir. Parkbrook welcomes such jollity.'
'So be it, then. I'll indulge your whim.'
'Thank you, uncle, with all my heart!'
Francis Jordan had recently taken possession of a property on Lord Westfield's estate in Hertfordshire and he was having alterations made before he moved in. He planned to have a banquet to mark his arrival as the new master of Parkbrook House and that day of celebration would now include The Merry Devils as its central feature.
Lord Westfield voiced a slight reservation.
'When will the work be done, Francis?'
'In a month or so.'
'That is too long to wait,' said his uncle impatiently. 'I'll not tarry until Parkbrook be in a fit state to receive my company. In ten days, I return to the country myself. These merry devils will caper for my delight before I leave. See to it, Master Firethorn.'
The actor-manager started and gave an apologetic shrug.: 'Your request is not easy to satisfy, my lord.'
'Then my request will become my command.'
'But we already have plans for our next performances.'
'Change them, sir.'
'The Merry Devils does not figure in our list.'
'Insert it.'
Firethorn gritted his teeth. Having survived one ordeal with the play, he did not wish to be confronted with another quite so soon. Nor did he relish the idea of forcing a reluctant company to present a work which had such unfortunate associations for them.
'Is there no other comedy in our repertoire that would please you, my lord?' he said. 'You have only to choose.'
'That is what I have done, sir.'
'The Merry Devils will be very difficult to mount again.'
'No more evasion,' said his patron with a dismissive sweep of his hand. 'We would have this play again and we would have it with that fiery creature in his flash of red smoke. We shall know when to expect him next time and he will not make our hearts leap so readily into our mouths.' He drained his wine. 'Make arrangements, sir.'
'And do not forget the visit to Parkbrook House,' said Jordan seriously. 'That still stands, Master Firethorn. I would have devilry in my own home, so I would. You will be recompensed.'
Lawrence Firethorn capitulated with a deep bow.
'We are, as always, my lord, your most obedient servants.'
