Black Powder (10 page)

Chapter Fourteen

A
s they ran across the cobbles, Tom glanced up at the windows above them. They glittered down on him as if following his every move. He shivered. What if behind the glass, there were real eyes watching? The eyes of a spy. He pulled his cloak tight around him and hurried on.

‘In here!' Cressida darted beneath a low doorway.

‘Where are you taking me?'

‘You'll see. Fetch a light, will you?' She jerked her head at the stand of flickering candles in the passage behind.

He frowned. ‘Fetch one yourself.'

‘What, and have hot beeswax burn my hands?'

He raised his eyebrows. ‘But it doesn't matter if I burn mine?'

She glared at him. ‘Look. Do you want me to help you or not?'

What choice did he have? He puffed out his cheeks,
strode over to the stand and lifted one of the candles from its spike.

‘You first.' She pointed to a flight of stairs which wound down into the floor behind her.

Marching over to it, he shone the candle into the gloom. The light reached as far as the third step, then beyond it, nothing but blackness.

The sound of giggling echoed behind him. ‘You're not scared, are you?'

He flushed. ‘Don't be stupid!' He gripped the candle tighter and began to descend. He'd gone fifteen steps, maybe twenty, when the stairs ran out. He lifted the flame above his head. A stone passageway stretched in front of him.

A hand shoved him in the back. ‘Keep going.'

‘Get off me!' He jerked away and stomped along the passageway, boots crunching on the grit-covered flagstones.

‘Stop. You've gone too far.'

He spun round. She was standing in front of a door set into the brick-lined wall. As he trudged back to her, she brushed her curls from her face, smoothed her skirts and raised a fist to the wood.

‘Wh–what are you doing?'

‘Making sure Grimwold, our cellar-keeper, isn't down here.'

‘But what if he is?'

‘Then I'll tell him he's wanted upstairs.' She rapped on the door.

He held his breath. Silence, except for the thump of his
heart against his ribs.

‘It looks like we're in luck!' She flashed him a smile, lifted the latch and stepped inside.

Tom glanced up the passageway. What if Grimwold came back and found them in here? He'd like to see what excuse his clever cousin could come up with then. He frowned, then slipped in after her, shutting the door behind him. The candle flame jumped and flickered before settling to a steady glow. He peered around him. They were standing in a long, narrow room, its lime-washed walls studded with rows of brick shelves. On each shelf rested a line of large wooden barrels. A smell of overripe berries laced with a hint of leathery sourness hung in the air.

Cressida spread out her arms. ‘Our wine cellar.'

Tom raised the candle and shone the light along the length of the room. There were at least a hundred barrels. Maybe more. He let out a whistle. ‘There's enough wine in here to sink the whole English Navy.'

Her face took on a dreamy look. ‘Why that sounds just like something from one of Mister Shakespeare's plays.'

He frowned. ‘Mister who?'

She rolled her eyes. ‘England's greatest living playwright, of course. But this is nothing. The cellar is much better stocked when the lord my father is at home.'

‘Why do you call him that?'

‘What?'

‘The lord-my-father?' He mimicked her voice.

She blushed. ‘Because . . . because . . . it's the proper thing to do.'

‘The proper thing?'

She poked her nose in the air. ‘I wouldn't expect someone of your position to understand.'

He scowled. These Montagues. They thought they were so much better than anyone else. He peered into the darkness beyond the shelves. ‘I thought you said there was another way out.'

‘There is. Through a tunnel.' Her eyes flashed in the candlelight.

His breath caught in his throat. He hadn't been expecting that. ‘A tunnel?'

‘Yes.' She sniffed. ‘It runs from here to the town. I've never been inside it myself, but . . .'

‘So how do you know where it goes?'

‘The townspeople who attend the Mass use it. It saves any embarrassment with the local constable.'

Of course. It made perfect sense. It would be risking too much to have the common folk arrive for Mass on a Sunday at Cowdray's front gate. He glanced around him. ‘So where's the entrance?'

Cressida pressed her lips together and frowned. ‘It's here somewhere. I'm sure it won't take too long to find.' She turned and skipped her fingers daintily along a blank stretch of brickwork then stopped and pulled a face. ‘It really is horribly dirty down here.' She dusted the front of her dress with her hand.

He shook his head. This cousin of his, she wouldn't last long in the world outside Cowdray's grey walls. An image of Father bruised and bloodied and lying in a stinking gaol
cell flashed before him. He shivered and blinked it away before it could take a stronger hold.

They needed more light. Wedging the candle into a gap in the bricks, he fished inside his bundle for the one he'd taken from his room and lit that too.

‘If the tunnel leads to the town, it's more likely to be on
this
side.' He ran the flame along the opposite wall, skimming the bricks with his left hand. Nothing there. He moved on past another shelf of wine barrels to the next clear space. His fingers brushed against something soft and sticky. He snatched them away and held them up to the candlelight. They were plastered in spiders' webs, peppered with the husks of dead flies.

A warm breath tickled the back of his neck. ‘What on earth is that?'

‘A bit of Grimwold's leftover breakfast.' He wiped off the mess on the leg of his fancy breeches.

She pulled another face, but this time, her eyes flickered with the trace of a smile.

He was about to turn back to the wall when a scratching noise came from his bundle. Jago! Of course! He'd always had a good nose for escape.

‘Take this!' He thrust the candle at her.

‘What are you doing?'

He fished Jago out of his box and dropped him on to his upturned palm.

She raised a hand to her mouth and took a step back. ‘Put that . . . that creature back in its box.'

Ignoring her, he stroked Jago's head and set him on the
floor at their feet. ‘Find me that tunnel entrance, boy, and when we get home, I'll get you the biggest cheese you've ever seen.'

The mouse gave a squeak and scampered off. Tom grabbed the candle from Cressida and hurried after him, tracking his every movement. Halfway along the next section of wall, Jago stopped. He twitched his nose and whiskers then squeezed himself flat against the dusty floor and disappeared.

Cressida let out a cry and wrapped her skirts tight around her legs. ‘Where did he go?'

Tom grimaced. ‘I don't know.' He crouched and traced his fingers along the bottom of the wall. The surface here had been lime-washed too, but it wasn't brick. It was wood. His fingertips caught a draught of cool air. He ran them in a straight line up from the floor. They snagged against something halfway up. A loop of rope.

‘I think I've found something.'

She bent down next to him. ‘What?'

‘It looks like some kind of handle.' He tugged on the rope but it held fast. Ramming the candle into a nearby crevice, he gripped the rope with both hands and pulled. The section of wall lurched forwards. A cool rush of air flowed through the gap.

Jago had done it!

‘It's a door.' He yanked again, but it was stuck fast. He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Help me, can't you?'

She pouted. ‘But I'll ruin my gown.'

‘I'm sure the lord-your-father can buy you another.'

She hoisted her shoulders and gave him an icy stare. ‘Are you mocking me?'

‘We don't have time for this. What if Grimwold comes back?'

She didn't move.

‘Come on. Please . . .'

She let out a sigh. ‘All right, but just remember, I'm not one of your peasant playfellows.'

There she went again. Still, not long now and he'd be free of her and ‘Granny' for good. ‘Put your arms round me and hold on tight.'

Her arms circled his waist. He drew in a breath and braced himself. ‘One. Two. Three. Pull!' He yanked on the door.

Nothing happened.

‘Harder!'

Her fingers dug into his stomach. They pulled again. With a rickety groan, the door juddered then swung towards them.

Tom staggered backwards and thudded to the floor. There was a moaning sound behind him. He rolled over and looked up. Cressida lay flat on her back in the dust, curls plastered to her forehead.

He scrambled up. ‘Are you hurt?'

She blinked then took a deep breath and sat up. ‘I . . . I don't think so.'

‘Here.' He hauled her to her feet.

She stared at the front of her dress. It was covered with smuts of dirt and cobwebs.

He felt a twist of guilt. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘It wasn't your fault.' She sniffed and shook out her skirts. A cloud of dust puffed up around her making her sneeze.

‘You were right about the tunnel.' He jerked his head at the door.

‘I was, wasn't I?' She gave a small smile.

‘Er, well . . . Goodbye then.' He grabbed the candle closest to him, slung his bundle over his shoulder and turned to go.

‘Wait. I'm coming too.'

‘What?' He spun round. If she thought he was going to take her with him . . .

‘Only as far as the other end.' She dabbed her nose with her kerchief. ‘I want to see where it comes out.'

‘But won't your granny be missing you?'

She twisted the kerchief in her hands. ‘No, I don't think so. In fact, I doubt anyone would really miss me much, even if I left Cowdray for good.' Her bottom lip trembled.

He widened his eyes. ‘What about your mother and father?'

She shook her head. ‘The lord my . . .' She glanced at him. ‘I mean,
Father
spends most of his time at court these days. And now my brothers and sisters are married, Mother has no reason to stay here either.' Her eyes glistened. ‘That's why I climb the tower each night.'

He frowned. ‘What do you mean?'

‘To watch for Father. In case he comes home. Except he never does.' She raised the kerchief to her cheek and turned away.

Was this a girl's trick to try and make him feel sorry for her? Tom wasn't sure. The tears looked real enough. But how could she be unhappy when she had everything anyone could ever want?

‘Anyway' – she blew her nose and turned to face him again – ‘I thought you might need some help getting your mouse back.'

Jago! She was right. He needed to track him down and quickly.

‘All right.' He frowned. ‘But just to the end of the tunnel. From there, I'm going on alone.'

She dabbed at her eyes again and nodded.

‘Come on then, quick. Before Grimwold finds out we're here.' He took a deep breath, pulled his cloak around him and stepped through the door.

Chapter Fifteen

‘
E
ugghh!' Cressida pressed her kerchief to her nose.

‘How could anyone bear the smell?'

The light from the candle danced across the entrance of a rough-hewn passageway casting serpent-like shadows across its walls. A waft of dankness and the sound of dripping water came from somewhere further inside.

Tom cupped his hand round the candle flame and shone it over the jagged outcrops of rock above his head. ‘I wonder how long it's been here?'

She shivered. ‘Years from the look of all that green slime on the walls. Great-Grandfather probably ordered it to be dug when he had Cowdray built.'

‘What for?'

Her eyes gleamed back at him cat-like in the darkness. ‘Granny has always been a priest-squirreller. Father told us that when things got bad for the Catholics under the old
Queen, Granny would give them shelter and stow them away in secret hiding places until they could be got to safety overseas.'

He frowned. ‘I thought you said Queen Elizabeth stayed here once?'

‘She did. She and Granny were the best of friends.'

‘But I don't understand. How could they be when they were on opposite sides?'

She shrugged. ‘Granny is a Catholic, but she was always loyal to the Queen. At least that's what Father said.' Cressida fluttered her eyelashes and sighed. ‘I suppose it's a bit like being an actor really.'

He shook his head. Typical Montagues. Saying one thing and doing another. That carving of the two-headed dog he'd seen in the Viscountess's room suited them well. But why was he wasting his time thinking about them? He needed to find Jago. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and made a chirping noise. The sound bounced away along the tunnel walls.