Black Powder (3 page)

Sliding his left foot through Old Hector's stirrup, Tom's father hauled himself on to the cob's twitching back. He clicked his tongue against his teeth then dug his heels into the horse's flanks. The priest did the same with Sweet Jenny and the two animals lurched forwards.

Tom ran after them. As they turned on to the London road, he opened his mouth to call goodbye, then clamped it quickly shut again. Fool! What was he thinking of ? He glanced at the windows of the houses opposite. If any of the neighbours woke now . . .

When he looked back at the road, the horses had already picked up speed. A few moments later, riders and mounts disappeared, swallowed up by the early morning mist.

Tom closed his eyes and gripped the knife handle tight in his palm.

Please, Lord, let them go safely and let Father be back before nightfall like he said
.

Chapter Four

T
om was nearly done with chopping wood in the yard when a commotion started up in the street outside. He darted through the gates to the front of the house, hatchet in hand. His mother stood at the door, Edward straddled over her left hip. Four men crowded in on them from the steps below. He wasn't close enough to hear their questions, but from the look of fear which flashed across his mother's face, he knew they'd come to make trouble.

‘Mother?' He elbowed his way between them and ran up the steps to join her.

She bit her lip, then thrust Edward at him. ‘Take your brother, Tom, and go inside.'

‘Not so fast!'

Tom froze. Constable Skinner! He turned round. Sure enough, there was the constable, hands on his hips, legs apart, his fleshy lips twisted into a sneer. A spark of panic
shot through Tom. Had Father and the priest been captured? He searched his mother's face for a sign. A pink flush stained her neck, but her eyes were a steely blue.

‘I said, take your brother!' The sharpness in her voice surprised him.

Reluctantly he dropped the hatchet and reached for Edward. But as his fingers closed round his chubby body, one of the constable's gang, a scrawny man with weasel eyes and scabby hands, darted forwards and ripped the baby from him.

‘No!' Tom's mother gave a strangled cry.

‘Leave him alone!' Tom made a swipe, but Weasel Face was quicker. He swung Edward out of his reach and dangled him by the neck of his gown.

The baby screwed up his face and screamed.

‘What a tasty morsel. How about we take him back to our lodgings, stick him on a spit and roast him for our dinner?' Weasel Face slid his tongue over a row of needle-sharp teeth. The other men laughed.

Edward's howls grew louder.

‘Please, no!' His mother stumbled down the steps with Tom close on her heels, but Constable Skinner stepped out and blocked their way.

‘Why must you papists always make such a spectacle of yourselves?' He jerked his head at the group of men and women who had gathered on the opposite side of the street.

Tom waved at them frantically. ‘Help us!'

A few shook their heads and pulled back into their houses. The rest just stood there. Anger spurted up inside
him. These people were their neighbours. Why didn't they do something?

Constable Skinner snorted. ‘Seems you're not very popular in these parts. Take her inside for questioning.' He signalled to Weasel Face, then grabbed Tom by the collar and shoved him back up the steps.

He squirmed against Skinner's grip. ‘If you dare hurt them . . .'

Skinner leered at him. ‘You'll do what? Now stop wasting my time. I've got two papist curs to catch, and you and your precious mother are going to help me, like it or not.'

So Father and the priest were still free. Tom closed his eyes.
Thank you, God
.

‘Save your prayers, Pope-worshipper,' Skinner snarled. ‘You'll need them later. Now inside, before I lose my temper.' He bundled Tom through the door, and called back over his shoulder, ‘One of you take the runt upstairs. I can't think straight with all that bleating.' He marched Tom down the passageway and into the kitchen.

Weasel Face joined them a few moments later, dragging Tom's mother by the wrists. He kicked the door shut and pushed her down in the chair by the hearth.

‘Tie her up, man. Good. Now, reveal where your husband is, sweet mistress, and I might let you go free.'

She glared up at Skinner and pursed her lips.

‘We've got a stubborn one here. Time she was taught a lesson.' Skinner nodded at Weasel Face, who raised his right fist.

She winced and twisted her head away.

‘No!' Tom broke free and dashed towards Weasel Face. He was almost upon him when a foot clipped his heels. He sprawled to the floor. Skinner dragged him to his feet and forced his right arm up behind his back.

‘Reckon yourself a hero, do you? Well, there are easier ways to save your mother's pretty face. It's simple. All you have to do is tell us where your father and that Jesuit dog have gone.'

‘No, Tom, don't!' His mother's chair scraped the flag-stones as she strained against the ropes that bound her.

‘Silence!' Skinner pulled a greasy kerchief from his jerkin, yanked back her head and rammed the cloth into her mouth. She gagged against it trying to spit it out, but it was in too far.

Weasel Face's scabby fist quivered inches from her right cheek. A dribble of cold sweat trickled down the side of Tom's face. What should he do? If he told them Father and the priest were bound for London, they'd hunt them down and catch them for certain. But if he kept quiet, they'd beat Mother, maybe even kill her.

What would William have done in his place? He clenched his jaw. It didn't matter. William was dead. He was the man of the family now. He scrunched his eyes shut.
Think, Tom Garnett. Think!

Skinner shook him. ‘Praying again? Well, God won't help you now. So, what's it to be?'

Weasel Face snatched back his fist and took aim.

‘Don't hurt her. Please!' Tom made to leap forwards but Skinner hauled him back. He shot his mother a desperate
look. ‘Father said the man needed help. He was hungry and . . .'

The constable narrowed his eyes. ‘So, the hellhound
was
under your roof. Where did they go?' He swung him round and pressed a stubble-covered cheek against his own smooth one. Tom gagged as a wave of ale-soured breath enveloped him.

A muffled cry sounded behind them. He jerked round. His mother shook her head and rolled her eyes.

Skinner dug his fingers into his shoulder. ‘Speak, or it will go the worse for her.'

Tom's ears filled with a rushing sound. It was no use. He'd have to tell him. What else could he do? He blinked. Once. Twice, then sucked in a breath.

‘They . . . they took the London road at dawn.'

His mother groaned and closed her eyes.

Constable Skinner's lips twisted into a cold smile. ‘So, one of the vipers turns on its own. Thank you, Master Garnett. You've been most helpful. I will raise a mug of ale to you when we have them both safely under lock and key and I have collected my reward from Robert Cecil's men.' He turned to Weasel Face. ‘Fetch the runt. Give him to his brother and release them.'

Weasel Face nodded, yanked open the door and disappeared.

‘Wh-what about my mother?'

‘I'm afraid my men will be settling her in some new, less comfortable lodgings in the town gaol.' Skinner gave a brown-toothed grin, then turned and planted himself in
front of Tom's mother. ‘You are under arrest, mistress, on suspicion of harbouring a priest. And if we find your worm of a husband and not the priest, I am sure a cold knife at your lovely white throat will persuade him to talk.'

She threw back her head and rocked from side to side.

‘Let her go, please!' Tom tugged at Skinner's sleeve.

He pushed him off. ‘Quiet, or I will throw you and your brother in gaol too and feed you to the rats. We've got some monstrous big ones.' He bared his teeth. ‘And they are always hungry.'

Heavy footsteps echoed down the passageway outside and with them the sound of a baby's cries.

Tom's mother jerked her head up. The door banged open and Weasel Face hurried inside, a bundle in his arms. A pair of pink fists pushed up from it and beat against his chest.

Weasel Face shoved the bundle at Tom. Edward wriggled and squirmed, his face scrunched and angry-looking.

‘As I'm a reasonable man, I'll give you a few moments to say your farewells.' Skinner gave another mean grin then turned to Weasel Face. ‘Once they're done with their weeping and wailing, send him and his brother packing and take the woman to the gaol.' He turned on his heels.

‘Where are you going?' Weasel Face called after him.

‘To the stables to get the horses. You heard what the boy said.' The constable threw Tom a look of glittering menace. ‘There's a pair of wily Catholic foxes on the road. We must go after them in the King's name and hunt them down.' He threw open the door and strode out into the passageway.

‘No! Please!' Tom made to dash after him.

Weasel Face blocked him. ‘Get back! And don't think of trying anything, or my friend here'll teach you a lesson you won't forget.' He fingered the knife at his belt then slid out after his master, slamming the door behind him.

Tom stared down into Edward's tear-stained face.
What have I done, little Ned? What have I done?

Chapter Five

A
strangled groan jolted Tom to his senses.

‘Mother!' He set Edward down on the floor and rushed over to her. Pulling the cloth from her mouth, he fumbled at the rope round her middle.

‘Don't worry about that.' She gave a hoarse cough. ‘Edward, is he all right?'

He picked him up again and checked him over. ‘Yes, just hungry, I think.' He held him out to her.

‘Thank God.' She pressed her dry lips to the baby's rosy pink cheek and closed her eyes.

Tom swallowed against the knot in his throat. How long would Father stay safe now he'd betrayed him? He lay his brother down again and sank to his knees in front of her. ‘I – I – I didn't want to tell them, but that man. He was going to hit you and . . .' The words dried into shuddering sobs. He hung his head.

‘Shhhh, son. It wasn't your fault.'

‘But it was. Father told me to look after you and Ned while he was gone. And I tried, but—'

‘I know, Tom. But, you are just a boy and they' – she licked her lips – ‘they are devils.'

A boy! He jumped up, cheeks burning. But she was right, wasn't she? Only a puny milksop would betray his own father and give in to Skinner like that. His eyes stung. He turned away so she wouldn't see his tears.

‘Listen to me. There's still a chance your father will get the priest to safety before those brutes catch up with them.'

‘But what if he doesn't? And if they do escape, how can Father ever come home again?' He hugged his arms to his chest and stared at his boots. If only Father had never met the priest in the first place . . .

‘Tom.' His mother's voice sounded urgent. ‘You want to help your father, don't you?'

He shot his head up. ‘Yes, but . . .'

‘Then you must listen to me very carefully.'

His heart leapt. Did she really know a way?

‘My prayer book. It's inside a small pouch fixed to the underside of my apron. Get it for me please.'

He sighed. So that's what she meant. Well, praying wasn't going to help Father now.

‘Quickly!' Her eyes darted to the door. ‘That rat of a henchman will be back soon.'

He bent down and flipped up the edge of her apron. A small sleeve of cloth was sewn into it about halfway up. He reached inside and fished out a leather-covered book. He
cleared his throat. ‘Which page do you want me to read from?'

A sad smile flickered across her lips. ‘It's not for that.'

He frowned. ‘What then?'

‘It's the key to the help we need.'