The Cat’s Eye Shell (9 page)

The duke nodded his head. ‘Good. Thanks, Nat. Don't be late back.'

‘No, sir,' he said, and went quickly out into the street. Father Plummer watched him go with a quizzical look, but then turned back to the card game with every sign of enthusiasm. Luka thought to himself that he was indeed most unlike what he had expected a priest to be.

The children did not play, of course, but they watched the four men and listened to their conversation with great interest. At first it was mainly about the weather, and the game, and the cards they were dealt, but after a while it turned to politics, as it always did.

‘So what news of London?' the duke asked, apparently idly, as one of the strangers dealt out another hand.

‘I heard the Lord Protector has been very sick,' replied the shorter of the two men, named Harrison. ‘They've been praying for him in the city.'

The duke dropped his hand of cards. ‘Saying
prayers
for him!' he repeated incredulously. ‘You don't mean they think he's going to
die
!'

‘Old Noll will never die,' Father Plummer said cheerfully. ‘Play your hand, man!'

But the duke could not. Blood had rushed to his face, and his hands were shaking. He put them
under the table so the two strangers would not see. ‘The Lord Protector?' he said. ‘Dying?'

Harrison shrugged. ‘I heard it from a carter yesterday. He's been sick as a dog ever since his daughter died, so sick he could not even make her funeral. They say he is utterly prostrate with grief.'

‘He's been sick before, though, and recovered,' the other man, Deloney, said.

‘He's tough as they come,' Father Plummer said. ‘More beer?'

‘What's wrong with him?' the duke demanded.

‘Some kind of ague,' Deloney said.

‘No, that's what he had before,' Harrison said. ‘I've heard he's racked with pain in his back and bowels, pain so intense he screams with it.'

Luka remembered the little poppet of Cromwell in the hands of the witch of the New Forest, pierced with a long hatpin, and how, gloating, she had twisted it deeper into the cloth
body. He shuddered, and looked at Emilia, who was very pale.

The duke stood up. ‘I'm sorry, sirs, you must forgive me. I find I'm feeling unwell. I must retire to my room. Thank you for the game, I'm sorry to give it up so early.'

He walked away quickly, and Father Plummer made a profuse apology and followed him, jerking his head at the children to come too. They got up and scurried after him, looking at each other in surprise. Surely the duke could not be so upset at the news Cromwell was ill?

As soon as they were in the privacy of their rooms, though, they saw the duke was not upset, but filled with joy and jubilation. ‘I must get back to my king!' he cried. ‘We must make preparations! If Cromwell is ill, if Cromwell is dying … what better time for us to come back to England? Father Plummer, I must sail tonight! Will you come with me? Where is Nat?
Oddsblood, but I hope he has found a ship for me!'

He danced a few steps of a jig, then tried to compose himself. ‘I must find Nat,' he said. ‘Where could he be?'

‘I'll go and find him, my lord!' Tom cried. ‘Oh, please, let me!'

‘We'll go too,' Luka said. ‘We need to take Rollo out anyway.'

‘Very well,' the duke said. ‘Have a care, though. Rye is not the place for children to be wandering about at night. Miss Emilia had best stay here.'

‘As if!' Emilia cried as soon as she was outside the door. ‘I'm not staying here all by myself. I'll be quite safe with you two.'

‘And Rollo,' Luka added.

Rollo barked loudly, as if he quite agreed.

T
he three children ran down the steps, the big shaggy dog loping at their heels.

In the hallway they collided with a small, dark man with a hat pulled down low over his eyes. He was wearing a long black coat and tall black boots.

Emilia, who had been in the lead, cannoned into him first. He had been standing so still, looking through the glass pane in the door that led into the public bar, that she had not even seen him.

‘Oh, sorry!' she cried, and put up her hand to support herself. The sleeve of his coat was damp.

‘Where are you off to in such a hurry, missy?' he asked, staring down at her with black eyes that glinted in the light from the lantern on the table.

‘Just taking our dog out for a walk,' she said.

‘It's dark out. Shouldn't go out after dark, missy.'

‘We won't be long,' Luka said, and pushed past him, Tom on his heels. Emilia followed them, but turned at the door to glance back at the stranger. When he had turned his head to watch them troop past, she had seen, she thought, a strangely glowing earring hanging from his ear. It had been no more than a glimpse, but it made her curious.

The man smiled at her, showing a mouth of rotten teeth. ‘Not much of a moon tonight,
remember, missy,' he said in a low voice. It sounded like a warning.

She nodded, and went out into the night. A lantern hung by the front door, but beyond the narrow street was filled with darkness. The boys had already turned and were running down the lane, and she ran after them. A strange sort of exultation filled them all. They leapt and bounded, careless of the uneven cobblestones.
Cromwell is sick, maybe dying,
Emilia thought.
Did the witch of the New Forest do that? Is it magic?

‘Which way?' Luka cried.

‘Down to the Strand,' Tom called back. ‘Father Plummer showed us where the ships are, this afternoon, remember? Straight down this hill.'

They reached the bottom of the hill and slowed, panting. Zizi had struggled halfway out of Luka's coat and was looking about her curiously. Luka lifted her so she sat on his
shoulder, and gave her an affectionate pat. ‘Stay close, monkey girl,' he whispered. ‘I don't want you getting lost.'

The great bulk of the Strand Gate loomed before them, half in ruins. They slipped through, looking about them. Down on the quay all was quiet. A watchman made his rounds with a lantern on a hook. The ships bobbed up and down on their moorings. There was no sign of Nat.

The children did not want to be caught by the watchman, so they crouched in the shadows until he had turned the corner. They then slipped out and prowled up and down the quay, looking at all the boats. Some were dark and quiet. Others had lights in their windows and the sound of voices coming from the cabins. They could not hear Nat's gruff tones. They hesitated, wondering what to do, then walked the length of the quay again. Some of the voices were speaking in a foreign language. They did not recognise it.

Rollo growled softly, and they quickly crouched behind a big pile of bales on the wharf. It was the watchman making his rounds again.

‘Down, boy,' Emilia whispered, and obediently Rollo lay quietly till the watchman had gone.

‘What should we do now?' Tom whispered.

Luka shrugged. ‘Go back? It's very odd. Where can Nat have gone?'

An icy hand suddenly clutched at Emilia's
heart. ‘You don't think he's gone to inform the constables, do you?'

‘No!' Tom cried. ‘Why, he's the duke's own servant!'

‘It wouldn't be the first time a servant has betrayed his master,' Luka said. ‘Besides, remember how he left his scarf in the guardroom at Arundel? If I had not seen it …'

‘We were all in a rush,' Tom said. ‘Anyone could have dropped something.'

‘I suppose so,' Luka said.

‘If you're going to suspect anyone, I'd suspect Father Plummer,' Tom said. ‘He's not at all like a priest!'

‘No,' Luka agreed, ‘but he wouldn't want to act like a priest, would he, really? He's obviously in disguise.'

‘But brandy in a hipflask,' Tom said, shaking his head. ‘And gambling in an inn.'

‘And knowing all about smugglers,' Emilia put in.

They stared at each other, feeling uneasy.

‘There's another thing about Nat,' Emilia said, voicing something that had been troubling her vaguely all evening. ‘He says he doesn't approve of gambling …'

‘Well, it is rather puritanical,' Tom said, ‘but not all Royalists like drinking and playing cards, you know.'

‘Aye, of course,' Emilia said. ‘It's just … well, the first time I saw him, it was up at Epsom Downs, you know, that day I was riding in the race.'

‘So?'

‘Well, I saw him there, putting money on the race. He gave Sebastien's father the heaviest purse! Yet he says he doesn't approve of gambling.'

Luka and Tom thought about this.

‘It does seem odd,' Tom said, ‘but it probably doesn't mean anything. Maybe he was putting on a bet for the duke.'

‘Or maybe he doesn't want anyone to know his secret vice,' Luka said with a grin.

‘Maybe,' Emilia said. ‘It just makes me feel uneasy. Like we shouldn't have left the duke.'

Tom got up, looking worried. ‘Let's go back. There's nothing happening here.'

They climbed the hill back up to the inn, and were relieved to find Nat had returned.

‘But where were you?' Tom cried. ‘We looked all over the quay, and it was quiet as anything!'

‘I walked back the other way,' Nat said. ‘I wanted to have a bit of a scout around, to make sure all was well.'

What other way?
Luka thought. It was a straight line from the inn to the quay. He would have had to go right round the whole town.

‘I wanted to stretch my legs,' Nat said, as if reading his thoughts.

Zizi gibbered in derision.

‘Good news though!' the duke cried. ‘Nat has
found me a ship, leaving for France on the dawn tide.'

Tom cried out in relief. ‘Oh, thank heavens! I'm so glad. Are you sure it's safe?'

‘Quite sure,' Nat said. ‘The ship's captain was perfectly willing to take on some extra passengers – for a price.'

‘My purse is as thin as a beggar's dog,' the duke said ruefully. ‘I could have done with winning some coins tonight.'

Nat frowned, and shut his lips together firmly, turning away to get out the duke's nightshirt, which he hung by the fire to warm.

‘Best get off to bed, children,' the duke said. ‘I know I'm unutterably weary, and this is my last chance to sleep in a real bed for a while.'

Emilia glanced at Father Plummer, who was standing quietly by the fire, his round face worried.

‘Did you hear from the smugglers?' she asked.

He shook his head. ‘No, but it's early yet. Midnight is more their hour.'

‘I hope they don't come scratching on my door,' the duke said. ‘I plan on being fast asleep! Nat, will you wake me with plenty of time?'

‘Certainly, my lord.'

‘I'll say my farewells to you now, then,' the duke said, smiling at the children.

‘Please, my lord, may I not come with you?' Tom cried.

‘Tom, you know how much I need men to help. But you are so young, and I do not want to bring grief to your family …'

‘Please?' Tom cried.

He shook his head. ‘I'm sorry, Tom. Go home and look after your father, and wait for news. With the glad tidings I've had tonight, perhaps it will not be so long till we meet again!'

Emilia could not help thinking how sad it was
that the illness of one poor old man was greeted with such delight.

‘Luka, Emilia, I wish you all the best,' the duke said then. ‘I hope you succeed in freeing your family. I'm sure all will be well for you. At least you are in the right place to find your kin, if they really are the smugglers Father Plummer knows.'

‘I'm sure they are,' Luka said. ‘Thank you.'

‘Well, then, goodnight,' the duke said. ‘Let us have one last toast to the king, with our friend Father Plummer's excellent French brandy. To the king!'

‘Let him come home soon!' Tom said, his voice breaking.

Luka, swallowing a mouthful of liquid fire, hoped it was the brandy that brought a mist before his eyes and a choke to his throat. He would hate to think he had become a Royalist.

They went to bed, so tired they could barely stumble to their rooms. The bed seemed to rock
beneath Luka, as if he was on a great ship at sea and not on solid land. He closed his eyes and felt himself sink down into sleep like a deep, dark ocean swimming with strange fish.

Beatrice stroked back Mimi's curly black hair, softly singing a lullaby. The little girl shut her eyes, cuddling her rag doll to her cheek.

The cell grew quiet as Beatrice sang, and even the incessant coughing of the sick man next door died down. Everyone listened in intense pleasure, for Beatrice's voice was clear and warm and golden as sunshine, as sweet as the air in springtime. She sang on, dropping her voice towards the end, hoping Mimi was asleep at last. But when she had finished, the little girl opened her eyes sleepily and said, ‘More.'

‘All right,' Beatrice said, though her voice was
hoarse. She began to sing a beautiful old love song:

‘In the middle of the ocean,

There shall grow a myrtle tree

If ever I prove false, my love,

To the boy that loves me.'

Suddenly there came the sound of bolts being drawn back, and the iron door was flung open. Beatrice flinched as light poured in over them, and lifted her arm to shield her eyes.

The pastor stood in the doorway, his shadow pointing like an accusing finger. His face was white and rigid with rage.

‘Singing!' he hissed. ‘You profane our presence with singing? What must we do to teach you to keep a proper silence?'

‘I was only singing a lullaby,' Beatrice stammered. ‘To put little Mimi to sleep.'

He stood over her, staring down at her. She dropped her eyes and drew her shawl closer.

‘You must beware of the first approaches of sin,' he said in a low voice. ‘This sin of vanity and frivolity brings down your soul from the doors of heaven and makes it wallow like swine in a beloved dunghill. I have come here today, I thought, to give succour to a dying soul, but now I see I was brought here to teach you the wages of sin. Get up!'

After a moment, Beatrice got up, her legs trembling beneath her. She turned one frightened glance towards her grandmother, who laid her finger on her lips, urging her to be still and meek.

‘Come with me,' the pastor ordered.

Beatrice dared not protest. Gently she pushed away Mimi's clinging hands, and followed the pastor out of the cell.

‘Bring her to the warden's room,' he snapped at the guard, who seized Beatrice painfully by the elbow and marched her down the hall, following the pastor's black-robed form. It was quiet and dark in the hallway, the only light cast by a lantern
on a table outside the cells, and another in the innkeeper's room at the far end of the corridor.