He opened a drawer and pulled out a smaller black tube. Luka took it from him eagerly, putting it to his eye and shouting with excitement as the map on the opposite wall sprang towards him in sudden sharp detail. He turned this way and that, and looked up at the ceiling and down at the floor.
‘Tom, I can see right up your nose,’ he exclaimed. ‘Your nose hairs are as big as tree trunks!’
‘Are not!’ Tom cried and went out in a huff.
Luka laughed and followed him, the telescope still to his eye, John guiding him by his shoulders so he did not bump into anything. Emilia, following along behind, put her hand down through the slit in her pocket and fingered the little bump hidden in her purse, wondering and wishing.
Flash, Flash, Flash
FIRLE PLACE, EAST SUSSEX, ENGLAND
23rd August 1658
That night, when all was dark, Emilia slipped out of bed and went to the door, her bare feet making no sound on the soft carpet. Rollo followed her, his tail wagging against her legs. She opened the bedroom door and looked up and down the hall, then quietly went down the stairs and through the silent, sleeping house till she came to the door where they had first entered the house. It was locked, but Emilia had seen where Lady Mary had hidden the key and it was the work of a moment to unlock the door and step out into the night garden.
The air was soft and warm, and smelt of the lilies growing in pots on the patio. Emilia wandered under the trees, the grass soft under her feet, enjoying the silence and the stillness. She quite liked John, but he never stopped talking, and never sat still for more than a moment.
It was not only John’s relentless energy that had driven Emilia out into the night garden. She found the soft luxury of the house stifling. Everything was so fine and precious, she dared not touch anything, and she was constantly catching Rollo’s tail to stop him smashing a piece of fine china or knocking over a lantern. Emilia was not used to big, grand houses. They made her feel clumsy and out of place, and she much preferred the quiet, dark garden, and the heathery smell of the wind off the Downs.
‘Maybe I could bring a pillow and blanket out here and sleep under the stars,’ she said to Rollo, lying under a big beech tree and gazing up at the night sky. Rollo beat his tail gently against the ground, and put his head on her lap. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t leave the house all unlocked, though,’ she said with a yawn. ‘Just a few more minutes and I’ll go in.’
It was so comfortable under the tree, though, that Emilia must have slipped into sleep. She woke some hours later, feeling cold and stiff, and sat up, yawning and rubbing her eyes.
‘Better go in,’ Emilia said to Rollo, and got up, stretching her arms high over her head, then making her way back to the dark, sleeping house. A flash of light made her pause. She stood still, staring at the house, and saw the flash come again. Someone was signalling from an upstairs window with a lantern, opening and closing its shutter rhythmically. Flash, flash, flash, went the light, on and on and on.
Emilia tried to fix in her head which window the light was appearing in. Why would someone be signalling? Who were they signalling to? Surely it was dangerous to draw such attention to the house when the Duke of Ormonde was hiding there? Worried and upset, she crept back inside and went up the stairs, Rollo pressed close to her legs. A stair creaked under her foot, and she froze, but nobody stirred. She went along the corridor, bending and looking through every keyhole or under the door, looking for a clue as to which room the light was in, but all was dark.
She hesitated in the corridor for a moment, not knowing what to do. She had to tell the duke, she knew, but the house was so peaceful, and she was shy of rousing him. In the end, she woke Luka and he was alarmed enough to kindle a lantern and go to the duke’s room straightaway.
‘Someone was signalling!’ the duke exclaimed when Emilia told him what she had seen. ‘You’re sure? There must be a traitor in our midst! Nat! Nat! Wake up! We must get on the road at once.’
For the next ten minutes there was wild confusion as everyone got dressed and threw their belongings together. Father Plummer had dragged his robe on askew, and his short hair stuck up everywhere, but he was the first one ready and chivvied Nat along mercilessly as the duke’s servant methodically folded and packed all the duke’s fine silk shirts.
‘He won’t care if his shirts are crushed in the Tower of London, my good fellow!’ Father Plummer cried. ‘Just throw them in any old how, and let us be on our way!’
Lady Mary was very unhappy at the idea someone in her household had betrayed them. ‘But nobody knows that you are here except Simon and dear old Nellie, who’s as faithful as they come,’ she protested. ‘And it can’t have been Simon, he has his own cottage near the gatehouse.’
‘What of this Nellie?’ the duke demanded.
‘I’d stake my life on her faithfulness,’ Lady Mary cried.
John said stoutly, ‘Nellie is mad about the king, sir, she is always talking about the good old days and how the country’s gone to rack and ruin since Old Ironsides took over. Why, she even has a handkerchief dipped in King Charles the Martyr’s blood!’
This made Emilia feel quite queasy. ‘You mean the old king, whose head was cut off?’
‘Aye. She and her sister went up to London to see the beheading, and they mopped their handkerchiefs into his blood after it was done.’
‘Your cook went to see the king beheaded?’ Tom was revolted.
‘They wanted to show him at least someone in the crowd would weep at his passing.’
‘That’s so sad,’ Emilia said.
‘Aye. Nellie said it was a dreadful day. She had not really believed they would do it. The executioner was hooded, and wore a wig and a false beard, so no one would know who it was that killed the king.’
‘Very well, your Nellie may be loyal, but what of the other servants?’ the duke asked impatiently.
‘They do not know – and not because I don’t trust them. I would vouch my life on their faithfulness. I have, many times! If they wished to betray us, they could’ve, over and over again.’ Lady Mary wrung her hands in distress.
‘Aye, but perhaps I’m a greater prize than you and your jewelled crosses and prayer books.’
‘Oh, I do not know! I hope it was no one in this house. How can I be sure? Of course, the servants must know that there are visitors, no matter how quiet we’ve kept you – but would they suspect who you really are? How could they?’ Lady Mary turned to her son in her distress, and he comforted her, though his face was white with shock.
‘Perhaps the very fact we kept ourselves so quiet raised their suspicions, who can tell?’ The duke turned to Nat. ‘We must be on our way at once. The soldiers could be here any minute!’
Nat nodded and heaved the duke’s bag onto his shoulder.
‘Are you ready?’ the duke asked the children, and they nodded, feeling frightened. ‘Good. Then let us go!’
Father Plummer led the way down the stairs in a rush. One by one they ran from the side door and into the shrubbery, keeping low. Emilia could see nothing in the early morning mist, but John went with them, to show them the way to a hiding place in the wood at the far end of the property. For once he was quiet and solemn, much to Emilia’s relief. Her heart was hammering so loud she thought the others must hear it.
She glanced back at the house. The windows were still dark, but smoke drifted from the kitchen chimney, and somewhere a rooster was crowing. Firle Beacon rose high against the brightening sky, like the humped shoulder of a sleeping giant. As the small party hurried through the little gate at the end of the garden, they heard the sound of horses’ hooves drumming along the drive. John turned a white, scared face back towards them, and led them at a run into the wood.
They tramped through the trees, bending double to squeeze through the undergrowth, until they reached the road again. Here the land dipped, and there was a little section of road that was hidden from view, filled with mist like a cup overflowing with milk. Emilia, Luka, To
m, the Duke of Ormonde, Father Plummer and Nat each found a bush or tree to hide behind. Everyone was very afraid.
‘No one will betray you, my lord,’ John said to the duke. ‘I promise you that. Wait here and Simon will bring the cart for you and take you to the coast as planned.’
The Duke of Ormonde nodded, his jaw set hard with tension.
John bent and whispered to Luka and Emilia, crouched together under an alder bush, ‘I might be seeing you two later, all right? But if I don’t, well, good luck! I hope you get your family out of prison.’
‘Bye, John!’ Luka said. ‘It was grand meeting you. I hope you get to invent something one day.’
John nodded and grinned, then bent and pushed something into Luka’s hand. ‘Hope it helps,’ he whispered, and then he turned and disappeared into the woods. With shining eyes, Luka held out his hand so Emilia could see what he held. It was the little telescope.
About an hour later, when the sun was up and the mist dissolved, a cart came trundling down the road, driven by Simon the gardener with plump Nellie the cook up on the seat beside him. The cart stopped in the little dip, and at once the six companions went running out and scrambled up into the back, Emilia dragging Rollo up behind her, his sharp claws scratching her legs. It was a large cart, and laden with barrels and sacks and baskets, but Simon had arranged them all so that there was quite a large space in the middle, covered by a canvas tarpaulin. They were all able to squeeze in and drag the tarpaulin over their heads, though they were uncomfortably squashed.
Simon clicked his tongue and slapped the reins on the rumps of the two big, dapple-grey carthorses so that they began to haul the cart along again.
‘I don’t know what those soldiers were doing, rampaging through the whole house this morning at the crack of dawn, and turning everything upside down,’ Nellie said in an unnecessarily loud voice. ‘Ill-mannered louts! Lucky all was in order. My poor lady has had enough grief in her life without being turned out of her bed in her nightgown.’
The fugitives hiding in the cart all exchanged quick glances.
‘They weren’t too pleased to find young Master John hiding in the cart, were they, Simon?’ she went on. ‘If Lady Mary had not been so obviously upset and angry with him, I think they would have suspected her of trying to smuggle him out of the country. Poor lad! Why shouldn’t he go to market if he wants? A boy deserves a bit of fun every now and again.’
Emilia and Luka glanced at each other, grinning. They were not at all surprised at this piece of news.
The cart rattled on, turning onto the main highway. Emilia wriggled about a bit until she could get her eye to a gap in the barrels, eager to see where they were going. She saw the Downs, high and green on her right, rolling down to lush squares of fields and meadows, separated by neat hedgerows and the occasional stone wall. The road dipped down to a valley and they crossed a bridge over the Cuckmere River, and then, some time later, passed the huge white figure of a man carved into the steep hillside, a long stick in either hand. This, Nellie informed Simon, was the Long Man of Wilmington.
‘When I was a lass, my granny told me that there was once two giants, one here on Windover Hill, and the other over on Firle Beacon. They fell out, and got to throwing stones at each other, and this one here was killed. That’s where he fell, that big figure. Close on two hundred and thirty feet long, he is. My granny always insisted there used to be another figure on Firle Beacon, but I never seen him.’
‘My granny used to tell me there’s a silver coffin buried under the Long Man, and a gold coffin buried under Firle Beacon, with old lords from Roman days in them,’ Simon said in his slow, gruff voice, ‘but I never seen them either.’
‘Master John says there are old tombs up there from the very olden days, older even than the Romans. He calls them “barrows” and says he’s found bits of old weapons there. The nasty, dirty things that boy brings into the house! I wonder his mother lets him.’
‘Aaar,’ Simon agreed, and lapsed into silence once more.
Nellie, however, talked virtually nonstop all the way to the coast. By this time, the stifling heat and the rattling of the cart had made them all feel quite sick, and they were glad to stop and get out and stretch their legs, and once their stomachs had settled, have some of Nellie’s delicious ham and veal pie. Simon had drawn off the main road onto a lonely stretch of beach, where seagulls hung over the empty sea, crying sadly. After they had eaten, the children walked up onto the headland and exclaimed at the view. Before them lay the sea, blue and tranquil, stretching away to low clouds on the horizon. To the west, tall white cliffs towered all along the coast, skirted with rocky beaches. A strong breeze blew their hair back from their faces.
‘Hang tight, little monkey girl,’ Luka said, holding Zizi close. ‘I don’t want you falling over the cliff!’
‘I’d like to climb that one,’ Emilia said, pointing to an immense high cliff further down the coast. ‘You’d feel like you were at the top of the world.’
They looked at Pevensey through Luka’s telescope, and decided it was too dangerous to try for a ship to France there, as there was a double line of soldiers marching into the town, rifles on their shoulders.
‘They must know I’m nearby,’ the duke said, his fair brows drawn close together. ‘But how?’
‘Covering their bets, I’d say,’ Father Plummer said.
‘And how does a priest of Rome know such gambling talk?’ Nat said, looking very dour and suspicious. ‘Odd sort of a priest, I’d say!’
‘I was not always a priest,’ Father Plummer replied serenely.
‘Let us not argue among ourselves,’ the duke reprimanded them. ‘We must stick together if we are to get out of this trap alive. Come, let us try for Hastings. Perhaps the soldiers will not be searching for us so far east.’
They were all reluctant to get back into the cart, but it was still some miles to Hastings, and so they crawled back in, and let Simon cover them up with the tarpaulin again. The duke and the priest were still discussing in low voices what to do once they got to Hastings. Nat was all for finding a ship heading across to France, while Father Plummer insisted it was too dangerous, and their best bet was to contact the smugglers out of Rye. They were still arguing about it when they heard Nellie say, in a bright voice, ‘Ooh, look, there’s Hastings coming up ahead. And isn’t the road busy, Simon! We’re not the only ones going to market today!’
Everyone fell silent. Through the gap in the barrels, Emilia saw the road was indeed busy with the usual traffic of market day – carts piled high with barrels and boxes, mules loaded with chicken crates, and flocks of geese being herded along by girls. Women walked briskly along in the dust, baskets on their arms, white bonnets shielding their faces from the sun. A boy carried a piglet under one arm, and another carried a huge basket of fish up on one shoulder. Freshly caught eels squirmed from big hooks hung from an iron staff carried by a man with a narrow face and a leather waistcoat. Another man pulled along a handcart with a big sign on it, showing someone having a tooth wrenched out of their head with a pair of pincers. There was a lot of dust and noise, but everyone was in a good mood, and Emilia wished she was out there too, walking along with Rollo at her heels instead of crushing her legs with his weight.
Simon turned off the road a little closer to the town, and went up a side road, pretending one of his horses was going lame. He pulled up the cart under a spreading beech tree, where it was hidden from the road by a hedgerow.
‘God bless you, my lord!’ Nellie whispered. ‘Give the sweet king a kiss from me!’
‘I will, Nellie! Or at least, I’ll tell him you said so. Give my thanks to your mistress,’ the duke responded, then they all scrambled out of the cart and hid behind the hedgerow. Simon, who had been pretending to dig a stone out of the horse’s hoof, turned the cart around and went back to the road, joining the throng with none the wiser.
The six companions went quietly along the road, walking on the other side of the he
dgerow, keeping a close look out for any farmer or shepherd. It was bright daylight, and they felt very exposed so close to the town. They came to the top of the hill, where a huge oak tree cast a dense shade over the grass, and there they stopped and looked down to Hastings.
It was a small, picturesque town, built in a sheltered valley between two high hills, and facing the English Channel. On the western hill, a ruined castle stood, still raising one impressive rampart against the blue sky. Tall black wooden sheds were erected all along the shingles, and most of the boats had been drawn up high on the beach, nets rolled on their decks.
‘That’s the first Norman castle built on English soil,’ the duke said, sounding sad, ‘and look at it now, all in ruins and half in the sea.’
‘Tell me, Luka, what can you see?’ Father Plummer asked.
Luka was staring down at the town through his telescope. ‘It’s swarming with soldiers,’ he said. ‘Quite a few are looking through all the carts going into town, and more are examining the fishing boats. I can see more patrolling the market square.’
The duke sighed. ‘I’d heard Cromwell was keeping a close eye on the ports, but this is ridiculous. All right. It’s early yet. Let’s cut across country to Rye and see what we find there. I knew it was too good to be true that there was no walking to be done!’
The Mermaid Inn
Emilia trudged along the edge of a field, the hem of her skirt brown with dust that rose up in little puffs every time her bare feet hit the ground. It was hot, and she was parched. She longed to sit by a stream and dangle her feet in the cool water, and splash her face, and drink till she could drink no more.
‘Look how far Rollo’s tongue is hanging out,’ Luka said with a laugh. ‘It’s practically dragging on the ground.’