A stunned silence filled the dark room.
“Creath,” Joseph finally whispered, “when I asked you—”
“I must go,” she returned fiercely, suddenly sounding more determined than frightened. “Come on, Matthew—you lead.”
And with that, they were gone.
TWENTY-ONE
IN THE PITCH-BLACK, standing who-knew-how-many feet away from him, Chrystabel would swear she could feel Joseph’s shock.
She waited for him to say something. Instead she heard him close the bookcase door very, very slowly. The protracted screech it made wasn’t as loud as when he’d opened it, but it was still noisy enough that they both stood rooted in place, not daring to even breathe until it was certain they remained undiscovered.
And then he still didn’t say anything for a long while.
“She wanted him to go with her,” he finally whispered, sounding shaky. “After she’d just told me she wanted to marry me. Why would she say she wanted to marry me if she wanted to marry him?”
It was doubtless a rhetorical question, but Chrystabel thought she knew the answer. “She’s young and scared. She was probably unsure of her feelings until the decision was upon her. And she wouldn’t want to risk offending you or seeming ungrateful. She’s far too conscientious for that.”
It was the same reason Joseph hadn’t been honest with Creath, either. This whole muddle could have been cleared up ages ago had they not both been such decent people.
Oh, well. It was cleared up now—and that was all Chrystabel cared about at the moment.
“In any case,” she began, moving in the direction she thought his voice had come from, “it appears I was right.”
“It does appear so.” She heard no sounds of him moving toward her, making her think he was still in shock. “I guess they’re in love,” he added. “I guess she’ll be marrying him, after all.”
Chrystabel wanted to scream with joy. But that didn’t seem wise, as they were all still in danger. So instead she said, “I hope they won’t be too cold out there,” and waited to hear him whisper again so she could find him.
“Don’t worry, they’ll be all right. Unlike me, your brother still has his surcoat. The ride isn’t too long—only twelve miles to Bristol. It’s not so very cold today, and they can keep each other warm in the tunnel until it’s time to make a run for it.”
“Will you keep me warm in here, Joseph? I’m scared.”
She wasn’t, not really—or at least not too much. How bad could it be to be found in a priest hole with Christmas decorations? They didn’t hang people for that. She’d usually managed to talk her way out of tough spots in the past, and she expected that would also be the case here.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t use a bit of comfort. Especially from Joseph, who was exactly the sort of fellow a girl could depend upon. His composure and ingenuity down here had impressed her again. He’d taken charge, come up with a plan quickly, and would have carried it out had her brother not intervened. She knew Joseph would never let her down.
Though he was taking a long time to answer her. “Joseph?”
“I will gladly keep you warm,” he said at last, sounding less than glad.
Why was that? She wished she could see his face. Still, at least he hadn’t refused outright. Moving toward his voice, she stepped forward and nearly stumbled over a chair.
“Stop,” he said. “I’ll come to you. I think I know where you are now.”
A moment later she felt him reach out and touch her, and then he gathered her into his arms. For a long while they just stood there in the dark, pressed together. He felt warm and smelled of greenery and spicy wood smoke again—that amazing scent she wanted to bottle. She wished she could stay in his arms forever.
Even more than that, she wished he would finally kiss her. But he still seemed too shocked. It seemed too soon.
“So what’s a priest-hunter?” she asked softly to break the silence.
“A man who hunts priests.”
She reached up to playfully hit his shoulder with a fist. “I want to know. You said something about Queen Elizabeth?”
He tightened his hold on her. “Elizabeth wanted to wipe out Catholicism, fearing she might be overthrown in favor of her Catholic cousin, Mary Queen of Scots. During her reign, it was considered high treason for a priest to even enter England, and anyone found aiding and abetting one would be severely punished. Priest-hunters were hired to find hidden priests in homes like this one.”
Against her ear pressed to his shirtfront, his words seemed to rumble around in his chest. She smiled in the darkness. “What do you mean by homes like this one?”
“Homes built by wealthy Catholics. The duke who built Tremayne secretly belonged to the old church, so he planned this room to hide his priest—and their candles, crucifixes, and other Popish things—in case a priest-hunter came around. This priest hole is part of the cellars, actually. We were beside it when we made the mulled wine. But it’s inaccessible from down there. The opening below the wardrobe cabinet is the only way in. Well, that and the tunnel.”
His voice calmed her in the darkness. She wanted him to keep talking. “How did the priest-hunters hunt?”
“They would knock on walls to see if they were hollow, or measure the outside of the house and the rooms inside, to see if the measurements matched. They would count the windows inside and out, to see if any windows weren’t included in accessible rooms. They would pull up floors and look underneath. Or they might stake out a home for days or weeks, just waiting for a Catholic priest to emerge. Sometimes priests died in the holes for lack of food and water while waiting for the priest-hunters to leave.”
“That’s terrible. But surely no one died here. You have the tunnel.”
“I doubt a priest was ever hidden here. Tremayne’s original owner was beheaded for
