Chapter Twenty
Kit crouched in the cutting, cold water seeping into his shoes. A stand of nettles hid him from view, a stand of nettles he wished he’d noticed before choosing the ditch as a hiding place. Pushing thoughts of Alys to the back of his mind, he climbed out and returned to the spot where he’d left the little pile of stones. Depositing his soggy pack by the wayside, he examined the place where the Catholic foreigner had appeared.
Here, the hedge was of unbroken hawthorn, too prickly and too high to climb, especially in a cloak such as the so-called cunningman had been wearing. The field was interrupted at this point by a stand of trees, whose size declared them to be of some antiquity. At their center was a blasted oak even older than the rest. Entering the cleft in the hollow trunk, Kit found there was room enough for at least four men inside. He searched around on the leaf-littered ground but could find no clues. Moving out again, he shaded his eyes and looked about him. The twisted brick chimneys of the manor house could just be seen from here—he reckoned the place was within bowshot of where he stood. There was no obvious cover between here and the house. The only way to get from there to the road unseen would be underground.
He shouldered his bundle once again and sped off towards the manor, hoping to reinstall himself in the gardener’s hut before anyone thought to question his absence. Thankfully, as it was Sunday, everyone was taking their ease, and no one saw him return with his loaded pack. It wasn’t easy donning once again the cloak of disguise, but nobody disturbed him as he pottered about the garden performing meaningless tasks, his brain engaged on the problem of how to discover a hidden tunnel on an estate as large as Selwood.
When he finally came up with a solution to the problem, it was so brilliant, so daring, that he could hardly believe he’d come up with it himself. But to examine the possibilities in daylight would excite suspicion, so he waited until dusk before venturing out in the direction of the old fishpond. Once there, he started prodding at the crumbling brick wall.
“Are you anticipating another swim?”
Alys. He spun around and took her hands in his. “You should not be here. We dare not be seen together now.”
“Wherefore is it different now? You were unconcerned about such risk when you grabbed me in the field.”
He rolled his eyes. “I do not grab. I merely got a little carried away. But if we’re going to talk—and I think we must—I know a place we may not be overheard or overlooked.”
It felt so natural to take her hand and walk beside her as if they were childhood sweethearts. Relishing the feel of her slender, trusting fingers, he led her over the old back bridge to the untended area on the other side of the pond.
Here, the grasses and willow herb grew tall, mixed in with woundwort and the hairy comfreys with their bell-like flowers. Kit settled himself down with his broad back against a tree, patting the space next to him. It was cooler here, beyond the protection of the garden wall, and when she shivered, he used it as an excuse to pull her into his warmth.
“You are making very free with my person.”
“You may freeze if you wish. I was merely playing the gallant.”
“Then play on, good sir knight. I would prefer not to freeze.”
He held her close and kept his voice low. “I promised you an explanation, but first I must ask if you’ve been into the cellars below the manor.”
“Not for a long time. They are cold and full of spiders—I like them not.”
“Are the rooms of a good size? What is stored down there?”
“Wine in cades, old ale in barrels. There is salt fish, and butter and cheeses keeping cool. They are dry enough for smoked hams as well. Have you not seen them yourself? Jacob hangs onions there to dry.”
“I haven’t. It is not yet the season for onions. Has there been any work in the cellars recently, the shoring up of a wall, or the creation of new alcoves?”
“Nay. The cellars are well-built. They may even pre-date the present house—I understand the old manor was more substantial than the present one. When first I heard of the place, ere I came to live here, my parents spoke of a tunnel that ran some distance towards the road. I know not what it was meant for. It’s probably crumbled away long since.”
He could barely contain his excitement. “A tunnel, you say? Did its entrance run from the cellars, or from within the house?”
“I know not. ’Twas all meant to be very secret. It’s possible there could have been access to it from the house, but then there’d have to be a staircase down to it, and I’ve never seen any.”
“Are there any doors leading off the cellars that you’ve never been through?”
She stiffened in his embrace. “I thought you were going to tell me something, not interrogate me.”
“Please, Alys, this is vital. Bear with me, I beg you.”
She let out a sigh. “No, no doors. I suppose one could be concealed by shelving. Won’t you tell me why the cellars are of such interest?”
“Not now. The less you know of my mind, the less danger we will both be in.”
“Danger? Why should we be in danger?”
Now was the time. If he wanted to protect both her and himself, he had to rely on his instincts. And those instincts told him to trust her.
Offering up a silent prayer, he said, “Because I am a spy, and I have told you some of what I know.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Alys’ mouth went dry. Suddenly, she wished she had a goblet of wine to hand. Several goblets.
“A spy? But you said you were
