I had only one: the pocket in my sweater. There was nothing in it but the key to the kitchen door at Buckshaw. Father had always insisted that each of us carry a key at all times in case of some hypothetical emergency, and because he conducted the occasional spot check, I was never without it. As I turned my pocket inside out, I heard the key fall to the wooden floor, then bounce and skitter. A second later there was a faint clink as it landed on concrete.
'Damn,' he said.
Good! The key had fallen into the service pit, I was sure of it. Now Pemberton would have to drag back the boards that covered it, and clamber down into the pit. My hands were still free: I would rip his jacket off my head, run out the door, pull the handkerchief out of my mouth, and scream like old gooseberries as I ran towards the High Street. It was less than a minute away.
I was right. Almost immediately, I heard the unmistakable sound of heavy planks being dragged across the floor. Pemberton grunted as he pulled them away from the mouth of the pit. I'd have to be careful which way I ran: one wrong step and I'd fall into the open hole and break my neck.
I hadn't moved since we came in the door, which, if I was correct, must now be behind me with the pit in front. I'd have to estimate a hundred-and-eighty-degree turn blindfolded.
Either Pemberton had a finely tuned psychic ability or he detected some minute motion of my head. Before I could do anything, he was at my side, spinning me round half a dozen times as if we were beginning a game of blind-man's buff, and I was It. When he finally stopped, I was so dizzy I could barely stand up.
'Now then,' he said, 'we're going down. Watch your step.'
I shook my head rapidly from side to side, thinking, even as I did so, how ridiculous it must look, swathed in his tweed jacket.
'Listen, Flavia, be a good girl. I'm not going to hurt you as long as you behave. As soon as I have the stamp from Buckshaw in my hands, I'll send someone to set you free. Otherwise.'
Otherwise?
'. I shall be forced to do something most unpleasant.'
An image of Horace Bonepenny breathing his final breath into my face floated before my covered eyes, and I knew that Pemberton was more than capable of following through on his threat.
He dragged me by the elbow to a spot I assumed was the edge of the pit.
'Eight steps down,' he said. 'I'll count them. Don't worry, I'm holding on to you.'
I stepped off into space.
'One,' he said as my foot came down on something solid. I stood there teetering.
'Easy does it. two. three, you're almost halfway there.'
I put out my right hand and felt the edge of the pit nearly level with my shoulder. As my bare knees detected the cold air in the pit, my arm began to tremble like a dead branch in the winter wind. I felt a tightness gripping at my throat.
'Good.four.five.just two more to go.'
He was shuffling down the steps behind me, one at a time. I wondered if I could seize his arm and pull him sharply into the pit. With any luck he'd crack his head on the concrete and I'd scramble over his body to freedom.
Suddenly he froze, his fingers digging into the muscle of my upper arm. I let out a muted bellow and he relaxed his grip a little.
'Quiet!' he said in a snarl that wasn't to be trifled with.
Outside, in Cow Lane, a lorry was backing up, its gears whining in a rising and falling wail. Someone was coming!
Pemberton stood perfectly still, his quick breath rasping in the cold silence of the pit.
With my head muffled in his jacket, I could only faintly hear the voices outside, followed by the clanging of a steel tailgate.
Oddly enough, the thought that came to mind was of Feely. Why, she would demand, didn't I scream? Why didn't I rip the jacket from my head and sink my teeth into Pemberton's arm? She would want to know all the details, and no matter what I said, she would rebut every argument as if she were the Lord Chief Justice himself.
The truth was that I was having difficulty just managing to breathe. My handkerchief—a sturdy no-nonsense piece of cotton—was stuffed so tightly into my mouth that my jaws were in agony. I had to breathe through my stuffed-up nose, and even by taking the deepest breaths I was only just able to draw in enough oxygen to keep afloat.
I knew that if I began coughing I was a goner; the slightest exertion made my head spin. Besides that, I realized, a couple of men standing out there beside an idling lorry would hear nothing but the noise of its motor. Unless I could contrive something earsplitting, I'd never make myself heard. Meanwhile, it was best to keep still and to keep quiet. I would save my energy.
Someone closed the lorry's tailgate with a clang of steel; two doors slammed shut, and the thing lumbered off in first gear. We were alone again.
'Now then,' Pemberton said, '. down you go. Two steps more.'
He gave my arm a sharp pinch and I slid my foot forward.
'Seven,' he said.
I paused, reluctant to take the last step that would put me in the bottom of the pit.
