The Medieval Murderers - House of Shadows

Chaloner reached the tunnel’s entrance and dragged open the trap door. It was not easy ascending the narrow, cramped slope at speed, and the faster he tried to go the more he skidded and slipped. He could hear Parr gaining on him. It felt like an age before he reached the pantry and clambered out, and when he did the preacher was almost on him. He slammed the opening shut just as Parr was stretching out to grab him. Parr released a frustrated howl and began to batter the barrier with his fists. Chaloner grinned at the foul language that peppered the curses and headed for the door and freedom. He was shocked to find his way barred by Castell, who wore a hooded cloak and carried a pair of handguns.

‘ You are one of these conspirators?’ he blurted, astonished that the plotters should consider admitting such a man to their ranks. A dissipated gambler was unlikely to make for a reliable ally. ‘I thought you only wanted the money they paid you.’

‘I despise the government,’ declared Castell, staggering slightly. He was still drunk from dinner. ‘Its ministers shun me at the gaming tables, and I am sick of it. Death to the lot of them, I say. Stay where you are, or I will kill you. I am not afraid to dispense a little justice.’

He aimed the weapon with a hand that was surprisingly steady for a man in his cups, and Chaloner stopped dead in his tracks. Then there was a yell of triumph from Parr – his assault on the panel was beginning to pay off, because, like the rest of the house, it was rotten and weak. It began to splinter, and Chaloner saw he was going to be caught. He took a step towards the door, tensing when Castell’s finger tightened on the trigger. But the spy could see powder spilling from the pan; the weapon had been badly loaded and was more danger to its user than to its target. There was a flash, a sharp report and a brief silence. Then Castell started to scream.

Meanwhile, Parr began to emerge from the tunnel. Chaloner ran for the pantry door, and as he glanced back he saw Parr seize Castell’s second gun. He suspected it was no better primed than the first, but he was unwilling to bet his life on it by lingering. He hurtled through the door and slammed it behind him. He turned left, but found himself in an unfamiliar hallway that led to a dead end. He was trapped. Parr and Evans were out of the tunnel, and he could hear them thundering towards him.

‘This way,’ hissed an urgent voice from behind an opening that had been cleverly concealed in the wall panels. It was Margaret. ‘Do not stand there gaping. Hurry!’

With no other choice, Chaloner did as he was told. He found himself in a dark, musty room that had once been a library, judging from the number of shelves along its walls. Margaret hurried towards the fireplace, where she hauled on a lever. Chaloner closed the door and secured it by jamming a chair under the handle. Unfortunately, Parr seemed to know about the room, too, because he immediately started to hurl himself against the door, and the chair began to give way.

‘Come on,’ whispered Margaret, indicating with an impatient flick of her head that Chaloner was to climb through a tiny hatch she had opened. The spy baulked when he saw she held a stone in her gnarled hands. She raised it, as if readying herself to put it to good use. Suddenly something became perfectly clear.

‘ You killed Tivill! Why?’

She grimaced. ‘I suspect you already know why – because he attempted blackmail.’

‘But there was nothing to blackmail anyone about – Walduck did kill Browne, as you know full well, given that it was you who provided me with the information to work it out.’

‘That did not make Tivill any less of a nuisance, though.’

Chaloner thought aloud as he leaned on the chair, trying to brace it against Parr’s furious onslaught. ‘Tivill believed Walduck’s protestations of innocence – although they were lies – and when his ship returned to London he came to see what he could find out. Instead of learning about the murder, he discovered what Hay and his associates were doing and threatened to tell. Am I right?’

‘I dispatched him with a rock to the head and was going to drop his corpse in the fish pond. But Hay found it before I could fetch a cart. He has no idea what really happened; I suspect he thinks Parr is responsible. And speaking of Parr, are you going to go through this hole or stay and face his fury?’

Chaloner jerked backwards when a sword plunged through the worm-ridden door, missing him by no more than the width of a finger. If the preacher continued his onslaught, it would not be many moments before he was inside – and Chaloner had heard Evans offer to reload the gun in a way that would not blow off its user’s hand. At such close range, Parr could not fail to hit his target, and yet the spy was loath to put himself at the mercy of the rock-wielding grandmother by climbing into what appeared to be a very small space.

‘You had better hurry,’ said Margaret, watching him hesitate. ‘As I said earlier, Parr is a fanatic and will stop at nothing to do what he believes is right. He will kill you without a second thought.’

Chaloner indicated the stone. ‘What are you going to do? Brain me and leave my body for Hay?’

The sword crashed through the door a second time, showering him with splinters. At this rate the preacher would not need to smash the whole thing – he would be able to take aim through one of the great holes he was making.

Margaret reclaimed his attention with a sharp bark of laughter. ‘Is that what you think? You could not be more wrong. My intention was to brain Parr .’

‘Why?’

‘Because he intends to bring down the government – the others are just silly men who want to evade their taxes. However, he has almost broken through that door, and I am not in the mood for dying today. So I shall escape instead.’

‘Escape?’ Chaloner watched her clamber into the hole with astonishing agility for one so old. It was clear she had done it many times before. He heard her voice echo eerily back to him.

‘Yes, escape. Either come with me or face Parr’s righteous rage. But close the panel regardless.’

When the sword jabbed through the door a third time, Chaloner abandoned it and scrambled after her, pulling shut the hatch behind him. He found himself in a narrow tunnel, so small that the only way to move forward was by crawling on his stomach. Behind him, he heard Parr’s victorious yell turn to a scream of fury when he discovered the library empty. Echoes and thumps sounded as the preacher began to hunt for the secret exit. In front, Margaret was making rapid progress, scuttling along like a crab. Chaloner marvelled at her nimbleness and concluded that she was a remarkable lady. Very remarkable.

‘ You are the traitor,’ he called softly. ‘I assumed it was York, because he brought Browne and then me to Hay’s meetings. But I was forgetting the message hidden in the wall. You are sending information to Spymaster Williamson.’

Margaret laughed. ‘An elderly lady like me? What a thing to say!’

The tunnel forked, and she turned left, opening an iron gate to emerge in a dusty chamber that looked as though it had not been used in decades. She locked it behind them, then led the way through a maze of corridors until they reached a pleasant, comfortable room that was far nicer than anything else Chaloner had seen in Bermondsey House. The woodwork smelled of honeyed beeswax, the furniture was handsome and there was glass in every window. Margaret Castell was indeed a woman of many surprises, and Chaloner knew he had been foolish not to have seen through her sooner.

‘Williamson knows a decent spy when he sees one,’ he said. ‘And you have been keeping him appraised ever since your grandson first started to lend Bermondsey House to plotters and rebels.’