by Kate Forsyth
‘You must teach me!’ the countess ordered.
‘I cannot,’ Emilia replied. ‘We must not stay. There are soldiers after us. We would not want to bring them down on you. And we . . . we are needed elsewhere.’
Luka nodded and moved his feet restlessly, wanting to be gone.
‘How then am I meant to learn?’ the countess said crossly.
‘It is not something that can be taught, like cooking a hare,’ Emilia said. ‘My grandmother always told me just to look into the ball, to empty my mind, to see what visions came. Sometimes nothing comes, sometimes things I cannot understand.’
The countess gazed down into the ball longingly.
‘You said you had a message for her ladyship,’ Mrs Henderson said. ‘What message?’
Emilia glanced at Luka. They did not say anything.
‘You knew enough of the Countess of Dysart to know that we would give you audience at such a declaration, even though it is past midnight and you are naught but raggle-taggle gypsies.’ She spoke sternly, her hands clenched tight about each other. ‘I want to know what you know, else I shall make sure those soldiers beating our grounds with their flaming torches know that you are here. Her ladyship was right. These are perilous times. We cannot take any risks.’
‘We don’t have to tell you anything,’ Luka cried. ‘We offered you news in return for the amber charm, and she wasn’t interested. She had to take our Baba’s precious crystal ball. Emilia shouldn’t have done it. The charm’s not worth that much.’
‘Tell us what you know, or I’ll call the soldiers!’ Mrs Henderson snapped back.
‘And risk having them search your house? I don’t think so,’ Luka said.
Lady Dysart and her companion exchanged a quick glance. There was a long silence.
‘Let us begin again,’ the countess said sweetly. ‘I find I am most curious to have my fortune told after all. How about I cross your palm with gold, my dear? Is not that the usual price? Anne, find me a gold coin.’
‘We’d rather have safe passage out of here,’ Emilia said.
‘Though we wouldn’t say no to gold,’ Luka put in quickly.
The countess smiled. ‘You tell me all you know, and I’ll give you some coin, and make sure you don’t fall into enemy hands.’
‘Shake on it,’ Luka said and spat into his palm and held it out.
Lady Dysart regarded him in horror, then laughed, spat in her own palm and shook hands with him. ‘My education is growing in leaps and bounds tonight,’ she said to Mrs Henderson, who looked most disapproving.
‘So, what news? What could you possibly know that would interest me?’
Luka said bluntly, ‘Cromwell is dying.’
The two women regarded him scornfully. ‘We’ve had reports of the Lord Protector’s illness for weeks,’ Lady Dysart said. ‘So far he seems to have survived. I have no doubts he shall continue to thrive.’
‘He will be dead before the week is out,’ Emilia said.
‘How can you be so sure?’ Mrs Henderson regarded them intently. ‘Is this more of your hocus-pocus, or do you have inside information?’
Emilia found the visions she had had deeply distressing. She did not answer.
‘You have seen this, with your second sight?’ Lady Dysart demanded.
Emilia nodded.
‘What? What have you seen? Will he truly die? What will happen then? You must tell me!’
‘I have seen the king ride across London Bridge, regaining his throne without a drop of blood,’ Emilia said reluctantly. ‘They will throw flowers for him, and the fountains shall run with wine.’
‘What else? What else?’ Lady Dysart demanded.
‘Cromwell will be dug up, and hung on the gallows at Tyburn, and afterwards his head will be cut off and stuck on a stake on the palace roof. All those who signed the king’s death warrant will be pursued and punished. Only a few will escape.’
The two women stared at her, bolt upright, white-faced.
‘The king? The king returns – with no battles, no bloodshed?’
‘In time,’ Emilia said faintly. Talking about it made the vision come back, so that her eyes swam and her stomach lurched.
‘You know this? You’ve seen it?’
‘Many times now.’
‘Praise the Lord,’ Mrs Henderson breathed, clasping her hands together. ‘Elizabeth, my dear, all we have worked for . . . within reach at last.’
‘If we believe her.’ Lady Dysart stared at Emilia as if trying to see within her skin. ‘They are clever, these fortune-tellers, they always tell you what you want to hear.’
‘I speak true.’
‘Then tell me what is in my future,’ Lady Dysart said passionately. ‘Tell me what you see, and I’ll judge whether you lie or not.’
‘I need the crystal ball,’ Emilia said.
The countess passed it to her, and Emilia cupped the crystal ball and stared down into its cloudy depths. ‘You must be patient,’ she said slowly. ‘All that you have dreamt of is within your grasp, but you must wait, else all shall fail.’
‘All that I have dreamt of?’ Lady Dysart’s dark eyes gleamed.
‘Aye. If you can wait, the Protectorate will crumble of its own accord and then the king shall return.’
‘And I?’
‘You shall be a duchess, the most powerful and sought-after woman in the land. The king himself shall wait on your word, and the whole land bow down before you.’
‘A duchess!’ A look flashed between the countess and her companion.
‘Aye. Your husband will be the king’s most trusted man. Your house will be the centre of the royal court.’
‘A duchess,’ the countess breathed.
Emilia drooped her head. She did not want to say any more. There was not only wealth and power in the countess’s future, but grief and loneliness and death. But Lady Dysart had heard enough. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glowing.
‘We must pack up, we must go,’ she said to Mrs Henderson. ‘I want to catch the next boat to the Continent. His Majesty must hear the news only from me! We must be there to urge caution and prudence. All may be lost if he moves too soon. Anne, go pack my bags. And bring me my writing desk. I must write tonight to my husband, explaining where I am going. And to Dr Bate too! He must not fail us now!’
Emilia had heard the name of Dr Bate before. She was too tired to wonder where. Luka, however, remembered and cast the countess a curious look. Lady Dysart was said to be a great favourite of Cromwell’s, and Dr Bate was known to be his doctor. He wondered very much what the two could possibly have to correspond about. He wondered even more when Lady Dysart added, ‘Bring me my special ink and my cipher, too, Anne. No Roundhead spies must read what I write tonight!’
‘What about us?’ he prompted. ‘You promised you’d help us get away from here.’
She had forgotten he and Emilia were there. He saw her start, and cast him a swift assessing look from under her heavy lids.
‘We’re gypsies,’ he said. ‘We don’t care who is king. As long as we get safe away from here, no one will ever need know what we’ve seen or heard.’
She smiled, her eyes brilliant with excitement.
‘Anne, call Isaac,’ she said. ‘Find some way to smuggle these young friends of ours past those soldiers. And get them a coin! No one can say the Countess of Dysart does not keep her promises!’
Leaving No Shadow
The sound of fists crashing on the front door resounded through the house.
‘Too late!’ Mrs Henderson said, lifting back a fold of the curtain so she could peer outside. ‘They’re on our doorstep.’
‘Anne, take the children down to the back stairs then you make sure all is safely packed away,’ Lady Dysart said, rising quickly to her feet. ‘We don’t want any of our secret correspondence falling into Roundhead hands!’
‘Aye, my lady,’ Mrs Henderson said. She hustled the two children out the far door and into a long gallery of dark-panelle
d wood where huge portraits in heavy gilt frames lined the walls. The light from her lantern fell upon one painted face after another, leaping up out of darkness and then sinking back into obscurity. Then they were hurrying down a bare, cold back staircase, and into the kitchen again.
Sweetheart was snoring by the fire, Mrs Skipton was snoring in her rocking chair, and Rollo was snoring at her feet.
‘Nice for some,’ Mrs Henderson said. ‘Come on, rouse up the zoo. I don’t want you being found here.’
The knocker was being pounded emphatically again and again. Then they heard it being opened, and the sound of angry voices.
‘Peters will not be pleased to be called from his bed,’ Mrs Henderson said in satisfaction. ‘He’s an expert at stalling. Come on, we want no sign that you’ve been here. Isaac! Take the children and show them the back way out through the garden.’
Isaac had been lying, half-asleep, in front of the fire on a small straw pallet. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, then got up, with a glowering look at the children. Emilia screwed up her face in apology.
Sweetheart was even crosser than Isaac. Luka had to tug hard on her nose chain before she would even get up, and the big bear grumbled loudly as she followed him up the stairs. Emilia quickly stuffed her grandmother’s scarf into the pack and swung it onto her shoulder. It was considerably lighter without her grandmother’s crystal ball, and this cost her a sharp pang. She hoped Baba would not mind.
‘If you are caught, do not think to buy your way free with anything you have seen or heard here,’ Mrs Henderson warned. ‘The Countess of Dysart has friends in high places. She will be believed ahead of a dirty little beggar girl.’
‘I’m not a beggar,’ Emilia replied, chin held high. ‘I’m a gule romni, and a drabardi – which is much better than waiting hand and foot on some rude lady like you do!’
To her satisfaction, Mrs Henderson’s face reddened angrily. Emilia tossed back her hair and went running up the stairs, Rollo at her heels. Lantern light filled the great hall to her left. She paused, listening.
‘I tell you, we found bear tracks in your forecourt. How do you explain that?’ Coldham was shouting.
‘Have you escaped from Bedlam?’ the butler asked scornfully. ‘You drag me from bed at this hour of the night to tell me there’s a bear in my garden?’
Emilia grinned and followed Luka down the passage towards the side door. Isaac was crouched near the archway, listening intently. He looked around as she came out, and put his finger on his lips. Emilia nodded. Treading as quietly as they could, the three children hurried through the outhouses and came through another archway in the south wall.
Although the moon was hidden behind fat-bellied clouds, they could still see the dim shapes of hedges and pathways and trees, the whole laid out in a formal pattern that stretched for acres.
First, there was a wide, flat lawn. Then, a formal garden of narrow gravel paths, laid like a labyrinth in concentric loops about a sunken square, and dissected by four straight avenues aligned with the points of the compass.
Beyond the labyrinth was a wall, with a gate through to what looked like an orchard. ‘You can get out that way,’ Isaac whispered.
‘Where does it lead?’ Luka whispered back.
‘Cross-country, it takes you to the Richmond road,’ he whispered back. ‘Kingston’s about three miles to the south.’
They grinned at him in delight. ‘Thank you!’ Emilia whispered, and Luka shook his hand enthusiastically. Isaac’s face broke into a wide smile, his teeth gleaming white against the blackness of his skin. Then he lifted his hand in farewell, and disappeared back into the darkness.
‘Come on,’ Luka whispered. ‘Let’s go.’
Luka and Emilia were about halfway across the lawn when they heard the door onto the terrace open. Light spilled out, and the sound of angry voices. They took to their heels and ran, encouraging Sweetheart along with muttered curses and pleadings. Rollo ran before them, swift and grey as a wolf, while Zizi clung to Luka’s neck with both paws.
They reached the shelter of the first hedge just as Coldham and a group of soldiers came out of the grand back door and onto the terrace. They crouched down, holding their breath, trying to keep the animals quiet and still.
‘Men, I want you to search every inch of the grounds,’ the thief-taker ordered. ‘Those brats are here somewhere. I want them found!’
‘Aye, sir!’ the soldiers replied. Holding their flaming torches aloft, they raced down the steps and spread out, advancing towards the labyrinth.
The children crept along the path, keeping their heads down, and hoping Sweetheart would stay low too. If she reared up on her hind legs, she would be seen above the hedges. Luka kept a tight grip on her nose-chain, dragging her snout down close to the ground.
‘Sir! Sir!’ a soldier shouted. ‘Look here! Surely that’s a bear print, here in the gravel?’
Emilia’s pulse jerked. Luka seized her hand and, backs hunched, they hurried on. Coldham shouted, ‘Spread out! They can’t have got far!’
Emilia sucked in a panting breath. She groped for her charm bracelet, only to be once again reminded sharply of its loss. Biting her lip, she slid her hand into her pocket and found the smooth lump of amber. She thought of the long-dead butterfly imprisoned in its heart, the butterfly that cast no shadow with its wings. Help me, she wished with all her heart. Hide us, keep us safe.
Torchlight probed through the leaves. Soldiers came running. Luka ducked sideways, finding a sudden slit in the hedge. He dragged Emilia to her knees just as the soldiers went charging past. They passed so close that the children were able to see each other’s faces clearly in the light of their torches. It seemed impossible that the soldiers did not see them, but they ran on past and disappeared.
‘Follow the bear prints,’ Coldham ordered. He was only a few feet away. ‘See, there’s one, heading that way. Those gypsies can’t be far away!’
They listened as his footsteps crunched on the gravel, closer and closer and closer, the red wavering light staining the leaves above them. Then Coldham was standing right on the other side of the hedge. His boots were so close to Emilia she could have stretched out her neck and licked them. She ducked her head down, knowing that it was often the gleaming whites of the eyes that gave away those who hid. Her heart thumped so loud she thought the thief-taker must be able to hear it.
Coldham stood silently, listening. But the wind was blustering now, rattling sticks together, causing a shutter to bang, ripping leaves from branches to blow in tiny black whirlwinds along the ground. Rain splattered down.
Seconds passed. Minutes.
Coldham grunted, and walked on down the path. The torchlight faded away.
‘Lucky he didn’t look down,’ Luka whispered. ‘We were right at his feet. And how could he have missed Sweetheart? Even if he didn’t see her eyes gleaming red, you’d think he would’ve been able to smell her. She stinks!’
Luka rose cautiously to his feet and risked a look over the top of the hedge. The soldiers’ torches were gusting out into smoky red ribbons on the far side of the labyrinth. He could see their elongated shadows stalking along the wall. He nodded at Emilia, who rose stiffly to her feet. Her knees hurt, and she bent and dusted off the little bits of gravel embedded in her skin. Together they crept along the path, looping round till they met the next avenue, leading straight out of the labyrinth towards the orchard gate.
They grinned at each other nervously. It seemed too good to be true. Keeping close together, they crept along the avenue, one on either side of Sweetheart, Rollo at their heels. They came at last to its end and peered around warily. All was dark. The only sound was of low rumbling thunder and the wind in the trees.
The two children glanced at each other. Hedges curved away to either side. Luka nodded. Together they darted across the broad expanse of gravel, straight towards the gateway.
‘There they are! Get them!’ Coldham shouted. He had been standing concealed in the shadow o
f the hedge, only a few paces away. They heard the unmistakable click of a pistol being cocked.
The children raced on, breath sobbing in their throats, but Sweetheart spun around, swinging her great claws at Coldham.
‘No!’ Emilia screamed.
Coldham fired.
Sweetheart bellowed in pain. Coldham quickly reloaded. Luka tried to pull the bear away. Ignoring Luka’s dragging arm, Sweetheart leapt forward, just as Coldham fired again. The bullet buried itself deep in the bear’s breast. Sweetheart yelped. Another soldier fired, and then another. Bullets seemed to come from every direction, whining cruelly. Black smoke swirled all around them. Sweetheart roared, twisting about, looking for something to rent with her claws. Again Coldham fired, at point-blank range. Sweetheart cried aloud, and fell with a crash that sent up a cloud of dust and gravel.
Coldham cried out in triumph. This time he pointed his pistol straight at Luka.
Luka dropped Sweetheart’s chain and ran, yelling at Emilia to follow. He put up his hand and wiped his cheek. His fingers were wet and sticky. It was Sweetheart’s blood, he realised, which had sprayed across his face. Tears stung his eyes. Never had he seen anything so dreadful, so final, as the great bulk of his uncle’s beloved bear collapsing to the ground.
A dark tangle of twigs sprang at him. Luka ducked and twisted, running full pelt through the orchard, his arms up to protect his face. He heard heavy feet pounding along behind him, harsh panting, a cry. Then a steel hand seized his collar and brought him down. Luka kicked out, rolled over, and was up once more and running. Again he was dragged down. Coldham held him down, a knee heavy in his back, his gauntlet hard and cold across Luka’s mouth.
He heard Emilia scream. Rollo sprang forward, barking furiously. Coldham was knocked away from Luka, tumbling onto his back. Luka scrambled to his feet, trying desperately to see what was happening in the darkness. All he could hear was Rollo snarling, and the grunts of the thief-taker as he sought to hold off the big dog. Then the steel gauntlet flashed and the dog yelped as he was knocked flying.
‘Rollo!’ Emilia cried.
