The Cat's Eye Shell

by Kate Forsyth

  As he spoke, the duke took off his heavy velvet cloak, flung it over the back of the settee and knelt by the fireplace, rolling up his billowing sleeves and looking about for a hearth brush. Luka decided he was liking the duke more and more every day. Although he was quick to take command, the Duke of Ormonde did not sit around and expect to be waited on, and he had given himself the most unpleasant job, for the fireplace was full of dust and ashes and cobwebs and broken birds’ nests. It was not how Luka had expected a duke to behave.

  ‘I’ll go and look through the garden,’ Emilia said, though she was so tired all she wanted to do was sit and stare. ‘There might be some berries or fruit.’

  ‘I’ll go with you,’ Tom offered, and she smiled at him wearily.

  ‘Don’t be seen,’ the duke warned them. ‘We’ve managed to escape the soldiers, thanks to Father Plummer here. Let’s do nothing to draw their attention again.’

  ‘In the morning we’ll try to find a safe passage to France for you, my lord,’ Nat said. ‘Maybe from Brighton.’

  ‘Like His Highness,’ the duke said meditatively. ‘He found a ship there, that carried him away safely.’

  ‘I have a better idea,’ Father Plummer said, looking up from his rosary which he had been quietly fingering.

  ‘Is that so?’ Lord Harry said, with a hint of a sneer. ‘And what might that be?’

  ‘Smugglers,’ the priest said calmly. ‘They know all the secret ways in and out of the country. They’ll get you out without anyone being the wiser. For a price, of course.’

  Emilia’s heart missed a beat. ‘Smugglers,’ she breathed. Gypsy Joe had told her that the Wells family, their kin that owned the cat’s eye shell, had turned their hands to smuggling.

  ‘Aye, smugglers,’ said Father Plummer. ‘There’s a gang of them I know, operating out of Rye. Surly, swarthy, suspicious fellows, but bold, very bold. It’s quite amazing what they get away with. They’re called the Owlers and, sometimes, the moon-cursers. They love the dark, you see, and curse the nights when the moon is bright. They can see in the dark like a cat, I’ve heard.’

  Eyes like a cat, Emilia thought. Her gaze flew to Luka, and saw the same excitement mirrored there.

  Along the

  South Downs

  AMBERLEY CASTLE, WEST SUSSEX, ENGLAND

  21st August 1658

  ‘I think I’ll be leaving you here,’ Lord Harry said apologetically the next morning as he shrugged his coat on.

  The Duke of Ormonde looked up. ‘Really?’

  ‘Aye. If I head due north from here, I’ll find myself up near Guildford again, not far from where I grew up. I have a desire in me to see my old house, see what sort of shape it’s in.’ He glanced at Emilia. ‘I have a sister there too, who I have not seen for some time. I think I should look in on her too.’

  Emilia smiled at him in pure joy. He grinned back, rather embarrassed.

  The duke nodded in understanding. ‘I have a longing in me for home too,’ he said. ‘Though I hardly know where home is any more.’ He looked about him at the warm stone glowing in the early sunlight, overgrown with roses and honeysuckle, and sighed.

  So Lord Harry bid them all farewell, and went tramping off into the early morning mist that shrouded the Downs. Although Emilia was very sorry to see him go, she was glad that he was at last returning to make peace with his sister Anne, whose husband had died fighting on the side of the Roundheads. Emilia thought it very sad that brother and sister should be kept apart because of an argument over who should be king. Lady Anne was struggling in desperate poverty, and Lord Harry was holding up coaches and robbing people, when they could be looking after each other. It just did not seem right. So Emilia waved goodbye eagerly, sending all sorts of good wishes to Lady Anne and her old serving-woman, Martha, before she followed the others in the opposite direction, towards the coast.

  The South Downs Way ran right from Amberley’s doorstep, giving them broad views and soft turf to walk on. Emilia felt as though they were on the top of the world, for the land fell away towards the sea on one side and down into the Weald on the other. The air smelt sweet, of sunshine on thyme, and bees hummed happily in the goldenrod. Starlings swooped everywhere, shrieking raucously, and mimicking the sounds of the farmlands. It was impossible to be worried or unhappy on such a beautiful day, and Emilia strode out gladly, sure that they would soon find the Wells tribe, and beg them for their shell charm and their help in freeing her family. Surely the Wells could not refuse to help?

  The small party of travellers passed the high green hill of Chanctonbury Ring, and Father Plummer told them that a hoard of gold was said to be hidden there somewhere, and sometimes the ghost of an old white-bearded Druid was seen searching for it.

  ‘If I was not in such a hurry, I’d stop and have a dig for it,’ the duke said. ‘I could do with some gold in my pockets!’

  ‘Me too,’ Luka said fervently.

  ‘There’s hardly a hill round here that doesn’t have some such story to it,’ the priest said. ‘I remember as a boy my brothers and I used to go searching all the time, and once we found some flint arrowheads, and another time an old coin, but never the treasure we wanted.’

  Nat stared at him. ‘You grew up near here?’ he said gruffly.

  ‘Not ten miles from here,’ Father Plummer replied.

  ‘Then you know the way to Brighton?’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘My lord, we should go to Brighton,’ Nat said. ‘It will take us days to walk to Rye, and our chances of being caught grow every moment you spend on English soil.’

  ‘I suppose that’s true,’ the duke said.

  ‘My lord, I do not think that is a good idea at all,’ Father Plummer protested. ‘There’s a garrison of soldiers at Brighton, and every ship is examined closely. A small, out-of-the-way harbour would be much less dangerous!’

  The duke bit his lip, obviously undecided. ‘Let us get to Brighton and see how the land lies,’ he said at last.

  Father Plummer looked distressed, but said no more, leading them on at a brisk pace that even the duke had trouble matching. Tom limped behind them, trying his best not to show how much his feet were hurting in his tall boots.

  Some time later, Emilia felt the ground thrumming faintly beneath her feet. Rollo looked back and growled softly.

  ‘Someone’s coming!’ Emilia cried. ‘Riding a horse hard!’

  ‘Hide!’ the duke ordered, and they all looked around in a panic, for the Downs rolled before them, sere and bare. Luka spied some gorse bushes down the hill, and scrambled down towards them, Zizi clinging to his shoulder. They all raced after him and threw themselves to the ground.

  Peering through the prickly branches, Emilia saw a soldier galloping a big bay along the top of the Downs. He was bent low over the horse’s neck, and the bay was blowing hard. They watched him pass, and then, some distance along, turn his horse and plunge down a path towards the sea.

  ‘He’s heading for Brighton,’ Father Plummer whispered. ‘A messenger, maybe, carrying news of you, my lord.’

  They got up and climbed slowly back up to the bridlepath, everyone anxious and despondent.

  ‘We’ll go on, just in case,’ the Duke of Ormonde said. ‘We’ll try for Hastings, or Rye.’

  Father Plummer nodded and led the way.

  As they walked, they ate berries from the brambles. By noon, though, they were all hungry, and by the coming of dusk, hungrier still.

  ‘I could eat a horse,’ Tom grumbled. ‘Doesn’t anyone have anything to eat?’

  ‘Not a crumb,’ the duke replied.

  ‘I must admit I’m feeling rather faint,’ the priest said, mopping his brow. ‘My stomach prefers to be fed on a regular basis.’

  ‘We can tell,’ Nat said dryly.

  Emilia had been fingering her charms as she walked, more from habit than intent. She was playing with the tiny silver horse when she heard a rustle under a bush. She bent and picked up a hedgehog, snuffling through the
leaf litter. It curled tight, turning its spines to the world. With her other hand she picked up another.

  ‘Luka!’ she called. Her cousin looked round. Face glowing, Emilia showed him what she carried in her hands. Gypsies loved hedgehogs, both because they were delicious when cooked in the coals, and also because they were secretive, wily, prickly creatures that could kill a viper, rather like gypsies themselves.

  ‘Hedgehogs!’ Luka cried. ‘Oh, Emilia! You truly are a gule romni!’

  ‘They just crawled straight into my hand,’ Emilia said. ‘Do you think we could risk lighting a little fire, just enough to bake them?’

  The duke looked dubious. ‘You want to eat the hedgehogs? Aren’t they a bit prickly?’

  ‘Sweetest meat in the world,’ Luka said.

  ‘We’ll take your word for it, I think,’ the duke replied.

  ‘No, really,’ Emilia said. She told him the old story about the king who wanted to eat the best and most delicious meal in the land, and how the poor Rom had brought him a hedgehog from the woods. All the merchants with their lambs and suckling pigs and milk-fed calves had laughed at him and mocked him. Until the king ate the baked hedgehog and declared it the sweetest of all meats. Then the merchants were angry and killed the gypsy, so that no one would know that his meal had been the best. And after that the Rom kept the secret to themselves, and that was why no one but gypsies knew just how delicious hedgehogs were.

  The duke smiled. ‘Well, I must admit I wouldn’t mind a bit of a rest. I’m not used to walking so far. How about we light a little fire, here under this bush, and you can make us some of your gypsy tea and show us how to bake a hedgehog.’

  ‘All right,’ Emilia said happily. Luka quietly dispatched the hedgehogs for her, knowing how much she hated having to kill anything, then lit a small fire under the brambles while she rolled the hedgehogs carefully in clay from one of the dew ponds. She thrust the clay balls into the heart of the fire, then put their saucepan on to boil. They all sat about the fire, enjoying the comfort of its blaze, even though the evening was very warm and still, and sipping at their bitter tea, made from thyme and dandelion leaves, which was all Emilia could find.

  Then Emilia dug the hard-baked balls of clay out of the coals and smashed one open with a rock. Deftly she peeled the clay case from the hedgehog. Since the spikes and the skin stuck to the clay, they came away easily too, leaving a small amount of soft white flesh. Emilia and Luka ate some with great enjoyment, then offered it to the others. Nat declined, looking very dour, but the priest said he was hungry enough to try anything and ate a mouthful. His face lit up.

  ‘Why, it’s delicious!’ he cried, and took some more.

  After that, they all shared the last hedgehog, down to the very last scrap.

  ‘It may be tasty but there’s not much to it,’ the duke said rather mournfully, watching Rollo crunching up the few small bones, which was all that was left. ‘And I can’t imagine a farmer trying to round up a herd of hedgehogs.’

  ‘No,’ Emilia said. ‘They’re always an unexpected gift of the hedgerow.’

  ‘Well, I’m grateful to the hedgerow,’ the duke said. ‘I feel much better with some food inside me. Shall we go on? This is not much of a campsite.’

  ‘Dangerous to camp up here,’ Father Plummer said. ‘Soldiers use this bridlepath too. No, let’s push on a while longer. I know somewhere we might be able to stay, though it’s some way ahead.’

  ‘I hope it has a bed,’ the duke said.

  ‘It has about forty,’ the priest said with a smile. ‘And very comfortable beds too, with feather-filled mattresses and down quilts and pillows, and silken testers …’

  The duke got up. ‘Lead on, my dear sir! Lead on!’

  They walked on into the evening, filled with fresh energy. As they walked, Father Plummer told them more about the place where he hoped they would find shelter.

  ‘It belongs to a Catholic family I know, down at the foot of Firle Beacon. It’s a lovely old house, though rather fallen on hard times now. I do not know if they will shelter us or not. It is owned by a very young man, Sir Thomas Gage, and I do not know him at all. I knew his father, though, the second baronet, who died during the war. The family have had to steer a tricky course not to have the house and estate confiscated. There is little mercy for those who are both Royalist and Catholic, as you know.’

  ‘They do not swear the oaths?’ the duke asked.

  Father Plummer shook his head. ‘Lady Mary is determined to raise her children in the true faith. They pay the fines, and keep to themselves, and so far they’ve been left alone. Perhaps because the present baronet is still so very young. He was only twelve when his father died. I did not know him very well, but I knew his cousin, Colonel Gage.’

  ‘Oh yes, I know,’ the Duke of Ormonde said. ‘He relieved the siege at Basing House, didn’t he?’

  ‘Aye, that’s right. Six months the Marquis of Winchester had been under siege, and they were in desperate straits. Colonel Gage took a hundred men and they disguised themselves as Roundheads, and broke through to Basing House with food and ammunition. They then escaped by night and headed back to Oxford, swimming their horses across the Kennet and the Thames.’

  Tom made an appreciative noise, and the priest went on: ‘Oh, but it’s a terrible tale, the story of the siege at Basing House. The marquis’s younger brother betrayed them, and was made to execute all his friends and accomplices. But still the marquis would not break. Two and a half years they were under siege, and things got so desperate Cromwell himself came down to try and take the house.’

  ‘Two and a half years!’ Luka exclaimed. ‘That’s most of the war.’

  ‘Aye, indeed.’ The priest was quiet for a while, and then he said, in a low voice, ‘When Basing House was lost, it was the end for the king, and the end of the war. Nothing could stop Cromwell then.’

  The duke sighed, a stricken look on his face, but then he squared his shoulders and strode on, only his deep frown showing his distress at the thought of the civil war that lost his king his throne.

  ‘So Old Ironsides beat the marquis?’ Luka asked.

  ‘Aye, he and his big guns.’

  Luka was immediately interested. ‘What guns?’

  The duke spoke then, for the first time in some miles. ‘I heard his largest gun fired shot weighing around sixty pounds.’

  ‘Criminy! That is a big gun.’

  ‘Cromwell tried other things too. I heard tell they burnt wet straw mixed with sulphur and arsenic upwind of the house, to try and choke them all out.’

  ‘Did it work?’

  ‘The guns did, in the end. The marquis utterly refused to surrender. They say he scratched Love Loyalty in Latin on every single pane of glass in the house with a diamond. And it was a big house.’ The duke’s voice was very sad. ‘But the Roundheads broke down his walls in the end, and then ran amok. They killed most of the people inside …’

  ‘Including six priests!’ Father Plummer said angrily.

  ‘… and those who were not killed were dragged out, some of them naked. There were many great men, the historian Thomas Fuller, the king’s architect Inigo Jones. It was said that the marquis himself was found saying his rosary in a bread oven, but I think that was a lie.’

  The priest snorted. ‘I don’t believe it for a moment!’

  ‘The Roundheads plundered the whole house. It was a rich place, filled with artworks and silver and gold plate, and jewels, and tapestries, and fine furniture. They looted the lot, then put the place to the torch. Twenty hours it took to burn down to the ground.’

  The duke’s voice was bitter and angry, and Emilia wondered if he had known the marquis, and perhaps even been friends with him.

  ‘What happened to the marquis?’ she asked.

  ‘He was sent to the Tower. They took his sons away to be brought up as Protestants, which would have been the cruellest thing to a faithful Catholic like the Marquis of Winchester. He lost everything.’ The priest
’s voice trembled.

  ‘They call him the Great Loyalist, though,’ the duke consoled him. ‘He never lost his honour. That has to mean something.’

  There was a long silence. Emilia’s eyes stung with tears. She thought of the poor old broken man, locked up in the Tower, his family taken away, his wealth lost, his house burnt to cinders, the glass on which he had inscribed his defiance smashed to smithereens.

  ‘And the king wonders why none of the Catholics will rise for him,’ Father Plummer murmured.

  The duke sighed heavily.

  They came to a rough track that led down into the valley below, and stumbled down it, hanging on to each other to stop from sliding. Below was a deep country lane. They made their way along it in the dark, crossing a wooden bridge and tramping through moon-silvered fields and orchards until at last they saw lights shining out over a park.

  ‘There is Firle Place,’ Father Plummer whispered. ‘They will be locked up tight and wary. They are known to be Catholics. Do you want to wait here while I go and knock on the door and see if they will shelter us?’

  Gratefully Tom, Luka and Emilia lowered themselves to the ground, groaning at their tired, aching legs. Rollo flopped down beside Emilia, his eyes fixed hopefully on her face. He was very hungry. Zizi went roaming off into the trees and came back a few minutes later with a half-gnawed apple which she gave to Luka. He took a huge bite and passed it to Emilia, who then passed it on to Tom. In moments it was all gone.

  ‘What will we do if they don’t let us in?’ Tom said, dragging off one boot and rubbing his stockinged foot.

  ‘Find a haystack,’ Luka said. ‘I’m guessing you’ve never slept on a haystack before, though, have you? You probably can’t sleep without silk sheets and satin counterpanes.’

  ‘I’ve slept in lots of uncomfortable places since I’ve been with his lordship,’ Tom replied angrily. ‘We’ve been on the run for days now!’