Nat saw the man’s fears. ‘I am sorry for that, sir. We did not mean to put you or Margaret in danger. If you would provide us with horses and provisions, Florence and I will make our escape and leave you. Once Denzil realises…’
‘Don't be ridiculous, man!’ Sir Edward was furious. ‘Moorcroft will never leave us be now whether you and Florence are here or not! He knows what we are—what I am—and he will make cruel and wicked mischief for Margaret and I, that much is quite plain in his threats!’ Edward was far more rattled that he had allowed Denzil to perceive. ‘You must have heard of Matthew Hopkins in your history lessons, if not in this age? The man is notorious for all time for his viciousness.’
Nat nodded, ‘I have.’
‘And even if he did leave us be—and he will not—do you seriously believe that Moorcroft will ever give up chasing his lawful wife?’
Nat’s look gave him his answer.
‘Quite. He will seek you out because he has resources that you have not. He may take the trouble to brand you both as witches but I anticipate that he would find you and kill you and take his wife. Who would stop him or punish him. She is his.’
Nat shuddered a little at the thought of Florrie being with him again. This century gave Florence to Denzil at the moment that she married him. He owned her. It made Nat feel sick. Edward was right; running away wouldn’t solve Cavendish’s problem.
‘Moorcroft has his claws into us now. Be sure of this Nat Haslet: no man will harm my daughter. I will give you both over to him that she may be spared.’ Edward immediately regretted his words of anger. ‘Look man: Florence is safe and it would be of little matter to effect an escape should she come near to peril. Burcroft is also currently secure and, save a bombardment by artillery, it will remain so, be sure of that. I have a number of devices which will halt the progress of any enemy and I have been preparing for this day for many years. No. Our current safety is not our problem. It is the future threat of Denzil Moorcroft which we must address. We have two options: either we wait for Matthew Hopkins to arrive and hope that we can discredit Moorcroft and his accusations…’ the look that passed between them dismissed the option. ‘Or…’
Nat completed the obvious, ‘We kill Denzil Moorcroft. His mercenaries will scatter and Burcroft will fade into the background again.’
‘We know where Moorcroft is at this very moment and it would be of little difficulty to scout out his camp so that his numbers and resources are known. I have a number of exits from this house which none but myself and Buskette know of—not even Margaret. Her safety might rest in her ignorance if questioned.’ He smiled thinly. ‘So, do we risk an excursion to seek out Moorcroft? You know the man. Tell me your thoughts.’
Edward’s boldness surprised Nat. He had a military intelligence. ‘His obsession with Florence blinds him. He is cunning and lacks any compassion. The Taxanes have already identified Florence as of interest to them and Denzil Moorcroft is similarly interested. There is some design which has Florence at the heart of it. We are hopeful that you can add to our understanding—through the Taxanes. So, yes, Sir Edward, I believe that we must risk an excursion in order to kill him. The world will be a better place without him.’
‘Thank you. Your conclusions are also mine. It should never be a simple thing to take the life of a man but it would seem that for our own protection it is our only option. I have an idea but we will require Buskette.’
Never far away and now without the responsibility of Margaret’s safety, she joined them in the long gallery, striding in with her scrolls of maps under her arms. She had the air of a woman recently come in to her own, eyes bright, energy lighting her up. This was her home territory and she relished the onset of the campaign. Nat realised that, like him, she was a soldier at heart.
‘I have dispatched Harry Stubbs and Jeremiah Timmins to wait at the Burnham Cross. They will intercept any rider sent for Hopkins. The Witch Finder General will have no knowledge of this.’ Buskette spread the maps out on the table. The outline of Burcroft and its park was evident and in strong red ink, were traced a number of routes emanating from the house and outbuildings.
‘Tunnels?’
Edward nodded, ‘Mining engineer. 1897.’ They gathered close around the charts.
‘Here, Nat, is where your Florence is safely kept with Margaret. Their sanctuary cannot be breached from outside—not even by us. Only they can effect their escape and once they have word that all is clear, there is an escape route which will allow them to emerge behind the house on the edge of the back woods. Whilst they are safe, I suggest we leave them there. Margaret knows the procedures.’
Nat imagined how frustrated Florence would be, inactive and confined. He knew she’d be worried about him.
‘Now!’ Edward’s eyes glinted, ‘This is the tunnel which I suggest we use for our reconnoitre.’ He looked to Buskette for agreement.
‘Si, si. It will bring me to the beck behind their encampment and I shall bring you intelligence of them.’ She was itching to go.
‘Excellent. Do not neglect to collapse the tunnel entrance on your return.’
‘Never fear, Signore, they will not follow me and should they dare, they will be buried.’
‘Quite, Buskette. Thank you.’
Nat realised why Edward was so confident in Constantina Buskette. She was fearless in her devotion to the family and ruthless in her defence of them. He forgave her her hostility towards their arrival; he understood why. All of the woman’s training brought her to this moment.
‘Once we know how the land lies, Nat, what say we find this Denzil Moorcroft and finish him? Let us purge all worlds of this creature, eh?’
‘No argument here,’ he hesitated. They had to have no doubt about Moorcroft. ‘Moorcroft likes to remind those who he tortures that he is unacquainted with mercy. I suggest that we become like him in that. Keep an eye out for Holless. He is Denzil’s creature and is as dangerous as he looks. You can’t miss him. He’s the one that looks like a vulture.’
14
Moles
The house had extensive cellars. Casks, bottles and foods were stockpiled for a possible siege. Edward led Nat to the furthest end where a key, attached to a chain around his neck, unlocked the final door. No servant had access here. It took a moment for Nat to focus on what he saw, the only light coming from the torch outside. If Edward was an engineer, Nat was a soldier and he grinned at the arsenal which faced him. Shelf after shelf was stacked with weaponry—including some very modern looking cannon-ball bombs that might be rudimentary grenades! All of the blades glinted, sharp-edged and oiled. Cloths covered a range of blunderbuss guns and pikes, spears and vicious coils of chain with blades attached, hung from every wall.
Edward was prepared. He enjoyed Nat’s appreciation. He began to select weapons, placing them on a narrow table in the centre.
‘Buskette maintains all of this.’
‘And Margaret?’
‘Does not come here. It is understood between us. I have been foolish in sharing my secrets with my daughter and now I try to limit the damage I have caused by keeping her away from such as this. Can you imagine how she would be thought of if this,’ he waved his hands around at the array, ‘was familiar to her? Secrets have a habit of being discovered don’t you think?’
Nat thought that Edward was harsh on himself, ‘Do you think that you can keep such secrets from Margaret?’
Edward laughed fondly, accepting the truth of it, ‘Probably not. She is a prodigious young woman with a sharp intelligence. Have I been a thoughtless father? Should I have kept her ignorant—like most women here! It is unthinkable.’ He snorted with derision. ‘I could not deny my daughter the advantages of a modern woman but in doing so, I have risked her life even as I told her of things to come. I am tormented by my actions.’
Nat was thoughtful, ‘You know, ignorance only breeds superstition and fear. That Margaret is so fearless, is a credit to you. Would you have wanted to have lied to her for all of
your life?’
Edward was grateful for the reassurance. ‘When I was a mining engineer, I prided myself that the men in my mines did not fear for collapsed tunnels and so I put my skills to use here, building Margaret a fortress so that she could become who she would.’ Some of the servants helped to dig these caves but where Margaret and Florence are, is known to only Buskette—and Caleb.’ There was an echo of concern in his voice.
Suddenly Nat was worried. ‘Do you think that Caleb will have given up the secret of the place to Moorcroft?’
‘In truth, I do not know. I think not. Moorcroft gave no hint that he knew of a hiding place. He seemed confident that the women were within the house, don’t you think?’
‘Didn’t you say that no one could enter where they were—even us?’
‘There is that. Yes. They are safe…whatever.’
Nat had no choice but to believe that as long as Florence was with Margaret Cavendish, she would be safe. He also thought that as she grew, Margaret would have to build a fortress around her knowledge and hide it as carefully as her father had hidden her.
While he’d been speaking, Edward had moved aside a number of boxes and tarpaulins, revealing a heavy trap door which he pulled up with Nat’s help. A well! Edward smiled and nodded but Nat was a little more cautious as he peered into the black depths.
‘Like many of these houses, Burcroft is built over a well. You’ll have seen it in the yard. Our enemies will believe that it is our only source of water and in a siege they will attack it. I wish them to continue to believe this. But this is a long-forgotten well which I only discovered by following a local stream which seemed to disappear underground close by the house. It is far deeper than the well outside and its source seems to come from a water basin deep below us. I have put dyes through both water sources and I believe that the water source is different to our main well.’
Nat could see nothing in the depths below but Edward dropped a stone and they counted the seconds before the faintest of splashes echoed towards them.
‘Without the advantage of a watch, it is not entirely accurate, but I have counted the seconds and I believe that the water is actually 149 feet below. Today, however, we are not interested in the water but in the shaft itself and where it will take us.’
Nat peered down again. He couldn’t see further than ten feet but it looked like a sheer drop to him.
‘We will take only those weapons which we can carry. Secure them well. Once over the edge, you will feel a small ledge and from there it is a short step of faith to find the iron ladder secured to the inside wall. Twenty rungs down, is the opening of a tunnel in the wall of the shaft. Follow me and all will be … well.’ Edward grinned.
The iron rungs were slippery with algae but at least they felt secure. By the time Nat heard Edward’s voice, it was pitch black.
‘Here Nat. Follow me into the tunnel. Keep your head low.’
Nat lowered himself down and was surprised by a hand reaching out for his ankle.
‘This way! In here! To me.’ And he was pulled into a side tunnel dry and low. Both men stooped over in this narrow and very low side vent carved into the rock, were breathless with the effort of clambering in so difficult a fashion. It was still pitch-black but Nat followed Edward and within fifty feet, the tunnel roof lifted and with aching backs they stretched side by side in the pitch-black space.
‘Still no torches?’ Nat asked.
‘You might detect the smell of stink-damp—hydrogen sulphide. It would be most unfortunate if we lit a torch with that in the air.’
‘Ah.’ Nat felt that he could easily stay in the dark. Up a steady incline, the rock quickly gave way to earthworks shored up with pit props. Nat had no idea where they would emerge but he hoped that they would be well hidden.
‘Now we must be prepared to climb,’ Edward declared, as he began to scramble up. The earth was less firmly packed as Edward reached up and began to scrape away at the roots and earth until there was movement.
‘Watch out below! Shield yourself!’
With barely time to cover his eyes, half a ton of damp soil seemed to land on him and Nat wished that he’d closed his mouth. They emerged, spluttering for air, into a cool breeze and Nat heard the swish of tree branches. He needed no encouragement to scramble out of the hole, spitting out the soil and a number of small worms.
Edward’s teeth were bright through the mired earth which caked his face. ‘The trick is not to leave an obvious exit above ground—hence the earth works. A fine tunnel eh?’
‘Depends on where we are.’
‘We, my dear fellow, are three hundred yards from the rear of the house and totally obscured from our enemy. All we need now do is skirt around Moorcroft’s villains and wait for Buskette to arrive with the intelligence we require.’
They found a spot to sit and watching Edward rinse his face with some water from his flask Nat was surprised to realise that the man was barely older—if at all—than him. Margaret was thirteen, so Edward must have been married very young, he thought. He was storing up the questions that he’d ask of the man once Moorcroft was dispatched. Nat was curious about that and about Edward’s arrival here. How, for example, had he managed to become a titled gentleman, marry into a fine family and inherit Burcroft Park when Nat and Florence had had to revert to manual labour in order to survive. Edward pre-empted his questions with one of his own.
He whetted his lips, ‘I can resist no longer. There were many in my own age that thought manned flight might be possible. I was one of them—though ridiculed by my peers. Tell me, has a man flown through the air?’
Nat was happy to say, ‘By my time and Florence’s, men, women—whole families—fly in huge metal aircraft at 30,000 or more feet in the air. There’s an aeroplane called Concorde that reaches America within four hours!’ He smiled at Edward’s open mouthed astonishment.
‘I knew it! One day we will reach the stars.’
‘Actually…’ Nat got no further as Buskette emerged from the woodland, her eyes glinting.
‘Tell us, woman.’
‘Fifteen men—all horsed. They carry small arms and swords. No pikes. There is no artillery. These men…’ she spat. ‘They are rabble.’ She spat again. ‘They have no honour.’
‘Thank you my friend. We will begin with Repel One. Proceed.’
She gave him a satisfied smile, turned sharply and set off.
‘Repel One?’ Nat gave a wry look.
Edward coughed, ‘Buskette’s idea. We have a number of strategies to put into action. She felt that one plan might not anticipate every variant of attack. Her military training, you see. The Italians…quite dramatic…’
‘I do,’ Nat laughed. ‘Good idea. Very modern.’
‘For many years we have anticipated an attack from those who might hide in these trees—just beyond the reach of the house. It is why I have not cleared the forest further. I wish such scoundrels to feel safe. Our first strike will be to set light to the charges I have set amongst the trees. My own people have instructions not to enter the area. Buskette has told them all that traps are placed throughout the area. She is very…persuasive. She was instrumental in placing the explosives with me. When we fire them, their horses will take fright and if Buskette has loosened their tethers as I fully expect she has…’
‘They will bolt!’
‘They will. We will then see how these men muster themselves. A rabble needs firm leadership and I doubt that this is your man’s strength.’
‘He’s not a leader of men—and he’s not my man,’ Nat grunted.
Edward chose not to hear him, ‘This is our best hope. Whilst they are busy retrieving their mounts, they will be vulnerable. We will corral them towards the main charges.’ Edward watched for Nat’s reaction. ‘You are concerned. You feel that this plan has no…honour?’
‘Honour?’
‘Ambushing men towards explosives, is less…gentlemanly than challenging with swords…’
Nat shook
his head, ‘Mm. You know, in my experience of battle, victory is the only thing. These mercenaries don’t think about honour. They’re fighting men, women and children who have no experience of violence. Buskette has prepared your people for fighting but we both know that hand to hand, Burcroft’s people would be slaughtered. You have to use every advantage that you have. You have prepared for such an attack—an attack not provoked by you—and you are protecting those most precious to you with every means at your disposal. Battle is not honourable, just bloody. In any case,’ Nat continued, ‘I’m useless with a sword.’
Buskette re-emerged from the undergrowth, ‘The fuses are lit. Very soon…’ she crouched down; they followed.
A series of short bursts of explosives crackled all around them.
‘More firecrackers!’ Nat said appreciatively.
‘Harmless but effective.’
They heard the terrified whinnying of horses and the cries of men trying to keep them steady. He felt the thud of hooves through the forest floor, steadily receding. The horses had bolted as planned.
‘Signori. Wait for my signal,’ hissed Buskette and she was gone again. Nat thought that she was enjoying herself. He recognised the buzz.
The Burcroft retainers had also emerged into the trees and were spreading out in a ring as they moved towards the mercenaries. Their skill as game-trappers was put to very good use—except that there was the occasional shot fired and the swish of a sword in the undergrowth. There were bursts of small strategic explosions to the left and right,
‘They’re beating them!’ Nat saw the tactic.
Edward gave a grim smile, ‘We use our strengths.’
Buskette waved them on from a few yards away and as they joined her, Edward whispered, ‘This will not be pleasant.’
‘But effective, I think,’ Buskette added.
‘Explosives.’ Nat was sanguine. This woman would have been at home in the battles he remembered.
TAXUS BACCATA: Book Two of the Taxane Chronicles Page 9
