Cauldron of Fear (29 page)

'Ah, my sweet
little Ellen,' Jane whispered, checking there was oil in the lamp.
'How much you've changed in some ways - how little in others.' The
wick flared into life and Jane had to adjust it before replacing
the glass. Now, as she lifted it, moving towards the inner door
just a few steps away, shadows danced along the walls and the
scampering of small feet betrayed the sudden retreat of what was
either a rat, or a very large mouse.

The steps down
into the vault proper were smooth but even, so little use over the
decades ensuring that they still looked as square and level as they
must have done when the place was first built, when the first
Grayling to be buried here, Lord Edmund, whose mummified corpse sat
in the long alcove just at the foot of those same stairs, had
ordered its construction.

Ignoring the
rows of deceased Graylings on either side of the tunnel shaped
vault, Jane moved quickly towards the far end, passing the six or
seven alcoves that stood empty for future family members, until she
reached another door set into the end wall. Much smaller than
either of the doors through which she had passed so far, it was
nonetheless heavier, for it was constructed entirely of iron.

Using the same
key Jane unlocked it, placed the lamp down on the floor and, using
both hands, pulled with all her strength. Slowly, with a slight
murmur of complaint, it opened and Jane, first listening for any
sounds of movement from beyond, finally stepped through and stood
again, looking to right and left into impenetrable darkness.

It had to be
at least four, if not five years since she and Ellen had last used
this door and before that it was unlikely that anyone else had
opened it for another twenty years. In fact, according to Ellen, it
was also unlikely that anyone else now even knew of its existence,
apart perhaps from Roderick and his father, for this was a way back
into the crypt of the church, a quite unique feature in itself.

Once,
probably, it had been used for family members, or the priest, to
pass from the church into the burial chamber without having to
brave whatever elements prevailed outside, but now, Ellen had
assured Jane, no one ever used it for that purpose and even
Wickstanner probably had no idea it existed, for it emerged into a
small side passage that was now frequently flooded by the
underground spring that ran close by and there was no key to it
anywhere but in Grayling Hall, the key Ellen had given her this
morning.

Today,
however, the uneven stone floor was dry underfoot and, taking up
the lantern again, Jane began to make her way stealthily in the
direction of the main crypt, stopping every few paces to listen out
again. At the end of the passageway stood another door, this one
unlocked; turning the lantern as low as it would go without
extinguishing it, Jane turned the wrought iron handle and eased it
open the merest fraction, placing her eye to the crack.

The main
passageway beyond stood empty, illuminated by a single lantern that
hung from a bracket further down, giving just enough light to see
by, but leaving pools of shadow alongside each supporting pillar.
Smiling to herself, Jane pulled the door further ajar and slipped
through, pushing it to after her.

'Now then,'
she said softly, 'let's see where they're keeping you, Matilda
Pennywise - and just what it'll take to get you out of here when
the time comes.'

It was not
difficult to guide the little boat ashore on Bishop's Rock, for
years of the swift flowing current parting around it had worn the
upstream promontory so that earth, sand and rocks had crumbled into
the water to form two small embankments and a narrow, flat
beachhead into which the little craft drifted at Harriet's lightest
guidance.

As it grounded
she stood upright, jumped easily over the side and splashed ashore,
grasping at the gunwale by the prow to pull the boat further in.
Breathing heavily from her exertions, Harriet looked about and then
down at her boots, discoloured as far as mid-calf by their
immersion.

For this
venture Harriet had discarded even her most practical gowns and
chosen, instead, a pair of man's riding breeches, something her
father had brought back from London for her several years since,
before his wound and subsequent illness had reduced him to the mere
shell of a man he now was. The breeches had been one of his jokes
and were far too big for her then, but now they came in very useful
and Harriet often wore them when working with the cows.

She raised her
eyebrows slightly, sighed and wondered just what she should do now,
where to start looking, or even whether she should just wait. If
Toby's theory was correct the kidnappers would not be here in
person, but if they had left further instructions, where in
heaven's name were they?

Bishop's Rock
was, in fact, several great slabs of rock, all clustered together
in midstream, upon which, over the centuries, a sparse soil had
somehow collected, into which had rooted a dozen or more trees and
a haphazard selection of bushes and grasses. From end to end it was
about sixty or seventy paces, assuming that one could actually pace
a straight line along its length, which the tangled undergrowth
almost certainly precluded. From side to side at its widest points
it was little more than half that, at its narrowest, almost in the
middle of its length, it was less than half that distance
again.

In all,
Harriet concluded as she stood turning slowly, despite the ground
cover the little island was too small to be concealing much. So
what was she supposed to do now?

And then she
saw it, a small leather satchel hanging from one of the lower
branches of the nearest tree, its dark colour ensuring that it
would not be seen from either bank, yet here, up close, quite
visible to anyone who knew they should be looking for something out
of the ordinary. Her heart beating, Harriet stepped forward,
pushing her way through grass that she now saw had been previously
flattened by whoever had placed the bag there.

'It says to
continue downstream to a place called Platt's bridge,' she said,
studying the rectangular parchment that was the satchel's only
content. 'No, keep your head down.' She raised her own head just
far enough to see Toby's eyes peeking out over the gunwale of the
boat, the rest of him hidden beneath the cape that Harriet had
seemingly so casually discarded upon boarding the craft beneath the
bridge by the mill.

'There's a
sort of map drawn here, with a cross marking the spot,' she said,
keeping her voice low so as not to carry to anyone who might be
watching from either bank. 'But I don't remember any bridge down
there.'

'Is it where
the river loops right around on itself?' Toby hissed. Harriet
nodded, almost imperceptibly, and Toby's eyes bobbed up and down as
he mirrored her action.

'That's about
a mile the other side of where Kings Woods ends,' he said. 'There
ain't no bridge there any more, just a few piles of stones. Must
have been washed away in a flood, or something, and no one ever
bothered rebuilding it.'

'But why build
it there in the first place?' Harriet demanded. 'There aren't any
roads crossing the river anywhere near that.'

'Not now, no,'
Toby agreed, 'but there used to be. I bin down there, fishin', cos
the water's really shallow on the left bank, see, and you can scoop
the little beggars out dead easy. There's a road all right, but no
one uses it no more, not since I known it, anyway. But then that's
hardly surprisin' when you thinks about it, Miss Harriet. That's
part of the Grayling estates there and that road was the one that
used to lead out to the north, towards where Hogarth Green used to
be. The Graylings chucked everyone out of the village years ago, me
dad said, and then they closed off the road completely. There is
another track into the estate from that side, but it's narrow and
there's usually a couple of keepers wanderin' around with dogs. Not
that we'll need to worry about them today, not with Master
Handiwell's soldier boys and their guns.' Toby's face shone with
excitement and it was obvious he was relishing the prospect of
seeing a real conflict of arms.

'I see,'
Harriet said, trying to ignore the way her pulse had suddenly
started racing. She studied the crude drawing again, noting how, as
Toby had said, the river ran around in a wide sweep and trying to
imagine the scale of the map in her mind. Yes, she saw, Toby was
right. The river there ran deeply inside the boundaries of the
Grayling lands as she knew them, but then, as Toby had also said,
that fact should not have surprised either of them.

'Right,' she
said, replacing the map inside the satchel, flipping it closed and
looping the strap over her shoulder, 'as I get back in, you roll
out over the other side. The little embankment there will keep you
hidden from anyone watching from that side and I'll pick up my cape
and pretend to shake it out and fold it again, so it'll make a
screen on this side.'

'Right you
are, miss,' Toby grinned, peering up at her. 'But I shouldn't worry
too much about anyone watching. They won't be here, same as I said.
Too risky. Probably had someone watchin' for you further upstream,
somewhere from where they could ride off easily, take the news to
whoever's waitin' for you at the other end.'

'Now then,'
Harriet said, as she finished replacing her cape and began the task
of pushing the boat back out into the water, 'you know what you've
got to do, don't you?' Crouching among the reeds, waist deep in
water, Toby nodded.

'Sure, miss,'
he replied, raising one thumb. 'Don't you worry about me. Just you
make sure you use them oars to slow you down, not the other way
round. It'll take me a few minutes to swim ashore and a good ten
more to run back down the road and find Master Handiwell and them
soldiers, and we'll have to ride right round about three extra
miles to find that track I said about.'

Jasmine spent
even more time than before on making up Sarah's face and arranging
her hair. Once again, Sarah was forced to sit as the Asian girl
worked away in silence, painting her cheeks, her eyes, her lips,
teasing her locks back and pinning them so that a small tail was
left hanging down over the nape of her neck. The final touch was
the addition of a neat velvet covered riding bonnet, with black
ribbons trailing from the rear and a jaunty rim surrounding it.
Long pins secured this in place and, when Sarah was finally
permitted to see her reflection in the full-length mirror, she
stood and gaped at the erotic spectacle she now presented.

Totally formal
from the neck up, from the neck down she still wore only the tight
underwear and gloves and the high boots, affording a contrast that
was not lost upon her. The addition of the gold rings through her
newly pierced nipples simply enhanced this effect, the steady,
throbbing soreness reminding her of their presence with every
heartbeat. Ellen, who had returned to her water pipe meanwhile,
languished on the bed, smiling at her contentedly.

'You look so
lovely, pretty,' she cooed, forming her own painted lips into a
lascivious moue. 'I really think, if I am not very careful, that I
could fall completely in love with you. Of course,' she said,
sighing with mock severity, 'that would never do. After all, you
are my slave and I am your mistress, is that not so?'

Sarah,
realising that any hesitation on her part might well trigger almost
any sort of unpleasant reaction from the drug-hazed girl, nodded
quickly.

'Yes,
mistress,' she replied meekly, lowering her eyes. The two gold
rings, hanging from her almost impossibly engorged teats, seemed to
wink back at her, mocking her apparent acceptance of her new
status.

'Never mind,'
Ellen said lightly, 'I shall still love you as I would love a
favourite puppy dog, or as I loved my prettiest dollies when I was
small. Come here, pretty Sarah, and I shall kiss those pretty
lips.'

She did not,
however, mean the lips that Jasmine had not long finished painting,
for before Sarah could even attempt to bend - a feat the corset
rendered all but impossible - Ellen leaned forward, grasped her by
both bare buttocks and drew Sarah staggering forward off balance
and placed her own lips full on Sarah's cleft.

Sarah shivered
and felt her stomach contract instinctively, as the fiery little
fingers pitter-pattered once more up and down her spine. She closed
her eyes in mortification, unable to help herself and knowing that
she had grown wet immediately upon the contact and that Ellen could
not fail to notice the effect of her lewd kiss.

'So sweet a
little honeypot,' Ellen muttered, her words sounding slurred. 'So
sweet that I think I shall have to taste it some more.' She looked
up into Sarah's face, just as Sarah reopened her eyes and Sarah saw
that her pupils were now hugely dilated. 'I think you would like
that too, don't you?' Ellen whispered. Slowly, Sarah nodded, unable
to deny the truth, no matter how shamed she felt by it.

Wickstanner
found Silas Grout working beneath the tallest of the oak trees that
stood in a roughly circular cluster on the eastern side of the
village green. He had drawn the witchfinder's wagon up beneath a
sturdy lower limb that was perhaps fifteen feet above the ground,
unhitched the two horses, which now grazed idly a few yards away
and was busily assembling a collection of pre-cut timbers.

'Good day,
parson,' Silas said, looking up at Wickstanner's approach. 'Fine
and sunny again, eh?'

'Such a shame
you'll not be hanging the girl today then,' Wickstanner replied
sarcastically. The sarcasm seemed lost on Silas.

'It'll still
be fine tomorrow,' he said confidently, 'all the time the winds
stays in the south west, anyway. Besides,' he added, straightening
up and letting his hammer drop onto the back of the wagon, 'it'll
give us a bit more time to get this little lot ready. My mate
usually does this with me, you see,' he continued, by way of
explanation, 'only he's gone missing this morning. Probably
sleeping it off somewhere, if I'm any judge.'