The Priest Hole Read online

  I wait.

  This is dumb.

  I need to nip this stuff in the bud right now.

  Taking a couple more steps back toward my room, I'm about to go inside when I hear another gentle bump from downstairs. I turn and look down at the hallway, but there's still no sign of anything.

  “Suzie?” I whisper, although I know there's no way she'd be able to hear me from up here.

  I want to go back to bed, but at the same time I know that I also need to see what caused the bump, so it doesn't start freaking me out. First night in an old house and I'm already starting to hear strange creaks? That's exactly the kind of thing that can set root in someone's mind and make them get seriously freaked out. Most likely, there's a loose door somewhere downstairs, and it'd be far better if I just go down and take a look, so that I can put all the other, more lurid ideas out of my head. After all, the burglar alarm hasn't gone off, so it's not like there can be an intruder.

  I take a deep breath.

  Face your fears, Laura, I tell myself. There's nothing down there.

  Still cursing my bladder for waking me in the first place, I head to the top of the stairs and then I make my way down to the hallway. The floorboards are cold to the touch, but as I make my way through to the kitchen I'm already feeling better now that I'm facing my fears. If I'd gone back to bed, I'd just be listening out for more bumps and imagining ghosts, whereas this way I can see for myself that there's nothing here.

  “Suzie?” I whisper, just in case my sister turns out to be down here. The last thing I need is to suddenly bump into her in the dark, but as I make my way across the kitchen I can see full well that there's no-one else here. While I'm down here, I head to the sink and pour myself a glass of water, and I can't help but smile as I realize that I've allowed myself to get well and truly spooked. Any more nights like this, and I'll start getting cats leaping out at me from shelves and wind chimes ringing in the doorways. Once I'm finished with the glass of water, I turn and make my way back to the hallway.

  After just a couple of paces, I feel a sudden snapping sensation beneath my right foot, as one of the floorboards gives way. Unable to react in time, I topple forward and land hard against the floor, letting out a gasp of pain as I feel my ankle twisting like a bitch.

  “Damn it!” I hiss, inching back and pulling my bare foot out of the hole. The broken wood has cut my flesh a little, and the pain from the twisted ankle is throbbing and annoying. For a moment, I sit in frustration, rubbing my foot in an attempt to get it to stop hurting.

  Sighing, I look down at the hole in the floor.

  And then I see it.

  Barely visible in the darkness at the bottom of the hole, something gray is glinting in the low light. I lean closer, telling myself that it must just be a section of stone, but a better view only confirms my fears.

  It's a hand.

  Or what's left of one, anyway. A real, skeletal human hand.

  I get to my feet, filled with the urge to scream but telling myself not to be a wuss. Instead, trying to ignore the pain in my right ankle, I turn and limp toward the hallway, determined to wake Mum and tell her that -

  Suddenly I hear footsteps nearby, racing closer, and I turn just in time to see a figure running up onto the porch and banging hard against the door, rattling the whole goddamn thing in its frame.

  “Let me in!” he shouts, his voice filled with fear. “The king's men are after me!”

  Chapter Four

  Daniel

  “Don't lie to me!” I shout, pushing the wretched fool's head back into the mud and holding him down as he struggles. Although I'd be happy enough to let the miserable worm drown, I know I can still get information from him so, after a moment, I pull him back up and wipe the worst of the mud from around his stubbly mouth.

  “I don't know anything!” he gasps. “I swear!”

  “You were seen, Richard,” I continue. “I've been told you were among the men who accompanied Freeman and Connaught to the Baxendale house two nights ago. Let me guess, did Connaught hire you as one of his laborers?”

  “He just wanted help looking for a priest hole,” Richard replies, before spitting out more mud. “It was an honest job for honest pay.”

  “So nothing untoward occurred? Nothing that would make a good man turn away?”

  “There...” He pauses for a moment, still trying to get free of my grip as I hold his face close down toward the muddy riverbank. “I swear, I didn't know how it was going to end up. Connaught's a good man, he didn't know either, but Freeman...”

  “What did he do?”

  “He slaughtered them,” he stammers. “The Baxendale family, all three of them, he cut off their heads. Even the child.”

  “I've heard as much about him before,” I mutter. “They say he thrives on a reputation of cruelty.”

  “That was the only time I've ever worked with Connaught, and I'm not doing it again!”

  “I don't care what you do,” I tell him. “All I care about is finding Freeman so I can get my sister back. Don't claim you can't help me, man, or this time I'll keep your head down until your miserable body falls still.”

  “I can't help you! I didn't even look Freeman in the eye that night, I didn't dare! You know what they say about him, he can take a sudden dislike to a man and the next thing you know, there's blood everywhere.” He tries to turn and look up at me, but I have too strong a grip on the back of his neck. “You're a madman if you're thinking of hunting him down. Whatever he's done to you, just leave it be and thank the Lord you escaped with your life. Walk away, like everyone else!”

  “It's not my life I'm worried about,” I reply. “It's my sister's.”

  With that, I shove his face back down into the mud. He tries desperately to get free, but this time I genuinely consider drowning the wretch. After all, he's known as a petty thief in these parts, even turning to violence when he's drunk, and no-one would miss him. At the same time, I have never killed a man except in self-defense, so finally I pull him back up and shove him away. No doubt someone else will have cause to cut his throat before too long.

  “If you happen to run into Freeman again,” I say firmly, “tell him that Daniel Hodges is looking for him. Tell him I want my sister Rosie back, and that I won't stop until I have her.”

  “Do you seriously think I ever want to see Freeman again,” Richard asks, sitting up, “or that I'd dare speak to him if I did? No matter what you think of me, there are some things I don't want to be involved with. Dark things, acts that...” He pauses for a moment. “They say Freeman had a camp at the edge of Welland Forest a couple of weeks ago. Just a temporary thing for a night or two, but I've heard stories of the...”

  I wait for him to finish, but he seems almost scared to continue.

  “You heard stories of what?” I ask, reaching for my sword.

  “Screams,” he replies, watching my hand carefully, clearly ready to run. “They say women were heard screaming late one night, and... Do you know the patch of land where the forest meets the old Kentish road?”

  “Near the chalk plain?”

  He nods. “That's where they say he had a camp. It was a couple of weeks back, mind, but it's the only thing I know that might help you.”

  Taking my hand away from the hilt of my sword, I look along the riverbank and contemplate the long walk to the spot he describes. “If I have reason to believe you're lying to me,” I say finally, turning back to Richard, “I'll find you and slit your throat. The same is true of any man who wastes my time right now. As much as I hate to even look at you for a moment longer, I need you to show me the exact spot where Freeman is said to have set up camp.”

  “But -”

  “Walk with me,” I say firmly, stepping toward him and drawing my sword from its sheath, “or I'll kill you here and now.”

  ***

  “See?” he says a few hours later, as he kicks some burned wood in a clearing at the edge of the forest, “I told you there was a camp here!”


  “Obviously he's long gone,” I mutter, looking around but seeing no other signs of recent activity. “If he set up here for even one night, it must mean he has nowhere else to stay in the area. I'd hoped he might have a dwelling nearby, so that I could more easily track him down.”

  “If he lives anywhere between Wyvern, Rencham and Mollingstain, then I'd be surprised. People would be talking about it.”

  I use the tip of my sword to poke through the remains of the fire. The thought of Nykolas Freeman sitting here, warming himself on a cold night, turns my stomach. Even if I won't admit as much to anyone, I know deep down that the odds of finding Rosie alive are slim, and that a man like Freeman would most likely torture her for a day or two and then end her life. Still, I want to believe that I would have sensed my sister's death in some way, and as I look across the valley and see the sun starting to dip in the late afternoon sky, I tell myself that she's still out there somewhere.

  And I will find her. As God is my witness -

  Suddenly I feel a heavy blow to the back of the head, knocking me forward until I stumble and drop to my knees. I instinctively reach for my sword, only for Richard to kick me in the side of the head and send me sprawling down into the ashes left behind by the fire. A moment later, I feel my sword being pulled away and I look up just in time to see Richard standing over me with the blade held high.

  “What are you doing, man?” I sneer.

  “I reckon there'll be a reward for your head,” he replies, raising the sword even higher, as if he's getting ready to bring it down against me. “They say Freeman offers good rewards for anyone who shows loyalty. If I tell him what you were planning to do, maybe he'll give me a proper job.”

  “You want to work for that monster?” I ask, shocked that even Richard Mauley – always a foul and decrepit man – would sink quite so low.

  “A job's a job,” he continues, taking a step to one side, as if he's trying to get a better angle on me. The man is obviously not accustomed to wielding such a weapon. “Maybe he's got another house needs taking apart, or another family that needs dragging out. I was one of the men who shoved the Baxendales' bodies onto the fire at the end. Good honest pay for good honest work. I know he's originally from a village nearby called Offingham, so I reckon if I ask around there, I'll find him soon enough.”

  “There's nothing good or honest about what Freeman does,” I tell him. “He's a murderer!”

  “He has the authority of King James,” he points out. “The Lord's, too.”

  “The king, perhaps,” I reply, watching the sword carefully, ready for him to strike,” but not God. I refuse to believe that God wants a man like Nykolas Freeman to be on the loose.”

  “Gotta get rid of those Catholics, though,” he continues. “Witches, too. If your sister was -”

  “My sister is not a witch!” I shout. “My sister is -”

  Before I can get another word out, Richard swings the blade at me. I roll out of the way and get to my feet, turning to see that the wretch is struggling to pull the blade out from the mud. Stepping closer, I grab him by the throat and pull him away before sending him crashing to the ground. I grab my sword and turn to see Richard already staggering up, so I take a step forward and slice the blade straight into his belly and out through his back. His eyes widen with shock and he reaches down to stop me, but it's too late. Keeping my eyes fixed on his, I slowly pull the sword out and then step aside as he drops to the ground, clutching his wound.

  “Never try to attack an honest man with his own weapon,” I mutter firmly, using my foot to roll him onto his back. “Do you know the worst thing, Richard? I was actually going to let you live. What kind of a fool does that make me?”

  He tries to reply, but all that emerges from his mouth is a torrent of blood.

  “I only kill in defense,” I tell him, “but now that you're dying anyway, I'll at least finish you off with mercy. Not that you deserve any, but still...”

  He reaches up and tries to stop me, but I quickly slice the edge of my sword across his neck, cutting his leathery throat. Stepping back, I watch as blood sprays from the wound. He's still trying to call out, but he's done for now and he slumps down, his whole body twitching and he gulps for air. Turning away, I head to another patch of mud and dip my sword deep, in order to get at least some of the blood off. When I turn back to look at Richard, he has finally fallen still, and his glassy eyes stare up at the slate gray sky.

  Chapter Five

  Laura

  “Take Jessica upstairs!” a man's voice hisses, hurrying through to the kitchen.

  Wide-eyed with shock, I step back against the wall, barely even aware of the pain in my right ankle. I watch in horror as the man heads to the door and pulls the latch open, and as soon as he opens the door, the other man hurries in and then pushes the door shut as if he's filled with panic.

  “This is a dream,” I whisper, “it has to be.” Slowly, the smell of Mum's potpourri is starting to be replaced by a strong whiff of pure lavender.

  “Are you Henry Baxendale?” the breathless man asks, still looking out the window as if he expects to see someone approaching across the dark lawn at any moment.

  “This is my home,” the other man replies, lighting some candles nearby. “What are you doing knocking at such an ungodly hour?”

  “My name is Darian Kinner,” the first man tells him. “I was told by a mutual friend to come here. I believe you know Sir Henry Callins?”

  “Callins?” The other man, Baxendale, seems shocked to hear mention of that name. “Aye, I know him. We've had cause to...” He pauses, clearly cautious. “It's rare for him to send a man to visit me in the middle of the night, though.”

  “He gave me this,” Kinner replies, holding out a letter. “It's sealed with his credentials.”

  “Who are you?” I call out, before turning and seeing that the old, broken fitted kitchen that was here when we moved in has suddenly vanished, replaced by a set of bare wooden benches. I glance around and see that everything seems slightly different, as if the house has undergone an instant transformation. “Mum!” I shout, looking up toward the ceiling. “Mum! Wake up!”

  “Henry?” a female voice calls out from the hallway.

  “Go back to bed!” Baxendale shouts, hurrying to the door just as the woman comes through. “Make sure that Jessica is settled. There's nothing to worry about.”

  “Who's here?” the woman asks.

  “I'll tell you in the morning,” Baxendale replies, ushering the woman back out of the room, leading her toward the stairs. “For now you must stay in bed while I deal with it all.”

  While they're out of the room, the other man, this Darian Kinner guy, limps toward me, although as he passes it's almost as if he hasn't even noticed my presence. I watch as he eases himself onto a chair, and then I realize that he's bleeding from a wound on his left thigh. He reaches down and winces as he starts examining the wound, with blood dripping down onto the floor.

  “Who are you?” I ask again. “What are you doing in our house?”

  He ignores me, focusing instead on dealing with his injury.

  “Who are you?” I shout, looking around for something I can use to defend myself. “Mum!” I scream. “There are people in our house!”

  “What did Sir Henry tell you?” Baxendale asks suddenly, hurrying back through and stepping past me as he goes over to attend to Darian.

  “He told me I could find safety here,” Darian replies, moving his hands aside so that the other man can see his wound. “He told me I'd find like-minded people who would let me stay, just for a night or two. The king's men are less than five miles from here and they're on the lookout for a priest. If they find me, they'll take me and -”

  “I know what they'll do,” Baxendale replies, grabbing a bottle of amber liquid and pulling out the cork. “This will hurt, but it should make the flesh cleaner.” Without hesitation, he pours some of the liquid onto Darian's wound, causing the other man to cry o
ut for a moment. “There,” Baxendale adds, setting the bottle aside, “my wife will be able to tend to this injury more closely. She has experience when it comes to patching men up after they've been injured in such a way.”

  “It's Freeman,” Darian continues, grimacing with pain. “I saw him myself. It's Nykolas Freeman on my trail. I can't lie to you, the risk is great.”

  “Freeman?” The name seems to strike fear into Baxendale as he turns and looks toward the door. “It has been a long time since that beast was in the area. I had hoped he might never return.”

  Stepping around them both, I hurry to the dark hallway. Everything seems different, and as I make my way up the stairs I spot several unfamiliar paintings on the walls, paintings I swear weren't there earlier. Even the stairs themselves are different, although the wall's stone sections are in the same place. I hurry to Mum's bedroom and burst through the door, only to see that her double bed is gone, replaced by a smaller bed. Before I can react, a figure sits up on the bed, and whoever she is, she looks to be about the same age as my sister.

  “Who are you?” she asks.

  “I -” Pausing, I realize that unlike the two men in the kitchen, this girl can apparently see me just fine. “I'm dreaming,” I stammer finally. “I fell and hit my head, or -” Looking down at my ankle, I realize that in my panic I barely even noticed the pain; it's still there, though, which means I probably didn't imagine the part when I tripped in the kitchen. Everything after that must have been some kind of hallucination, however, which means I'm probably unconscious on the floor down there right now.

  “Are you one of them?” the girl asks.

  I stare at her. “One of who? Where's my mother?”

  “Your mother?” The girl pauses. “I don't know. Did you bring her with you?”