The Smallest Man

by Frances Quinn

  Lord Newcastle shook his head.

  ‘It’s clear they know where we are. If we turn back, they could still come after her majesty – and we won’t know where or when.’

  ‘Could you get everyone out of the house?’ asked the queen.

  Arabella shook her head.

  ‘I only managed to get out because Major Sarenbrant went off somewhere last night – the guards get lazy when he’s not there, and Mother distracted them by letting all the pigs out. But tonight he’ll be back – and I told you, he said if we tried to escape he’d kill us.’

  The queen turned to Lord Newcastle.

  ‘Is there really no other way?’

  ‘If we knew where and when they planned to attack, we could ambush them on the road,’ he said. ‘But without that information, I’m afraid attacking the house is the only feasible strategy.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Arabella, we don’t have a choice,’ said the queen. She turned to Lord Newcastle again. ‘But we need to work out how best to protect the household. Get your best men together and we’ll plan this properly. Quickly, there’s no time to lose.’

  She couldn’t have done otherwise, I knew that. And it wasn’t just fear for herself; if the Parliamentarians captured her, they could make the king do anything, and she couldn’t let that happen. But the queen I’d known back in the Whitehall days wouldn’t have made that decision so easily. The war had changed her, even by then.

  I went to go with them, but Lord Newcastle held up a hand to stop me.

  ‘I think the young lady’s horse would appreciate some water,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you could show her where to find it?’

  So now I was the stable boy.

  I slid down from the saddle and stomped towards the water carrier; Arabella caught me up.

  ‘I can’t let them do this,’ she said. ‘You could speak to the queen, couldn’t you? Make her understand—’

  I gestured to the bucket of water I was filling.

  ‘Does it look like she’s waiting to hear what I think?’

  ‘Whoa, no need to be so prickly. I just thought, because you were riding with her…’

  ‘She wouldn’t listen to me. Not about that kind of thing.’

  ‘Well, if you can’t help, can you hurry up with that water? I’ve got to get back and warn everyone. Perhaps we can hide, somehow, though I can’t see…’ She threw up her hands. ‘Why didn’t I find out more? That man said, didn’t he, if they knew where it was going to happen, they could attack there instead?’

  ‘But you didn’t hear any details?’

  ‘No, not a thing. I could find out tonight, I could listen from the priest hole – but once Major Sarenbrant’s back, I won’t be able to get out again.’

  Of course; there was always a priest hole in Catholic houses. I’d seen one, once; the queen had been moved to tears at the thought of a priest trapped in the tiny, dark space, listening to the sounds of the house being searched and knowing his fate if they found him.

  Arabella couldn’t get out again with the information, because they were watching her – but what if someone else could? Someone they didn’t know was there in the first place?

  ‘The priest hole,’ I said. ‘Could you definitely hear them from it?’

  ‘Yes, it’s right above the hall. We used to eavesdrop on our parents when we were children – you can hear everything.’

  ‘Could you get me in? And out?’

  * * *

  Lord Newcastle shook his head when I explained the plan.

  ‘This is no time for jokes, little man.’ He wagged a finger at me. ‘The threat to her majesty is serious, and—’

  ‘It’s not a joke,’ I said. ‘It’s the only way we’re going to find out what they’re planning. And if there’s anyone who can get in and out of that house without being seen it’s me.’

  ‘We’ve worked it out,’ said Arabella. I’d expected her to laugh when I told her my idea, but straight away, she’d started figuring out how we could do it. ‘I can smuggle him in and hide him. And once Major Sarenbrant’s asleep, he can slip away.’

  ‘I can be back here by dawn,’ I said. ‘Major Sarenbrant’s not expected until very late, so they won’t be attacking tonight.’

  ‘Simply not possible,’ said Lord Newcastle. ‘Now, your majesty, we really should—’

  He gestured for the queen to walk with him, but Arabella caught her arm.

  ‘Just give us one night,’ she said.

  ‘You owe her that,’ I said. ‘She took a big risk coming here.’

  Lord Newcastle’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked at the queen. But she nodded; ever since the days when we’d stood in front of Mr Van Dyck’s easel, she’d trusted me to speak plainly to her when others wouldn’t. She held up her hand as Lord Newcastle started blustering about how they were wasting time and needed to get on with planning the attack, and turned to me.

  ‘What if you can’t get out again?’ she said.

  ‘Then you do what you have to do,’ I said.

  ‘This is quite ridiculous,’ said Lord Newcastle. ‘Your majesty, I must—’

  ‘It isn’t,’ said the queen. ‘It’s a good plan.’ She shook her head. ‘But it’s dangerous. If you’re caught…’

  ‘Your majesty,’ I said. ‘You once told me you knew what it was like to be treated as a child when you were no longer one. Well, I’m not a child. I’m a man. And I can do this.’

  We looked at each other for a long moment, then Arabella spoke up.

  ‘I don’t want to be rude, but I can’t wait any longer. Is he coming or not?’

  The queen nodded.

  ‘Yes. He’s coming.’

  * * *

  At last, I had my chance to do something braver than sitting at a desk and transcribing letters. But I hadn’t envisaged that service to involve being smuggled into a Parliamentarian stronghold in a potato sack. I’d been hidden under Arabella’s cloak on the ride to the house, and we’d managed to get through a side entrance to the parkland and down to the stables without being seen. But between there and the house, there’d be guards. The vegetable store was by the stables and the sack was the best idea either of us could come up with. She fetched a barrow and I climbed inside the sack and curled into a ball, with potatoes piled on top of me. The light was fading by then; if I kept perfectly still, surely the guards wouldn’t look too closely? But for all my longing to be a hero, I kept remembering Jeremiah’s words. You’ll be a trophy. If they get their hands on you, they won’t let you go. And now it wasn’t just my own life I was risking; if they found me, what would they do to Arabella?

  ‘I’m going to wheel you up to the back door, but there’ll be two guards before we get there,’ she said. ‘Don’t move, don’t make a sound, until I tell you it’s safe.’

  A blast of cold air and the crunch of gravel told me we were outside. A moment later footsteps walked towards us.

  ‘What are you doing out here?’ asked a voice. ‘You were told to stay inside the house.’

  I held my breath.

  ‘We need potatoes for the major’s dinner,’ she said, her voice perfectly steady. She went to walk on, then gasped as the barrow jerked back; one of the soldiers must have caught hold of her arm.

  ‘Perhaps she fancied some male company,’ another voice said. ‘You wouldn’t be the first to be hot for a soldier, sweetheart. When it comes down to it, you’ve got the same between your legs as any dairymaid, haven’t you?’

  My stomach turned to ice. I couldn’t let them touch her. And how are you going to stop them?

  ‘Let me pass,’ she said. Her voice didn’t waver, but as she leaned forward and adjusted the opening of the sack, making sure I was covered, her hands were shaking.

  ‘Too good for us, is that it? Why don’t we see about that?’

  ‘Take your hands off me,’ she said. Her voice trembled a little but then she said more steadily: ‘Unless you want the major to hear about this.’

  ‘Leave off, Dan,’ said t
he other soldier. ‘If she goes telling tales, there’ll be trouble, you know what he’s like. We’ll get another bloody soldiers of Christ lecture.’

  ‘You’d think there’d be some benefits to being in God’s army,’ grumbled the first soldier, but the resignation in his voice told me he’d stepped back.

  Arabella lifted the handles of the barrow.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said the second soldier. ‘That’s a lot of potatoes, just for the major’s dinner and yours.’

  My blood froze. A hand grasped the top of the sack.

  ‘We could do with a few spuds ourselves,’ he said. ‘You won’t miss one or two—’

  ‘Is something wrong?’

  The woman’s voice came from the back door of the house.

  ‘I was just coming, Mother,’ said Arabella. ‘With the potatoes.’

  She jerked the barrow up and strode towards the door, muttering ‘Don’t run, don’t run’ under her breath.

  ‘What happened?’ said her mother. ‘Did they—’

  ‘Not now! Let’s get inside. You won’t believe what’s in this sack.’

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  The priest hole stank. It was a shallow space between the ceiling of the main hall and the floor of a bedroom, the narrow trap door hidden under a heavy wooden chest. The previous inhabitants must have been rats, and they weren’t long departed; the smell they left behind was nearly as bad as the prospect of their company if they decided to return.

  ‘Hurry!’ said Arabella’s mother, standing guard at the bedroom door. ‘If the guards come…’

  Lady Denham hadn’t been best pleased to discover what was in the potato sack – I think her exact words to Arabella were, ‘Child, are you stark raving mad?’ She’d insisted they hide me straight away, so even the servants wouldn’t know I was there.

  Major Sarenbrant had sent word that he expected to arrive after ten, and they should have food ready for him.

  ‘He’s a pig,’ Arabella said. ‘Sits there like he owns the place. He’s as thin as a pin, like a skeleton with skin on it, but he eats enough for three men. Mind you, he gets more than he bargains for. I spit in every dish I take in.’

  Lying in the dark, I thought about the priests who’d hidden there, listening to the house being searched. Perhaps the darkness made me fanciful but I swear I smelt fear; it seeped out of the walls, mingling with the sweet stench of rats’ piss. And I was in the same position as those priests. If they discovered me, at best, they’d keep me as a hostage, but they might just as easily kill me. We’d passed a rough grave on the way to the stables; the poor steward hadn’t even had a Christian burial. And I’d be as much of a trophy dead as alive.

  My big chance to be a hero, and suddenly the whole idea was ridiculously foolish. We couldn’t even be sure I’d hear anything useful, let alone that I could escape with the information. I thought of the queen’s face, pinched with fear when she heard about the plot. She was counting on me, and my excitement at getting the chance to be useful had turned into a heavy dread that I might fail her. But there was nothing to do except wait and hope.

  At last, footsteps sounded below. A door opened and closed, chairs scraped back, and a voice said:

  ‘Right, Owen, let’s see that map.’

  From the commanding tone, I guessed he was Major Sarenbrant, the skeleton-faced man Arabella had described, but his accent was a shock. I hadn’t heard it in a while but I’d have known it anywhere: he was from Rutland, or at least thereabouts. A moment’s thought told me it made sense. I knew my home county was in the hands of the other side – I’d heard they’d even commandeered the duke’s old house as their headquarters – and from here, they’d be the nearest Parliamentarian forces. I just wasn’t expecting that the man plotting to kill the queen might be someone I could have passed by at the Oakham fair, or stood beside in the marketplace.

  There was a pause, I guessed while the man called Owen was unfolding the map, and then he said, ‘This is the place we’ll do it. Just outside Mark’s Cross.’

  ‘You’re sure they’ll go that way?’ said Major Sarenbrant.

  I couldn’t have heard them more clearly if I’d been sitting at the table with them. Which meant if I made the slightest move, they’d hear me too.

  ‘It’s the best road, and those guns are heavy – they won’t risk getting stuck in the mud on another route,’ said Owen. ‘They’re travelling slowly, they won’t reach this spot till around four. If we leave at first light, we can be waiting for them, and we’ll attack just before this fork, see, where there’s plenty of cover. That bridge is narrow, it’ll stop them turning back.’

  The door opened, and I recognised Arabella’s light footsteps.

  ‘About time,’ said Major Sarenbrant. ‘I hope the meat is better cooked than last time.’

  She didn’t reply, and I smiled in the darkness. I spit in every dish I take in.

  They ate without talking, the silence broken only by the clink of knives on pewter. I pictured the place they’d described. Near Mark’s Cross, a narrow bridge, plenty of cover – the road must go through woodland then. A fork in the road. If I saw a map, I’d be able to find it.

  I was concentrating so hard that when something brushed my hand, I instinctively flinched. My arm nudged the purse at my waist, and the coins clinked.

  ‘What was that?’ said Owen. I sat, frozen. ‘That girl – I bet she’s eavesdropping.’

  ‘You’re imagining things,’ said Major Sarenbrant. ‘She couldn’t hear anything through that great thick door anyway. Sit down and finish your dinner.’

  Something brushed my hand again; the bravest of the rats had decided to reclaim their billet. Its claws made only the faintest of scratching sounds on the floor, but the slightest move from me would send it scrabbling noisily away. Major Sarenbrant must know the Denhams were Catholic; it wouldn’t take much to work out there was a priest hole above him. I sat rigid as the rat got bolder, running across my legs and chewing at my breeches, and steeled myself not to flinch if it bit me.

  When the meal was finished, the map must have been got out again; Owen was talking about the woods on either side of the road.

  ‘They’ll move to protect her as soon as they see us,’ said the major.

  ‘Of course. But I’ve assigned men to pick off the guards around her straight away – one to one. It’ll be chaos, and Crabbe and his men will grab her and get her away before the troops behind even realise what’s happening. Whatever damage we can do then will be a bonus.’

  ‘Get her down to London and hand her over as fast as you can. We don’t want to risk them trying to get her back.’

  ‘I’m keeping men and horses back for that,’ said Owen. ‘And it’s a full moon tomorrow, so they won’t need to wait till morning.’

  ‘Good. The sooner she’s in the Tower, the better. If this works, it changes everything. He’ll do exactly what he’s told once he knows we’ve got her.’

  ‘And her?’

  ‘We all know this country’s never going to be safe with a papist queen. They’ll get what they want from him and once it’s all signed and sealed, they’ll give her what she deserves. This country’s dealt with treasonous queens before. If we have to, we’ll do it again.’

  He was talking about killing her, as though it was nothing. And it would be a brutal death; you’ll know as well as I do how Queen Anne and Queen Katherine died. I was desperate then, to get out and take back the information about the ambush, but there’d be no chance until they went to bed.

  After a while they called for more ale. This time Arabella’s mother brought it.

  ‘We’ve made up the blue room for you, Major,’ she said. ‘And I’ve put hot bricks in your beds, with it being such a cold night.’

  ‘No,’ said Major Sarenbrant. ‘I don’t want that room again, it’s draughty. The chamber above here must be warmer, give me that one.’

  ‘That’s my son’s room, it’s not made up, with them being away, and—’

>   ‘Well, get it made up. We leave at dawn, and I want to get to bed.’

  * * *

  Major Sarenbrant’s heavy footsteps strode across to the bed, and his boots dropped to the floor. Keep calm; don’t lose your nerve. You can still make this work. I’d have to wait out the night, but if he left at dawn, I could get the information back to the queen in time. If they don’t find you first.

  The fire downstairs had sent up some warmth, but as the night drew on the chill from the floor seeped through my clothes. Major Sarenbrant had either overdone the ale, or had problems with his bladder; he got up and pissed in the pot at least five times. After so many hours, you might imagine the effect that had on me, and there was nothing to do but answer the call of nature where I sat, adding wet, cold breeches to my troubles.

  In the darkness, my eyelids sagged. Afraid that if I fell asleep I might move or make a sound, I dug my fingernails into my palms and mouthed the words of every song I could think of. But it was no use. As my head fell forward, I jolted awake, heard a grunt of surprise and realised it had come from me.

  Moments passed. He didn’t hear. He’s still asleep. Then the bed creaked. My heart hammering, I strained my ears for the splash of water in the pot. It didn’t come. He stood still. He’s listening. Then he walked across to the chest. The floorboards creaked as he shifted his weight; testing them, listening for the hollow sound that would tell him what he’d found.

  Wood scraped on wood. He’s moving the chest.

  I closed my eyes, waiting for the sound of the trap door lifting. The thought struck me suddenly that he was probably weighing up whether to open the trap door himself, or fetch reinforcements. He didn’t know who was inside, or what weapons they might have. The scraping sound again confirmed it; he must be moving the chest back.

  But he didn’t go to the door and open it. He walked back to the bed, there was the splash of piss in the pot, and then, unmistakably, the creak of him lying down again. It took me a few panicked moments to see: when you hear a rat trap snap in the night, you don’t get up and deal with the captive then and there. You wait till morning and dispose of it at your leisure.