by Jo Macauley
“Well done,” he said quietly.
Beth wasn’t sure for a moment whether he was talking to her or to Hewer. Was this some strange token of respect?
“Thank you, sir,” Hewer said.
“I’m not at all surprised to find one of the King’s running dogs sniffing at my trail,” Vale said. “A mangy pack of them seems to shadow my every step. Do you know what is odd, though, Hewer?”
“Sir?”
“This is the first time they’ve sent a little girl.” Vale laughed. The sound wasn’t at all pleasant. Beth thought of cold steel scissors snipping.
“Do you want to see her, sir?”
Beth braced herself. Despite the fear coursing through her, she gripped the hatpin tightly like a dagger. When the lid opened, she would strike. This was her chance to end the threat of Vale once and for all.
“Why would I want to do that?” Vale said smoothly.
Hewer blustered: “I thought you might want to, um, interrogate her or something. Find out what she knows, like.”
“Alas, we are short on time, and a proper interrogation cannot be rushed,” Vale said. “It takes a certain ... artistry ... to wring the secrets out of a spy. Brute force alone will not do.”
“So what should I do with her, then?”
“Best dispose of her. I doubt she knows anything of use, in any case.”
“Yes, sir.” Hewer began to do as he was bid, but then he paused. “Dispose of her ... how?”
“Come now,” said Vale impatiently. “You were a boy once. You know what to do with unwanted puppies, surely?”
“D-drown ’em?”
“There is a deep river right opposite us,” Vale pointed out, like a teacher explaining something to an exceptionally stupid pupil. “I think that trunk might accidentally fall into it, don’t you?”
Hewer chuckled nervously. “Oh ... as you wish, Mister Vale.”
Beth felt the trunk begin to move again, and she shivered in horror. There was no way out of this prison. If it fell into the river, it – and her lungs – would fill with water in minutes. She would drown, just like a puppy in a weighted sack. I’m not too valuable to kill at all, she thought. Vale didn’t even want to see me. He’s having me killed without a second thought!
Chapter Seven - Below the Surface
“We’ve got one hour until the carriage arrives,” John told Ralph. “When it does, Vale’s cronies will be running all over this place, fetching his things and making sure he gets away safely. We have to find Beth before then.”
“That upstairs room used to be a prison cell,” Ralph whispered. “Let’s start there.”
They dashed to the end of the corridor and up the stairs. John braced himself for a fight. The one thing in their favour was surprise. He could strike from the darkness, maybe drop one of Vale’s men before they realized who was attacking them...
But the storeroom was dark and silent as before. Beth was not hanging from the ancient manacles in the wall. Something was different, though. John couldn’t put his finger on what it was.
“Back stairs,” Ralph ordered.
They spent the next ten minutes frantically searching, ducking in and out of rooms and hiding around corners. There was no sign of Beth anywhere.
Suddenly Ralph pulled John inside a stinking room that had clearly been used as a garbage dump, as Hewer rounded a corner.
“Talk to me like that,” he muttered as he went past them with his limping gait. “Thinks he can order me about like one of his lackeys ... and ... and dispose of a girl...?”
They peered around the door as Hewer retreated into the dark.
“I could knock him down,” Ralph whispered. “Then we could make him tell us where Beth is?”
“We can’t risk it. If he shouted out, this place would be down on us like a pack of wolves!”
“I wouldn’t give him the chance to shout,” Ralph said, grim-faced. “I’ve had practice. Come on. Let’s crack his skull.”
The thought of coshing Hewer over the head was sweet, but John still refused. “We’re gambling with Beth’s life! We have to find out where they’ve taken her, and fast. We can’t risk being captured too, then what would we do?”
“All right, all right!” Ralph ran his hand through his unruly hair and frowned hard. “If Vale’s leaving at nine, he’s going to want to take her with him, isn’t he?”
“That makes sense. Let’s follow Hewer – maybe he’ll lead us to her. They’ll be waiting to load her up with all the other stuff. He’ll whisk her off in his carriage when he goes to meet with Dorcas.”
They snuck quickly back up to the uppermost room after Hewer and crouched, hiding in the shadows once again as a group of men came into the room carrying lanterns. They began to lift the trunks and carry them down, grumbling and cursing as they did so. They’re getting ready for the carriage, John thought. Vale wants everything primed to go without delay.
“What about that other trunk?” one of the men said. “Could have sworn there was one more.”
“You just forget you ever saw it,” another, husky voice said nastily. Hewer.
“Yeah, Hewer here is taking care of loading that one,” added yet another, with a laugh.
“Do you think ... it sounds like they’ve got Beth in a trunk!” Ralph whispered urgently.
“I think you’re right,” John whispered back, his heart sinking.
“We have to get out of here.”
“And leave Beth behind?” John struggled to keep his voice hushed. “You heard what they said. You know what they’ll do to her!”
“Look, mate, I’m not chuffed about it either, but we’ve not got a choice! We need to think of a plan.”
“We could fight!”
“Not against that many. Hang on. You remember what that crate looked like, don’t you? We could wait until the carriage arrives and they lug it out to the forecourt, then we go and bust it open, and we all run like merry hell.”
“It’s not a great plan,” John said. His flesh was still crawling at the thought of leaving Beth in the hands of these brutes. “But it’s the only one we’ve got. Let’s do it—”
“Hey!” said one of the men shifting the trunks. “Did you hear that?”
John and Ralph pressed their backs against the wall. Someone was coming their way.
“Hear what?” Hewer replied warily.
“I could have sworn I heard someone talking just then.” There was a long pause, and then the man shrugged. The light retreated. “Must have been one of the others. Or,” he paused dramatically, “this place is haunted, you know. Stands to reason, doesn’t it? Tear down a palace, and there’s bound to be some restless spirits wandering around. And you know what they used to use this place for, don’t you?” The man rattled one of the chains hanging from the wall.
“You know your problem? You’ve got an overactive imagination.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Well, I’m not the one hearing voices, am I?”
Still arguing, the two men heaved their trunk down the stairs and away. John let out a long breath, but his relief didn’t last long. There was no way they could escape through any of the exits on the ground floor. They’d have to contend with the horror of the derelict chapel again.
John and Ralph swiftly made their way back up and over the battlements, then lowered themselves down to the crossbeam. A wind was picking up, and it made John’s bones ache with cold. He wasn’t sure he had the energy for another climb, much less the nerve. But he had to. Beth needed him.
“Don’t worry,” Ralph grinned. “Getting down’s always easier than getting up. Quicker too.” With that, he tied the rope around the beam and went scrambling down it like a monkey, dropping the last few feet to the ground below.
John followed. The rope burned his hands and his grip was weakening, but he managed it. “I don’t think anyone saw,” he gasped. “But what if they find the rope?”
“We’ll just have to chance it. Come on!”
Together they ran across the cairn-studded field at the back of the tower and crouched among the bushes. John rubbed his sore hands together to get some warmth back into them. Now there was nothing to do but wait.
The carriage arrived promptly at nine. No sooner had the wheels come to a standstill than Vale’s men came hurrying out of the tower. The trunks emerged one by one. John counted them as the men loaded them onto the carriage.
“I only count four,” he whispered to Ralph. “There’s still one missing.”
“Give it a moment longer,” Ralph murmured. “Come on, Beth! Where are you?”
John’s legs were aching, both from squatting down in the cold for so long and from the tension. People were milling around in the courtyard now and he could hear raised voices, but there was no sign of Beth.
“Maybe they’re not keeping her in one of the trunks,” he guessed. “Or she’s still in the tower somewhere. What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know!” Ralph snarled. “Just keep watching, damn it. And keep your mouth shut – one of them might say something.”
John strained to hear. He caught a word that might have been “Dorcas” and another that sounded like “sail” but might have been “Vale”, or “fail” for all he knew. The horses were stamping their hooves restlessly and the driver seemed impatient to get going.
John made up his mind not to let that carriage out of his sight, even if he had to run across the courtyard and leap onto it. Stay safe, Beth, wherever you are, he thought. We’re coming to get you, no matter what it takes...
* * *
Beth’s trunk was moving again. Whoever was carrying it clearly didn’t care for her comfort; her head was repeatedly bashed against the side as she jolted down the stairs. They were probably enjoying it, she reflected ruefully. They must like thinking of her all pummelled and bruised like a loose apple in a barrel. At least they’d stopped short of kicking her down the stairs – so far. A vicious tooth-rattling whack made her eyes water. That settled it. They were doing this on purpose. Beth kept a tight grip on her long pin. Even if she couldn’t use it as a weapon, she might be able to get the trunk open with it. All I need, she told herself, is for this trunk to stop moving for a few moments before they drop me in the water. If I can get the lock open, I can open the lid underwater and they’ll never know I haven’t drowned.
But a nasty voice at the back of her mind whispered: The Thames is freezing. What if you fumble? What if the lock won’t open? All that dirty cold water flooding into the trunk, soaking your clothes, rushing into your lungs, choking off your last bubbling breath...
“Shut up,” she whispered to herself. She felt the trunk being set down. On grass, by the sound of it, not gravel. Water was gurgling somewhere nearby – she had to be on the bank of the Thames. The men who were carrying her must have stopped for a breather before throwing her in. That meant she had a chance. Ignoring the pain in her head, she set to work with the pin, scraping it around inside the lock, trying to catch the crucial little tag of metal.
“Listen to that,” growled Hewer from outside. “Puppy’s scratching.”
There was a violent thump. Next second, Beth fell back heavily. After a moment’s confusion, she realized the trunk had been tipped over. They weren’t bothering to carry her to the water’s edge – they were just rolling her down! Where was the pin? She scrambled for it, but she couldn’t find it anywhere, and the lock hadn’t budged even the tiniest fraction of an inch. The trunk flipped over again, leaving Beth upside down inside. Now she was really beginning to panic. In seconds, she’d be drowning, with no way out.
No, she told herself. John and Ralph wouldn’t let that happen. Vale’s men can’t have caught them, or I’d have heard them talking, wouldn’t I? They must be out there, waiting to come and rescue me. Please, Lord, let them be out there!
She heard Groby say, “Come on. We’ve had our fun. Get it over with, Hewer.”
Then she was tumbling like a drowning mariner sucked into a whirlpool. Jolt after painful jolt slammed into her body. Rage took over and she lashed out angrily, kicking the trunk lid. It couldn’t be that strong, could it? She’d just have to smash her way out. But it did no good. She collapsed, exhausted, as the first splash of water broke over the trunk...
* * *
Ralph and John caught the briefest of glimpses of Vale as he strode from the tower towards the carriage – a tall, lean, dark figure, his face mostly hidden by a scarf. The driver cracked his whip and the carriage lurched away, picking up speed as it went.
“What if Beth’s in there?” John hissed. “We have to get after the carriage and—”
Just then, from the other side of the building, there was a mighty splash. John and Ralph shared a horrified glance.
“They’ve thrown her in!” John burst out.
“Come on.” Ralph was already up and running.
But if John hadn’t heard Hewer and Groby talking as they came around the corner, they would have run smack into them. As it was, John had just enough time to grab Ralph and dive back into cover behind a mound of fallen masonry. Groby was wearing a nasty smirk.
“Vale was right, you know,” he said. “It is just like drowning puppies in a sack.”
“What if someone finds her?” Hewer fretted. “If anyone discovers what we’ve just done, they’d hang us!”
“They won’t find her. She’s sunk deep and that trunk’s heavy. Even when she rots and puffs up, she’ll stay down.”
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” Hewer said shakily.
Together, their hard work done for now, the two men strolled back to the tower.
The moment they were out of sight, John sprinted to the muddy river bank. Dying ripples were still washing against the shore. Beth’s down there, he thought desperately.
Ralph pointed. Bubbles were breaking the surface. “Over there!”
“She’ll drown!” John said. He and Ralph waded in after the sinking trunk. The bank sloped down steeply, and within seconds they were up to their waists in water. Frantically they ducked down beneath the surface, trying to find where Beth’s trunk had ended up. Silt and weeds swirled around them. It was black and bitterly cold.
John came up for air and tried to see where the bubbles were coming from. A feeble flurry broke the surface only feet away. Encouraged, he dived down again and this time his groping hand felt smooth wood. Quickly he surfaced again.
“Here! I’ve found her!” he hissed. Ralph swam over to him and together they duck-dived to reach the chest.
It was already waterlogged. Tugging at it wasn’t enough – it wouldn’t move. The weight of the chest and the water already inside it was too much. We’re going to lose her, John thought. She’s drowning and she’s only feet away from us. Unless they already killed her and this was their way of getting rid of the body...
Panic making him unable to hold his breath any longer, he burst out of the water again. Ralph had been under the water for nearly a minute now, and just as John was fearing for his life too, he came to the surface with a spluttering gasp.
“Grab this and pull!”
Ralph proffered a sodden rope. “I tied it to the ’andle,” he gasped. “Haul, for God’s sake.”
They backed up onto the shore, their feet squelching deep in the mud, and began to pull on the rope like sailors hauling up a mainsail. Slowly the dark shape of the trunk reappeared from the waters, inching up out of the river and back onto land.
Not a sound came from inside.
Chapter Eight - Fly by Night
John tugged at the lid, but it wouldn’t budge. “It’s locked!”
“Of course it’s ruddy locked,” Ralph snapped. “She’d have got out otherwise, wouldn’t she?”
From his pocket he drew a short metal pry-bar. He wiggled the flat end into the tiny crevice between the trunk’s lid and its side. With a grunt of effort, he heaved at it. There was a splintery creak as something began to give, but the lid stayed shut. John looked on,
feeling helpless to do anything. How much time had passed between the first splash and their hauling the trunk up out of the water? At least five minutes. Probably more. The air wouldn’t all rush out at once, he thought. She must have had some air to breathe. But then he remembered she’d been in there for ages, since she was first captured. For all he knew, she’d run out of air a long time ago...
As if he was trapped in a nightmare, John saw the sequence of events clearly. Ralph would crack open the lid and fling it back. There would be Beth, pale and staring-eyed, floating in her muddy coffin. Too late.
He shook his head and tried to focus on reality, but the image of Beth’s dead, staring eyes wouldn’t go away.
“Give us a hand,” Ralph said urgently. “Can’t shift the blasted thing.”
John laid his hands over Ralph’s and together they forced the pry-bar down. There was a groan and a crack, and then the whole lock section came free, ripped out of the wood like a tooth, still fastened to the lower part. The trunk lid fell with a hollow boom.
Beth lay there, curled up in a trunk full of water like some strange river spirit woken from a long winter hibernation. She was deathly white, and they stared for what felt like an eternity as she didn’t seem to move. Then, suddenly, Beth drew a deep, shuddering breath, and began to cough.
She was alive!
John threw his arms around her and lifted her out of the trunk. She was soaking wet and freezing cold, but he didn’t care.
“You’re all right!” he laughed, burying his face in her wet hair. “I thought we’d lost you!”
Beth broke free from his embrace, just in time to burst out coughing once again. “I ... I think I swallowed some of the river,” she gasped.
“You’re not a real Londoner until you’ve had a mouthful of the Thames,” Ralph grinned.
“But how...” John couldn’t get the words out. “How did you...?”
“How did I stay alive?” Beth said shakily. “My acting training helped...”
John stared. “Let me guess. You practised for the part of Ophelia in Hamlet by drowning yourself every day until you got used to it?”