by Lisa Doan
The hole at the back of the cave was about six feet high and maybe seven feet across. The aperture overlooked a deep valley as large as a farmer’s field. The bottom of the valley was flat, but its steep, grassy slopes rose up in sharp angles. Henry was certain there was no way in or out of the valley except through the cave. It looked as if no man had ever tread there. A tarantula had though.
Mary, Queen of Scots, sat at the opposite end of the valley, appearing at rest in the sunshine.
Sir Richard pulled Henry back into the darkness of the cave. “There’s no evidence of Red Callahan having been here. Until we can discover an antidote, we must block her escape. The other slopes are angled too steeply for her to climb. She’s so top-heavy she’d tip over if she tried it. This is her only way out.”
Henry nodded. They used their swords to cut through the nest material down to the earth below so they could reach the stones they would need to seal up the hole. They unearthed and began rolling stones from inside the cave toward the valley’s entrance. It was grueling work, as the opening was large, but there were plenty of good-sized stones to do the job.
When they had piled rocks waist high, Sir Richard whispered, “By my life! Darla will want to see this.”
Henry glanced over at him. Sir Richard was near a back corner of the cave and had pulled out his dagger. He carefully chipped around an area of dried earth.
“What is it, sir?”
“I’ve found a footprint from the boy. He must have stepped into the mud, poor thing. They didn’t even put shoes on him.”
Sir Richard dug deeper around the footprint. “There must be a good deal of clay in this soil—the imprint is hard and distinct.”
Henry kept on, piling rock after rock. The wall grew so high that he had to stand on a second pile of rocks to reach high enough to set the stones.
Sir Richard deposited the earthen footprint into his satchel and returned to help Henry seal up the entrance. He hoisted Henry up to place the last stones.
Sir Richard set Henry down and they stepped back to view their handiwork.
“She’ll never get through that,” Henry said.
Henry and Sir Richard searched the surrounding woods for Red Callahan, or any sign of his liquefied body. The sun had passed over the noon hour, and the afternoon light, combined with a stiff breeze, sent shadows flying around the forest. Henry had usually found the forest welcoming in the daylight, but now that they searched for a man missing he felt it more ominous despite the sunshine. It was as if the forest transformed itself to meet a person’s mood. That gave Henry the creeps and made him think of the sundew deciding to fold up its leaves around its victim. He did not like the idea that the greenery all around him could be thinking.
Late in the afternoon, Sir Richard sent Bertram to Farmer Giles with a message. They had found no trace of Red Callahan.
Sir Richard set off to see the duchess with his small clay footprint. He had told Henry that he would propose to cast it in plaster to preserve it.
Henry and Matilda stayed in the laboratory. Henry was determined to discover an antidote for the tarantula. Mary was trapped in the valley at the back of the cave, but there was still a giant fly buzzing around somewhere. They could not afford to give Snidefellow any more reasons to accuse Sir Richard of the devil’s work. The man might be cautious not to offend the duchess, but it occurred to Henry that Snidefellow was crafty and might attempt to stop the marriage in some underhanded way.
He pored over Fitzwilliam’s journal and mapped out what had happened, step by step, when Fitzwilliam had come into contact with the lupuna tree. Fitzwilliam had been ill, then rested against the tree despite warnings that he should not do so, then he drank water collected on the leaves of the tree and was miraculously cured by morning. Had the water picked up some sort of property from the leaves? Or had it been something that rubbed off the bark of the tree? The tree had conferred strength to Fitzwilliam. Was it perhaps enough strength to cause the massive growth of Mary and the fly?
Henry eyed the lupuna powder sitting on a shelf above the aquariums. Did he dare try it on a plant?
The hairs prickled on the back of Henry’s neck as he imagined the carnivorous sundew plant snaking its way along the lanes of Barton Commons, catching everyone in its wake and folding them up in its leaves.
No, he would keep the powder well away from the sundew. He would take it outside and try it on a small patch of grass at the edge of the Queen’s Forest. That way, if the grass grew unusually high, it should just blend in with the trees and not be too noticeable. Hopefully.
Henry crossed the room and reached up for the bag of powder. He grazed it with his fingertips. The bag slipped off the shelf and Henry caught it, but not before a few specks of powder floated down on top of Mr. Terrible.
“Oh no,” Henry whispered. He swept Matilda into his arms and ran out of the laboratory. He shut the door behind him and pressed his ear against it while Matilda licked his face. He had no idea what a giant poisonous frog would sound like, but all he heard was soft chirping. Henry jogged outside the manor and made his way to the laboratory windows. He peered inside.
Mr. Terrible was his same small size, but instead of sitting placidly on a rock as was his usual habit, he hopped madly around the aquarium. Henry squinted. The frog’s tongue darted out and caught something small and brown. Then it caught another. The aquarium was filled with crickets.
Henry breathed a sigh of relief. He would not have to explain to Sir Richard that a giant poisonous frog now took up most of his laboratory. Henry paused. What had happened? Why wasn’t he going to have to tell Sir Richard of the disaster? Why had the lupuna powder produced crickets instead of a giant frog? That made no sense at all. It was beginning to seem as if logic and the lupuna tree could not go together.
Sir Richard returned after sunset. The duchess had been overcome by the clay footprint and they had spent much time discussing the kidnapping. Sir Richard now knew far more than he had heard from Mrs. Splunket. The investigator, who remained on the case even now, was convinced it had been an inside job. The criminals had known when they would find the house empty, except for the nursemaid and the boy. The crime had taken place on May Day, and the staff had been given the day off to attend the festivities. The duke and duchess had been suddenly called to court, but when they arrived at St. James they found that no such summons had been issued. The poor nursemaid had been left to fend off three men. Their faces had been covered, so she could only describe them as two men tall and thin, and one short and stocky.
The duchess could not believe it was an inside job and was convinced that the culprits were highwaymen. It pained her to think so, for if the boy were still alive he was surely a thief by now. He would have no way to know his true identity and would only grow up to be whatever he had been taught to be. Sir Richard was determined to send the details of the case to his solicitor to see what else might be done.
Sir Richard leaned back in an easy chair and said, “And you, Henry. I see you’ve been poring over Fitzwilliam’s journal. Have you discovered any clue I overlooked?”
“Not really,” Henry said. “The lupuna powder is as mysterious as ever. I thought to try it on a plant, then I accidentally got some on Mr. Terrible.”
Sir Richard sat up in alarm.
“But it didn’t do anything to the frog. Instead, it filled his aquarium with crickets.”
Sir Richard rubbed his chin. “That is most unexpected. But you say it was a very little amount of powder? Perhaps different amounts produce different effects? Well, no matter. Fitzwilliam will be here soon enough and we may question him in person. I had thought of writing to him regarding this … situation, but dared not, lest such a letter fall into the wrong hands. I have my suspicions that our good councilman examines the post.”
“Did Red Callahan turn up?” Henry asked. He was not worried about Red falling victim to Mary, as she was safely trapped, but he did not like that so many people were searching everywhere for
him. Somebody might go into the cave. They would be bound to notice the spider silk covering the walls and floor and the newly built wall at the back.
“No,” Sir Richard said, “I met with Giles on the road. That confounded Callahan is still missing. We will set out early in the morning to continue our search for him in the Queen’s Forest. I can’t think where else the scoundrel could be.”
That night, Henry had an idea on how he could make sure he was not a padfoot. He carefully wound a hair from Cantankerous’s tail around the doorknob in his bedroom and then around a nail protruding from the wall. If he had been stalking the neighborhood in his slumbers, he would know it in the morning. The hair would be broken.
CHAPTER NINE
Henry dreamed of walking past a looking glass and seeing a black dog with flaming red eyes growling back at him. He ran from the beast and it leapt out of the glass and gave chase. As fast as Henry ran, the creature was always just behind him, never catching him and never falling behind.
Soon after dawn, Henry woke, his sheets soaked with sweat. He scrambled out of bed. The horsehair he had tied across the door was intact. Whatever his six toes meant, at least he could be certain he was not a padfoot. He vowed not to think of it any further, as he was sure his nightmare of the beast had been caused by worry. He would rather not dream such a horror again.
Henry and Sir Richard rode in silence through the early morning, along the shady paths and sunny glens of the Queen’s Forest. Deer darted away at their approach, crashing through the underbrush as they fled. Rabbit tails swished away under the greenery. Branches overhead rustled as birds took flight. Cantankerous took note of every movement, convinced that deer, rabbits, birds, speckled sunlight, and leaves swaying in the breeze were all equally dangerous. Henry wrestled to turn him as they picked up the main trail that led deep into the forest. It formed a long U shape, exiting at the opposite end of the village of Barton Commons, just behind the church.
Henry scanned in every direction for some clue, some shred of evidence, that Red Callahan had been in the forest—footprints, broken branches, a shred of clothing. He saw nothing.
The end of the trail was straight ahead. Bright sunlight shone just beyond the tree line.
“No luck here,” Sir Richard said, breaking the silence. “We best track down Farmer Giles to determine where to search next.”
Henry and Sir Richard trotted out of the forest.
A group of a dozen men stood in front of the church. Snidefellow was lecturing them on some subject. One of the men spotted Sir Richard and cried, “Look! He’s right there!”
“What now?” Sir Richard muttered.
Mr. Snidefellow and two constables approached them. “Sir Richard,” Snidefellow said in a loud voice, “you are hereby arrested for the murder of Red Callahan and the kidnapping of the duchess’s son, William St. John.”
Henry’s thoughts spun off in a hundred directions. Arrested? How could Snidefellow have the nerve to accuse Sir Richard of murder? Where had Red been found? What was the meaning of accusing Sir Richard of the kidnapping of the duchess’s son? None of it made sense.
“What the devil?” Sir Richard said.
Snidefellow smiled. “You may well say what the devil, as that is exactly who you have employed in your nefarious work.”
“What evidence have you?” Sir Richard questioned.
“That, you will hear at trial. Suffice to say, our esteemed magistrate has found the evidence compelling.”
“That old magpie is your crony,” Sir Richard said derisively.
“Ah! Now he denigrates the law! But of course, the devil knows no laws but his own.”
“We should make a run for it, sir,” Henry whispered. He felt sure they should get away. They should go somewhere away from the village to try to figure out what was happening. On no account should Sir Richard allow himself to be taken.
“No,” Sir Richard said so that all could hear him. “A knight never retreats. I will face these ridiculous charges, and when I am cleared of them I will thrash this sniveling idiot to within an inch of his life.”
Snidefellow colored. He turned to the men and said, “Hear that? He threatens to thrash a councilman? The very devil speaks out of his mouth.”
“You’re the devil,” Henry cried, pointing at Snidefellow.
“Watch your tongue, you impudent urchin,” Snidefellow said in a low voice, “or I’ll have you taken in, too.”
Sir Richard laid a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Tell the duchess what’s happened, and Fitzwilliam as soon as he arrives. Write to my solicitor, Mr. Seamus Candlewick of Gray’s Inn, and let him know he is wanted in Hampshire immediately.”
Sir Richard dismounted his horse, handed Henry the reins, and submitted himself to the custody of the constables.
Henry struggled through the village atop Cantankerous and leading Real Beauty by her reins. He studiously avoided meeting anyone’s eye. Like most villages, word of what had happened was traveling faster than he could ride. Mrs. Splunket had told him that people liked nothing so much as gossip. If a dairymaid spilled milk it would be known everywhere in the county before she had time to fetch her mop.
Henry left the village behind. As he made his way to the duchess’s drive, a feeling of profound dread came over him. It wasn’t just the idea of a private interview with the duchess, though that was bad enough. It wasn’t just telling her of Sir Richard’s arrest, though as they were recently engaged, that also was bad enough. It was why Sir Richard was arrested. A murder and a kidnapping. The kidnapping of her own son.
Where had they found Red Callahan’s body? Had it been liquefied? Mary must have been out hunting on the night the man went missing. That would account for her sitting placidly in the sun in the valley beyond the cave the next day. She was full.
But the kidnapping? How could Snidefellow come up with any evidence that Sir Richard had anything to do with that? He did not even live in the county at the time.
Henry reached the duchess’s door. Croydon took some convincing, but after Henry repeated three times that he had been sent with an urgent message from Sir Richard, and that it must be given to the duchess directly, the butler gave in. A groom led the horses away and Croydon showed Henry into the drawing room.
Henry stood waiting for the duchess. He tried to distract himself by examining a delicate porcelain figurine of a girl surrounded by flowers, but realized he might drop it if he weren’t careful and quickly set it down. The more he tried to relax, the more he felt like his nerves were getting ready to explode inside of him. He concocted various ways to begin his speech, but each sounded worse than the next.
The duchess swept into the room. “What’s this?” she asked. “What message do you bring?”
“Uh …”
“Well?” she said. “Out with it.”
The duchess looked in a temper, and he had not even said anything yet. Henry took a deep breath and said, “Your Grace, I’ve just come from Sir Richard and—”
“Oh, I see,” she said. “He’s got cold feet, has he? And he’s had the gall to send a boy to break it off before the banns are read?” The color rose in the duchess’s cheeks. “Not courageous enough to do it himself, I suppose. He really has no claim to be a knight if he cannot even be bold enough to manage his own affairs.”
The conversation had taken on a life of its own. How the duchess had arrived at the conclusion that Henry had come to break off the engagement, he had no idea.
“No,” Henry said, “that’s not it. Sir Richard is as much in love as ever.”
The duchess did not look convinced.
“He’s always talking about you and he’s already invited his best man. Mrs. Splunket says Sir Richard has turned into a regular pile of mush.”
The duchess sat down and composed herself, seeming pleased with this description of Sir Richard’s state of mind. “Mush, you said? That will do. Very well, what is your message, young man?”
Now came the hard part. “Your Gr
ace, Sir Richard has been arrested. By Mr. Snidefellow.” Henry paused so the distressing news could really sink in.
The duchess laughed. “Is this some sort of jest?” she asked. “Am I to find that scallywag of a knight hiding behind the doorframe?”
Henry shook his head.
“Arrested?” she said. “Whatever for?”
Here it was. The worst news of all. Henry cleared his throat and blurted out, “For the murder of Red Callahan and the kidnapping of your son.”
The duchess was very still. “My son?” she said. “Tell me all. Everything you know. From the beginning.”
Henry tried to tell her all, but he didn’t know where Red Callahan’s body had been found, or what condition the body had been in, or why Snidefellow would think Sir Richard was involved in the kidnapping.
“Did you know,” the duchess said, “that Sir Richard brought me a footprint from my boy?”
Henry said that he did know about the footprint. He had been in the cave with Sir Richard, searching for Red Callahan, when it was discovered.
She pointed to a case that sat empty on a table. “I put it under glass, just there, to keep it safe until we had a cast made. Mr. Snidefellow came this morning and seemed quite shocked to see it. He insisted on taking it as evidence in the kidnapping case. I did not see how it could be particularly relevant. All it proves is that my son was in the cave, which we know because my late husband’s body was found at that very spot. Still, Mr. Snidefellow was insistent and I thought he must see something in it that I did not.”
The duchess paused, her hand resting on the glass case. “Could Mr. Snidefellow have possibly got the idea that Sir Richard was involved in the kidnapping simply for finding the footprint?”
Henry didn’t answer, but he thought Mr. Snidefellow might have seen it as an opportunity and been glad to pretend that was what he thought.