The Rose Garden

My fingers slid protectively to Fergal’s shoulder as Leach crossed towards us to take up his earlier position, standing guard.

As I shifted a little bit further away from him, my knee came down full onto the piece of the broken jug. I could feel it cut right through the fabric that covered my leg, but I bit my lip hard and said nothing, not wanting to draw any more attention to myself.

The men had fallen back to an uneasy silence, waiting. Listening.

It might have been a quarter of an hour before I heard the measured tramp of footsteps coming.

Leach had brought his pistol up and cocked it with an evil click to hold it aimed directly at the door to the back corridor, so that whoever stepped inside would have no hope of—

‘Mr Creed?’ The voice that called from outside in the yard was more a boy’s voice than a man’s, and wavered from exertion. ‘Mr Creed?’

The fifth man, who stood nearest to the door, looked to the constable, who nodded, and the boy was swiftly ushered in.

He was stocky and round-faced and in the firelight I saw nothing in his face that was familiar, but his voice struck a decided chord within my memory when he said, ‘I know where Mr Butler’s to.’

This was, I thought, the same boy who had come aboard the Sally as a spy, and been put off again by Daniel. The same “beardless lad” Jack had argued might cause us all trouble some day. Jack had clearly been right, and just as he’d predicted, the boy was now trying to prove himself worthy to Constable Creed.

‘I did just like you said,’ said the boy, still half-breathless, ‘and kept myself close to the Spaniard, and two of the men come out talking and one of ’em said to the other that it would be best when the day was well over, for one year of King George was naught to celebrate …’ Pausing, he added, ‘I noted his name for you, seeing that’s treason and all.’

Creed’s eyes narrowed. ‘Go on.’

‘Well, the other replied that the king would have no more years after this, and their own work this night would help in sending him where he belonged, and they both laughed, and then the first asked was it midnight at the cave still, and the other told him ay, but both the Butler brothers would be at the cave before that. Both of them together, I did hear it plainly said,’ he finished proudly.

Creed was frowning. ‘And where is this cave they spoke of, then?’

The man named Peter dropped his gaze, and gave a faint shake of his head towards the man beside him, while the young man, Hewitt, shifted till he stood behind the constable, and gave a careless shrug. The bully Leach appeared to miss all this, and clearly didn’t know about the cave below the Cripplehorn himself, but even as my hopes began to rise the boy spoke up, ‘Why, I was thinking that you knew it for yourself, sir, or I would have shown you sooner. I can take you there.’

‘Then do it.’ Creed looked blackly at the men around him, as though he were trying to assess just how much use they’d be, but in the end he only said, ‘If there be any man who is uncertain of his duty to the law, then let him tell me now, for I stand always ready to remind him.’ Only silence met his challenge. ‘No? Then let us waste no more time. Mr Leach, you will remain here with O’Cleary.’

‘And the girl?’ Leach asked.

‘She comes with us.’

This proved too much for Peter. ‘Mr Creed!’

When Creed looked round as though astonished any man would speak in such a tone to him, the older man said bluntly, ‘Sir, I’ll not allow it.’

At my knee I felt a movement, very faint. I braved a quick look down and saw that Fergal’s hand had moved a fraction, and his fingers had begun to curl. I didn’t know just how aware he was of what was going on, or how much he could hear, but to be safe I slipped my hand in his and lightly squeezed to warn him not to move again.

Creed’s eyes were dangerous. ‘You’ll not allow it?’

‘No, sir. First off, she’s not dressed. It isn’t decent.’

This apparently had bothered Hewitt, too, for he put in, ‘There is a chest of women’s clothes upstairs, I’ll just go up and—’

‘No.’ Creed’s voice cut sharply through the offer. ‘Those clothes do not belong to her.’ To Peter, he said, ‘Offer her your coat then, Mr Pascoe, if it troubles you, and let that be an end to it.’

But Peter, growing bolder, said, ‘And any rate, the way down to the cave would be too rough for her, too rough for any woman in the daylight, let alone the dark.’

He hadn’t realised what he’d just admitted, I felt sure, until the constable’s hard features altered subtly and his voice smoothed to the tone I found most frightening.

‘So, you know it, then? The way down to the Butler’s cave.’

The older man’s jaw set, but he didn’t answer either way. And in that silence I felt sure the constable would win; that I’d be taken with them down to wait in ambush in the cave below the Cripplehorn, and Fergal would be left here helpless on his own with Leach. And Leach’s pistol.

In a panic I tried thinking. Then I felt the ragged sharpness of the broken wedge of earthenware still lodged beneath my knee, and very slowly and with care I inched it forwards till it rested underneath the hand I’d linked with Fergal’s. No one noticed. Still more carefully, I guided it up into Fergal’s palm and closed his fingers round it, pushing at his arm until his hand was tucked beneath the outflung edge of his dark coat, against his side.