Free Fugitives! by Aubrey Flegg Page A

thought.

    When she burst into the great hall she found a queue of peoplewaiting for Father’s instructions. Fenton was there, hovering around him like an over-willing spaniel. How could she find out if Father knew that Fenton was a spy without blurting it out in front of the scoundrel?
    At that moment, Father caught sight of her, waiting. He looked surprised. ‘My word, child, you
are
dressed up. Are you looking for me?’
    She’d forgotten about the dress. His surprise threw her for a moment, and now Fenton’s protruding eyes were fixed on her. Would Uncle Hugh have mentioned apples, rotten apples perhaps? It was worth a try.
    ‘Father, did … did Uncle Hugh tell you what we found in the apples? He said it might be important.’ She watched her father’s face … a moment of puzzlement, then it cleared.
    ‘He did tell me, love. I’m going to deal with it later. It’s codling-moth, you know.’
    She nearly danced with excitement.
He’s got it, he’s got it!
    But the victualler was patting her on the head. ‘This is not the moment to bother your father with moths, dear! Run along, now!’
    She stepped back into the shadows, happy that Father knew. She listened to his crisp orders – no wonder Uncle Hugh had wanted Father beside him at Kinsale. Now he was detailing exactly how many horsemen and men-at-arms were to make up the party that would go out to greet the Lord Deputy. Next he turned to the chief herdsman. All but a small herd of cattle were to be moved out of sight into the woods; however, a fat bullock was to be slaughtered straight away and pit-roasted for the common soldiers. ‘Yes, yes,’ he instructed, ‘all that’s necessary for seventy men.’
    ‘So we know their number, Milord?’ asked the victualler, who had re-joined the line.
    ‘Yes, thanks to our informant, we even know the colour of their eyes,’ joked Father. ‘A good spy is worth a thousand men, eh Fenton?’ His secretary smiled weakly. Father’s instructions flowed on: ‘We will be entertaining the Deputy and six gentlemen. The high table will be me and six members of the household, including Dr Fenton here.’
    At that moment Sinéad felt a hand on her shoulder and heard a whisper in her ear. ‘For God’s sake, Sinéad, what’s going on?’
    She turned in surprise. It was James, smudged and covered in cobwebs. She grabbed him by the elbow and hurried him out of the hurly burly of the castle to an angle of the wall where they could talk privately.
    ‘Well, James,
you
tell
me
what it’s all about!’ she demanded.
    ‘I’ve no idea; I was … far away and didn’t hear anything till now.’
    ‘Rot! You’d have had to be in France to miss the commotion here! Look at you, you’re covered in cobwebs!’ She brushed at him, but he slapped her hand away.
    ‘I have a hiding place … a deep place … I didn’t hear anything,’ he said sullenly.
    Sinéad was still suspicious of his involvement. ‘Chichester’s coming here to catch Uncle Hugh,’ she informed her brother. ‘We thought you might be with him.’
    ‘Me! With Uncle Hugh? No way!’
    ‘No, you oaf. With Chichester, the Lord Deputy. We thought you’d gone over to the other side.’
    ‘We …who’s
we
? Fion, I bet! Well, of all the bloody cheek!Anyway, how could Chichester know that Uncle Hugh’s here?’
    ‘Because someone told him!’
    ‘You mean a
spy
?’
    ‘Yes, we thought …’ Just then a bellow rang out from the castle door above them: ‘Master James to Sir Malachy immediately!’
    James sprang to his feet but Sinéad caught him and held on. ‘You can’t go in like that, covered in cobwebs!’ She began to brush his jacket and pluck strands from his hair. ‘And look, your face is all smudged!’ she said, pulling a kerchief from her sleeve.
    ‘Hey!’ he protested. ‘I don’t want my face washed in your spit!’
    ‘Well, use your own spit then!’ she said, holding out the handkerchief. While he scrubbed at his face and hands she told