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born.’
    Somewhere outside a bell tolled eight times.
    â€˜Come on, we don’t have much time!’ She marched on past a giant stone fireplace, heels clicking on the marble floor.
    It was all right for her. She wasn’t the one with blisters. Tom gritted his teeth and hobbled after her.
    At the far end of the hall, they passed through an arch into another passage. The girl walked towards a heavy wooden door set into the wall. She pulled off her cape and threw it over the carved chest next to it. Smoothing her gown and patting her curls, she turned and looked him up and down.
    â€˜You might claim to be our relative’ – she wrinkled her nose – ‘but you look and smell more like a pig-herd to me.’
    A surge of anger rose up inside Tom, but before he could say anything, she pointed at his bundle.
    â€˜You can leave that out here.’
    â€˜I’m keeping it with me.’ He gripped it to him.
    She tossed her curls. ‘All right. Suit yourself !’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘What do they call you anyway?’
    He lifted his head and jutted out his chin. For all her grand ways, she was just a girl. And girls didn’t scare him. ‘Tom. Tom Garnett.’
    â€˜She can see straight through a lie, you know.’
    He clenched his fists. ‘I’m telling the truth.’
    The girl sniffed. ‘Great-Grandmother will be the judge of that. Well, Tom Garnett’ – she gave a sly smile, then raised a white knuckle to the door – ‘let us see whether you can convince her to keep you out of gaol.’

Chapter Nine
    â€˜ C ome!’ The voice behind the door sounded strong and used to commanding.
    The girl turned the handle and stepped inside. Tom drew in a breath and followed.
    The room was low-ceilinged and dark, lit only by the light of a fire which burned in a stone fireplace opposite. A smell of wood smoke and dried rushes spiked his nose. He blinked and looked around him. The panelled walls were carved with thick ropes of ivy. Faces peered out between the pointed leaves. Strange creatures with sharp fangs, horns and wild staring eyes that seemed to follow his every move. He shivered. The sooner he could get help for Mother and Father and get out of here, the better. But where was she, the old woman? He glanced around nervously.
    â€˜If that is you, Joan, you can tell master cook I shall be taking supper alone this evening. I have had quite enoughof company today.’ The voice, clipped and frosty, came from behind a high-backed chair pulled close to the fire.
    The girl sidled forward, signalling him to follow her. ‘Not Joan, Granny, but me.’
    â€˜Well, and why are you here?’ There was a rustling sound and the tapping of fingers on wood.
    The girl stepped round the side of the chair. ‘We have a visitor.’
    â€˜At this late hour? Why did Sergeant Talbot not send them away? I have had my fill of our tenants complaining about the poor harvest and begging for more time to pay their rent. What can the man be thinking of disturbing my peace and entrusting a visitor to your care? You are a Montague, not a messenger.’
    Tom stiffened. If she was as sharp-tongued and impatient as this, what chance was there she’d listen to him?
    â€˜But, Granny, I think you will want to meet this one.’
    â€˜And why, pray, do you say that?’
    â€˜He claims he is the son of the lord my father’s long-lost sister.’ The girl frowned at Tom and gestured him to move closer.
    â€˜What?’ A bony white hand gripped the chair arm. The silhouette of a woman rose before them like a spirit rising from the grave. Tom planted his feet further apart, determined to stand his ground.
    â€˜What is your name, boy?’
    â€˜Tom Garnett, of Portsmouth.’
    â€˜Garnett?’ The woman froze for a moment, then reached for a silver-topped cane propped against her chair.She walked slowly towards him, black skirts