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silently advancing husband, she groped frantically at the panelling behind her, found what she was looking for, and twisted a wooden boss.
    A whole section of panelling slid aside.
    They had a priest hole. Of course they did. A tiny, supposedly secret room where Catholics could hide during Protestant oppression. And vice versa, of course. And where erring wives could take the children to keep them safe. A 17 th -century panic room.
    Except that, at this point, everything went wrong for her. The younger boy lost his head. Perhaps he didn’t like the look of this tiny, dark cave. Even as Lady Lacey drew her elder son backwards into the priest hole, young James gave a terrified cry and tore himself free from her grasp.
    She screamed, ‘James!’ and lunged for him. Sir Rupert seized his arm and for a few dreadful seconds, they tugged the little lad back and forth. He was screaming. She was screaming. Lacey was roaring like a bull. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see him start frothing at the mouth.
    If he’d concentrated on James, he would have had him, but although he’d dropped his pistol, he still had his sword in his other hand and he couldn’t resist the chance to have a stab at his wife. She screamed again and jerked back, releasing her son. James fell forwards and Sir Rupert lost his balance and tripped over a footstool. Before he could pick himself up, Margaret flung herself backwards into the priest hole, and James dodged past his cursing father, squeezed easily through the partially open door, and disappeared.
    I heard footsteps his footsteps, clattering along the gallery. He was heading for the roof.
    Sir Rupert heaved himself to his feet, swore viciously, kicked the footstool aside, strode to the area of panelling between the fireplace and the window, and began to beat on it with his sword hilt.
    ‘Margaret! Come out! Come out, I say!’
    I’m paraphrasing. That wasn’t actually how he expressed himself at all. I learned several new words that day. Including the meaning of the verb to swive.
    Wisely, she did no such thing. She’d secured the priest hole from the inside and if she had any sense, she’d never come out.
    Again, if he’d kept his head, he’d have gone after his younger son – although strictly speaking James was his only son – and used him as a hostage. My guess was that Lady Lacey would not have remained concealed for long. Unless, of course, her affection for her lover’s child was greater than that for her husband’s. We’ll never know, because tiring of battering uselessly at the panels, he strode to the window, flung it open, and shouted.
    I just had time to conceal myself at the end of the gallery – actually, just where Dr Bairstow’s office would be, one day – as his two henchmen came piling up the stairs. From the lack of commotion in the Hall, I guessed that Peterson had somehow managed to get Captain Lacey away and Markham was elsewhere, keeping an eye on James.
    They clattered up the stairs and presented themselves for orders. Where was the third man? What was he up to?
    These were no Cavaliers. They weren’t in any army. Even the worst type of army wouldn’t accept these men. I could smell them from here. Both of them were in a state of high excitement and I suddenly realised why Lady Lacey had been so terrified and why she had seemingly abandoned one of her children. What had her husband planned for her? And possibly the elder boy, Charles, as well.
    He barked a series of orders, spit flying from his mouth with the violence of his words. The men disappeared in a hurry and he began to tear down the curtains and hangings and pile them against the entrance to the priest hole. The books were tossed contemptuously onto the pile. Even her needlework was ripped to shreds and flung to the floor.
    My God, was he intending to burn them alive?
    The two men reappeared – one with kindling and the other with two oil lamps. At his instructions, they piled it all against the