The Gunpowder Plot by Ann Turnbull Page A

share my room,
Eliza thought.
It will be such fun!

   2   
    Black Cat and Coal Dust
    â€œSir Stephen Chelwall and his wife were caught with two priests hidden in their house,” whispered Lucy, as the girls lay in bed on the evening of Lucy’s arrival. “The priests were in a secret space under the floorboards.”
    Eliza’s eyes widened. “How do you know?”
    â€œI heard Father and Mother talking.”
    Eliza felt scared, yet excited. Her family was careful never to speak of such things. Her father was a courtier – always ready at any time to attend upon the King – and both her parents regularly went to church and called themselves Protestants. But now that she was older Eliza understood that they, like Lucy’s parents, were Catholics at heart. And that was dangerous. It was not against the law to be a Catholic, but hearing Catholic mass was forbidden, and there were heavy fines for hiding priests.
    â€œThe priests will be executed,” whispered Lucy. They both knew this would be done in the most horrible way.
    â€œ We must not talk about it,” said Eliza, with a shudder.
    And they said no more. They blew out the candle and went to sleep.
    But next morning, as soon as their lessons with Mistress Perks were over, they began their favourite game of spies – just as they had when Eliza visited Lucy’s home. Lucy had confided in Eliza that it was her ambition to be a spy. “Ladies are excellent at watching and reporting,” she said. “My mother says so.”
    They could not go out. The wind flung great drops of rain against the windows and the cobbles outside were shining wet. Instead, Lucy took out a little notebook from the pocket under her gown and passed it to Eliza. “We must make a list of all the people in the house,” she said. “Anyone could be an enemy.”
    Eliza wrote down all the names, from her parents, her governess and the maids and manservant, down to the kitchen folk:
    â€˜Mistress Rowley, cook.
    Walter Bennett, handyman.
    Anne and Bessy, kitchen maids.
    Mouser, cat.’
    â€œI don’t think any of those are enemies,” she said, “though Mistress Rowley says Mouser is not living up to his name and keeps disappearing.”
    Eliza saw a spark of interest brighten her cousin’s face.
    â€œI wonder where he goes?” said Lucy. And she wrote down:
    â€˜Mouser – suspect.’
    â€œCan we meet him?” she asked.
    â€œYes,” said Eliza. “And if we go now, Mistress Rowley might give us sweetmeats. I can smell baking.”
    They hurried downstairs, taking their notes with them. The kitchen was a busy place, the fire hot, the table laden with pastry and stuffings and chopped meat, the maidservants scurrying around – all in honour of the visitors.
    Mistress Rowley, her face rosy from the fire, curtseyed as she brushed floury hands on her apron.
    â€œWhat a clever pair you are, with all your reading and writing!” she said, glancing at the notebook in Lucy’s hand. “But I expect you’d like a cinnamon bun each – same as any other little girls?”
    â€œYes, please!”
    She handed them one each, and the girls were quiet as they enjoyed the warm, crumbly buns.
    The black cat, Mouser, sidled into the kitchen.
    â€œNow, where have you been, Mouser?” demanded Mistress Rowley. “Look at the cobwebs on his whiskers! He’s been on the prowl somewhere.”

    The girls knelt to stroke him.
    â€œHe’s all dirty!” exclaimed Eliza, giggling. “My hand is black!”
    â€œ So is mine.”
    Lucy got up and moved towards the corner that Mouser had emerged from – but Mistress Rowley stood in her way.
    â€œNo you don’t, young mistress – not in your silk gown and pretty slippers! That doorway leads to the storeroom and the coal hole.”
    Lucy stepped back, and Eliza saw her examining her