Page 42 of Lord of the Manor

“What do you mean?” She shuffled closer and laid a tentative hand on his shoulder.

Her touch seemed to release something in him. He laid down his tools and swiveled to face her. “Get up, Cecily. You are dirtying your skirts.”

She would have stood sooner, only she wasn’t sure if she could trust her knees to hold her. She made an effort but lurched sideways, her skirt trapped under her heel.

“Fie on you, Woman. Have you no grace?” His mouth twisting, he helped her up, sweeping her free of the ground before setting her on her feet.

“Now go inside and stoke up the kitchen fire. Your uncles and I will be eager for some hot broth come dinnertime.”

He was sending her off into the kitchen, without explaining anything?

She stood her ground. “What do you mean, things cannot continue? Look at me, Allan. What’s going on?”

“I have already spoken with Benedict. We think it best you all leave the village. There is no knowing the depths to which Kennett will stoop to get his vengeance. He doesn’t like being beaten. I fear that, even if I pay him off with interest, he will not be satisfied. We have but stalled him for the moment. But how long will it be until an avaricious magistrate comes along, or some other greedy official, eager to make their name or their living by exposing traitors and closet Catholics? Kett’s Rebellion will not soon be forgotten, nor the uprisings in the west against the new prayer book—people are still uneasy. I would rather you were all safe, and well away from here. Perchance, even in France, where you should be accepted without question.”

“But what of our labors here?” She indicated the heap of stone and mortar dust from the chapel demolition. “Don’t you need us to finish it, so you can sell the stone? So that we can find—”

“Hush.” He raised his hands to her shoulders, his fingers digging in. “Speak not of that. It is a dream, a sprite, a will-o’-the-wisp. The future cannot be founded on fairytales. Anyway, I shall find other laborers to continue the demolition. And the first lambs are coming now, so the farm will soon be generating income. I can, and will, deal with my brother-in-law. I don’t want you, or your uncles put at risk on my account.”

He was telling them to go without looking for the treasure? Had they destroyed their beloved chapel for nothing?

“Don’t be downhearted. If you wish to remain in England, you all have skills that will serve you well in another village or town—somewhere your history is not known. I’ll give you whatever coin I can spare—Master Swaffham has already found a buyer for the tiles from the guesthouse and for some of the limestone. Kennett can no longer hurry me to make good my debt to him. His worth in the county has suffered a blow.”

Cecily trembled in Allan’s grasp, feeling as if the ground were giving way beneath her feet.

And then realized with a shock that it actually was.

“Cecily!” He caught her just she was about to plunge into a hole that had opened up beside the chapel wall.

She clung to him, and gazed down into the small void that had opened up, keeping well back as clods of earth, still with grass attached, broke off around the edges and tumbled into the hole.

“What was that?” Benedict came puffing up. “Did something fall?”

Allan, still holding Cecily around the waist, peered down. “Aye. It appears as if something has. Can you send someone to fetch a light?”

Cecily clutched at Allan’s arm. “You’re not going down there?”

“Only if I can ascertain that it’s safe. It must be a crypt or the cellar of a building long since lost. Either way, I need to be sure. We dare not continue work on the chapel if the ground surrounding it is unstable.”

Fear worked its icy fingers into Cecily’s flesh. If it wasn’t safe to work on the chapel, would they stand any chance of finding the Templars’ cache? This collapse would make it far harder for Allan to demolish the rest of the building—it might cost him more to take it down than he would make from selling the stone blocks.

Benedict returned with a glowing lantern. Allan released Cecily, lay on his stomach, and lowered the light into the hole.

“The structure is small. More like an old wine cellar or root storage hole. There are some sacks in the corner. Wait—what’s that?”

Cecily’s heart sped up, and prickles of excitement scudded down her spine. Had he found the hoard?

“What do you see?”

“Simply some very old, very mouse-bitten sacks. But there’s a glint—I’m going down.”

“Nay!” Benedict grabbed the back of Allan’s doublet. “I’ll fetch a rope in case we need to pull you out in a hurry. We know not how stable the sides of this hole might be.”

Cecily waited, all thought suspended, as Martin and Anselm joined them, and Benedict returned with a rope to tie firmly around Allan’s waist.

Could it be true? Could it be that the solution to all their problems had lain just a couple of yards below the turf, had been there, beneath their feet, all this time?

Allan jumped into the hole, and the lantern was handed down to him.