Hall. The very name was enough to send shivers down her spine. Swiping fresh rain from her cheeks, she glanced up once more at the small window on the second floor that some servant must have carelessly left open. It was almost sixteen years since she’d last entered this house, a bewildered six-year-old clutching her mother’s hand; though a few minutes later they were being hustled out again and Deb’s mother was weeping.
‘You made your choices!’ Deb remembered Hugh Palfreyman declaring harshly. ‘You made your own bed, sister mine. And you can lie on it.’
Deb was twenty-two now and her mother had died long ago. But she’d never ever forgotten this place, and she always imagined it under grey skies, just as it was now.
She scanned the garden once more, trying to suppress her growing anxiety, and relaxed just a little when she saw two familiar figures hurrying towards her through the rain. ‘Luke. Francis. There you are. I was beginning to think...’
‘Think what, Miss Deb?’ Young Luke’s straggly blond hair was plastered to his face.
She was beginning to fear they might have been caught by Palfreyman’s men. Deb said instead, ‘You took your time. What news?’
‘We looked to see if there was anyone around. Just as you told us to, Deborah.’ This time it was the older one, Francis, who spoke. ‘Though we were careful to keep under cover, always. And we’ve good news—it looks as if all the groundsmen have been ordered to spend the afternoon tidying up Palfreyman’s glasshouses, on the far side of the south lawn.’
Deb nodded. ‘So they’ll not catch sight of us here. What about the guard dogs?’
Young Luke spoke up next. ‘We heard them barking in the distance and they sound big.’ He shivered. ‘But they’re kept in a yard close by the stables—though I’ve heard they’re let loose after nightfall, when they prowl around the grounds with teeth so sharp they’d take a great lump out of your thigh, and—’
‘Thank you, Luke,’ Deb interrupted. ‘That’s enough.’ More than enough, in fact. ‘So we’re safe for now?’
Francis tipped his black hat with the feather in it to gaze up at the vast house that loomed before them. ‘It depends,’ he said narrowly, ‘on what you mean by “safe”, Deborah.’
Deb sighed inwardly. Francis Calladine, almost twice Luke’s age, was a stalwart friend, but he’d been dubious about Deb’s plan from the start. Although it was Francis who’d spotted earlier, as they’d examined the house from the far side—the safe side—of the boundary wall, that the rooms to the north of the building looked dark and little used.
‘And if you’re really intent on breaking in,’ he’d added, ‘all that ivy growing up there is a burglar’s delight.’
Deb’s response had been instant. ‘I’m no burglar!’
‘You’re planning on getting inside,’ Francis had said quietly. ‘Though why you’re so intent on taking such a risk when the owner’s a Justice of the Peace and has already threatened us all with prison remains a mystery to me.’
If Francis had known that Hugh Palfreyman was her uncle, he’d have been quite speechless. But by Deb’s reckoning, desperate times called for desperate measures.
‘I’m not turning back now, Francis.’ Deb spoke with utter calmness, utter certainty. ‘I’m always grateful for your advice, believe me. But I hope you’ve not forgotten that you promised my stepfather you’d trust me.’
‘I also promised your stepfather that I’d keep you safe, Deborah,’ said Francis, who was distinguishable always by his wide-brimmed hat and his ancient, rust-red coat. ‘But I’ll do as you say. Young Luke and I will be here, waiting for you—’
‘No!’
‘What?’ This time Francis looked really outraged.
‘No.’ Deb shook her head decisively. ‘I’ve changed my mind about you waiting for me here. It’s just too risky.’ No one at all was around, but it was very possible their luck wouldn’t hold, especially if this rain eased off. And in that case—better for only her to be captured, rather than all three of them. ‘I’ve decided,’ she went on, ‘that it would be a good idea for you and Luke to return to the horses and wait for me there.’
They’d ridden from Oxford by cutting through the Ashendale Forest and taking a track which brought them almost to the edge of Palfreyman’s estate. There they’d left their three horses, carefully tethered, although the sturdy old creatures were most unlikely to gallop off.
Francis clearly didn’t think much of Deb’s instructions. ‘You want us to just leave you here? But what if you get caught? By the servants, or by Palfreyman himself?’
As if she hadn’t thought of that. ‘And how on earth could the two of you do anything if I did?’ she pointed out. ‘You can help me get started—but then you must go, do you understand?’
‘But...’
‘What would my stepfather, Gerald, have said, Francis? What did he say to you, when he called the Lambeth Players together and spoke to us all for the very last time?’ It was two years since Gerald O’Hara had died, but there was still a catch in her voice whenever she spoke his name.
Francis too looked affected. ‘Mr O’Hara said he was leaving the Lambeth Players in your charge.’
‘He also told you, I believe, that you were to all work with me and heed me in every way.’ Deb surveyed them both with her cool gaze. ‘So are you going to wait for me in the woods?’
Luke glanced anxiously at Francis, who still hesitated. ‘Very well,’ Francis said at last. ‘But—’
‘Thank you—both of you,’ Deb cut in quickly. ‘And if I don’t turn up in the woods by five, you’re to ride back to Oxford and the others. Do you understand me?’
Francis’s brow was growing dark again and he looked as if he were about to utter some fresh warning. Deb couldn’t blame him for having doubts, because she certainly did. ‘Remember, Francis! I only let you come with me on the condition that you obeyed me in everything. And what’s the motto of the Lambeth Players?’
‘Triumph over adversity!’ declared Luke.
‘Exactly. Now, the sooner I get up there—’ she pointed at the rambling ivy ‘—the sooner I’ll be back with you, safe and sound.’
To Deb’s relief, not another objection was uttered. She could sense Luke’s and Francis’s tension as she grasped the ivy and began to climb, but she turned round from her perch and gave them a cheerful nod. ‘Go, both of you. I’ll be fine.’
She saw them cross the lawns in the rain, then weave through the sodden shrubbery. Any minute, she feared she might hear the barking of Hugh Palfreyman’s guard dogs, or the shouts of his groundsmen, but, no; Luke and Francis made it to the wall and inwardly she cheered them on. Up and over. That’s the way.
Taking a deep breath, Deb pulled down her cap over her thick chestnut curls and pressed on with the scariest and most necessary climb of her life.
* * *
Triumph over adversity. That was an apt motto for the troupe of travelling actors who moved between fairs and country markets each year from March to December, with their old carts full of costumes and scenery. The Lambeth Players were Deb’s family and her life.
She’d initially resolved to complete her task today without telling a soul. But as ill luck would have it, sharp-eyed Francis, the senior actor, had spotted Deb saddling one of their horses outside the Angel Inn on the outskirts of Oxford where the Players were staying, and of course he wanted to know exactly where she was off to.
In the face of his determination—we swore to Gerald O’Hara that we’d take care of