Black Powder

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Authors: Ally Sherrick
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given up hope of ever finishing when a knock sounded at the door.
    Mister Mandrake hooked the ends of his greasy black hair behind his ears and adjusted the sleeves of his gown. ‘Come!’
    The door swung open. A red-faced woman dressed in an apron stepped inside. It was Joan.
    â€˜I have come for Master Garnett. My Lady wishes to see him.’
    Tom’s heart leapt. News from home. It must be! Herammed his quill back into the ink pot and scrambled to his feet.
    â€˜Sit!’ Mandrake shot out an arm and snapped his fingers. ‘And did she say why, Joan?’
    â€˜She did not.’ Joan clamped her fleshy lips tight shut.
    â€˜Hmmm.’ He tapped a bony finger against his own thin lips. ‘Well, I will send him along directly we have finished the lesson.’ He waved Joan from the room.
    She stood her ground. ‘My Lady says Master Garnett is to come at once.’
    Mandrake’s eyes narrowed. ‘Really? Then it must be something urgent?’
    Joan folded her arms across her chest and looked him straight in the eye. ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but ’tis none of your concern.’
    Cressida stifled a giggle.
    Mandrake spun round. ‘Do you find something amusing, Mistress Cressida?’
    She shook her head.
    â€˜Good, then get back to your work.’ He turned back to Tom and frowned. ‘Very well. You may go, Master Garnett. But rest assured, your punishment will be waiting for you on your return.’
    Tom glanced at Cressida but she had her nose buried in her Latin grammar book again. He was almost at the door when a hand grasped him by the shoulder.
    â€˜You were lucky today.’ Mandrake’s clammy fingers tightened their grip. ‘But don’t forget, only cats have nine lives.’
    He twisted free. Cats? Nine lives? What was he talking about? Well, one thing was for sure; he wasn’t going to sit through any more of the slimy tutor’s lessons. Not if he could help it. He scrubbed his neck with his sleeve and followed Joan outside.
    â€˜Quickly, we mustn’t keep the mistress waiting.’ She let out a puff of air, then bustled down the passage, skirts flapping.
    He ran to catch her up. ‘Is it about my mother?’
    She shrugged. ‘How would I know? A messenger arrived on horseback this morning from London. That’s all I can tell you.’ She set off again.
    London? A message from his uncle. It had to be. Tom closed his eyes. Make it good news, Lord, please .
    At the end of the passage, Joan took a left turn across a narrow landing and plodded up a small flight of stairs. He followed her through a door and into a long gallery. He gazed around him at the rich tapestries and fine portraits which decorated the walls. Had Mother walked here too? It was hard to imagine her among all this grandeur.
    â€˜This is no time for daydreaming.’ Joan stood at the far end of the gallery, hands on hips, foot tapping the floor.
    He jumped and hurried towards her. As he passed the final window, a small portrait jolted him to a stop. It was the likeness of a young woman, so lifelike she looked like she might be flesh and blood. He frowned. There was something else about her too. Something familiar. He stepped closer.
    She wore a fine lace ruff around her neck. Beneath it agold crucifix shone out from the black velvet of her gown. Her fair hair was pulled back, piled on top of her head and decorated with a band of pearls. But it was her sad-looking eyes which drew Tom most. Bright blue and almond-shaped. The same eyes that had filled with tears as he left for the Fosters nearly a week ago.
    Mother? He touched a finger to her pale cheek.
    â€˜Master Garnett. Please!’
    â€˜I’ll find a way to help Father, I promise.’ He dropped his hand, then, giving the portrait one last look, he turned and scurried after Joan.
    The servant bustled out on to another landing, down a polished wooden staircase and along a passage,

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