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Authors: Margaret Peterson Haddix
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distance to the privy.
“I was almost there when I heard the muffled hoofbeats,” she says. She shoots a glance at Harper, as if she’s hesitant to tell this story in front of him. Then her eyes well up with tears and she clutches my hand and the words just burst out, as if she can’t stop herself. “They were trying to sneak up on us, being quiet—all these men on horseback. They circled the whole cottage before they made a single noise loud enough to wake anyone. And then they just attacked, screaming and hollering and climbing in through the window and the door. . . . It was like they just expected that door to give way for them. . . .”
The cut door latch,
I think. I remember what I suspected before—that someone had cut the latch ahead of time to prepare for a middle-of-the-night attack. To make sure wehad no warning, no chance to escape. I shiver, thinking,
If it hadn’t been for the wind blowing the door open, and my going to Harper’s . . . and then Nanny going out to look for me . . .
“Oh, Cecilia,” Nanny wails, clutching my hand tighter. “I think they wanted to kill us. They had their swords drawn, their knives unsheathed . . .”
Her words dissolve into sobs, but she doesn’t loosen the iron grip on my hand.
Harper steps closer, his arms out in a defensive pose.
“Are they still there?” Harper hisses. “Still looking for Cecilia and you’re out here screaming her name?”
He’s peering around in all directions at once, but there’s only darkness around us. He reaches for the lamp—to extinguish it, I think, so we won’t be so obvious—but Nanny swings it away from him.
“They’re gone, I’m sure of it. I heard them riding away.”
“But if someone comes back on foot . . .,” Harper argues.
I can tell Harper is trying to think like a thief or a murderer, like my enemies. I lean over and blow out the lamp. In the sudden darkness Nanny begins sobbing harder.
“We have to get her somewhere—somewhere safe—to calm her down,” I tell Harper. “Can we go to your mother’s?”
I hope he understands that our little adventure, our tripto the capital, is off. I can’t leave Nanny like this, in hysterics. We’ll go back to Harper’s cottage, and he can destroy his note before his mother sees it, and then, I don’t know, Nanny and I will cower in hiding at the Suttons’ until Sir Stephen shows up and tells us what to do. I feel such a strange swirl of emotions thinking about this change in plans: relief and regret all mixed up together. What I don’t feel is fear. I think I’m too stunned for fear.
But there were horsemen, hunting me. . . .
“No!” Nanny screams. “We can’t go to the village—you can’t go to the village. You have to leave. You have to get to Sir . . . to Sir . . .” Her voice falters, and I know she’s remembered again that she shouldn’t reveal secrets in front of Harper.
“Of course. We can go to our good friend who visits so often,” I say quickly, because there’s not time to explain that Harper already knows everything. Not that I’d want to explain that to Nanny anyhow. “Our friend will keep us safe.”
“Yes!” Nanny says, relief in her tone. “I’ve got money. We’ll hire a carriage . . .”
She starts pulling me back toward the cottage. In the dark we slam into tree trunks and get our faces slashed by branches, but Nanny doesn’t seem to notice. Harper grabs my arm and follows along, constantly swinging his head right to left, left to right, like a sentry. But what good is a sentry when there’s no light to see by?
We reach the cottage and Nanny dashes in. Harper won’t let me follow.
“Stay hidden,” he whispers, huddling with me behind a tree.
Nanny reappears in seconds.
“They stole all my money!” she wails, the panic escalating in her voice. “They ransacked the entire place—they even took your books!”
This loss reaches me. It’s not that I was fond of Latin or geometry or
A Royal Guide to
“I was almost there when I heard the muffled hoofbeats,” she says. She shoots a glance at Harper, as if she’s hesitant to tell this story in front of him. Then her eyes well up with tears and she clutches my hand and the words just burst out, as if she can’t stop herself. “They were trying to sneak up on us, being quiet—all these men on horseback. They circled the whole cottage before they made a single noise loud enough to wake anyone. And then they just attacked, screaming and hollering and climbing in through the window and the door. . . . It was like they just expected that door to give way for them. . . .”
The cut door latch,
I think. I remember what I suspected before—that someone had cut the latch ahead of time to prepare for a middle-of-the-night attack. To make sure wehad no warning, no chance to escape. I shiver, thinking,
If it hadn’t been for the wind blowing the door open, and my going to Harper’s . . . and then Nanny going out to look for me . . .
“Oh, Cecilia,” Nanny wails, clutching my hand tighter. “I think they wanted to kill us. They had their swords drawn, their knives unsheathed . . .”
Her words dissolve into sobs, but she doesn’t loosen the iron grip on my hand.
Harper steps closer, his arms out in a defensive pose.
“Are they still there?” Harper hisses. “Still looking for Cecilia and you’re out here screaming her name?”
He’s peering around in all directions at once, but there’s only darkness around us. He reaches for the lamp—to extinguish it, I think, so we won’t be so obvious—but Nanny swings it away from him.
“They’re gone, I’m sure of it. I heard them riding away.”
“But if someone comes back on foot . . .,” Harper argues.
I can tell Harper is trying to think like a thief or a murderer, like my enemies. I lean over and blow out the lamp. In the sudden darkness Nanny begins sobbing harder.
“We have to get her somewhere—somewhere safe—to calm her down,” I tell Harper. “Can we go to your mother’s?”
I hope he understands that our little adventure, our tripto the capital, is off. I can’t leave Nanny like this, in hysterics. We’ll go back to Harper’s cottage, and he can destroy his note before his mother sees it, and then, I don’t know, Nanny and I will cower in hiding at the Suttons’ until Sir Stephen shows up and tells us what to do. I feel such a strange swirl of emotions thinking about this change in plans: relief and regret all mixed up together. What I don’t feel is fear. I think I’m too stunned for fear.
But there were horsemen, hunting me. . . .
“No!” Nanny screams. “We can’t go to the village—you can’t go to the village. You have to leave. You have to get to Sir . . . to Sir . . .” Her voice falters, and I know she’s remembered again that she shouldn’t reveal secrets in front of Harper.
“Of course. We can go to our good friend who visits so often,” I say quickly, because there’s not time to explain that Harper already knows everything. Not that I’d want to explain that to Nanny anyhow. “Our friend will keep us safe.”
“Yes!” Nanny says, relief in her tone. “I’ve got money. We’ll hire a carriage . . .”
She starts pulling me back toward the cottage. In the dark we slam into tree trunks and get our faces slashed by branches, but Nanny doesn’t seem to notice. Harper grabs my arm and follows along, constantly swinging his head right to left, left to right, like a sentry. But what good is a sentry when there’s no light to see by?
We reach the cottage and Nanny dashes in. Harper won’t let me follow.
“Stay hidden,” he whispers, huddling with me behind a tree.
Nanny reappears in seconds.
“They stole all my money!” she wails, the panic escalating in her voice. “They ransacked the entire place—they even took your books!”
This loss reaches me. It’s not that I was fond of Latin or geometry or
A Royal Guide to
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