Page 125 of By the Sword
Nathaniel set the lantern down on the small table and sat on the rickety stool. He peered at Jonathan’s face.
‘Christ,’ he blasphemed. ‘What have they done to you, boy? Have you been tortured?’
Jonathan gave an ironic snort of laughter. ‘They’ve done nothing to me, Uncle Absolutely nothing. Just left me here to rot.’ The chains clanked as he swept his hand around the small room.
Nathaniel lifted the length of heavy chain. ‘Have you been manacled the whole time?’
‘Yes. How did you find me?’
‘Something of an educated guess. Do you know John Thurloe?’
Jonathan frowned. ‘Yes, he’s the bastard that put me here. Said he wanted to lose me. Cursed if I know why. He’s not been back to tell me the reason. I was beginning to fear that this time I would remain lost.’
‘Thurloe has a particular interest in the security of the realm. I can only guess that he thinks he may have a use for you, and this little interlude is to make you more receptive to his proposal.’
‘How long have I been here? I’ve lost count?’
‘It’s March the fifteenth.’
’Sweet Jesus. It’s been five months? How–‘Jonathan’s effort to speak dissolved in a coughing fit.
Nathaniel reached for the jug of fetid water on the table and poured it into the cup, handing it to his nephew.
‘How long have you had that cough?’
Jonathan drank the water and raised his head, shaking back the tangled hair. ‘A few weeks. I don’t know. It’s been getting worse. How did you find me?’
‘Your Kate Ashley came to me because she was concerned that you had disappeared. It didn’t take me long to discover you had been taken on the night you were going to leave England. I made a few discreet enquiries with Thurloe’s clerk and found he was holding a prisoner by the name of John Miller, a bookseller being held for selling seditious pamphlets. I thought that might be you.’
Jonathan felt his pulse quicken.
‘Kate is here? In London?’
‘Staying with Henrietta and me. I’ve not told her anything yet. I needed to be sure that you were at least alive.’
‘Barely.’
‘Nonsense. You always had a capacity for overdramatising.’
Nathaniel’s familiar, pragmatic voice brought a smile to Jonathan’s mouth.
‘And Tabitha?’ he asked.
Nathaniel chuckled. ‘You wouldn’t recognise her, Jon. A different child.’
Jonathan closed his eyes. ‘But I failed her again. I promised I would write.’ The cold hand of utter despair closed over his heart. ‘I couldn’t even send you word. They have me guarded closer than a nun in a cloister in here.’
Nathaniel laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Jon, you’re alive. That’s all we need to know. Now I need to get you out of here.’ He jerked his head around at the sound of heavy footsteps outside in the corridor.’
Nathaniel stood up. ‘I must go. Thurloe won’t know I’ve been. The turnkey has been well paid, and he’ll see you have some modicum of comfort until I can secure your release. Promise me you won’t die in the next twenty-four hours and I’ll see what I can do. A little more patience, lad. John Thurloe is not an easy man to get around.’
The door creaked open and the turnkey appeared in the doorway. ‘Time’s up. Got word himself is coming, and he’ll be none too pleased to find you here, Master Freeman.’
The door slammed behind Nathaniel, and for the first time in the six months of his captivity, Jonathan allowed himself a small glimmer of hope.
He leaned back against the wall and drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping cloak and blanket tightly around him. The cold, grey walls closed in on him and he shut his eyes, forcing his mind to turn away from his present predicament to Seven Ways and the memory of Kate standing by the gate, her hair dishevelled and her face flushed from a day at the harvest, smiling up at him–loving him.
The image that had sustained him every day since the key had turned on his imprisonment.
