He remembered the oath he’d taken, given by Rory Keen and verified by being spit in the face from twenty-six members of the Broodie clan: I solemnly swear to be faithful and true to the Black-Eyed Broodies and hold my brothers and sisters in the highest regard and respect, show no mercy to their enemies, and do no harm to nobody who is or ever was a Broodie.

And here before him stood a contradiction to his belief that after the murder of Rory Keen by Mother Deare he himself was the last of the Black-Eyed Broodies. But no, no … this was his ‘sister’ standing before him, the young woman who had slaughtered Dippen Nack in front of his eyes and very nearly had emptied his own innards out upon the ground.

His ‘sister’ Elizabeth Mulloy, otherwise known as RakeHell Lizzie.

She put her glove back on. “Your eyes almost popped out,” she said.

He nodded, dumbly, and finished off the Armagnac.

“Now you’ve got to get out of here,” she told him.

“Pardon me?” Was his hearing failing, to add to this wonderful evening?

“Out of here,” she repeated. She held up the large brass key she’d used to open the door. “This will unlock a door further along the passage. There are tunnels that go under the park. Samson says they’re what remains of the old Roman streets. You’ll come to a chamber where they throw the bodies, but don’t go in. Keep going straight. I’ve never been very far in there, but the tunnels must come out somewhere close, because they bring the men through there.” She jerked a gloved thumb up toward the lantern. “Give me a boost and I can pluck that off the hook for you. You’ll need the light.”

Matthew was again struck dumb.

“You can’t waste time!” she urged. “They’ll be coming for you soon. Listen, you’ll have to hit me with something. Have to make it look real, like you took me by surprise.” She looked about the room, bent down and picked up a dead man’s boot. “Hit me with this. Back of the head. Hit me hard, I can take it. Have to put a lump there. Go on, do it.”

“I … I …” What was he trying to say? Had he lost his senses? He felt as if his tongue were mired in mush and his brain no better. “I …” He forced it out: “I can’t leave here.”

“What?”

“I can’t leave here,” he repeated, “without the book of potions and Doctor Firebaugh to go with it.” He realized he was omitting something. “Oh … and Julian. I can’t leave here without all three.”

It was Elizabeth’s turn to be open-mouthed and struck dumb for a few seconds. Then: “Are you insane? I’m offering you a way out!”