UP HERE IN MY WRITING-ROOM, I SOMETIMES HEAR squeaking through the storeroom wall: impatient mice attacking the barrels of wheat and barley. But after Terce this morning I heard something else.
Instead of going straight to my lesson with Oliver I came up here, and after a while I heard two voices. A man and a woman. They were speaking very quietly so I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I know she kept telling him something, the same thing, and then asking something hot and important. She was begging him.
Then I heard the storeroom door groan. Like thin ice. Quickly I stood up, and when I peered through my broken door panel, I was just in time to see Serle and Tanwen standing in the gallery, and they were in each other’s arms.