The quarry had passed out into the open sea. A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. Think, ma’am. The condition of the rooms was indescribably filthy and disgusting; nor were the habits of the occupants much more cleanly. But the Remenhams in the days of Charles the First, with the need for an escape route from Cromwell’s increasingly victorious forces, had cut a trapdoor through its floor into the cellars below, and thence hewn the long rough passageway that led underground right outside the boundary of the estate.
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