LITMIR.BIZ

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      I hesitated. That was my mistake. His eyes hardened; I had made him doubt my commitment, and he despised above all a man who wavered.

      ‘There is another consideration,’ he said. ‘Your friend Sophia Underhill.’

      ‘What of her?’ The immediacy of my response, and its defensiveness, were enough to show him that he had hit the mark.

      ‘When did you last see her?’

      ‘In the spring. I don’t remember. February or March, perhaps.’

      March 17th; it was etched in my memory. She had told me she thought it best we did not meet any more. She worried about my reputation in Paris, and hers among the English Catholics there if she should be seen with me. She feared I hoped for too much from her. It was then that I had decided to go to Wittenberg.

      ‘Did you know she planned to return to England?’

      ‘She mentioned the possibility, though only as a plan for the distant future.’

      ‘She arrived in London in – when was it, Thomas?’

      ‘Third of May,’ Phelippes said, not troubling to look up.

      ‘May.’ Walsingham fixed me with a stern look. ‘Charles Paget wrote and told me. He continues to try and curry favour with me, and thought the information might come in useful. He had set her up with a position, as a companion to Lady Grace Cavendish. Wife of Sir Henry Cavendish, an old gaming associate of Paget’s.’

      The names meant nothing to me. I held his gaze, waiting for him to reveal his purpose. Wherever he was tending, it would not be good.

      ‘Henry Cavendish is the eldest son of Bess of Hardwick, from her first marriage. A libertine, gambler, drunk and an idiot, up to his neck in debt. He was disinherited years ago in favour of his brother. Eight bastard children and not a one with his wife. You can see why she would need a companion, poor creature.’

      ‘Is Sophia in danger?’ The thought of her living under the same roof as a man like that made the hairs stand up on my arms. Walsingham allowed a wolfish smile; my reaction seemed to have pleased him.

      ‘Oh, I think your Sophia knows how to take care of entitled men, does she not?’ He left a significant pause. ‘She’s still going by the name of Mary Gifford, by the way. But she had another name once – besides the one she was baptised with, I mean. She was known in Canterbury as Mrs Kate Kingsley. You remember, I’m sure.’

      A chill flooded through me and I felt my throat constrict. I understood him now, and did not trust myself to speak.

      ‘In fact,’ he continued, his voice smooth, ‘she was wanted for murder under that name, do you recall?’

      ‘The case was closed. She was never convicted.’

      ‘More accurate to say she was never brought to trial,’ he said. ‘Paget doesn’t know about that business. He took an interest in her because he found her intelligent and he is practised enough to know when someone is hiding their past. And, of course, because he knew she was of interest to you. But it was bold of her to come back to England so soon. There’s every chance of her being recognised, and even a man like Henry Cavendish wouldn’t want a cold-blooded murderess playing chess with his wife.’

      ‘She’s not a murderess.’ I fought to keep my voice level.

      ‘I’m sure she is not.’ His tone had grown placatory, which was always the most dangerous. ‘From what you have told me, she is a most resourceful and sharp-witted girl. She must be, to have outwitted you.’

      I wondered how he knew of that, and supposed Sidney must have told him the whole story: how I had acted to clear Sophia’s name in Canterbury, believing she returned my feelings, only for her to flee to France after stealing a valuable book from me, as if I meant nothing to her. The betrayal still stung. I said nothing.

      ‘I should like to make use of her talents,’ Walsingham continued, as if he were merely thinking aloud.

      This made me straighten. ‘How?’

      ‘Henry Cavendish is uncle to the lovely Bessie Pierrepont, who has caught our young friend Gifford’s imagination, as I told you. Bessie is a frequent visitor to her aunt Lady Grace, and shares confidences. Another pair of eyes and ears in that household would be extremely useful.’

      ‘What makes you think Sophia would work for you?’ The thought of her pressed into Walsingham’s service made my head ache; she would leap at the chance of a role beyond those available to her as a woman of no means, the excitement of it. Just like Clara Poole.

      ‘Because I could have her arrested for the murder of her husband and sent to stand trial in Canterbury any time I chose,’ he said, with a trace of impatience. ‘But if she helps me, I will help her. She wants to find her son, does she not? The one she was forced to give up three years ago.’

      I stared at him. ‘You know where he is? How?’

      He arched an eyebrow. ‘Really, Bruno. There’s not much goes on in this realm that I can’t find out.’

      ‘Does Sophia know?’ Even the discovery that her son was alive would mean the world to her. But perhaps a glimmer of possibility would be worse than ignorance; as far as I was aware, the boy had been sold by Sophia’s aunt to a wealthy childless couple and there was little chance that his mother, as an unmarried woman, could hope to get him back, especially if she could not reveal her true identity. Knowing Sophia, that would not stop her trying.

      ‘I have not yet found an opportunity to speak with her. That rather depends on you.’ He let the implication hang there between us.

      ‘You mean that if I don’t agree to this Babington business, you won’t tell her about her son?’

      ‘I mean, Bruno, that you risked a great deal to save her from a murder charge once before, so I have no doubt you would do so again.’

      We watched one another like dogs at the start of a fight; his eyes were implacable. I wondered how long he had been keeping this ultimatum up his sleeve. If I did not agree to his proposal, he would see Sophia arrested for murder. If I did what he wanted, his generosity would extend to her as well as me. I realised, with a quickening flush of shame, how foolish I had been to think of Walsingham as a benign father figure to his agents; looking at him now, the hard line of his compressed lips, I saw the man who could turn the rack on a young priest without flinching, who would put his daughter’s closest friend in an unmarked grave to save his mission, and I understood that nothing would come between him and his duty to England and the Queen.

      ‘Her Majesty’s Service is not a hobby, Bruno,’ he said with quiet finality. ‘It’s not for you to pick and choose the parts that strike you as an amusing pastime. England needs your skills now. That is all there is to it. Do we have an agreement?’

      My fists drew tight at my sides as I tried to outstare him; I felt the strain in my jaw as I fought to batten down the rising tide of anger, just as I had seen Poole doing earlier. At length, I bowed my head. There was nothing left to say.

      ‘Good. I am needed at Whitehall. You will do as Thomas tells you until I return, I hope that’s clear.’ He paused on his way past me to the door, and laid a hand on my shoulder. ‘God be with you.’

      I almost responded, but I was furious with him and determined that he should know it. I turned my face away. He waited a moment, and withdrew. I stood, fixed to the spot, shaking with rage. Phelippes’s quill scratched on rhythmically in the empty air.

      ‘Do you think he’d have done it?’ I asked, turning to him. ‘Sent her for trial to punish me? After everything we have been through?’

      The cryptographer unexpectedly looked up, took off his eyeglasses and blinked at me. ‘You don’t really need to ask that. He will do whatever is necessary for the good of the state.’

      ‘Of course.’ I placed my hands on the edge of his desk and leaned over him, hearing

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