Then he shut his lips very firmly and looked as if he expected Carey to laugh at him for his romantic notions.

‘I won’t deny the thought had crossed my mind,’ Carey said slowly. ‘But why do you wish that? Is she so unhappy with Sir Henry?’

Henry had the peculiar expression of someone who is longing to explain a great deal but can’t bring himself to the necessary disloyalty.

‘What’s she going back to, and why is she in such a hurry about it?’ Carey hadn’t meant to sound so peremptory but his heart had gone cold.

Young Henry stared ahead for a few moments longer and then said, in a rush, ‘Well, Sir Robert, you know if someone has to have a tooth pulled, they’re either one way or the other. Some people put it off for as long as possible, and others get it over with as quick as possible.’

For a moment Carey didn’t understand. ‘But she... Oh.’

Even Henry’s spots were glowing red and he looked quite wretched.

‘It’s his right,’ he mumbled. ‘And he’s a very suspicious man. It took him a long time to... to calm down when she came back from Court. And now...’

Carey understood perfectly. His voice became remote.

‘Is he likely to kill her?’

‘Well...’

‘Widdrington, I want to know what she’s facing.’

‘Well... I don’t think he’d kill her. You see, he needs her to nurse him when he’s having one of his attacks of the gravel in his bladder.’

‘Couldn’t he marry again?’

‘I don’t think any of the families near us would give him one of their daughters. And none of the widows would take him either,’ Henry explained damningly. ‘He had to send all the way to Cornwall to get her, remember.’

With some part of his mind, Carey planned to have a great many words with his father the next time they met. But for Lord Hunsdon, Elizabeth would never have married Sir Henry. On the other hand, then they might never have met.

‘How did your mother die?’ Carey demanded, too angry to be tactful.

Young Henry said nothing, which was much worse than an answer. Carey took a deep breath, looked back over his shoulder at Elizabeth riding sedately along. Her face was perfectly normal, though she still looked thoroughly annoyed.

Certainly Philadelphia could have no idea. It hadn’t really occurred to him, although he had no quarrel with a man exercising proper authority over his wife. Obviously, what Young Henry was alluding to was more than that. Coldness trickled down his spine as he wondered if Sir Henry had the brainsickness he knew that Walsingham’s inquisitor Topcliffe certainly had. He couldn’t ask Young Henry, he wouldn’t understand.

Henry was speaking again, in a low mumble.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘I was saying, my father might make her do penance if she’s... er... if he thinks she’s committed adultery.’

‘What, spend Sunday standing outside the church in a white sheet with a candle?’

Henry nodded. Carey looked over his shoulder again. Elizabeth was watching him now, so he turned back in case she saw his face. Considering her pride, he suspected she would prefer to be beaten.

Young Henry was screwing up his face as if he was trying to find the courage to ask something insolent. Carey knew immediately what that was and pre-empted it.

‘Your stepmother, Mr Widdrington,’ he said coldly and clearly, ‘is the most virtuous woman I have ever met. I won’t deny I’ve been laying siege to her with every... every device I have, and I have got nowhere. Nowhere at all.’

Despite the beetroot colour of Henry’s face he seemed happier. He nodded.

‘But I suppose, given Sir Henry’s nature, he isn’t likely to believe it, even without Lowther to poison the well for us.’

Henry nodded again. Carey rode along for a moment.

‘Christ, what a bloody mess.’

Abruptly he swung Thunder away from Henry’s horse and put his heels in again. Thunder exploded straight into a gallop, catching his rider’s mood. Carey let him have his head, though he got no pleasure from it now, and then brought him to a stop under a shady tree where he dismounted and walked Thunder up and down to let him cool more slowly, and waited for the Widdringtons. He stood watching them as they came up and cursed himself for being so obtuse, for thinking he was playing a game with Elizabeth when she was in fact gambling with her life. She reined in beside him and he came to her stirrup and looked up at her.

‘My lady,’ he said gently, ‘I’ll leave you here.’

‘What were you talking about with Henry?’

He also wondered how much she knew of what was in his mind, but she wasn’t a witch, only a woman.

‘We were agreeing with each other about the dangers of travelling in this March with horses that need more rest,’ he lied bluntly. It wasn’t a lie. He was worried about it.

‘We shall be well enough,’ said Elizabeth sedately. ‘Thank you for your concern, Sir Robert.’

‘Good day to you, Lady Widdrington,’ said Carey, uncovering to her as they continued past. ‘God speed.’

***

Barnabus knew better than to say anything to his master when Carey slammed into his chambers with a face as dark as ditchwater and went straight to the smaller room he used as an office. He sat down at the desk, opened the penner and took out pens and ink. Summer sunlight like honey streamed in through the window and he looked up at it once and sighed, then drew paper towards him and dipped his pen.

Somewhere around noon they had a visitor. James Pennycook and his son-in-law knocked tentatively at the door and, after wine had been brought, Barnabus and Michael Kerr were told to leave and shut the door.

‘What’s Mr Pennycook after?’ Barnabus asked Kerr as they sat on the stairs, waiting to be called back. Michael Kerr fiddled with one of the tassels on his purse, looked up at the arched roof and said, ‘Och, it’s the usual. Mr Pennycook wants to know his price.’

‘What for?’

‘For not interfering with the victualling contracts.’

Barnabus sucked his teeth. ‘What a pity Mr Pennycook didn’t send you to me first,’ he said meaningfully.

Kerr looked knowing. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Expensive, is he?’

‘Very,’ said Barnabus. ‘And very unpredictable. He’s got to be approached just right, has Sir Robert.’

The low muttering inside had stopped suddenly. Barnabus braced himself.

‘Barnabu-u-us,’ came the roar.

Barnabus opened the door and went in. Mr Pennycook was standing in the middle of the floor, looking pinched about the nostrils.

Carey was by the fireplace with his back turned.