Yet Ebenezer still dreamed of owning the Covenant. His sister, his bastard sister, should not have it. She would be frivolous with the money, undeserving, while Sir Grenville, Ebenezer thought, was already being left behind by the tide of history.

No, Ebenezer reflected as he walked down to Sir Grenville’s boat, only he himself deserved the Covenant. He would take the money and use it to gain the power with which he could change England. He could make it a land of disciplined Saints, ruled by sober men of vision, and Ebenezer would do it with the seals of the Covenant. He did not know how, but he knew he would. It was his destiny, his mission, and he would accomplish it.

Three days later, sitting in the window of the Southwark house, Campion heard the door open. She assumed it was Lopez, coming early from his afternoon sleep, but it was Vavasour Devorax’s harsh voice that startled her.

“Your good news has arrived.”

She dropped the book, turned, and saw a sardonic look on his face. He appeared not to have shaved and she wondered if he was growing his beard again. “Sir?”

“Mason’s back from Oxford.” Devorax lowered himself into a chair. He held a bottle of brandy-wine in his hand. “You want to celebrate with me?”

She shook her head. “My good news?”

“Sir Toby Lazender and his mother look forward to your arrival. They wish to see you.” He poured brandy-wine into a pewter mug. “It seems they’re eager to see you.” He watched the happiness on her face. She seemed to bubble with joy. Devorax sounded sour. “You’re so keen to leave us?”

“No, sir. No.” She still felt uncomfortable in the soldier’s presence. She sensed that he despised her innocence, mocked it even. “You’ve been very kind, sir.”

“You mean Mordecai’s been very kind.” Devorax drank, wiped his mouth. “He’ll miss you.” He gave a grim laugh. “I think he sees you as the daughter he lost.”

“He lost?”

“Burned to death. Her and her mother.” Devorax said it brutally. “That’s why he won’t live in a timber house anywhere.” He saw her expression and laughed. “Don’t feel sorry for Mordecai. It was a long time ago.”

“He never remarried?”

“No.”

Devorax frowned into the empty mug, as if puzzled at where the drink had gone. “But don’t feel sorry for him. He doesn’t lack for anything.” He leaned over for the bottle.

His casual cynicism annoyed her. “Can money replace a family?”

He stared at her, gray eyes cold, and when he spoke his voice was pitying and condescending. “Count the bedrooms, girl.”

“Count the bedrooms?”

“God in his heaven!” He put down bottle and mug and ticked off the fingers of his left hand. “You have the big room at the side. I understand you sleep alone?”

She blushed. “Yes.”

“Then there’s the small room at the back where I sleep, when I sleep. Then there’s the other big room above here where Mordecai sleeps. Yes?”