“In America, Maryland. If he’s alive.”

“I see.” It was obvious that the mention of America did not impress Lady Margaret unduly. “Will he come looking for you?”

“I don’t know.”

“I hope his language has improved if he does. I imagine not. One can’t think that the settlements are anything but uncouth.”

“I’m not sure I want him to come.”

“Don’t be so very stupid, Campion. Kit Aretine was said to be the most handsome and witty of men. I’ve always wanted to meet him.” She stepped away. “You look quite passable. Let me get you some earrings. And pinch your cheeks, child, you need color.”

They sat in the garden, between shady pear trees and Campion listened to the story of Lazen Castle and of how Sir Grenville Cony had expelled the family. The Lazenders, Lady Margaret said, were ruined. Their lands were gone, their money, their home too. Charles Ferraby, the ox-eyed boy who was to marry Caroline, had withdrawn his hand. No one needed a penniless bride. Only Lord Tallis, an old friend of Sir George, had offered help.

Hooves sounded at the end of the garden, a voice called out and a gate slammed. Lady Margaret cocked an ear. “That’s Toby, dear. Hide yourself.”

“Hide?”

“Of course! You should always surprise your men, it keeps them interested.”

There was a grassy space between high bushes, a space hidden from the house, and Campion waited there through the seconds that seemed like eternity. Her heart was thumping. She felt excited, as though she was a small child playing a thrilling and secret game. She heard boots in the passage that led beside the garden to the house, the sound of a door, and then, muffled but distinct, the sound of his voice. She had a sudden, terrible memory of the Tower, of the rats scrabbling on a cold, foul floor, and then Lady Margaret’s commanding voice dragged her back to this lilac-shaded garden. “Go into the garden, Toby. I wish to talk with you.”

She heard his footsteps on the flagstones that bordered the lawn. Then silence. She waited. His voice came again. “Are you coming, mother?”

“In a moment, Toby. Don’t be tedious. Tell me the time.”

His boots sounded again, this time muffled by the grass. Campion tried to compose herself, to make her face serene and calm. She patted the ringlets of her hair, and then she could see him, his hair red in the sun, his left hand gloved. He was dressed in black. He stopped at the sundial. “It’s nearly half past six, mother!” He turned, getting no reply, and saw the blue dress beneath the lilacs.

“Toby?”

She could not be calm, she could not be serene. His strong face was showing astonishment, joy, and then they were in each other’s arms, his maimed hand was about her shoulders and her face was buried on his chest. “Toby!”

“You’re here.” He tipped her face up, and then kissed her tenderly, almost in wonderment as if he did not believe it. “Campion?”