“He would for a thousand!” Toby laughed. “The roof of the Old House will overcome any of his principles.”

She looked past him at Sir Grenville Cony’s house. “Perhaps he won’t want to see me.”

“So find out.”

“I wish you could come in with me.”

“So do I, but I can’t.” He smiled. “He’s an important Parliament man, remember? He’d have to arrest me on the spot, and I don’t think that would help you.”

She looked at him decisively. “I’m being stupid. What can he do to me? Either he tells me or he doesn’t.”

“Correct. And I shall wait for you outside.”

“Then Lazen?”

“Then Lazen.”

She smiled. “I’ll get it over with.”

“One minute!” He had been holding a leather bag which he had not explained to her, but which he now picked up, unlaced, and drew out what it held.

It was a cloak of powder blue, a silvery touch to the threads, and he held it up so she could see the silver clasp at its throat. “For you.”

“Toby!” It was lovely. The cloth had a sheen that made her want to touch it, to wear it, and he tenderly put it about her shoulders, then stepped back.

“You look beautiful.” He meant it, too. A woman, passing the doorway, looked at Campion and smiled.

Toby was pleased. “It’s your color. You should always wear that blue.”

“It’s wonderful!” She wished she could see herself, but even to the touch it felt luxurious. “You shouldn’t have done it!”

“I shouldn’t!” He mocked her gently.

“I like it.”

“It’s your travelling cloak.” He twitched it unnecessarily. It hung to perfection on her slim, tall body in long folds. “You can wear it down to Lazen. Now give it back to me.”

“No!” She smiled in delight. “I shall wear it now. I shall wear it in Cony’s house and I’ll know I have something of yours.” She clutched the edges of the cloak. “May I?”

He laughed. “Of course.” He held out his arm to her, a strangely courteous gesture from such a villainous looking man, and escorted her across the Strand.

She had half expected the alleyway beside Cony’s house to be crowded with petitioners. Today, she had been told, was the day when Sir Grenville dealt with the public, but to her mild surprise the narrow, dark alley was as deserted as before. The river gleamed at the far end.

“Toby!” She had stopped short of the porchway.

For a moment he thought her nerve had failed her, but then he saw her hands busy at her throat. “What is it?”

“Here.” She held something to him. “I want you to have something of mine while I’m in the house.”

It was the Seal of St. Matthew, golden in the rancid alleyway, its chain swinging from Toby’s palm. He shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?” She would not take it back.

“Because you might need it in there. Maybe it’s the proof he’ll need to give you some answers.”