“Then I’ll come and get it from you.”

“But it’s yours! It’s valuable!”

“It’s ours! Keep it for me.”

“I’ll give it back when you come out.”

She smiled. “All right.” He put it about his neck, inside his shirt and leather jerkin, and he was glad she had given it to him. He needed something of hers at this moment, for lovers need talismans, and the gold felt good against his skin.

“I’ll wait for you.”

They kissed, as they had kissed a thousand times in the week, and then she walked purposefully toward the door and pulled the iron-handled chain. She was early, but she wanted this meeting done quickly. She had a life to live, a life she had only dared dream of in the unhappiness of Werlatton, and once this meeting with Sir Grenville Cony was over, she could leave with Toby.

The bell had sounded deep inside the house.

She turned to Toby. “I’ll think of you.”

“I love you.”

The shutter snapped open. “Yes?”

She turned. “I’m Miss Slythe, to see Sir Grenville Cony.”

“You’re early.” The voice was ungracious. The shutter snapped down and for a moment Campion thought she would not gain entry, but then came the sound of bolts being withdrawn, a bar being lifted and the wooden door swung open.

A thin, sallow young man stood there. He beckoned her inside. She turned once, smiled at Toby, and went into the dark passageway.

Toby saw the cloak swirl splendid in the gloom, saw her start to climb a brief flight of stone steps, and then the door slammed shut.

He listened to the echo of the door die away and, for an instant, it seemed that the house was utterly and strangely silent.

Then came the sound of the bolts being shot to, of the bar dropping into its iron brackets, unnaturally loud in the dark alley. He frowned, spoke Campion’s name aloud, but the house was again silent.

Nine

Campion was shown into a spacious, empty room. It was quite silent, almost as if this was the heart of the strange quietness that emanated from the house. Even the clerks, in their gloomy, unseasonably chill room, seemed to make no noise as they put quills to curled papers. The man who had opened the door, evidently one of the clerks himself, had left, saying Sir Grenville would be with her soon. Then, disturbingly, he had locked the door behind him.

She hesitated, wondering whether she ought to wander free in such a private, silent chamber, but the view from the great mullioned windows drew her soundlessly across the deep carpet. The room looked on to the River Thames, and the silence within the house was made even more strange by the evidence of busy life upon the river. A score of boats were within sight, yet not one sound reached this rich, quiet room. Below her, entered from the floor beneath, was a garden of espaliered pear trees, of neat flowerbeds surrounded by gravel walks, all leading to a private pier that jutted into the river.