“Yes. It seems I am forgiven for letting you meet the Northern lords, God save their souls. But I am on parole as your guardian. I am warned not to make mistakes again.”

“I am truly sorry to have brought such trouble to your door.”

He shakes his head. “Oh, Your Grace, I know that you never meant to bring trouble to me. And I know you would not plot against an ordained queen. You might seek your freedom but you would not threaten her.”

I lower my eyes. When I look up again he is smiling down on me. “I wish you could be my advisor as well as my guardian,” I say very quietly. “I would have done better in my life if I could always have been kept by a man such as you.”

There is a silence for a moment. I hear the log shift in the grate and a little flame makes the shadowy room brighter.

“I wish it too,” he says, very low. “I wish I could see you come to your own again, in safety and health.”

“Will you help me?” My voice is barely louder than the flicker of the fire.

“If I can,” he says. “If I can without dishonor.”

“And not tell Bess,” I add. “She is too good a friend of Cecil for my safety.” I think he will hesitate at this: I am asking him to ally with me against his wife. But he rushes forward.

“Bess is his spy,” he says, and I can hear the bitterness in his voice. “Her friendship with him may have saved my life, but I cannot thank her for it. She is his friend and his ally, his informant. It was her reporting to him that saved me. It is his authority that sanctions everything. Bess is always friends with the most powerful. Now her choice lights on Cecil, whereas it used to be me.”

“You don’t think that they...” I mean to hint at a love affair. But Shrewsbury shakes his head before I need say more.

“It is not infidelity; it is worse than that,” he says sadly. “It is disloyalty. She sees the world as he sees it: as a battle between the English and everyone else, as a battle between the Protestants and the Papists. The reward for the English Protestants is power and wealth; that is all they care for. They think that God so loves them that He gives them the riches of the world. They think that their wealth is evidence that they are doing the right thing, beloved by God.” He breaks off and looks at me. “My confessor would have called them pagans,” he says bluntly. “My mother would have called them heretics.”

“You are of the true faith?” I whisper incredulously.