He looked to Akiko, who gently shook her head. Jack felt all the fight drain out of him and he let his rapier drop. If Jess was dead, it was over. He had nothing more to fight for.

‘Sir Edmund, Sir Francis – detain Sir Toby in his room until further notice,’ ordered Sir Henry, as Jack stood numb and paralysed by grief in the centre of the room.

Sir Toby, his head hung low in shame, was escorted out of the gallery. He was almost at the door when, in a fit of fury, he snatched a loaded flintlock pistol from the rack on the wall. Cocking the weapon, he took aim at Jack.

‘No one humiliates the Right Honourable Sir Toby Nashe and lives!’ he cried in outrage, pulling the trigger.

‘NO!’ yelled Signor Horatio, shoving Jack to one side.

The pistol shot resounded like a thunderclap through the gallery. Jack flinched as he fell to the ground – but Signor Horatio’s quick reaction had saved him. A startled and pained cry caused everyone to turn. For a second, Jack thought Signor Horatio had been struck, his courageous act having put him in the line of fire. But, when he looked, Signor Horatio was unharmed. Instead, it was Rose who slumped to the floor, blood pouring from the bullet hole in the breastplate of her costume.

38: Priest Hole

The sounds of the masked ball resumed in the Great Hall, the music and chatter more muted than before. Up on the first floor of the house, Rose was laid out on a four-poster bed, a circle of concerned faces watching as her armoured breastplate was carefully removed. A blossom of blood stained the front of her green dress. Taking a knife, Signor Horatio cut away a patch of cloth and inspected the wound in Rose’s belly.

‘Can you save her?’ asked Jack.

‘I can see the lead shot,’ the sword master replied gravely as he washed his hands in a bowl of hot water. ‘Thankfully her costume’s armour slowed the round. If I can get it out, she has a good chance.’

Rose groaned in pain, her face ashen and glistening with sweat. Akiko dabbed Rose’s brow with a cool cloth, while Yori held her hand and hummed ‘Vam’, the healing mantra for the stomach. Over the flickering flame of a candle, Signor Horatio heated the knife to sterilize it before letting the steel cool.

‘This might sting a little, signorina,’ he warned Rose, as he prepared to insert the knife into the wound.

Rose forced a smile. ‘At least … I know you’re skilled … with a blade,’ she whispered.

Jack offered her a wooden spoon.

‘No thanks … I’m not hungry.’ She attempted a laugh, but ended up grimacing in agony.

‘It’s for you to bite on,’ Jack explained. ‘Here, take it.’