Charles’s face darkened. “Absolutely not.”

“Sire—”

“This has been a terrible year. Hardest of all for this city. I cannot abandon my people. Some have already begun to blame me for bringing the plague. They say I’ve fallen from God’s favor. If I flee London so soon after I returned, their faith will collapse.”

Lord Ashcombe shrugged. “Better than a dagger in the back.”

“No. It is not.” The king stood, towering over us all. “My crown lies as precarious as ever. If it falls… I promise you, Richard, I will die before I leave England. I will never be exiled again.”

And Lord Ashcombe, who had stayed with his king for those miserable years, couldn’t help but understand. Death might be acceptable. Humiliation? Never.

“In that case,” he said, “we must still remove you from the palace.”

“And go where?” Walsingham said. “If Berkshire House is full of enemies, we must assume everywhere in London will be.”

“Not everywhere. There’s Hampton Court.”

The king made a face. “I loathe Hampton.”

“I know. And so does everyone else.”

It was, in fact, common knowledge that the king hated the place, and with good reason. Hampton Court was where Oliver Cromwell had lived while Charles was doomed to exile.

“Hampton,” Lord Ashcombe said, “is where no one expects you to go. So it’s less likely the Covenanters will have bothered to infiltrate it.”

“It’s still outside the city,” Charles noted.

“Fourteen miles. Close enough. We’ll say you wanted to go hunting. No one will fault you for that.”

The king looked to Walsingham. Slowly, the spymaster nodded. “I agree.”

“I swore I’d never go there.” Then the king smirked, half to himself. “Odd’s fish. I’ve broken so many oaths; what’s one more? We leave tonight, then?”

“Yes,” Lord Ashcombe said.

“No.” The spymaster shook his head. “If we leave tonight, it will tip off our conspirators. Leave tomorrow night, heading for the party as expected. Reroute to Hampton Court instead.”

Lord Ashcombe agreed that would work. The king sighed. He reached for his glass, then stopped. “Will somebody remove this blasted rat?”

Walsingham carried the cage himself. Outside the king’s parlor, he motioned for me to follow him—then turned sharply and walked over to where Tom and Sally waited nervously.

He looked Sally up and down. “Your mind is astute,” he said. Then he spun on his heel and walked off. I glanced at her as I followed; she looked thoroughly confused.

Definitely strange, this man. Though I think I knew what he’d meant: He’d liked Sally’s observation about servants.

I assumed we were going back to his office. Instead, he stopped halfway down some passage and stepped into an open door. It was someone’s parlor; a maid was in there scrubbing the floor. She stood and curtsied as we entered.

Walsingham gave her the barest hint of a smile. “Out,” he said, though not unkindly.

She hurried away. He shut the door. “Your performance today has been satisfactory.”

I remembered what Lord Ashcombe had said. High praise, indeed.