I could feel that I was frowning, but with any luck he’d take it as a sign of concentration, not confusion.

He went on, “We know that Robert Moray deals with the Pretender’s court at Saint-Germain, and he has only luck to thank for keeping him alive so long. But luck cannot be counted on forever.” From his pocket, Seafield drew a thin, sealed letter, and a second paper, folded but not sealed. “Someone must remind him of that fact, for his own good.”

I shook my head, not wishing to be part of any scheme. “We are not friends. He met me once. He does not know me.”

“You’re an honest man. He will admire that. He will trust you.” Seafield handed me the letter and the paper, which, unfolded, I could see now was a pass to gain me entry to the castle. “You’re expected in the morning. I believe the guard said ten o’clock would be the time best suited.”

I did not like being used, but when you stood against a man of such position, with such power, there was never any doubt who would prevail.

I did, though, meet his gaze. “I wish to know the substance of what’s in the letter, if I am to carry it.”

The earl could very easily have brushed off my request. Instead he said, “It simply does inform him that we know he has not told us all, but if he does deal plainly with us now and answers all our questions, then whatever he asks will be granted him, and so he has an opportunity, if he is wise, to make his fortune.”

I knew now that it would be a waste of time, to give that message to a man like Robert Moray. More than that, it would insult him. From the little I had seen I did not think he was the sort of man to sell his secrets or his friends for money. When I said as much to Seafield, he was unconcerned.

“Then as the letter does assure him, he will walk a harder road. We’ll have the story from him either way,” the earl said, very certain. “If he will not sell it to us, we will draw it from his lips with all the torture that our jailers can devise.”

His smile was chillingly polite.

I felt the cold of it when he had gone, and had to turn a moment to the monument again, to school my face. I looked again at those brass figures on the plaque, and felt a quick surge of impatience with the sadly drooping Justice. Pick your sword up off the floor, I felt like telling her. A broken sword still has an edge, and you’re not yet defeated.

I stood straighter, and had tucked the letter and the pass both safely in my pocket by the time that Helen came to find me.

“Do you know,” she told me as she took my arm, “I had the most extraordinary conversation with my cousin.”