I realized that they spoke the truth. “Then tell me what you do know,” I urged. “What would your father have meant when he said that Robert had taken up the sword he could not wield? To what use would Robert put gunpowder?”

“Father pledged himself to the restoration of the Catholic faith,” Mary said, “but he was not prepared to carry arms for the cause.”

“He saw that as a weakness in himself,” Elizabeth put in. “He deplored his lack of courage and wished he had Robert’s boldness of spirit.”

I looked at Francis, who sank another full glass of wine and looked surly. Beneath his hero worship of Robert, I thought, there ran a strong strand of resentment. He knew that his father had preferred Robert to him.

“Do you know,” I asked, “what Robert is planning? Is it another insurrection?”

How many times, I thought viciously, must men fail before they realized that rebellions were seldom won? Forever, in all likelihood.

There was a long silence. Neither Elizabeth nor Mary would meet my eyes.

“When Catherine died,” I said, “and I took on the care of little Robbie, I vowed to do everything in my power to protect him from danger. I promised Catherine’s bright spirit that I would give my life for him if need be. No matter my own desire to see the true faith restored, no matter my love for my son, the safety and future happiness of my grandson became the most important thing in the world to me. So I beseech you both—” My voice wavered and I stopped, and took a breath. “If you know anything of what Robert intends, pray tell me, so that I may prevent all our children from suffering in the same way that past generations have suffered.”

“We do not know!” Elizabeth burst out. Her face was suffused with color and her eyes were bright. She looked at Mary, and then at her brother slouched in his chair. “They do not trust us,” she said finally, “for we feel as you do, madam. Nothing is worth the risk to our homes and families that would come from a renewed attack.”

“Who are they?” I asked.

“Our cousins,” Elizabeth said. “The Wintours and Rob Percy and the Wrights.”

The Wintours and Rob Percy and the Wrights, I thought. The men that Robert had been keeping company with all this time. Our kin, who had attended family weddings and feast days from time immemorial. We were all bound together through our faith yet now it was forcing us apart.

“You must have heard something,” I pressed, “some whisper of treason. What use would Robert have for gunpowder?”

Once again there was silence and then Francis Tresham spoke. “It is to kill the king,” he said.

His aim is to kill the king.

My bags were packed. In the privacy of my chamber, before I departed, I called Byram to me. “I need you to find Robert,” I said, “immediately. I’m told his aim is to kill the king. I would like to prevent that if it is at all possible.”