“One of us is going to need to finish a sentence,” Finn said.

“But if you don’t mind staying,” Lucy said in a rush, “I’d really appreciate that. Just to hold me,” she added quickly. “I’d rather not be alone.”

“Sure,” Finn said, and she heard the smile in his voice. His hand covered hers again briefly. “This is a bit strange, right?” he said. “Sort of like a speed relationship?”

“Yes,” Lucy said, thinking how quickly they had moved in the past few weeks. “Exactly like that.”

“I like it,” Finn said, after a moment. “But if it’s too fast for you, just say.”

“No.” Despite her aches and pains, despite the exhaustion blanketing her, Lucy felt warm inside. It felt exactly right. “I like it too,” she said.

Twenty-Two

Anne Catesby

London
October 26, 1605

“My Lord, out of the love I bear to some of your friends, I have a care of your preservation.”

My hand shook. A droplet of ink smeared the paper. I took a breath to steady myself and dipped the goose quill once more into the horn. “Therefore I would advise you, as you tender your life, to devise some excuse to shift your attendance at this Parliament...”

The flame of the candle flickered in some unseen draft. I stopped. It was not too late. I could burn the letter, let fate take its course and return home to Warwickshire and to Robbie. For a moment the temptation overwhelmed me.

I stood up and moved over to the window. London at night in late October was a grim and dingy place. All the gaudiness of the day was overtaken by shadows and coldness. It was the sort of place where men begged, borrowed and stole to survive on the streets. It was the sort of place where plots were hatched and conspiracies made in smoky alehouses. I hated it.

Robert had refused to see me when I had been to his house in Clerkenwell. I stood out in the cold street, like a vagrant, like a stranger. I knew there were people inside, but they would not open to me, though I stood there for over two hours, until I was tired and hungry. In the end a servant came out: Mr. Catesby was occupied with business and had no desire to make his lady mother wait; he would therefore call upon me at a more convenient time. And pigs might fly.

When I got back home, Byram was waiting to see me.

“It is true, I am afraid, your ladyship,” he said. He looked gray with fatigue and fear. “I met up with Thomas Bates, who used to serve you at Ashby. He says there is a plot afoot to blow up the king and his government at the next opening of the parliament. They have gunpowder aplenty. They plan to put Princess Elizabeth on the throne and marry her off to a Catholic who will allow religious tolerance to flourish.”

“It is a plot so foolhardy that only Robert could have hatched it,” I said wearily. “Thank God that Bates betrayed him to you.”