Byram dug out a small cavity beneath the sarsen and I slipped the package within, murmuring a prayer that it would be blessed. We shoveled the soil back as it was and the sarsen sat there immovably with its engraving:

“Where your treasure is, so shall your heart be also.”

“Very good,” I said to Byram, brushing the soil from my hands. “Now all is finished and we can go home.”

I saw Robert for the last time nine days after I left London. I had gone back home and, like all the other wives and mothers in my extended family, I sat and waited in silence and fear for news, whilst trying to pretend for Robbie’s sake that nothing was wrong.

It was the evening of the fifth of November and Robbie and I had been out in the forest collecting wood for the fires. It had been a beautiful late-autumn day full of crisp fresh air and crunchy golden leaves. Robbie had filled his pockets with acorns and conkers and my old apron was stuffed with kindling.

By the gate into the gardens we stopped as we saw a man riding up the bridleway toward us. Robbie pressed against my skirts, his arms encircling my legs as he did when he wanted to burrow close for comfort. I put a hand on his head, feeling the soft, springy dark hair beneath my fingers. I recognized Robert and opened my mouth to tell Robbie his father was coming to visit us. I felt strange, full of hope, fear and excitement all at the same time. My heart soared. My premonitions had been wrong. Robert had abandoned his plans after all. He was here now to tell us that all was well, he was coming home and we would all start afresh together.

Then I saw him rein in his horse fifty yards from us and I realized he had no intention of coming any closer. My hope crashed down as I understood. He was on the run. He would not approach us because now, at the end, he did not want to taint us with his treason.

He raised his hat then and saluted us. Although the evening was pressing close and I could not see clearly, I think he smiled.

I saw not the fugitive in tattered clothing, travel stained and exhausted, but the young man on his wedding day who had been so full of vitality and love. He waved to us, almost a joyful wave, and then he turned and rode away and he did not look back. Robbie and I stood watching until he was out of sight and the sound of the horse’s hooves had died away.

Behind me in the gardens a torch flared. I heard footsteps and I felt Byram touch my arm, “They’re coming, madam,” he said, and I knew that he meant the king’s men. “Remember that you have not seen Mr. Catesby and you know nothing.”

“I remember,” I said. I took Robbie’s hand in mine and knew that now it was my turn to fight, to fight for my grandson and his future with every weapon I had.