26. Phoebe

P HOEBE Royston, Hertfordshire, 4th June 1613

R OYSTON WAS A MARKET town that formerly depended on the business of its corn-traders, until the king had chanced to stop here on his first long journey down from Scotland, and had fallen so enamoured of it that he'd built his hunting-lodge here. Now, most of the buildings on the town's main streets were given to the king's use, as Sir David had pointed out when we'd arrived early yesterday evening.

‘There, just past the hunting lodge, that's where the equerries stay,' he had told me, ‘while opposite, in all those houses, are the other servants and the stable lads. To this side of the lodge, that is the buttery, and then this building houses the king's guard.'

The narrow street, and that which crossed it, seemed a court unto itself, complete with kennels for the hunting dogs, a cockpit, and a bowling green.

‘Where did the prince stay?' Hector asked Sir David.

He had only hesitated slightly, no doubt fighting memories. ‘Here.' The regal house upon the corner, but we'd turned the horses then, and with our backs towards it we had travelled up the street a little distance to our inn.

Our chambers shared a private parlour that had but one access from outside. It led to the first floor gallery that overlooked the courtyard and the stables just behind the inn, so we were well secured. But still, I didn't sleep well. Maybe it was from the noise below us in the street, for Royston was a busy town. Or maybe it was because I was overtired from our day's ride, which had been long. Or maybe it was simply that I kept remembering the feel of Logan holding me, at Huntingdon.

He'd still been there when I'd awakened, which surprised me. He had been awake himself, and looking at the window, thinking. But the minute that I'd moved, his focus shifted and his eyes met mine.

‘Good morrow,' he had told me.

Things felt different in the daylight. I'd been suddenly self-conscious and had gathered up the quilts with both my hands. ‘Good morrow.'

‘Are ye well, now?'

‘Yes,' I said. And, ‘Thank you.' And then, because it had seemed important he should know, ‘I won't… that is, the things you said last night, about how you can See what is to come. I won't tell anybody else.'

His eyes had done that trick again, where they did gather warmer colour. Mayhap it was something grey eyes did. ‘If I thought that ye might,' he said, ‘I never would have telt ye.'

And then he had sat upright, and he'd let me go, and before I could think of anything to say to keep him there, he'd touched my shoulder lightly with one hand, and stood, and left me.

Had that truly been just yesterday? I'd replayed it now so many times within my mind it seemed much longer since it happened. So no, I did not sleep well last night, and this morning I rose early and, while waiting for our breakfast, sought distraction in my father's well-loved copy of Mr Parker's almanac.

The weather, Mr Parker promised, would hold fair for this day and the next. The moon tomorrow would be new – a time of changes. But against today's date, Mr Parker had marked one of his red ‘D's for ‘Danger', warning that the day would hold misfortune.

I had never taken almanacs and their predictions seriously, but today, that ‘D' made me uneasy.

‘What does Mr Parker say?' Sir David asked me, as he came into the parlour.

I looked up, and closed the almanac. ‘The weather will be fine.'

‘Good.' He turned to Logan, who had just come in with Hector as his ever-present shadow. ‘Mistress Westaway assures us we'll have sunshine all the day. Where are you leading us?'

Before he answered, Logan greeted me and said, ‘Ye should have stayed in bed, it looks like. Ye've had two long days of riding, and two nights with little sleep.'

He might have put that last more gallantly, but fortunately Hector was too young to draw the wrong conclusions and Sir David was a perfect gentleman who didn't bat an eye.

I said, ‘I'm well enough to travel.'

‘Nonetheless, ye'll have some space to rest the day,' said Logan. To Sir David, he went on, ‘We're heading to the Falcon next, at Puckeridge, but it's not safe to travel in the daylight. If we leave an hour afore the sunset, we'll be there by midnight.'

I stared at him across the table. ‘There'll hardly be a moon tonight.'

He told me, ‘All the better. In the meantime, Hector, after breakfast, I need ye to run down to the house where the king's equerries stay, past the hunting lodge, and fetch a bridle for me.'

Hector looked uncertain. ‘Me?'

‘Aye. I had rather not be strolling down the street if I can help it. Tis the king's town, and the walls have eyes, and I'm too recognizable.'

I frowned, because he usually seemed more relaxed when he was close to men who served the king. At Brancepeth, he had even worn his scarlet. ‘But you were known and recognized,' I pointed out, ‘when we were in Northallerton. And there, you did not seem to mind.'

Logan said, ‘Royston is nothing like Northallerton. This is the court in miniature. There may be men with secret orders lying here in wait to stop Sir David and myself.' He put it in plain words. ‘The prince is dead. If he was murdered, those who did it wish to hide that truth, not have it come to light at trial.'

I saw a flash of deep emotion cross Sir David's face. ‘You cannot think that I would be in league with those who—'

‘Killed the prince? Of course not,' Logan told him. ‘But I think ye might hold evidence that can condemn the ones who did.' He waited, but Sir David did not choose to meet his challenge. Logan turned his head and met my eyes. ‘Your father burned his papers, which does tell me there was something going on within our mission that he did not trust. We would be wise to follow his example.'

Logan once again instructed Hector how to find the house of the king's equerries, and gave a name to ask for, and a second name in case the first man was not there. ‘Tell him that ye need a Northern bridle, red if he does have it, and well oiled. Tell him who it's for,' he said, ‘but do it very quietly.'

I saw the war of thoughts and worries wage on Hector's features. On the one hand, he was desperate to win Logan's praise, but on the other, he had just heard Logan talk about how Royston was so dangerously unsafe.

And he was just a boy.

I smiled brightly at him. ‘Would you mind if I came, too?'

‘What?' Hector asked.

‘What?' Logan asked.

I faced them both with innocence. ‘It would be nice to get some air, and exercise my legs. It isn't far. Just down the road. We will be there and back before you know it,' I told Logan. ‘Hector will take care of me.'

‘That's right,' said Hector, straightening. ‘I'll guard your lady. You can guard Sir David.'

I reflected that, had anybody told me just a month ago I'd like to be called Logan's lady, I'd have thought them mad. Completely. Irretrievably. Today, I only felt my face grow warmer as I caught the edge of Logan's glance and looked away again before he read my thoughts.

Sir David said, ‘That's very thoughtful of you, Hector. But perhaps I'll come along with you two. You can guard me, also.'

‘No,' said Logan. ‘Ye'll stay here and help me with the horses.' There was private meaning in the firm look that he sent Sir David. ‘That is not a risk ye need to take.'

If I had felt the change in Logan's attitude after Northallerton, I felt it even stronger now – he was not Sir David's jailor anymore, but his protector. I couldn't help but wonder how he'd cope with being thrust again into that former, harder role when he was forced to bring Sir David to the king.

‘From Puckeridge,' Sir David mused, as though his thoughts had followed the same path, ‘we will be only one day's ride from London.'

‘Aye,' said Logan.

And we said no more about it over breakfast, because we all realized what that meant, and none of us were ready for it.

Hector would make a good Messenger. He grew nervous when we passed the great brick-fronted hunting lodge that jutted out into the road, with its gables and tiled roof and two tall chimneys, and approached the smaller house not far beyond. But he knocked bravely at the door, and asked by name for the first equerry whom Logan had requested, and delivered him the message as discreetly as if he'd already been in the king's service.

‘You did that perfectly,' I praised him when the bridle was delivered. ‘Logan will be proud.'

Hector beamed. With the bridle slung over his shoulder, he continued to take his duties seriously, walking between me and the street to protect me from anyone passing on foot or on horseback. But this time, when we passed the king's great hunting lodge, a man stepped from the doorway and grabbed my hand.

Hector cried out. If the boy had been wearing a sword, he'd have run the man through, but it happened so quickly that neither of us had much time to react. And, in the end, the man did nothing threatening – only raised my hand and kissed it.

‘Phoebe! I'm so glad we found you.'

Still in shock, I blinked and stared at Valentine. ‘Whatever are you doing here?'

‘We are on the king's business.'

That was the second time he'd used the plural. I asked, ‘We?'

He turned to the tall man who lounged a little distance off against a nearby wall, resplendent in a suit of slashed pale blue with trim of braided gold. ‘Lord Rochester,' he said, ‘may I present my neighbour, Phoebe Westaway.'

‘I am enchanted.'

I had seen Lord Rochester before, but from a distance. Then, he'd seemed a paragon – his curling auburn hair, his perfect beard, his dashing earring, and his walk that seemed to tell the world here was a man to reckon with. Now, close at hand, I only noticed that he wore the same expensive, cloying scent as Valentine, and that they both seemed weighted down with finery, and that their hair must take them a long time each morning to arrange.

Not so with men like Logan, who more often smelled of horses and of honest sweat and soap, and owned but simple clothing, and wore their hair close-cropped against their heads, and spent their coins and time in ways of more importance.

Valentine had not let go of my hand, but I lowered my eyes with respect and curtseyed.

Rochester's gaze moved to Hector. ‘And this must be Hector… Reid, is it? Well met, young man.'

Hector bowed and stammered out a greeting in reply. He seemed to take pride in the fact that a man of obvious importance would already know his name. It made me apprehensive.

We were standing in a public street with people all around us, I could hear their cheerful talk and laughter, and the day was bright. The sky was brilliant blue above the rooftops of the houses, and the sunlight fell with warmth upon my face. But I felt suddenly alone, and very cold.

Valentine chided me, ‘You did not write, as you promised to do.'

That was an easy thing to answer. ‘You surely must have known,' I said, ‘it would not be permitted.'

With a smile, Valentine looked again to Rochester. ‘I told you, did I not? I told you he would not allow it.'

‘Aye, you did.'

They clearly spoke of Logan, so I raised my chin and said in his defence, ‘I could not write to you by the king's orders. It was in the warrant, Valentine.'

He searched my face with interested eyes, and then he shrugged. ‘No matter. We did manage to keep track of you, although you didn't make it easy. Our men lost sight of you for some days between Hawick and Brancepeth. I did fear the worst.'

The knowledge other men besides the Graemes had been following us brought a chill into my veins but I tried not to let it show. I told him, ‘There was no need. I was being well looked after.'

‘So I see. But I am sorry,' he said, ‘to learn of your father's death.' He said it in a tone that dripped of sympathy, and had this been a month ago, I'm sure I'd have believed him.

Now, I felt that growing sense of unease deep within my belly, and knew well enough to pay it heed. The perfumed scent of both men, standing close to me combined, was almost stifling, and not thinking, I drew out my handkerchief to shield my nose and mouth so I could breathe some cleaner air.

Valentine said, ‘I do agree, the wood fires have too strong a smell this morning. We should get you off the street. Where are you staying?'

Hector said, before I thought to warn him, ‘At the Bull, just up the road.'

‘Then we will walk you back,' said Valentine.

I said, ‘That is not necessary.'

Rochester slipped smoothly into step with us, reminding me of nothing so much as the adder that had crossed our path within the Tarras Moss. Except the adder had not meant us harm. ‘I do insist,' he said.

I waited till we'd passed the guardhouse, then touched Hector on his shoulder. ‘You should run ahead,' I said, as cheerfully as possible, ‘for Logan needs that bridle.'

But as Hector nodded, Rochester reached down to rest a hand on the boy's shoulder, so he stayed with us. ‘Oh, I think he can wait.'

None of the people we passed understood what was happening, and there was nothing they could have done. This was the king's town, and Rochester was the king's favourite, so who was to cross him?

Still holding my hand, Valentine sent a curious look down towards me. ‘That isn't the handkerchief I gave you.'

‘No. I'm afraid I misplaced that one.'

Once again I was an object of study. ‘No matter. I'll buy you a new one,' he said, ‘for a wedding gift.'

I nearly choked. ‘A what?'

‘My lord Northampton lately did inform me that he made arrangements with your father for us to be married. I'll admit, it caught me somewhat unawares, but it will greatly please my father. He has long been keen to see me settled.'

‘Valentine…'

‘And then, of course, my prize in the arrangement is a baronetcy. Would you not be pleased to be the lady of a baronet?'

‘But, Valentine…'

‘Ah, here we are.'

My head was whirling as we passed beneath the archway leading to the courtyard of the inn, and when we came into the cobbled space I stood a moment with my back turned to the sunlit wall and tried to sort my thoughts enough to make a firm reply.

Ahead of us, the stables stretched in a long line, washed white with lime beneath a slanting tiled roof. And in the open doorway Logan stood, eyes wary, watching us.

He looked as though I'd struck him, and I wanted to assure him that it wasn't what it seemed, but Valentine spoke first.

He raised my hand, held firmly in his own, and called out, ‘Give us your congratulations, Logan. Phoebe has agreed to be my wife.'

I tore my fingers from his grasp. ‘I have done no such thing.' I stepped away, and brushed my hand upon my skirt as though to cleanse it, and then I told Hector, ‘Come now, Hector, bring the bridle.'

Logan's face cleared, and his shoulders rose and fell as though he'd taken a deep breath of pure relief, and with a nod he motioned we should get behind him, though he spared a smile for us as we came near. ‘Ye took your time,' he told me.

‘We had company.'

‘Aye, so I see.' He took a step into the sunshine. Logan could bow gracefully, when he had cause. ‘Good morrow, my lord Rochester.'

He was granted a nod in return. ‘Logan.' Rochester's gaze swept him, archly. ‘I see you're not wearing your livery.'

‘No, my lord. I thought it safer, considering who was my prisoner, not to draw too much attention.'

‘I see. No doubt it's been a great burden,' said Rochester, ‘but I am here to relieve you of that.'

Logan frowned. ‘My lord?'

‘I will be taking Sir David to London. The king has requested it.'Tis why I'm here. We were sent to await your arrival.' Rochester smiled narrowly. ‘Clearly our guardsmen weren't keeping a close enough eye on the streets. Or the inns.'

‘Aye, well, I'd not be too hard on them,' Logan said. ‘We did arrive at the hour when they commonly do eat their supper, they most likely missed us.'

I hadn't heard anyone moving behind us, but Rochester said, ‘Ah, good morrow, Sir David. A pleasure to see you again.' And he made a slight, mocking bow.

Sir David stood to the side, just behind me, and neither replied nor moved.

Valentine said, ‘He's not fettered. Is that wise?'

Ignoring him, Logan told Rochester, ‘I'll see your warrant, then.'

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘I'll not hand Sir David to anyone without the king's own authority.'

Rochester's hand touched the hilt of his sword as he straightened, indignantly. ‘I am the king's own authority.'

‘Nevertheless.'

How could Logan keep calm? I was quaking inside, but his eyes and his voice were like ice, and I sought to draw strength from them, looking instead towards Rochester. That was how I saw the change of expression, like wheels turning in a machine, in the instant before he reached into his pocket.

‘All right, then. If you do insist upon reading the warrant, I have it here.'

He held it out for Logan, but I knew, with utter certainty, from looking at his face, that he knew Logan could not read.

Logan hesitated. Set his jaw.

And I stepped in between them. Looking up at Logan I said, ‘Wait, your hands are dirty from the horses. Let me read it for you.' And I boldly took the paper that Lord Rochester was offering before he could retract it.

In the courtyard, no one spoke while I read through the paper silently.

‘My lord,' I said to Rochester, ‘I'm sorry, but I fear you've laid your hand upon the wrong item mistakenly, for this is not your warrant. It's a letter from your tailor.'

His eyes met mine with deep impatience. ‘Is it?' Snatching back the letter, he examined it and rammed it once more deep into his pocket. ‘So it is. The warrant must be in my chamber, still. Come, Fox.' He looked past me to Logan. ‘Wait here till we do return.'

‘Of course.'

But once they'd vanished through the archway, Logan turned to us and told us, ‘Right. No time to waste. We're leaving. Up and get your things.'

I would have followed Hector and Sir David, only Logan held me back a moment. Tipping up my face with one hand, he looked closely at my features and then asked, ‘How did ye ken I couldn't read?'

At first, my father's voice spoke up: He mustn't know I've told you . So I quickly spun a tale that sounded true enough.

‘I guessed,' I said. ‘You never read things for yourself, you always have them read to you, and when you need to write something, you always use a scribe.'

Logan was too clever, though, and when his eyes met mine, I knew he knew he'd caught me in a lie.

I sighed. ‘My father told me,' I confessed, ‘in Newark, but he told me all in secret, and he made me promise not to let you know. He did not wish to hurt you.'

‘Nothing that your father did could hurt me,' Logan said. ‘He was a good man. Though I'm sorry that I made ye break your word to him.' His smile was rueful. ‘And I'm sorry that ye ever learned.'

It bruised my soul to know this big, strong man could think so little of himself he'd worry such a thing would make me think the less of him. Recalling what he'd told me of my fear of horses when he'd sought to give me comfort, I turned his own words back upon him now.

‘'Tis not a fault to be ashamed of,' I assured him. ‘I've known men who read and write with ease who have not half of your intelligence, nor yet a quarter of your heart.'

He looked at me. His touch stayed gentle on my chin, but lowering his head he kissed me briefly. Kissed me hard.

There was not time for more.

Upstairs, we quickly gathered our belongings and repacked them in the portmanteaus. I was so focused on that task that later, I could not explain exactly how things happened. Only that one minute, all was well.

And then it wasn't.

Without warning, I was yanked back roughly by my arm, and found my back against a man's chest, with a knife point pressing just enough against the tender skin beneath my jawline that I felt the coldness of its steel.

I froze, and did not move. Except my eyes searched wildly for Logan, who stood several feet away against the far wall of the parlour, beside Hector and Sir David.

Logan's whole attention was on me, and on the man who held me captive. At my ear, Lord Rochester's voice said, in smooth tones, ‘Let's forget the warrant, shall we? Let me have Sir David.'

Logan told him, ‘If ye harm her, there'll be no place ye can hide.'

‘I thank you for the warning. If he moves,' said Rochester to Valentine, who stood beside us, ‘put a bullet in him.'

I could not turn my head, but from the corner of my eye I saw the pistol Valentine was aiming at the others, and my heart sank.

Hector kept looking from one person to the next with the expression of somebody watching a play on the stage, as if all of this didn't seem real. But when Rochester mentioned shooting Logan, Hector reacted with fear, and Sir David put one hand upon his shoulder, reassuringly.

‘Don't worry, lad,' he said. ‘It will be fine.'

Rochester said, ‘Yes, Hector, be a good lad and fetch me Master Westaway's papers.'

I spoke up then, mindful of the blade beneath my chin: ‘My father burned his papers when we were at Newark. They are gone.'

Rochester tensed. ‘What, all?'

Sir David looked at him. ‘A wrinkle in the plan?'

Logan frowned. ‘What plan?'

Sir David, in his measured way, was striving not to set fire to the fuse. He calmly said, ‘The king no doubt was hoping for a hasty trial, to put me in the Tower, so he could publish my "confession" and then I would die by… suicide?' He looked to Rochester for confirmation, and appeared to find it, for he nodded and went on, ‘A fittingly ignoble end. And all would be resolved. But then,' he asked, ‘why go through all the effort of this journey, when I could have been dispatched with ease in Paris or at Abercairney, and a false confession published anyway?'

I felt Rochester shrug. He said, ‘Because the king desires a trial to lay the rumours all to rest and satisfy the people.'

‘'Tis a new thing for the king to give a care for what the people want,' Sir David said. ‘You have your place at court still, after all.'

‘Insult me all you like,' invited Rochester. ‘It changes nothing.'

‘But it gives me satisfaction.'

Logan said, to Rochester, ‘Ye will not take my prisoner. I'll not allow it.'

‘Then she dies.' Beneath my chin, the knife point moved. I felt a fierce prick, and the trickling warmth that meant that I was bleeding. Only slightly, but enough to bring a flare of rage and dark concern to Logan's eyes.

Beside us, Valentine reacted, too. ‘You cannot kill her,' he protested. ‘You did give your word. There is the matter of my baronetcy…'

‘Lad,' Sir David told him, ‘he cares nothing for your baronetcy, nor for you.'

‘Ignore him, Fox,' said Rochester.

Sir David said, ‘He's pure ambition, wrapped in silk.' He looked again at Rochester. ‘Did you procure the poison, or was it my lady Essex?'

The pause was slight. ‘I don't know what you mean.'

‘Of course you do.' Sir David held Rochester's gaze with cold disdain, and said again, ‘Of course you do.' Another pause, and then Sir David asked, ‘Did the king know?'

Rochester didn't answer, but Sir David, as though reading something in the courtier's eyes, asked, ‘Did he give his blessing?' And then his expression altered and he asked, more slowly, as though fearing the reply might be too dreadful, ‘Did he play a part?'

Rochester held his silence, and Sir David looked away.

‘God help us all,' he said.

Rochester gripped my arm more tightly and the knife dug in a second time. ‘Enough of this. Sir David, come with us.'

Sir David patted Hector's shoulder, told him once again that everything would be all right, and started to step forwards.

‘No!' In mingled disbelief and pure defiance, Hector said, ‘Did not ye hear what Logan said? Ye will not take him!' And with that, he threw himself at Valentine.

The pistol shot rang out so loudly in that confined space that I felt certain it had stopped my heart. I watched – we all watched – Hector fall.

I never was quite sure who moved the fastest. With the acrid-smelling powder smoke still drifting through the air, obscuring some of what was happening, I caught a glimpse of Valentine and saw his stunned expression. I saw Sir David swiftly use that moment of confusion, as he left his place, to take Valentine's sword.

And then Sir David became someone I had never seen. At first, I wasn't sure why Rochester had flung me to the side and let me go, until I saw the speed and skill and fury of Sir David's fighting. Why I'd thought he was a docile man, I didn't know – perhaps it suited him to let us view him in that way, and he was grieving. But he'd spent his every hour for years beside a prince who loved to joust and run at rings and ride and fight, and, after all, Sir David was a knight.

I ran to Hector. He still breathed, but it was laboured. Under his jerkin, a red stain had spread on the shirt at his shoulder, and I saw the tear where the bullet had entered. I pressed at the place with my hand as I gathered him into my arms, with his head on my lap.

Logan, too, was no longer against the far wall. He was busy with Valentine. I didn't look, and I tried not to hear. I rocked Hector.

‘Hold on. Please hold on, Hector,' I whispered.

Even with his own sword and the dagger he had held against me, Rochester was no match for Sir David, who had backed him up against the wall beside the door. Sir David, breathing heavily, touched Rochester with his sword's point beneath his chin, in the same place where Rochester hurt me, and pushed the blade in just enough to make him bleed.

‘You would do well to run,' was his advice, ‘before I kill you.'

He did not need to say it twice. He motioned towards Valentine and added, ‘Take your dog.'

The two men slunk away, but still the room did not feel safe. Not even after Logan came to crouch beside me, all his worry showing in his eyes.

‘How is he?'

‘Breathing. But it's bad.'

Sir David joined us. He was no longer the warrior, but only a man who'd lost a boy he cared for, and who plainly feared that he might lose another now.

I said, ‘He needs a doctor.'

But Sir David shook his head. ‘Not here. This is the king's town. I will trust no doctor here.'

I didn't see a way around it. ‘We can't let him die.'

‘I've no intention of letting him die.' Sir David's face, when he looked up at Logan, was determined. ‘Ready the horses as quick as you can,' he said. ‘I'll carry Hector. I know where to go.'

It was the longest ride I could remember.

‘Hold tightly to me,' had been Logan's warning as we'd left the courtyard. ‘We'll be moving fast.' And so we had.

Sir David had held Hector closely in his arms, before him on the saddle, and the Garron, secured to the gelding, kept pace alongside us as we left the main road south and moved through darker woods and over fields and marshy ground.

We stopped but once, at a small town where Sir David pounded at the door of an apothecary's and procured a handful of ingredients – I could recall the scents of turpentine and rose oil – and urgently applied these to the wound at Hector's shoulder.

‘This is the French way,' he said, ‘for treating gunshot.'

Logan frowned and asked, ‘How did ye learn that?'

Without looking up, Sir David said, ‘'Tis better, sometimes, not to know all that there is to know about a man.'

At nightfall, by the last edge of the dying moon, we came to a small village where two churches stood close by each other in the darkness, and beside the smallest of them stood a house where candles burned within a window warmly, and Sir David said to Logan, ‘Here.'

Things happened quickly, after that.

The door was opened to us by a man who knew Sir David, and his wife came just behind him, with their children peeping through from the half-opened door of their own chamber to discover what the cause was of this strange disturbance.

Hector, very carefully, was laid upon the kitchen pallet, near the fire. The man ran for the doctor, while his wife stood by Sir David as he cared for Hector's wound.

I'd never felt so helpless.

‘Sit,' said Logan. He had taken water in a basin and a cloth and knelt before me as I crumpled to a leather-seated chair beside the door. ‘Now, breathe.' And with the same sure, gentle touch he used when dealing with the horses, he began to wipe my throat, where I had bled.

I met his eyes.

‘Brave lass,' he called me. Then he lightly kissed my forehead, and he stood.

I didn't feel brave. But I wanted to be brave for Logan. Drawing a deep breath, I looked around at this new room. Beside me was a table where somebody had been writing. There were fine, expensive papers stacked with care in one neat corner, a variety of pens and inks, and to my great amazement a small page ruled out in miniature, with penmanship far more exquisite than I'd ever seen.

No, that was not quite true. I'd seen its equal only recently, with my own eyes. At Leith.

I looked up quickly, staring at the woman who was standing by Sir David, holding up a candle for him while he saw to Hector.

I caught at Logan's sleeve when he would have walked off. ‘Where are we?'

‘I couldn't tell you.'

Sir David said, ‘Willingale Spain.' When he glanced round, he noticed the way I was watching the woman and smiled slightly. ‘I've been a poor friend and not introduced you. Madame Kello, may I present Mistress Westaway.'

I knew my face altered, because to all those who loved writing, the wife of the minister of Willingale Spain was known for more than her husband's accomplishments.

Sir David told her, ‘See? Your fame does reach this younger generation. She knows who you are.'

She smiled, and said in a voice that still held a French accent, ‘I'm honoured.'

I stood, only to drop into an awkward curtsey. It is a strange thing to meet our idols. But, ‘The honour is all mine,' I said, to Esther Inglis.