"Nor should I wish to impose on your hospitality," I said, equally coldly. "And please do convey my respects to Mistress Underhill and your daughter."

"Indeed," he said, touching his fingertips together for a moment as he considered whether to follow this up, but instead he turned on his heels and disappeared into the shadows of the archway.

The bell tolled for dinner no less mournfully than it had for Matins, jolting me out of my distracted thoughts, jotted on the notes now scattered across the table in my chamber. After my exchange with the rector I had walked to Christ Church to find, with some relief, that I had indeed missed Sidney's hunting party. After leaving him a note apologising and explaining that I had been detained by other pressing business, I had retired to my room, where I had spent an hour or so lying on the bed trying to make the new pieces fit the puzzle. If the unguarded words of Humphrey Pritchard and Cobbett's dark warning implied that the Catherine Wheel was the focal point for Oxford's secret Catholic fraternity, the obvious conclusion must be that Roger Mercer knew something about that group-the days in the almanac marked with the wheel could signify meetings at the inn. Could Mercer have been planning to expose them, just as he had testified against his former friend and colleague Edmund Allen, which meant that he had to be silenced? If that were the case, then whoever had ransacked his room could have been searching for evidence that they knew he intended to use against them. Then there was Richard Godwyn, the mild-mannered librarian; he was apparently involved in receiving contraband Catholic books, but did that connect him to Rowland Jenkes and thereby to the Catherine Wheel? Could Mercer have found him out?

Determined to watch the students and Fellows closer than a hawk at dinner, I pulled on my doublet and was about to open the door when a furious knocking on it made me jump almost out of my skin. Cautiously I opened it a sliver and through the crack I saw the anxious face of Sophia Underhill, glancing fearfully over her shoulder.

"Let me in, Bruno, quickly, before anyone sees me-I need to speak to you!" she hissed, looking again down the stairwell.

"Of course," I said, thrown, pulling the door wider to admit her. She slammed it quickly behind her and leaned against it heavily, her cheeks flushed. I saw with concern that her usual composure was in tatters; in place of her faintly cynical smile, her lip trembled though she fought hard to control it, and her eyes shone as if she might at any moment burst into tears.

"Forgive me, Bruno," she began, her voice barely a whisper. "My father has forbidden me to speak to you, but I must disobey-there is no one else I can tell." She stopped, her breath coming in jagged gasps as if she had been running or weeping. "Forgive me," she repeated, then seemed to stumble as if she might faint, as she had the night before. This time I stepped forward in time to catch her and she fell gratefully against my shoulder as a sudden sob shuddered through her thin rib cage; I held my arms around her and stroked her hair as she tried to master this outburst of emotion. I could not begin to guess what she had come to tell me, but Sophia did not strike me as the sort of woman to fall prey to such distress for frivolous reasons. I could only suppose that what she wanted to say was a matter of some gravity.

When she had recovered enough to lift her head from my shoulder, she leaned back and looked me full in the face with an expression of such fearful intensity that I felt she wanted to search the depths of my soul through my eyes, and before I was even conscious of making the decision to move, almost by instinct I leaned forward and kissed her. For a brief moment, I felt her respond, her warm body softening and moulding itself to mine in my arms, her palms pressed flat against my chest, but just as suddenly she jerked back, pushing my arms away and staring at me now with a look of confused horror.

"No-oh, no, I can't-you don't understand," she blurted, flapping her hands helplessly at her sides as if her distress had increased a hundredfold.

"I am sorry-" I began, but she shook her head frantically.

"No, it is I who am sorry, Bruno-I should never have-but I did not know who else I could come to." She twisted her hands and looked at me, her eyes pleading. "I think I may be in danger."

My heart froze. Tentatively I reached out a hand and gestured to the chair by the desk, quickly sweeping Roger Mercer's calendar and my notes on his death under a book.

"You must tell me everything," I said. "What kind of danger? Is it to do with Doctor Mercer?"

She hesitated, took a deep breath, and seemed about to speak when there came another urgent knock on the door. Sophia whipped around and stared at the door in fear, a hand clasped to her mouth. I waited, afraid that perhaps her father had seen her coming to my staircase and followed. After a moment, the knocking came again.

"Doctor Bruno? Are you there?"

It was a young man's voice, not the rector's; all the same, it would not be prudent for anyone to see Sophia in my chamber and I could not very well pretend to be out, as I would need to leave in the next few minutes for dinner in hall.

"One moment, please, I am just dressing," I called, ushering Sophia behind one of the floor-length window drapes. The situation was so absurd it brought a weak smile to her lips. I squeezed her arm and when she was sufficiently concealed, I crossed to the door and opened it to find John Florio on the threshold, his face alert with curiosity.

"Master Florio!" I said, forcing brightness into my voice. "What brings you here?"

"Have I disturbed you, Doctor Bruno?" he asked, peering around me to survey what he could see of the room. "I can come another time if you have company-I thought I heard voices."

"That is an unfortunate habit I have of talking aloud to myself," I said. "It is the only way I can be sure of winning a disputation."

He laughed warmly and shook his head. "As for that, you were hardly given a fair fight, Bruno, and those of us who are not blinded by prejudice know that. I have come to see if you dine at high table this evening? We have hardly had any time to talk and I should like to stake my claim to your company at dinner."

"Oh-yes, certainly." My eyes flickered toward the curtain and I made an effort to draw them back to Florio. "But, I wonder if you would mind-first I must use the…ah…the pot before I leave."

"Oh-of course. I can wait for you downstairs."

As I pulled the door to, I could hear his feet shuffling on the landing for a few moments before descending. When I was sure he had reached the bottom of the stairs, I drew back the curtain and Sophia stepped into the light, a smile on her face despite herself.

"I feared I would be caught here all night," she grinned.

"I could think of worse fates," I said, and regretted it instantly when she responded with a sad, embarrassed smile.

"I am sorry," I said, flustered, "I thought it would not do your reputation nor mine any good if you were found here. But first you must tell me of this danger. Has someone threatened you? Is it because you know something?"

Her eyes snapped up, shocked. "About what? What would I know?"

"I only thought-because there has been one violent death in the college-"

"That is nothing to do with me," she said, with surprising sharpness. Then she sighed and brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. "It is all too complicated, Bruno-I can't tell you now if you must rush away. I will wait and explain another time."

"But"-I took her gently by the shoulders and looked her straight in the eye-"do you fear someone will hurt you?"

She bit her lip and twisted away.