"I am sure you are of great value to her. Were your own family Catholics?" I asked, between painful coughs.

He shook his head, again with the same exaggerated movement a child might make, his lips pressed firmly together.

"Widow Kenney and Master Jenkes taught me all I know of the true faith. That is why I know we must fight to keep it safe from the heretics."

"You said 'the women,'" I said, after a while. "Are there many women who come to these meetings?"

Humphrey looked at me hesitantly.

"Come now-I will be dead in a few hours, Humphrey, what harm can it do to pass the time by talking to me a little?" I cajoled. "You will be doing me a kindness."

This seemed to sway him, because he shuffled closer on his backside and adopted a conspiratorial tone.

"There are some women from the town. Not gentlewomen, though-they hear Mass at one of the manor houses in the countryside along with their own sort, mainly. Except for one." A kind of softness spread over his face and I sensed I was near my target.

"Sophia?"

He blinked in surprise. "Do you know Sophia?" When I nodded, he beamed. "She does not come so often now, but I always know it's her, even under her hood. She walks like a sort of-like a tree in a breeze, do you know what I mean? Like the willows by the river."

"I do. And tell me-does Sophia have friends among the group here? I mean, friends she might go to if she were in trouble?"

"Why, should she be in trouble, sir?" he asked innocently, and I found it almost touching that he still called me "sir" even though I was bound hand and foot and he was keeping guard over me with a knife. When I did not reply, he only frowned and shook his head. "I do not know her friends. The only one she was close to was Father Jerome, but then everyone loves Father Jerome. It was he who brought her here first."

"Who is Father Jerome?" I asked, sitting up, my interest piqued. "I thought Father William Bernard was your priest here?"

"Oh no," Humphrey said, proud of his superior knowledge. "Father William hardly ever says Mass since Father Jerome came, only if Father Jerome has to be out of town. He goes quite often to Hazeley Court, you know, out in Great Hazeley on the London road, where the grand Catholic families come to hear Mass. I expect he has gone there tonight."

My mind was working furiously, but I tried to keep my face and voice even so as not to betray my thoughts.

"And this Father Jerome-is he an Oxford man?"

Again, the exaggerated headshake. "He came from the college in France." He looked stricken. "Though that is a great secret and I should not have told you. I beg you, do not tell Master Jenkes I said it, will you?"

"Of course not. And what is he like, Father Jerome?"

Humphrey's face took on a dreamy cast. "Like-like I imagine Our Lord Jesus would be if you met him. He makes you feel-I can't explain it-like he thinks you're the most special person he ever met, do you know what I mean? Though I don't understand a lot of the Mass-I have never had book learning, you see-I love to listen when he says it. I like it better than when Father William comes," he added, his face creasing into a pout. "When Father Jerome speaks, it sounds like music." He sighed happily, one hand toying with the knife at his belt.

"Is he a young man?" I said, leaning forward and moving onto my knees to ease the stiffness in my legs. The movement startled Humphrey out of his reverie; he jerked upright, but when he was certain that I was not attempting anything, he relaxed back against the wall.

"Father Jerome has the face of an angel," he said reverently. "I've seen a picture of one," he added, presumably lest I think the comparison unfounded.

"The face of an angel," I repeated slowly, trying to keep as still as possible. I had discovered that the cords binding my ankles were not as tight as those around my wrists; sitting on my heels, I was able to work one finger slowly inside the knot that held them. If I could keep Humphrey talking, he might not notice my surreptitious movements. "Tell me about Hazeley Court, then," I said, lightly. "It sounds a grand place."

"Oh, I have never seen it, but I believe it is very fine. The owner, Sir Francis Tolling, is now in Bridewell Prison in London for attending private Mass, and his wife uses the house to shelter those who need it, that's all I know."

"Missionary priests, you mean?"

"Any who labour in the English vineyard and need somewhere safe, out of sight." He shifted his weight nervously. "There is one among our number, Master Nicholas Owen, who is a master carpenter-he was here tonight, in fact, though you would not have known him under his hood. But he is employed in all the great houses of the faithful, they say, to build secret rooms." He leaned in, looking carefully from side to side before lowering his voice further. "In the attics, the chimneys, the sewers, the staircases, even inside the walls, so God's workers can hide from the searchers. Is it not cunning?" He rubbed his hands together and beamed with delight. "Though I should not have said that either-you won't tell Jenkes, will you? Are you all right, sir?"

"What? Oh-yes, it is nothing. My shoulder pains me a little, that is all." I realised that I had been screwing my face up and clenching my jaw in concentration as I tried to poke one end of the knot through with only one finger. It was so close to coming free, it would not do for Humphrey to suspect me now. He nodded in sympathy, and glanced furtively at the door.

"I wonder if I might loosen your bonds a bit, sir," he said, his eyes flitting again to the door as if Jenkes might burst through at any moment. "Not altogether, I mean, just so you're not in pain. After all, it's not as if you'd get very far is it, you being so little, and me with the knife and all?" He laughed, though I detected a note of anxiety, and I joined in heartily at the absurd idea of my overpowering him. In truth, I had no idea of how I might proceed, even if I did manage to free my legs; without the use of my arms I could do nothing, and even with them I did not much rate my chances in a fight against Humphrey, with or without a knife. While he deliberated about whether to loosen my ropes and I continued my own attempt as best I could behind my back, there came the unmistakable creak of a tread in the corridor outside and we both froze. My throat contracted; I had not expected Jenkes to return so soon, and my escape plan faded before it was even fully formed. I took a deep breath, as well as I was able with my heart thudding in the back of my mouth. So this was it, I thought. Back in Italy, at San Domenico Maggiore, I had invited a death sentence for the sake of a book; now, after running from it all these years, I faced death again, all because I was too foolishly greedy for a book. Well, I thought, I would try whatever means I could to fight, and if I must die, at least I would not die like a coward under Rowland Jenkes's mocking glare.

Humphrey gathered his wits as the footsteps drew closer, snatching up Jenkes's linen scarf and shoving it back into my mouth, though more loosely than it had been before, just as I felt the end of the rope pop through and the knot at my ankles subtly slacken under my scrabbling fingers. The footsteps halted outside the door and there was a tentative knock, followed by a woman's voice.

"Humphrey? Is that you?"

Humphrey deflated visibly with relief, and scrambled to his feet to open the door. Widow Kenney stood outside in her nightgown, holding a candle, a woollen shawl around her shoulders. She looked first at Humphrey, then at me in my sorry state, bundled into a corner on the floor, and exhaled with exasperation.

"That Jenkes," she said, still looking at me with a reproving little moue, as if Jenkes were a naughty cat and I a dead mouse he had dropped on her clean floor. "What is he making you do now, Humphrey?"