"Write to me," she whispered, glancing nervously at the door in case her father should overhear. "Tell me how he died, what he said on the scaffold. That is all I wish. This is the address of my aunt in Kent. I will be taken there tomorrow and I do not think I will ever return to Oxford."

"Surely your father would not banish you for good?"

She shook her head, her lips pressed tight. "You do not know my father. If you could do this one thing…" She let the sentence trail away and squeezed my hand gently; I tried not to wince.

"I will."

"Thank you, Bruno." Her wide eyes roved over mine as if searching for something. "If you had only come to Oxford two years ago-how different everything might have been. Perhaps we…But it is no good dwelling on what might have been. It is too late now for me." She leaned forward and kissed me softly on the cheek, so gently that I might have imagined the brush of her lips over my skin. She squeezed my hand once more and let go.

As I turned toward the door, my heart so heavy I felt stooped by the weight of it, she whispered, "Write!" I looked back to see her miming writing on the palm of her hand, her face stretched into a brave attempt at a smile. I nodded and turned my back on her for the last time.

When I closed the door behind me, the rector was still standing in the same position, silhouetted against the window, but he had turned to face the room and kept his arms folded across his chest, his small beady eyes fixed on me.

"So, Doctor Bruno, I have you to thank for delivering the college from a brutal murderer and a seditious Jesuit." His tone was still oddly unemotional, as though all capacity for feeling had drained out of him. I could not tell if he was pleased by this or not, and the ambiguity of his words made me pause.

"You know, Rector, that the two were not the same person?"

"I know that Gabriel Norris-I cannot think of him any other way-is to be charged with the murders of Roger Mercer, James Coverdale, Ned Lacy, and Thomas Allen, and with treasonable intent toward Her Majesty's person. I have learned, too, that there are other accusations made against him, perhaps of less interest to the Privy Council but nonetheless of considerable significance to my own family."

Here he drew in a great shuddering breath that seemed as if it would wrack his very soul. Briefly his eyes met mine and I saw in them a weight of sorrow that I understood would burden him the remainder of his natural life. I also understood, in that moment, that Sophia had spoken the truth; there was a degree of coldness in the rector that would allow him to cut her off for good if he felt it necessary. In his eyes I saw the grief of a man who has already lost both his children. I wanted to intercede with him, to plead on her behalf, but decided to hold my tongue; my interference in the business of this college and especially this family was perhaps sufficient.

"I do not think we will see you in Oxford again, Doctor Bruno," he said stiffly, holding out a hand for me to shake as he walked across to the main door, the boards creaking under his feet in the silence. "In the light of recent events, I regret not confiding in you sooner, but here in Oxford we are not accustomed to regarding foreigners as-well, you see my position." He held the hand out more insistently and I reached to take it, whereupon he grasped my hand between both of his and fixed me with an imploring stare. Sophia had been fortunate, I thought as we looked at each other, that she had taken all her looks from her mother. Or perhaps not so fortunate; had she been less beautiful, her situation now might be very different.

"Among my many regrets, Doctor Bruno," he continued, seeming to crumple slightly as he held tight to my hand, "I could wish I had been a more gracious host and friend to you. Had I known of your connections- but I have much to reprimand myself for, as you may imagine. Perhaps if you have the opportunity to convey to the Earl of Leicester that I have only ever tried to serve him and the university to the best of my ability, that would not be too much to ask? I expect to hear from him concerning these events, and I am not at all sure of how he will receive the news." His eyes grew wide with fear as he wrung my arm urgently, unaware that he was even doing so.

"I would help you if I could, but I'm afraid you mistake my intimacy with the earl-I have never met him in my life." Seeing his disappointment, I quickly added, "But I'm sure that if I discuss these matters with Sir Philip, he will not be ignorant of your loyalty."

The rector nodded solemnly and released my hand.

"Thank you. It is more than I deserve. You were a most worthy adversary in the debating hall, Doctor Bruno. I only wish we might have had the opportunity again."

You have a short memory, I thought, as I smiled politely; I was your superior in substance and conduct, though it pleased you to ridicule me before the entire congregation of the university. But that humiliation seemed a trivial thing now.

"There is one favour I must ask of you in return," I said, as we approached the door. He looked at me with mild surprise. "I have learned that Cobbett has been suspended from his duties."

"That is correct," the rector said. "Master Slythurst made a most serious complaint that he deliberately disregarded orders to hand over sensitive documents and allowed a thief to escape college who might otherwise have been detained."

I stared at him, incredulous. "But surely you know, Rector, that the thief he describes was me? And if Cobbett had not disobeyed Slythurst to get an urgent message to Sir Philip, I would be dead by now, and so would your daughter!"

"Nevertheless," said the rector, in the same flat voice, affecting to become absorbed in a loose thread on his gown, "Master Slythurst is a senior Fellow of this college, and as a college servant, Cobbett's duty was to obey his orders, not those of a visitor who had been found removing items from a student's room. For that dereliction of duty he has been punished."

"Those papers, in Sir Philip's hands, saved your daughter's life," I said, lowering my voice. "In Slythurst's hands, they might not have done so in time. Cobbett acted according to his conscience and for this he should be rewarded."

Underhill stopped picking at his gown and fixed me with a direct stare. "In your opinion," he replied, enunciating each word carefully and precisely.

I could not believe what I was hearing.

"His actions saved Sophia from being murdered," I repeated, more slowly in case he had not understood the first time. "And your grandchild," I added deliberately, since this did not seem to provoke a response. "You do not think that is worth rewarding?"

For a moment he did not answer but continued to look at me with something like pity.

"It has never occurred to you that I might rather have rewarded the man who could have spared my family all this?"

It took the space of a heartbeat for me to comprehend what he was saying; when I did, I could hardly credit it.

"You would have wished me not to interfere?" I shook my head in disbelief. "You do understand that he meant to kill her? Jerome Gilbert-Gabriel Norris, whatever you want to call him? His intention was to have her drowned on the way to France to spare himself the ignominy of discovery. In time, you and your wife would have received a letter saying she had run away to join a religious order and you would have been none the wiser."

"And you do not think her mother would have found that easier to bear?" He took a step toward me, and I saw that all his poise was on the verge of shattering; his hands trembled violently and he clasped them until his knuckles turned white. "We could at least have gone into our old age benignly deceived. Instead, my daughter is arrested in the company of a Jesuit missionary and escorted back to Oxford by the sheriff's men. I have to go to the Castle prison in person to pay for her release, where I find her in the company of thieves and whores. Then I must escort her back to college in full view of all the town, I must endure their jeers and whispers as we pass, as my wife will endure them should she ever venture out of her room again, which is doubtful. I would be a fool to believe the rumours are not already in full flood. I will be known hereafter as the father of a Jesuit's whore, grandsire to a papist bastard. My reputation in the university is finished, and her mother's nerves will not bear this new assault, I fear."