He nodded. ‘Was that when you were caught in the storm? We had it in London too.’

‘Yes. I had just reached the lake when the skies opened and I hurried back, sooner than I would have done had it remained dry. As I drew near the house, I saw two men arrive and I kept out of sight.’

Now it was my turn to watch him closely. ‘One was soberly dressed. I thought perhaps he was a clergyman of some sort. The other was Robert Poley.’

Surprised flickered across his face but was quickly suppressed. It was enough. I was sure he did not know Poley would be there.

‘I kept to my chamber for the rest of the afternoon, until the daughter of the family came and asked me to play some music with her.’ I felt myself blushing and hoped he would not notice. I was reluctant to tell him about Cecilia’s advances.

‘We had just finished playing a piece when we both heard a bell ringing softly in the distance. I had not heard it before in the house. But it sounded to me exactly like the bells rung during Mass in Portugal. The girl sprang to her feet as though it was a summons, and left at once.’

‘You did not follow?’

‘No.’ Suddenly I wondered whether I should have done. The Fitzgeralds knew I was Portuguese. Perhaps they suspected I was Catholic. It had not occurred to me to go after Cecilia, I was so relieved to be rid of her. ‘No, I did not follow. Should I have done?’

‘Difficult to say. Go on.’

‘When we sat down at table that evening, there was no sign of Poley or the other man, though they must have been somewhere about the house, for their horses were still in the stable. They were still there when I left.’

‘And you decided to come because of Poley and this possible Mass?’

‘No. Yes. Partly. I thought Poley might learn I was there and tell the Fitzgeralds that I worked for you. I feared for my life, Sir Francis. Perhaps that was foolish.’

‘Not necessarily. It is probably as well that you came away.’ He moved, as if he was about to rise.

‘Oh, but that is not all!’ I put out my hand to stop him. ‘I packed up my belongings, and crept down to Sir Damian’s study. I thought, if there were any letters, as you suspected, that was where they would be. I hadn’t realised that his wolfhound slept in there.’ I shivered. ‘He nearly gave me away.’

Walsingham’s glance sharpened. He sank back into his chair but leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees.

‘The study was very bare and tidy. I thought the letters must be in his strongbox. Then I picked up a book from his desk. Tyndale’s The Obedience of a Christian Man. It had been hollowed out to make a box. And there were three letters inside.’

Now his eyes were fixed on my face and I thought he was holding his breath.

‘I recognised the handwriting at once, though the letters were all sealed anonymously. It was Thomas Morgan’s hand.’

‘And they were addressed to?’

‘One to the French ambassador. The other two to a man called Sir Anthony Babington.’

He let out his breath in a long sigh. ‘Babington! Excellent, Kit, excellent!’

‘Then I saddled my horse and came here,’ I said, dismissing in a few words that terrifying ride through the dark. ‘I could not take the letters, or they would have suspected something, and I could not unseal them, not having Arthur Gregory to reseal them for me.’

‘No, no, you did quite right.’

‘But the letters may be on their way again already.’

‘I’ll have them followed. It’s still early. But they will soon miss you.’

‘I left a note, saying my father was ill, as you suggested. Though they will wonder how I received word.’

‘Let them wonder. If they have no other suspicions of you.’

‘There was something else, Sir Francis.’ I found myself turning red again.

‘Yes?’

‘While we were playing music together, the girl Cecilia . . . she tried to seduce me.’

‘What?’ He burst out laughing. ‘A well brought up Catholic girl of fifteen!’

‘I think it may not have been the first time. She seemed . . . well, experienced.’

‘I apologise, Kit. I did not know your good name would be at risk!’

Little do you know, I thought.

‘At the time I believed it was her own . . . inclination. But I have wondered since whether she was put up to it.’

‘Ah. Perhaps.’ He sprang to his feet like a much younger man. ‘I will see to sending someone to watch and follow whoever carries those letters.’

At the door he paused. ‘Mistress Oldcastle has been scolding me for employing children in my nefarious work. You have done as well as any grown man, Kit.’ He went out, closing the door behind him. Relieved of having unburdened myself of everything, I sank back in my chair. In a few minutes I was asleep again.

I am not sure how long I slept the second time, but when I woke my neck was stiff, although, as for the rest, I felt better. There were voices in the rest of the house, and sounds of movement. Unsure what to do, I walked to the door and looked out. Fortunately Mistress Oldcastle was passing.

‘Good, Master Alvarez. I was coming to wake you. You are to take some refreshment with the Master before you set out.’

‘I must return your slippers,’ I said, looking at my feet.

‘Your shoes are better, though I think they will never be quite right. I will see that they are brought to you. This way.’

I followed her along a screen passage, wondering where and when I was to be setting out. She showed me into another room, about the same size as the parlour, clearly a small family dining chamber. Sir Francis and another man were already sitting at table and a manservant was laying out plates of cold meats and cheeses and bread.

‘Come, sit down, Kit.’ Sir Francis waved me to a chair opposite him. ‘Help yourself. We must be on our way shortly, now that both you and your horse are rested.’

I sat down as bidden and loaded a plate, finding I was already hungry again.

‘This is our young code-breaker, Christoval Alvarez,’ he said to the other, a grizzled man of late middle age, whose countenance had the weather-beaten look of someone whose work is out of doors. ‘Kit, this is my steward at Barn Elms, Master Goodrich. We have been settling a few estate matters before I return to London.’

I rose from my chair and bowed to the steward, who returned the bow and smiled at me. It crossed my mind that Sir Francis’s staff here in the country were very different from those who worked in his secret intelligence service in London. As different as Mistress Oldcastle’s felt slippers from a pair of tight-fitting boots.

‘We are to go to London then, sir?’ I asked.

‘Aye. I have sent one of my men off to follow the trail from Hartwell Hall, but I need to be back in London before night to arrange the interception of further letters travelling by this route. We will leave as soon as we have eaten.’

After our hasty meal, my shoes were returned to me. Although someone had worked hard on them, Mistress Oldcastle was right, they would never be respectable again. However, they were all I had with me. Our horses were brought round to the front of the house, Hector looking as fresh as if he had not galloped through the night. I loaded up my saddlebags again, and again slung my lute over my back. I was beginning to find it an irritating burden. One of the grooms gave me a leg up. Sir Francis also needed some assistance to mount. I had noticed that he seemed to be favouring his right leg and wondered whether I should proffer any medical advice, but decided it was not my place.

The steward came out to see us off.

‘What do you think of old piebald Hector, then, Master Alvarez?’ He patted the horse affectionately on the neck.

‘He’s a fine fellow,’ I said, ‘and not so old either.’

‘Oh, he knows I mean no harm. I’ve known him since he was a foal. He was bred right here at Barn Elms.’

Once we were mounted, half a dozen men trotted round the side of the house from the stableyard. They wore helmets and breastplates and carried swords. My face must have given away my surprise, for the steward lowered his voice and said, ‘Sir Francis cannot take any risks, not even between here and London. Sad times, sad times.’