Phelippes looked up, surprised, and screwed up his eyes.

‘Perhaps you are right, Arthur. You are looking somewhat pale, Kit. Yes, go home to your bed, but be back here tomorrow morning in your messenger attire, so you can deliver this to Babington.’

I thanked him and left hastily, before he could change his mind and draw me in. I was indeed nearly fainting with weariness. In the last week, from London to Lichfield to Chartley and back, I had ridden almost three hundred miles. Tomorrow I must remember to tell Sir Francis’s head groom that Hector would need to see the farrier.

The following morning it was clear that Phelippes had neither slept nor been home, but he made up for it in his delight at the contents of the letter.

‘As you saw, it is quite short, but it comes from Mary herself to Babington. She assures him that he is her trusted friend, and clearly now he will send her details of how he means to effect her rescue. You must take the original letter to Babington at Hernes Rents this morning. Let it be known that you missed him in Lichfield, followed him to London, and then had to search him out.’

I nodded.

‘Now, if we are very lucky, Babington will write back to the Scottish woman and ask you to carry the message to her.’

Lucky!

‘Do you mean I would have to make that journey again? So soon?’ I was aghast.

‘I don’t suppose it will be immediately,’ he said. ‘It will take Babington some time to decipher the letter, compose his reply, then transcribe it into cipher. Several days at least, I expect. Let me see.’

He glanced down at the transcribed letter on his desk. ‘This was written on the twenty-eighth of June. Today is the first of July, is it not?’

‘The second.’

‘Aye, so it is. The second. I lost a day. I think we may assume it will take him two or three days. Well, if he does not employ you, he may send the letter through the French embassy in the usual way, or hire another messenger. If so, we will need to be sure it is one of our own men. If we had to intercept different messenger, it would alert them, but we must see Babington’s letter.’ He frowned. ‘Why can they not use the excellent courier service we have set up for them?’

I did not point out that it was he who had first by-passed the regular route, by sending me directly to Chartley.

Before I made my way to Hernes Rents, I sought out the head groom and explained that Hector’s shoes would be worn down from our long journey.

‘Aye,’ he said, ‘I’ve noticed already. The farrier is coming this afternoon. How far did you say you’d ridden?’

‘Near three hundred miles.’

He whistled. ‘You’re a hearty lad to do that in a week.’

I went on my way, smiling to myself. If Phelippes did not appreciate what I had done, at least the groom did.

I found the house in Hernes Rents easily enough, but like Phelippes I was puzzled that Sir Anthony should choose to live here when he owned a fine London house. If I was asked how I knew where he was, I could say that Barnes had told me. I just hoped I would not find Barnes here, or my masquerade would be discovered at once.

As it was, I need not have worried. I was admitted to the house by a servant in the Babington livery and taken straight to his master. I felt a curious mixture of excitement and guilt as I was shown into the room. I was part of the trap set to ensnare this man, who was young and idealistic – even Phelippes admitted that. He truly believed in his cause. Although, I remembered, he had also taken fright at the implications of what he was doing, and asked for permission to travel abroad.

The man who looked up from his desk and gave me a charming smile was certainly the same young man I had seen all those months ago with Poley’s arm around his neck, but the intervening time had worn lines of worry about his eyes and mouth. He looked tired. Yet he was very courteous, rising to greet me with a bow. There was a kind of glow about him. I could see how other men would follow him with delight and devotion. Walsingham had told me that he was learned and witty. He was certainly very good-looking. I could understand why Sir Francis had hoped to win him over.

I explained that I had a letter for him from Curll, that I had missed him by just an hour in Litchfield and had followed him to London.

‘That’s a good lad,’ he said, patting me on the shoulder. ‘It’s a long ride.’

He broke open Gregory’s carefully forged seal, barely glancing at it, and opened the letter. He frowned and sighed. I could see that he was not pleased that it was in cipher. He looked up at me.

‘I shall need to prepare an answer to this. Can you be here in two days to carry a letter back to Chartley?’

‘Yes, sir.’ My throat tightened on the words. This was what Phelippes wanted, but for me it would mean another long journey.

‘Good lad,’ he said again. ‘Here’s something for your pains.’ He slipped a coin into my hand, but I did not look at it, feeling it would be ill-mannered.

As the servant ushered me out, I saw Babington sit down again at his desk and run his hand through his hair, clearly not relishing the task of decipherment.

Once out in the street, I opened my hand and looked at the coin. It was a gold sovereign. Stupidly I felt tears come to my eyes. I tried not to think of it, but I knew that Sir Anthony Babington was on the road to his certain death.

I felt like Judas.

Chapter Thirteen

When I returned to Seething Lane, I took a roundabout route. It was not only Phelippes who could have people followed. Anthony Babington was so open and trusting that he made himself an easy prey for more cunning men, and I did not suppose he would have arranged to have me followed, but one of his companions might. Although I had seen no one but Babington and his serving man at the house in Hernes Rents, I had heard other voices from upstairs. For one sickening moment I realised that Poley might have been there and seen me from a window. He would have recognised me even in these clothes and might have alerted Babington to my identity. One of my identities. All would depend on which faction Poley was serving at the moment. So I headed for Cheapside, took a meandering route through dirty alleyways down to the river, followed the river bank to the Customs House, then spun on my heel and headed for Walsingham’s house. No one seemed to be following me.

Walsingham was in Phelippes’s office when I returned, hearing an account of my journey and the letter Mary had written to Babington.

‘It is delivered, then, the letter?’ Sir Francis asked.

‘Aye, sir,’ I said, pulling off the woollen cap. My hair was damp with sweat from my roundabout trip through the hot dusty streets.

‘And?’ said Phelippes.

‘And he scratched his head over it. I think he does not enjoy secret ciphers. I would say he is a man who would prefer above all to be open and honest.’

I had spent but a few minutes in Babington’s company, but I was moved to compare him favourably with what went on here.

Phelippes gave me a hard stare, as if he did not quite like my remark. ‘Does he wish you to carry the answer to Chartley?’

‘Aye. He asked me to come back in two days’ time.’

‘Good, good.’ They smiled at each other.

I sat down on the chair beside my desk, unasked. I was suddenly very tired.

‘Perhaps someone else could carry the message. Maybe Gifford?’

‘Why?’ Phelippes looked alarmed. ‘Do you think he suspects you?’

‘No,’ I said, with a wry smile. ‘No, I believe Sir Anthony is as trusting as a babe. It is just that I think . . . I am not trained for this work. I might do or say something to make him, or the people at Chartley, suspicious. Also, it is a very long journey, three whole days on horseback to Lichfield, then another half day to Chartley. And the same to come back.’