Amanda McCabe - The Taming of the Rogue

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Walsingham answered. ‘Phellipes is busily decoding a letter another agent intercepted, which should be of more help to us in this matter. Once we have that information I will send you word. But for now, tell me all your impressions of Lord Henshaw’s Men and their home at the White Heron …’

It was a half hour more before Rob left Walsingham’s house, ushered out through the door by Lady Walsingham herself, whose pale, worried face spoke of her concerns for her husband, working so hard through his illness. Once outside in the lane, he drew in a deep breath. Even the thick, fetid city air of the Tower Ward was better than the dark closeness of the house.

Rob frowned as he thought of Walsingham and Phellipes, bent over endless letters, tracking down traitors among the theatre people he spent his own days with. One of them used his art for a darker purpose, but which one and why? He could not be wrong in this. So very much was at stake.

He put on his cap and turned back towards the river. His thoughts were still in that dark house, and for a moment he didn’t notice the lady lurking across the street. But then a flash of grey, a surreptitious movement, caught his eyes and he swung round with his hand on the hilt of his sword.

To his shock, he saw it was Anna Barrett who tried to duck down a side street out of sight. What was she doing so far from home, so near the lion’s den? What was she looking for—and what did she know?

Rob strode after her, determined to find out.

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