S. Parris - Execution

He arched an eyebrow. ‘Really, Bruno. There’s not much goes on in this realm that I can’t find out.’

‘Does Sophia know?’ Even the discovery that her son was alive would mean the world to her. But perhaps a glimmer of possibility would be worse than ignorance; as far as I was aware, the boy had been sold by Sophia’s aunt to a wealthy childless couple and there was little chance that his mother, as an unmarried woman, could hope to get him back, especially if she could not reveal her true identity. Knowing Sophia, that would not stop her trying.

‘I have not yet found an opportunity to speak with her. That rather depends on you.’ He let the implication hang there between us.

‘You mean that if I don’t agree to this Babington business, you won’t tell her about her son?’

‘I mean, Bruno, that you risked a great deal to save her from a murder charge once before, so I have no doubt you would do so again.’

We watched one another like dogs at the start of a fight; his eyes were implacable. I wondered how long he had been keeping this ultimatum up his sleeve. If I did not agree to his proposal, he would see Sophia arrested for murder. If I did what he wanted, his generosity would extend to her as well as me. I realised, with a quickening flush of shame, how foolish I had been to think of Walsingham as a benign father figure to his agents; looking at him now, the hard line of his compressed lips, I saw the man who could turn the rack on a young priest without flinching, who would put his daughter’s closest friend in an unmarked grave to save his mission, and I understood that nothing would come between him and his duty to England and the Queen.

‘Her Majesty’s Service is not a hobby , Bruno,’ he said with quiet finality. ‘It’s not for you to pick and choose the parts that strike you as an amusing pastime. England needs your skills now. That is all there is to it. Do we have an agreement?’

My fists drew tight at my sides as I tried to outstare him; I felt the strain in my jaw as I fought to batten down the rising tide of anger, just as I had seen Poole doing earlier. At length, I bowed my head. There was nothing left to say.

‘Good. I am needed at Whitehall. You will do as Thomas tells you until I return, I hope that’s clear.’ He paused on his way past me to the door, and laid a hand on my shoulder. ‘God be with you.’

I almost responded, but I was furious with him and determined that he should know it. I turned my face away. He waited a moment, and withdrew. I stood, fixed to the spot, shaking with rage. Phelippes’s quill scratched on rhythmically in the empty air.

‘Do you think he’d have done it?’ I asked, turning to him. ‘Sent her for trial to punish me? After everything we have been through?’

The cryptographer unexpectedly looked up, took off his eyeglasses and blinked at me. ‘You don’t really need to ask that. He will do whatever is necessary for the good of the state.’

‘Of course.’ I placed my hands on the edge of his desk and leaned over him, hearing the bitterness in my voice. ‘The good of the state. Why should he have a conscience over sending one girl to the gallows, when he has none over sending a queen to the block?’

‘The stake,’ Phelippes corrected, angling himself away from me to avoid being spat on.

‘What?’

‘Your woman is accused of killing her husband. In English law that is petty treason. Her punishment would be burning at the stake.’

I pictured Sophia’s face engulfed by flames and closed my eyes briefly.

‘You know, I once believed he had some affection for me.’

‘He respects your talents.’

‘But we are all pawns to him in the end. Poole was right. Even you.’ When he didn’t reply, I moved closer until my face was an inch from his. I wanted to provoke a reaction, but he merely blinked again.

‘Truer to say we are troops in a war. A general cannot shed a tear over every soldier who falls.’

‘But a good general stands by his men.’

When he did not reply, I slapped my palm on the desk, hard.

‘Doesn’t that make you angry, Thomas? You’ve devoted your whole life to him. Or do you imagine you are different?’

He returned his attention to the paper before him. ‘I have never given it much thought,’ he said. I realised that, unusually, Thomas Phelippes was lying.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.