the court.
Francis Tresham slipped out of the fisherman's hut in which he had been waiting. Gresham and his men had needed to check the area, to exchange the password with the two sailors in the small boat. He could smell the fear on Tresham, as well as the drink with which he had been filling himself for days. Spiriting him out of the Tower, supposedly dead, had been ease itself with Cecil's word behind the conspiracy.
'Here’ he said, thrusting a parcel at Tresham and forcing himself not to speak in a whisper. 'Money, and your papers. You are now Matthew Brunninge. Your passage to Spain is booked. Congratulations. Like Jesus, you've risen from the dead.'
'Will he live happily ever after?' asked Jane, snuggling up to him as they. watched the boat move gently out through the creek.
'I doubt it,' said Gresham. 'But then again, who can say who'll live happily ever after?'
'Sir Henry,' said Jane, stepping away from him, 'I think it's time I became your wife.'
For once, Gresham let his shock show on his face. What the Devil had this woman? To talk of marriage. On a windswept Norfolk coast, surrounded by potential enemies and busily involved in spiriting away a traitor and sworn enemy of the Crown, not to mention someone who had supposedly died of a urinary infection in the Tower!
'God help us!' exploded Gresham. 'I…'
'You see,' said Jane, ignoring him completely, 'it's one thing for me to be your whore. It is another thing for our son to be born a bastard.'
