A silent message passed from Foot to Redgrave; the latter at once stopped protesting. Foot addressed Lyall.
'Your conduct has been noted. That concludes our dealings.'
Trying to hide his puzzlement, Lyall said, 'For the moment.'
'The Holy Office has no more to say to you on this count.'
The two moved off without a word of farewell, though Redgrave looked over his shoulder with something like contempt as he reached the door. Lyall groaned and rubbed his forehead, then turned to the long narrow window that faced Tyburn Road. At the edge of the footway stood a black express, its varnished panels trimmed out in scarlet. In ones and twos, a dozen or more of the people had gathered near it, on the chance of seeing some offender, perhaps with the marks of a beating on him, flung inside and carried away. Foot and Redgrave came into LyalPs view walking down the drive from the express-house. Already, the bystanders had seen that they were unaccompanied and begun to disperse, but by degrees, staring dully up at the house as if it could tell them what man it was that had attracted the notice of the Secular Arm, whether to give orders or supply information. The driver of the vehicle came round from his place and, first jostling an old woman out of his path, opened the rear door. Redgrave got in at once; Foot paused and looked straight in the direction of Lyall, who drew back a pace even as he told himself that he could not possibly have been seen. Then the door shut after Foot, the driver took his seat and the express pulled out, causing an omnibus to brake sharply.
Lyall left the window. Could it be so easy to have beaten them off? The Tower was known to be most punctilious in adhering to the letter of its own statutes: no doubt the officers were on their way to sift its archives for material that might provide them with a firmer grip upon him. But would they not have done that before visiting him in the first place? Perhaps. Who had been the author of the citation against him? He was more than ever certain that it had not been Tobias Anvil, who had a much simpler means of overcoming him, one that could never be said, even by the most ingenious enemy, to comprehend trouble with the authorities. The Abbot? There was little enough to be said for that dignitary, except that this sort of work seemed not to be in his style. Collam Flackerty (from whom nothing had been heard since their interview)? Not at all impossible—but why?
There was no more time for questions when Margaret came back into the room. They stood with their arms round each other and did not move.
'I saw them go.'
'Outraged dignity. Like Winifred the Queen-Mother herself.'
'What did they want?'
'Blessed are the keen of apprehension, for they shall arouse desire. They—those, those two—they tried to cow me and I remained uncowed.'
'Will they return?'
'Not in the next hour. Not for long enough, if ever.'
'They made me afraid.'
'I'll take your fear away. I promise to. I can take no other fear away, but this I can, and only I.'
Chapter Five
In the dormitory at St Cecilia's, Hubert finished folding a coloured shirt and tucked it carefully away in his valigia, watched by Thomas and Mark. Thomas said in the customary after-dowse-lights undertone, 'You should go to the woods. You could find a hollow, wrap yourself in a blanket and not be cold. We'd bring you food.'
Hubert shook his head firmly. 'You'd be missed, then seen, then followed. I won't have you suffer penance for me. My way's best.'
'Tell us where you do mean to go.'
'As before, Tom, I won't have you lie or be held sinfully obstinate on my account.'
'Then-why do you go at last? After not going at first? Because of... fucking? Say, Hubert.'
'No, because of something Master Morley told me about myself just before I was summoned to Rome. That's as much as I'll say.'
'But weren't you tempted at all by what the Pope offered you?'
'Oh yes, greatly, but not enough, and so my mind was made up. If something of that mark didn't signify, nothing would.'
'I beg you not to defy the will of the Holy Father, which is also God's will.' This was Mark. 'In the name of your saint. In Our Lady's name. In Christ's name.'
Without speaking, Hubert again shook his head.
'You think you can continue as runaway for ever?'
'A few months will be enough, Mark. Perhaps only a few weeks. Until I'm too old to be altered and save my voice.'
'Fool! Apostate!'
'Silence, Mark,' said Thomas in a hiss. Then he turned and reached under his pillow. 'Before you fasten those straps... I don't know if you'll have time to do much reading.'
Hubert glanced at the almost intact cover of the book. 'Galliard. Keith Roberts.'
'It's CW. What would have happened if the Schismatics' attempt to abduct Elizabeth Tudor had succeeded and they'd reared her as one of themselves.'
'Flying machines?'
'No, but electricity.'
'Wonderful. Thank you, Tom.'
