Stafford narrowed his eyes. ‘Actually, I meant Queen Louise. I had heard she was quite gravely ill.’
‘She did not appear well last night, it is true. I have no idea how serious it might be. The King did not seem overly worried.’
‘No, I don’t suppose he would.’ He paused, waiting for me to pick up on his meaning. After a moment he clicked his tongue impatiently. ‘Think about it, Bruno. I know what is said of Henri and his courtiers, but it is generally accepted that when there are no children in a marriage, it is the woman’s fault.’
‘With respect, that has never been conclusively proved,’ I said. ‘Medical science remains divided on the process of generation, since—’
‘I don’t have time to debate the science of generation now. And stop saying with respect when it is clear you have none. I am merely pointing out that Henri’s throne would be a good deal safer if he could produce an heir of his own. That is obvious to everyone, and therefore perhaps it would be no disadvantage to him if he were obliged to find a new wife. It would be useful to know if Louise takes a turn for the worse, and who he or the Queen Mother might have in mind as a replacement. It could certainly make England’s position more secure if there were a legitimate Valois heir.’
‘I’m sure that will be of great comfort to Queen Louise if she falls into a decline,’ I said. But his words had set faint alarm bells ringing in the back of my mind.
He gave me a sour look. ‘I must get on. But anything else you find out from the palace, you bring straight to me and I will sift it for Walsingham. Understood? And I want your cipher. The one he uses with you. I do not like the thought of information passing through this embassy without my knowledge.’
‘The cipher is very complicated,’ I began, but he cut me off.
‘I am a highly educated man, Doctor Bruno, and experienced in diplomacy, I’m sure I can manage to familiarise myself with its workings.’ He smiled, showing his neat little teeth.
I nodded, and rose to leave. ‘But you will send that letter with all urgency?’
‘I will, this time.’ Behind the bluster, I could see he was afraid, torn between his need to feel in control and his anxiety lest he be responsible for withholding vital information from Walsingham. ‘But in future, everything comes through me.’
I inclined my head in a bow. ‘But not at night or in daylight. I understand. There was talk of payment, I recall?’
His mouth twisted. ‘You try my patience, Doctor Bruno. I do not know yet how useful your information may prove to be.’ When I did not move, he blew out his cheeks in exasperation and reached into a compartment of his desk for a purse. He flicked a quarter écu d’argent across to me, as one might throw a tip to a stable boy. ‘Take that for now. Geoffrey will see you out.’
I pushed my chair back and stood. ‘I will leave you to enjoy your evening.’ At the door I turned. ‘I hope your losses are not too severe.’
‘What?’ Stafford was out of his chair and across the room to me as if a dog had bitten him, his face inches from mine and white with anger. ‘Explain your meaning.’
I stepped back, surprised. I had meant it as a light-hearted parting jest, but the man looked ready to punch me. ‘I meant only – at the card table. Paget said you were joining him for a game with friends.’
‘What else did Paget say? My losses?’
‘I was joking, Sir Edward,’ I added gently. ‘It is customary to wish a man luck at his card game, where I come from. That was all.’
He stared at me, quivering with emotion, while he processed this. Eventually he subsided, straightening his doublet.
‘Well. Yes. Of course.’ He passed a hand across his brow. ‘I hope Paget has not given you the wrong impression. I would not wish you to think I was often at the gaming tables, Doctor Bruno. A few hands among friends for modest stakes now and again is quite proper entertainment for a gentleman, I think.’
‘Absolutely. No one has said otherwise.’ I offered an indulgent smile.
‘Well, that is my limit. Give you good night.’
Struck a nerve there, I thought, as he closed the door swiftly behind me. Catherine de Medici, shrewd as ever, had been one step ahead.
It was already dark when I passed the Porte Saint-Victor and crossed the bridge over the channel to reach the towpath behind the wall of the abbey. I carried the short dagger I had taken from the palace guard drawn under my cloak, lamenting again the loss of my beautiful Damascus steel to the mysterious man in the Greek mask. I had begun increasingly to suspect that he was the man Léonie had been waiting to meet in the clearing. He was a confederate of the Duchess of Montpensier, and I had seen him walking alone in the wood before Léonie was killed – though if the scream we heard from the trees had indeed been Léonie, he could not have been the one who killed her, since he had been tussling with me at the time. Though I knew my chances of finding him were small I was determined to try, not only because I was sure he was involved in the conspiracy somehow, but because I could see it had amused him to best me and take my dagger, and I was not prepared to let it go without a fight.
For now, I had to make do with the stubby knife I held in freezing fingers as I sidled my way along the river path, pressed into the black stone of
