Conspiracy

the abbey wall with no light but the moon behind a tracery of cloud, until I reached the small gate opposite the jetty. It was close to six; the bells would soon ring for Vespers and I would learn whether I had been lured into a trap. The air was biting, sharp with the promise of snow; I could almost fancy my breath turning to ice crystals before my face. After perhaps ten minutes I heard the crunch of footsteps on the frosted ground and the low murmurs of muffled laughter; from the direction of the city I saw the faint bobbing glow of a lantern and behind it, two figures lurching towards me. I waited until they were close enough and stepped out in front of them, knife drawn; a woman screamed, a piercing note that cut through the still night. I caught my breath and leaned back against the wall; it was only a weathered-looking prostitute and a boy draped across her shoulder who looked young enough to be her son, and so drunk it was doubtful whether he would get his money’s worth. She began to protest that they had nothing to steal; I shooed them away irritably.

‘Find somewhere else for your business. Back the way you came, or I will come after you.’

She dragged the lad away with her; I was still watching the small disc of light recede along the path when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I stifled a cry of my own as I whipped around, knife raised, and almost impaled Cotin, who had appeared out of the darkness with a lantern.

‘Steady, boy – how many ways are you trying to finish me off?’

I sheathed the weapon, my legs weak with relief.

‘It is you. I didn’t hear the gate open.’

‘I’ve learned to be stealthy. Pity you didn’t – you might have saved us both a lot of bother.’

‘Are you all right?’ I peered at him. Shadows loomed and ebbed on his face in the wavering light but I could see that he looked haggard.

He fluttered his free hand. ‘Never mind me. We haven’t got long. After you were carted off from Frère Joseph’s cell last week, I reckoned I’d better have a look among his papers.’

‘But I took everything that was there,’ I said. And lost the most valuable part of it to Paget, I reminded myself, bitterly.

‘From his cell, you did. But he had a little office above the bursary where he kept all the account books and ledgers connected to his work as almoner. I reasoned that if he didn’t turn up soon the Abbé would make it his business to go through whatever documents he could find there and remove anything that might cause embarrassment to the abbey. While the place was in uproar over you, I thought I’d take the opportunity to have a look before anyone noticed I was not where I was supposed to be.’

‘But a man with secrets to hide would not have left his private papers lying around for anyone to find, surely?’

He looked away with a modest cough. ‘There was a small locked casket hidden behind the ledgers on a high shelf. I’m afraid the lock might have smashed when it accidentally fell on the floor.’

‘Cotin, you are a genius.’ I grabbed him by both shoulders and kissed him on his shiny pate, while he grumbled about Italians and emotion. He rummaged inside his habit and brought out a sheaf of papers.

‘I’d have got these to you sooner but I was indisposed. The Abbé felt that a period of solitary prayer and fasting might help me to focus on my duty and obedience.’

‘Jesus. He locked you up and starved you.’ I laid a hand on his arm.

‘Well. That makes it sound worse than it was. He questioned me hard about you when they found Joseph killed, though – God rest him.’ He crossed himself out of instinct, I supposed, rather than any respect for the dead man. ‘All I could do was to keep repeating that I had no idea what you wanted in Joseph’s room, until he gave up.’

‘Thank you.’ I squeezed his arm and nodded to the papers. ‘What did you find?’

‘There are notes in there for polemics, in Joseph’s hand. Inflammatory stuff – arguments in support of a coup, calls for an uprising, that sort of thing. But the letters…’ He gave me a sidelong look with a quirk of the eyebrow. ‘Well, I’ll let you read those for yourself. Rather spicy. He’d not be the first man in holy orders to keep a woman, but I’m surprised he didn’t have the sense to burn the evidence.’

‘Perhaps he liked to re-read them. Was there a name?’

‘No name that I could see. Not that I’ve read them in detail,’ he added, hastily. ‘There are things in there an old friar hadn’t even heard of, in fifty years of celibacy. Any case, that’s not the point. Look here.’ He handed me the lantern, peeled a sheet of paper from the bunch he held and smoothed it flat under the light. ‘This is what I thought you should see.’

I recognised the hand immediately; the same neat, confident lines, the characters with their bold strokes and tails. There was no question that this was the same correspondent who had written the passionate letter I had found in Joseph’s mattress. I peered in closer to examine it.

… the priest Lefèvre has discovered us, I know not how. He threatens to denounce you as a spy and expose us for what we are. Beloved, you know we would not survive the damage if all this were to be made public. You must ensure he does not speak, for all our sakes. And when you are assured of his silence, make certain he has committed nothing to paper on the matter. When you have made arrangements, send me word and my messenger will come to you. Do whatever is necessary and I give you my