I thought of the letter to the Spanish ambassador. ‘I do not recall anything I read, my lord. I was looking only for love letters and found none.’
He gave a tight smile and picked up a silver seal from his desk, running his fingers over the ridges of its design. ‘No, I don’t suppose my sister goes in for that sort of thing. Not that she would leave lying around, anyway. So if the Duchess was not de Chartres’s killer, have you a new theory?’
I took a deep breath. ‘I have an idea, my lord.’
‘Really?’ He sat back in his chair and folded his arms, watching me, his face expectant. ‘You have my full attention.’
‘I believe it was a young woman in Catherine’s service,’ I began, making my voice as strong and steady as I could. ‘A member of her Flying Squadron. Léonie de Châtillon.’
I saw him exchange a glance with Paget. ‘Interesting. And why did she kill him, in your view?’
‘I believe she was his lover.’
Guise let out a snort of laughter at this.
‘Busy girl,’ Paget murmured. Guise silenced him and motioned for me to continue.
‘She had persuaded him to pass on intelligence about League activities, which she conveyed to Catherine,’ I said, warming to my theory as I extemporised it. ‘But the priest Lefèvre found out and threatened to expose him. Léonie persuaded Joseph to kill the priest, and then she killed him in turn to keep his silence. But she was overcome with remorse and took her own life three nights ago at the Tuileries ball.’
Guise continued to watch me for a long moment, passing the seal from hand to hand. I remained there without moving, looking directly at him, afraid to blink in case my expression gave anything away. The shadows deepened around us. Eventually he set the seal down as if he had come to a decision.
‘It’s a neat hypothesis,’ he said. ‘What do you think, Paget? Credible?’
‘Certainly no more implausible than any other intrigue in Paris,’ Paget said, with apparent indifference.
‘Hm. It was a good try, Bruno.’ Guise pushed his chair back from the desk and stood. ‘But I’m afraid I don’t believe it any more than you do.’
‘I don’t know what you mean, my lord.’ I tensed my jaw to avoid betraying any emotion.
‘There is a flaw in your theory, you see. Joseph de Chartres was murdered on the 28th of November. Léonie de Châtillon was with me that day. Most of the day, in fact. So it could not have been her, and I think you know it. Which leads me to wonder who you are protecting. Because I was right, was I not – everything points back to the Louvre?’
‘I am protecting no one, my lord, I swear it. I concluded it was Léonie from the available evidence. If what you say proves me wrong, I will have to begin again.’
‘There’s no time for that. I’ve been indulgent with you, Bruno. I thought you might be persuaded to make yourself useful. And in a curious way I admire your bloody-mindedness. But my patience has run out.’ He cracked his knuckles, causing me to jump. ‘It’s clear your loyalties will always lie with the enemies of the true Church. Although we’re not even sure who you’re spying for, are we, Paget? Henri or the English?’
‘Perhaps both,’ Paget said, behind me. ‘Whoever is the highest bidder.’
‘You would know about that,’ I said, without turning around. I saw Guise give him a nod. He stepped forward into the pool of candlelight that surrounded the desk.
‘Talking of letters, Bruno – we’d be interested to know what this one says.’ He held out the paper he had been toying with. My stomach jolted with the sensation of missing a step as I saw that it was my letter to Walsingham about Gilbert Gifford, the one I had asked Stafford to send by urgent courier. The ambassador must have handed it over to Paget instead of sending it with the diplomatic packet, perhaps fearful that I had uncovered his situation.
‘Could you not manage the cipher?’ I said.
‘Ah, Bruno.’ Paget laid the letter on the desk and gave me an indulgent smile. ‘Your arrogance is almost endearing sometimes. I shall miss it.’
‘For the sake of your Italian friends,’ Guise said, the mock-politeness vanished, ‘it would be best if you stop wasting time and cooperate.’
‘This has nothing to do with the players,’ I said, my voice rising in panic. ‘You must let them go – they have done nothing wrong.’
‘Apart from smuggling a man into my sister’s house to steal from her. Though I’m sure she’ll feel more lenient when she has her letters back.’
‘There were no letters taken, I swear to it. Please – you must tell her to release them. They need to travel tomorrow.’
The Duke’s eyes grew cold. ‘Never use the word must to me, Bruno. Perhaps I can do something for your friends, when you’ve told me what’s in this message to Francis Walsingham.’ He nodded to the paper on the desk.
‘You see, we fear you may have said something disobliging about us,’ Paget added, in a pleasant tone, standing close behind me so that I could feel his breath on the back of my neck.
‘General observations only,’ I said, keeping my eyes fixed on Guise. ‘I mention the death at the Tuileries ball, the King’s present illness. I say that the city is restless since no one has been brought to justice for the priest’s murder. I ask him for money. That is all.’
Paget laughed softly at my back. ‘I wish you luck with that last one. But it’s hard to see why any of that should require such an urgent dispatch as you have demanded. We’d be happier if you’d copy out the cipher and then translate this letter in full, word for word, so
