‘The Fury of the League,’ I murmured.
‘Ever seen her?’
‘No. She’s a widow, I believe.’ I pictured a pinch-faced woman in a black veil, thumbing through pictures and descriptions of the King’s sexual misdemeanours, eyes burning with religious zeal and frustration.
‘But only thirty-two. And a beauty.’ He whistled. ‘Not short of suitors, as you may imagine. No interest in men, though – all her energy goes into promoting her brother’s cause. She’d do anything for Guise. De Chartres was a cousin of her late husband – I expect that’s how she recruited him. She’s the one who pays all those pamphleteers. The King’s tried to have her exiled from Paris, but he won’t enforce it because her stepson, the present Duke, is neutral and Henri doesn’t want to alienate him.’
‘Then perhaps the Duchess knows something about the murders, if they both worked for her.’ An idea struck me. ‘Guise implied that she was close to de Chartres. You don’t suppose they could have been lovers?’ I closed my eyes and pictured the words of the letter I had found in Joseph’s mattress. A frisson chased through me. An illicit affair between a high-born friar and a young widowed duchess – that would certainly offer the edge of danger hinted at by the letter writer.
‘The Fury?’ Paget sounded offended. ‘That would be quite the scandal. She is famously chaste. You’re not seriously suggesting the Duchess of Montpensier murdered de Chartres this afternoon?’ He gave a shallow laugh. ‘I wish you luck pursuing that line of enquiry. She’d burn a man like you on the spot if you stood still long enough.’
‘You said yourself she’d do anything for her brother. In any case, I thought you might be better placed to investigate there,’ I said.
‘I hardly think Guise would thank us for pointing the finger at his own sister.’ He plainly did not like the idea of being directed by me. ‘He made it clear he wants you to look at the court.’
‘Perhaps that’s because he already suspects his sister’s involvement.’
‘You seem to be jumping to conclusions rather prematurely, Bruno. And not ones that will earn you anyone’s favour.’
I was too tired for any more verbal sparring with Paget. We rode on in silence and emerged on to the Left Bank.
‘So you know her, then?’ I said, eventually, despite myself.
‘The Duchess? Of course.’
‘You know who I mean. The English girl.’
I could not see his face, but I could hear the smile in his voice.
‘Guise asked me to find her. He’d heard mention of her from one of his informers at the Palace, as he said. An associate of yours from England, demanding an audience with the King – naturally he was curious. I tracked her down to the Eagle. That’s the tavern where the restless young Englishmen gather. The ones Walsingham would like to get his hands on.’ He chuckled.
‘I know the place. Conspirators, you mean.’
‘Well. That’s how they’d like to think of themselves, no doubt. Most of them are just students with too much time on their hands. Angry dispossessed boys who blame Elizabeth for their family’s losses. They drink too much, they talk of being ordained, going to Rome, overthrowing the English government. Some of them might get as far as carrying a few letters back and forth. Most are too disorganised to do more than curse and sing rebel songs, then pass out in the street and do it all again the next day. I keep a weather eye on them. Occasionally one proves firmer of purpose than the rest. Curious choice of company for a young woman travelling alone, though.’ He slowed the horse as we reached the rue Saint-Jacques to allow an ox-cart to pass. ‘But then she was a curiosity altogether. Yours wasn’t the only name she was throwing around.’
‘No?’ I tried to think who else Sophia might have been looking for in Paris.
‘She was trying to find associates of someone she had known in Oxford. A name that would not be unfamiliar to you, I think. I thought it best to make her acquaintance.’
I nodded, understanding. ‘So where is she now?’
‘In gainful employment.’
‘Working for you, I suppose?’
‘Not at all. As a governess to one of the English families. I quickly realised she was unusually well educated, for a woman of her birth. I introduced her to a Catholic gentleman who had fled early with his wife and daughters and enough of his fortune to keep a decent household in Paris. I hear the girls make excellent progress with their lessons and would be lost without her.’
‘And what do you get out of it?’
‘My dear Bruno,’ he said, half-turning in the saddle to shine a smile over his shoulder, ‘your opinion of me is quite unflattering. You are going to have to learn to trust me a little more, now that we are working together.’
‘I trust you precisely as much as you trust me. And now we are both supposedly working for Guise while our true loyalties lie elsewhere, so we are hardly exemplars of integrity.’
He laughed. ‘Well, you and I of all people should know better than to trust a spy. They have a tendency to betray people for profit.’ He kicked the horse again and it broke into a trot; all my bruises jolted together as I gripped his back. ‘The art of dealing with Guise is to make him think you are doing what he wants, while making sure you use the situation to your own advantage.’
‘That is the art of dealing with anyone, surely?’
‘Ha! Spoken like a true cynic. We have more in common than you might imagine. I think perhaps I shall enjoy our partnership after all.’
I lacked the energy
