away. Hal tucked it into his own sleeve, and stumbled from the house, giddy with the wine. He had all but forgotten Libby. Damn it all! He smoothed the paper against the wall as he waited for the groom to bring his horse. A fine rain was falling, and the letters faded into an inky blur before his eyes, but not before the message was read. She would wait for him in the Privy Gallery every afternoon until he came to her. It was dated five days ago, the day after his misadventure. He crumpled it into a sodden ball, and tossed it onto the midden as he passed.
Cecil’s rooms were austerely furnished, holding only his great worktable, one chair, two bookcases overflowing with books and bundled letters, a locking cabinet, and two stools, upon one of which Hal sat, although his rank should entitle him to the chair. Robert Cecil, Diabolus, as he was scornfully called behind his hunched back, sat and gazed at him across the table, his dark eyes as inexpressive as the wet paving stones outside the window. The door opened quietly behind him, and Hal fought the impulse to look and see who had entered. One of the aides came in and whispered to his master, waiting while Cecil considered the message. A smile flitted across that stern face, causing Hal, unexplainably, to shudder. “Have him join us,” Cecil instructed the aide, who slipped from the room like a shadow.
“My lord, I understand your reasons for wishing to leave England for a time, indeed I am most anxious to accommodate you. But then you must, in return, accommodate me. I will expect reports from you upon the movements of the princes Geofri and Kryštof, among other things.” He glanced up as the door creaked open again, motioning the arrival to take the other stool. “My lord, this is my servant, Thomas Deacon; Thomas, my lord the Earl of Southampton.” Deacon was in his late twenties, a few years older than the Earl, heavyset, but with long and beautiful hands. His face was unlined, showing a singular sweetness of expression in the regular features that made him seem far better looking than he was in fact. His light-brown hair was cropped shorter than Hal’s own, and his clothing, though of fine cloth, was most sober and severe. He looked at Hal, at the ravaged hair, and his fingers twitched, as though he wished to stroke it. Hal shifted uncomfortably away from the newcomer. “Thomas does courier service between London and Paris for me, albeit he is currently serving me by serving as an assistant, an apprentice if you will, of Master Topcliffe, though perhaps, given his progress, journeyman would be amore fitting term.” Deacon smiled innocently as Hal paled at the mention of the torturer. “Now my lord, back to our business. I think we understand each other. I shall look forward to your correspondence, which you may entrust to Deacon when you see him in Paris. That is all.”
Hal rose numbly from the stool, his face flushed by the outrage boiling in him. He was an earl, not some common lout to be made a spy and a minion of! Damn Cecil’s twisted soul, and damn Robin too! There was an overt threat in Cecil’s insistence on Deacon’s presence, and the knowledge that he was employing his own torturer, but whether it was aimed at Prince Kryštof, or at himself, or both, Hal was not certain. It was intolerable! The sooner he left the pesthole of court, the better off he would be, and bedamned to them.
He settled the hood of the cloak closer about his face, making his way through the dusk to the gallery where Libby had said she would await him. His attendants left him at the gallery doors, and he slipped in, almost blind in the dimness. The curtains had been drawn, and the candles not yet lit. A lighter blob of shadow detached itself from the wall and hurled itself at him. He caught her in his arms, crushing her against him.
“Oh, Hal, I thought that you had done with me! And I love you so! I wanted to die,” Libby sobbed into his chest. Her searching fingers found his rough cropped hair, and she pulled him to the window, thrusting the heavy curtain aside, to view him in the fading daylight. “Oh, Hal!” He turned his head, to hide the worst places from her, then kissed her, fiercely, urgently.