Shadow of Night (All Souls Trilogy, #2)(146)

“Go with him, Fran?oise,” I urged her, “and make sure Lord Burghley finds his own servants.” They were probably at the Cardinal’s Hat getting inebriated with Kit and Will, or waiting in the crush of coaches at the top of Water Lane. I didn’t want to be the last person to see Queen Elizabeth’s chief adviser alive.

“No need, no need,” Burghley said over his shoulder. “I am an old man with a stick. The thieves will ignore me in favor of someone with an earring and a slashed doublet. The beggars I can beat off, if need be. And my men are not far from here. Remember my advice, mistress.”

With that he disappeared into the dusk.

“Dieu.” Fran?oise crossed herself, then forked her fingers against the evil eye for good measure. “He is an old soul. I do not like the way he looked at you. It is a good thing milord is not yet home. He would not have liked it either.”

“William Cecil is old enough to be my grandfather, Fran?oise,” I retorted, returning to the warmth of the parlor and, finally, loosening my laces. I groaned as the constriction lessened.

“Lord Burghley did not look at you as though he wanted to bed you.” Fran?oise glanced pointedly at my bodice.

“No? How did he look at me, then?” I poured myself some wine and plopped down in my chair. The day was taking a decided turn for the worse.

“Like you were a lamb ready for slaughter and he was weighing the price you would bring.”

“Who is threatening to eat Diana for dinner?” Matthew had arrived with the stealth of a cat and was taking off his gloves.

“Your visitor. You just missed him.” I took a sip of wine. As soon as I swallowed, Matthew was there to lift it from my hands. I made an exasperated sound. “Can you wave or something to let me know you’re about to move? It’s disconcerting when you just appear before me like that.”

“As you’ve divined that looking out the window is one of my tells, I feel honor bound to share that changing the subject is one of yours.” Matthew took a sip of wine and set the cup on the table. He rubbed tiredly at his face. “What visitor?”

“William Cecil was waiting by the fire when I came home.”

Matthew went eerily still.

“He’s the scariest grandfatherly person I’ve ever met,” I continued, reaching for the wine again. “Burghley may look like Father Christmas, with his gray hair and beard, but I wouldn’t turn my back on him.”

“That’s very wise,” Matthew said quietly. He regarded Fran?oise. “What did he want?”

She shrugged. “I do not know. He was here when I came home with madame’s pork pie. Lord Burghley asked for wine. That daemon drank everything in the house earlier today. I went out for more.”

Matthew disappeared. He returned at a more sedate pace, looking relieved. I shot to my feet. The attics—and all the secrets hidden there.

“Did he—”

“No,” Matthew interrupted. “Everything is exactly as I left it. Did William say why he was here?”

“Lord Burghley told me to tell you he called.” I hesitated. “And he told me to leave the city.”

Annie entered the room, along with a chattering Jack and a grinning Pierre, but after one look at Matthew’s face, Pierre’s smile dissolved. I took the linens from Annie.

“Why don’t you take the children to the Cardinal’s Hat, Fran?oise?” I said. “Pierre will go, too.”

“Huzzah!” Jack shouted, delighted at the prospect of a night out. “Master Shakespeare is teaching me to juggle.”

“So long as he doesn’t try to improve your penmanship, I have no objection,” I said, catching Jack’s hat as he tossed it in the air. The last thing we needed was the boy adding forgery to his list of skills. “Go and have your supper. And try to remember what your handkerchief is for.”

“I will,” Jack said, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

“Why did Lord Burghley come all the way to the Blackfriars to see you?” I asked when we were alone.

“Because I received intelligence from Scotland today.”

“What now?” I said, my throat closing. It was not the first time the Berwick witches had been discussed in my presence, but somehow Burghley’s presence made it seem as though the evil was creeping over our threshold.

“King James continues to question the witches. William wanted to discuss what—if anything—the queen should do in response.” He frowned at the change in my scent as the fear took hold. “You don’t need to know what’s happening in Scotland.”

“Not knowing doesn’t keep it from happening.”

“No,” Matthew said, his fingers gentle on my neck as he tried to rub the tension away. “Neither does knowing.”

The next day I came home from Goody Alsop’s carrying a small wooden spell box—a place to let my written spells incubate until they were ready for another witch to use. Finding a way to put my magic to words was the next step in my evolution as a weaver. Right now the box held only my weaver’s cords. Marjorie didn’t think my disguising spell was quite ready for other witches yet.

A wizard on Thames Street made the box from the limb from the rowan that the firedrake gave me the night I made my forspell. He’d carved a tree on its surface, the roots and branches weirdly intertwined so that you couldn’t tell them apart. Not a single nail held the box together. Instead there were nearly invisible joints. The wizard was proud of his work, and I couldn’t wait to show it to Matthew.