Sacred Treason by James Forrester Page B

William too.”
    â€œDo you know why he was here?”
    â€œBecause…” Awdrey paused, trying to remember. “William said that he was in trouble. He believed he would be murdered today.”
    It was a harsh reminder. Rebecca had not expected to be so affected now. She looked down, trying to compose herself.
    â€œForgive me. I…didn’t mean…”
    â€œNo, no.” Rebecca shook her head. “You’re quite right. Only that was not the reason why my husband came here.”
    Awdrey did not move. She felt hollow, set aside. “Then why?”
    For a moment the two women looked at each other.
    â€œThere is a book,” Rebecca said, almost forcing the words out of her mouth. “A book which Henry has written over many years. It contains a secret. Last night, in that terrible storm, he said good-bye to me as if he would never see me again and brought it here. He gave it to your husband.”
    â€œWhat sort of book?”
    â€œA chronicle.”
    Awdrey sighed. “We must get it out of the house,” she announced, moving away from Rebecca, still holding the candle. Rebecca was left in shadows.
    â€œIt is not going to be that easy.”
    â€œSo, we’ll burn it then,” Awdry said, glancing at the cold fireplace.
    â€œBut do you know where it is hidden?”
    Awdrey paused. “We’ll say we burnt it. That way we can have no knowledge of it.”
    Rebecca shook her head. “They will come and search this house from top to bottom. They will pull the place apart. And when they find the book—for they will find it—they will look at your denial as a sign of complicity. Unless I am much mistaken, Mistress Harley, that will be enough to send your husband to the gallows.
    â€œYour husband explained it to me,” she continued. “Burning the book will solve nothing. No one will ever be sure we have not read it and discovered its secret. So…you are right. We have got to find it quickly and get it out of the house secretly.”
    Awdrey nodded. She held the candle up a little higher and looked around the room. “It’s probably in here somewhere. William keeps all his books in here.”
    Rebecca looked at the dark doorway. Poor woman. She has done nothing to deserve this. Henry has brought disaster on her simply through trusting her husband. And she is not even aware of what is going on in her own household. Someone has got to do something, and with Clarenceux arrested, my husband disappeared, and this proud woman so ill-informed, that someone can only be me.

20
    It was dark by the time Clarenceux arrived at Walsingham’s house. Two of the guards carried flaming torches. In addition to the three men who had been with Crackenthorpe when he arrested Clarenceux, two more had been waiting outside. All six men had surrounded him as he was led through the streets, but at the door of the mansion they fell back and Crackenthorpe alone conducted him inside and up the stairs.
    The great chamber on the first floor was paneled in an exotic imported wood. There was an elaborate plaster ceiling. The oak floorboards were bare. Several sets of silver candlesticks around the room brightened it; the candles themselves were wax, not tallow. It was a touch of refinement and, in this environment, that meant control. The room was clean—even the sturdy oak table was tidy. Several folded pieces of paper and parchment were arranged along one edge of the table in a neat line, a far cry from Clarenceux’s own table board in his relatively cramped second-floor study, laden with books and documents. Clarenceux entered and waited, scratching his left palm with his right thumbnail.
    Anxiety. How often have I known it. Before an assembly, waiting for the moment to speak. Worried lest I make a mistake. Aware of the potential for disgrace if I should say something at the wrong moment on a matter of international importance, before some frowning