'And the gentlemen I told you to contact they could not help you?'

'I had meetings with them all, in Paris and Versailles, but to no avail. The most I could get them to agree upon was the troop ship movements in the Channel ports, although even these will not be as extensive as you had requested. It seems they do not consider the moment propitious for opening hostilities with England.'

Thurleigh shrugged.

'How disappointing.' He refilled his glass. 'But not entirely unexpected, after all.'

'Hell and damnation, my lord! You had me chasing all over France '

'Calm yourself, Boreland. I set you no unnecessary task. If Julian Poyntz had not been fool enough to kill himself with his unaccustomed debauchery he would have reported back to me and saved us both a deal of trouble. As it is, I needed to know how much Poyntz had achieved before his untimely end. Very little, it would appear. However, all is not lost. While you were hard at work pleading our cause across the water, I have been equally busy here at home. I now enjoy the full confidence of the Princess of Wales, and, to some extent, that of her eldest son, although he is set about by a bunch of the most admirable men, who make sure no-one wins too much influence with the heir to the throne. However, I am certain I have gained favour.'

'It is never a bad thing to have friends in the highest places,' came the somewhat sneering reply. 'I fear 'tis a great pity that there will be no invasion, for you are obviously well-placed to put an end to the line of Hanover.'

'But there will be news of an invasion, I can promise you that,' smiled Thurleigh. 'Rumours are already rife in Town and the movement of men and arms to the western shores, however small the actual numbers, can only fuel the speculation.'

'And what good will that do us?'

'I have told you, my friend, I never pass on more than it is necessary for you to know. But,' he paused, thoughtfully regarding his guest, 'in this case, I am so pleased with my little scheme that I will tell you! The Princess thinks me her only friend: she hates the King and distrusts Cumberland, fearing that he wishes to be rid of his nephews and take the throne for himself. You may smile, Boreland, for you know as well as I that the Duke has no such notions. His current unpopularity is mainly undeserved, but it suits my purpose admirably! To continue: the lady is already disturbed by the rumours that are flying about Town concerning the French and Charles Stuart, and is in no way comforted by the King's dismissal of such reports. Thus, as speculation grows, she will become ever more concerned for the safety of her children. I shall then come to her aid, and at a suitable moment I intend to spirit the whole family away to a place of safety.' He smiled. 'Think of it, Boreland: the disappearance of the heir to the throne. There will be chaos. I shall make sure some suspicion falls upon Cumberland. That should cause a few riots! Then mayhap the Jacobite cause may once more raise its standard, and once it is seen abroad what turmoil the country has been cast into, I have no doubt that France will wish to turn it to her own advantage. England will be at her mercy, Charles Stuart will reclaim his throne, with the help of his French cousins, to whom he will of course show due gratitude....'

'And also to yourself, my lord?' grinned Boreland.

'There you have it, sir. If, however, no such success is forthcoming for the Stuarts, I shall of course protect my royal charges until such time as the young King may return safely to his court.'

'Young King?' Boreland frowned.

The marquis met his eyes with a bland smile.

'Oh, did I forget to mention it? At the same time that I spirit away the royal children, the King is to be assassinated.'

Boreland awoke the next morning in no very good humour. He had a splitting headache, and since no-one could doubt the quality of the wines Lord Thurleigh allowed to grace his table, Boreland realized his present state must be due to the quantity consumed the previous evening. Indeed, he thought grimly, his host's mellowness was some proof of that, for rarely was Guy Morellon so forthcoming about his plans. As he rose unsteadily from his bed, Boreland found himself wondering if his brain was playing tricks on him: had Thurleigh really said that he planned to kill the King? He walked over to the washstand, filled the bowl from the heavy jug and plunged his head into the icy water. The shock of cold revived his memory, and last night's conversation came floating back to him.

'If you are busy with the heirs to the throne,' he had said to his host, 'who is to dispose of the King?'

He remembered Thurleigh's cold grey eyes watching him over the rim of his glass.

'Why, it must be you, of course, James. A man of your standing should have no difficulty in obtaining a private audience with our revered monarch.'

'And how do you propose that I get away after completing my task?'

'That is for you to arrange. I have no doubt you will hit upon a solution.' Thurleigh had leaned forward, his voice suddenly urgent. 'There is no-one else I would trust to the task. Oh, I have no doubt I could find a dozen willing to attempt it, men with grievances to avenge, or a liking for murder, but they cannot be relied upon should things go wrong. Poyntz is dead: so too is Rowsell, that leaves only you or Furminger, and the bishop really does not have the stomach for the task.'

No, thought Boreland, and in the cold light of morning neither did he relish the thought. Thurleigh's plan was a bold one, the stakes were high, but if they succeeded! The sudden excitement died within him as he looked out of the window at the sodden landscape. The rain fell straight and heavy, relentlessly beating into the ground: there would be no travel today.

For two days the rain continued, filling ditches and rivers to bursting point and when at last it eased and the servants ventured out for fresh supplies, they returned with ominous reports of flooding in the surrounding farms and villages. Lord Thurleigh's lodge was built upon a slight rise, and they had no fear that the house itself was in any danger, although the lawns were waterlogged, and my lord's dour butler announced gloomily that the cellars were growing damp. Boreland cursed his bad luck and could scarcely conceal his impatience at the continuing bad weather. Coming into the breakfast room one morning, Lord Thurleigh found his guest standing by the window, his countenance every bit as forbidding as the lowering sky. The marquis smiled faintly.

'Is my hospitality so poor that you cannot wait to get away?'

Boreland joined his host at the table, his ill-humour unabated.

'Damme, sir, 'tis Christmas Eve! I had hoped to be back at Weald Hall by now. It's the custom for the parson and his brood to dine with us tomorrow, plus various other respectable neighbours a parcel of dowds, but I'm expected to play the great lord now and again. With the roads near impassable we could be imprisoned here for weeks. Hell and damnation, Thurleigh, how do you stand this place?'

'Easily, James. Unlike you, I have no loving family awaiting me. My Lady Margaret scarcely notices whether I am at home or not. I believe she has taken to amusing herself with the stable lads at Thurleigh. Very bad form; I really wonder if I should put an end to it...' He broke off from his musing, his hard eyes coming to rest upon his guest. 'You are mighty keen to get back to your what did you call them? Your parcel of dowds! Or is it perhaps the attractions of this female you have chosen for your son?'

'As I have already told you, that was Isobel's idea, not mine.'

'Is she fair?'

'A veritable beauty. 'Tis strange, the girl looks familiar. Can't quite put my finger on it, but sometimes there's a look or a word, and I feel certain I know her. Impossible, however!'

The marquis showed a mild interest: after all, the weather was so bad there was little point in hurrying breakfast.

'My dear Boreland, nothing is impossible. Tell me about this beauty.'

'She's somewhat older than Andrew, widow of some Frenchman, and very rich, apparently. Came over from Paris not long ago. If you'd been in Town recently you would have met her Rowsell was hot for her, even wanted to marry her, would you credit it? When he died, Isobel decided to bring the girl to Weald Hall and see what could be done to promote a match with Andrew. I was surprised she agreed to't. I had the impression she didn't like us above half when we first met her. But there, women are strange creatures.'

'As you say. She came from Paris? How long ago?'

'Only been in England a few months, I believe. It seems Rowsell had no sooner clapped eyes on Elinor de Sange than he was captivated. Never stopped singing her praises.'

'The marquis had stopped eating, and now regarded his guest very intently.

'Elinor - and what does she look like, this paragon?'

Boreland shrugged.

'She's tall, good figure, a pretty face, but too solemn for my taste.'

'And her hair? What colour?'

'A reddish-brown in Town she mostly kept it powdered, so I doubt that poor Rowsell often saw its glory, unless he managed to get her into bed, which I doubt. I suspect her virtue was part of the attraction.'

My lord was sitting very still.

'Would I be correct if I were to hazard a guess that her eyes are green?'

'Aye, you would.' Boreland nodded. 'Very striking. In fact, she's very like your own lady, when she was younger, of course '

'And you say you've never met the woman?' Thurleigh sneered at him, his eyes glittering dangerously. 'You are a fool, man. She was more of a child at the time, but of course you've seen her before, following our disappointment in 'forty-five. You raped her!'

James Boreland stared uncomprehendingly across the table, then as the realization broke upon him, he brought his fist crashing down upon it, cursing violently.

'Tell me,' continued Thurleigh, 'do you know if she met Julian in Paris?'

'No. That is, it was mentioned once I think she did say something....'

My lord sat back in his chair, gazing up at the ornate plasterwork of the ceiling.

'Does it not seem odd to you,' he remarked, 'that this woman should have met Poyntz, who subsequently died in a most mysterious fashion, that she should then turn up in London with Rowsell at her heels, and that, upon his untimely demise, she should accept an invitation from you to stay at the Hall?'

Boreland's countenance darkened as his brain worked quickly back over events. Suddenly he looked up, fixing his fierce stare upon the marquis.

'The ruby! I thought I had seen its like before!'

Thurleigh brought his own grey eyes down from their contemplation of the ceiling to meet his guest's harsh stare. He sat very still.

'Go on.'

'She wore a large ruby brooch 'twas the night George was murdered, which circumstance put it out of my mind until now, but I recall that at the time I thought it an unusual piece, more suited to a man in fact, my Lord, it bore a striking resemblance to a certain large cravat pin you yourself possess if you still have it!'

The two men stared at each other for a full minute, then the marquis spoke coolly.

'As you have already surmised, my dear James, it is the very same. It was not to be found after the girl had left the inn that night. I sent my men to recover the stone the following morning, but the wench and her family had vanished. No word could be got from the villagers, despite all my er persuasions, and you may be sure that I scoured the countryside for news of them.'

'By God, sir, you're a cool one! You know that stone contains evidence to send us all to the gallows!'

'That is why I let you all believe I had recovered the ruby. It ensured your continued loyalty to me.'

'And have I ever given you cause to doubt me?'

'No, sir, you have not, and for all his tempestuous nature, I believe George Rowsell could be trusted, but Furminger would undoubtedly like to cut all ties with me, if he thought he could safely do so, and Poyntz, well, I think he too was growing tired of the game. Pray do not look so disapproving, my dear sir. I have been ever vigilant, waiting for the stone to come to light, but there has not been the slightest sign until now.'

'Do you think the woman knows what is in the brooch?'

'It is possible. The compartment is well concealed, and would not easily be discovered, but if it has been in her possession for the past how long would it be now, eight years?' The marquis shrugged. 'She could have found its secret. Yet if that is so, why has she not passed it to the proper authorities and had us all arrested?'

'That may have been her reason for coming to England.'

'Perhaps, Boreland, but is it not also possible that she came here purely for revenge, and that she wears the ruby to remind herself of the task? The idea has a certain romance, I think.'

With sudden decision Boreland rose from the table.

'There's only one way to find out,' he said, making for the door, 'I'll beat the truth out of her!'

A faint, malicious smile spread over Thurleigh's face.

'My dear fellow, you can't go yet the roads are still awash!'

Boreland paused at the door, fury burning in his eyes.

'Then mayhap I will have to swim home!'

Christmas Day dawned cold but dry, the rain that had persisted during the past few days had eased, but the easterly winds that drove off the clouds brought a sharp drop in temperature, and as the Weald Hall party set out to attend the service at the village church, Elinor was thankful for the hot bricks her hostess had ordered to be placed in their carriage.

Apart from the servants, there was only Mrs Boreland, her son and Elinor in the corner of the church set aside for the family, James Boreland not having returned. His wife's disapproval of his absence showed plainly in her face, but to anyone who mentioned the subject she merely remarked that the bad weather had no doubt prevented him from coming home. After the service, during which time Elinor felt her feet turn into blocks of ice on the chill stone floor of the church, they returned to Weald Hall, where a welcoming fire awaited them in the morning-room.

'Perhaps, Elinor, you would like a game of billiards with me?' suggested Andrew, warming himself before the flames.

'That is out of the question,' Mrs Boreland interrupted before Elinor could reply. 'Have you forgotten that we have visitors coming today? Madame will want to rest and change before they arrive, will you not, my dear? And you too, Andrew, would be the better for lying down upon your bed for an hour. I was most put out when you fell asleep during the sermon.'

Her son flushed slightly, but cast a mischievous glance across at Elinor as he replied. 'Well, 'twas a mighty tedious tale, Mama!'

'That has nothing to do with the matter. If Parson Tidwell questions you about the text tonight, you will look no-how if you cannot answer him. Now off you go to your room, sir, and let me have no more of your nonsense.'

Realizing that her hostess wished to be free to check over the arrangements for the forthcoming dinner, Elinor excused herself and went up to her room. She did not feel in the least tired, and after changing her sober-hued morning gown for a loose wrap she sat down at the small dressing table and unpinned her hair, brushing out the tangled curls as she gazed absently at her reflection in the mirror before her. When she had finished she put down her brush and upon impulse opened her jewel box and took out the ruby brooch, which she had not worn since the evening of George Rowsell's death.

The stone held so many memories for her that Elinor felt a slight tremor run through her as she held it in her hand. To her, its red depths seemed to reflect the blood that had been shed the stain of her own lost virginity, her father's tragic end and the death of two of the five men she held responsible. It was symbolic of her quest for revenge and yet it was nothing more than an ornament, just what was needed to complete her toilet for that evening. It would secure the muslin kerchief to the bodice of her gown. Why should she not wear it? The jewel seemed to mock her misgivings, and with sudden decision she rose to put the brooch upon the mantelshelf, tucking it slightly behind the marble bust so that it could not slip off into the hearth: it would be ready at hand when she came to dress.

As she closed the jewel box she heard the faint sounds of voices in the hall below. Could the visitors be arriving already? She thought she must be mistaken, for it was still early. Elinor looked around for some occupation. The light was fading, and she decided against trying to read. The servants would be busy preparing for the evening, so she did not ring for a taper, knowing that when her maid came to help her to dress, she would bring a light with her. Kicking off her shoes, she lay down upon the bed to await the girl's arrival.

Elinor had scarcely made herself comfortable when she heard the door open. Thinking it was her maid, she sat up in leisurely style, but her languid air deserted her when she saw not a servant but James Boreland standing in the doorway. As he shut the door firmly behind him, she slipped off the bed, her eyes wary. He had exchanged his top-boots for a pair of soft-soled slippers, but apart from that he was still dressed in his muddied travelling clothes. Elinor felt a pang of fear, but when she spoke she tried for a light note.

'What, sir, is the house afire that you must enter in all your dirt?'

'You may well wish that it were,' he growled, advancing towards her. 'What were you planning to do, murder me as you did Julian Poyntz?'

'Faith sir, I do not understand you.' She spoke calmly, yet her heart was thudding so hard she feared she would faint.

'Oh I think you do! Were you not the mysterious woman who lured Poyntz to his death in a Paris bedroom?'

'Julian Poyntz died of a weak heart.'

'You must have been mighty rough on him, Madame! But how did you plan to dispose of me? A knife between the ribs, mayhap, as poor Rowsell died?'

She turned away from him, hunching a shoulder.

'All this is nonsense. You are talking like a madman.'

'Oh? And what of the ruby?'

'What ruby?'

Boreland strode across to the dressing table and snatched up the jewel case. He tipped it up, spilling the contents across the tabletop. After a brief glance at the scattered gems he threw down the box with an oath and turned back to Elinor.

'Where is it?'

'Do you think I would be fool enough to bring it here?' Her tone was scathing and she kept her eyes on his face, although she longed to glance towards the mantelshelf. Even in the dim light she could see his anger growing, then he smiled suddenly, which frightened her more than any rage.

'Well, there's no hurry. You will tell me what I want to know, eventually. You've grown into a very beautiful woman, Elinor. I said you would, that night at the inn. Do you remember?'

'No!' She tried to evade his grasp, but his hands caught her wrap and tore it away, leaving her covered only in her shift. Grabbing her wrist, he savagely twisted her arm, sending her crashing back onto the bed, where he threw himself upon her, pinning her beneath him, his hands firmly anchoring her arms above her head. Unable to move, Elinor looked up into his face, just inches from her own, and alight with savage triumph.

'I made the devil's own journey to get back here after Thurleigh told me about you and by God, madam, I intend to be paid in full for my trouble!'