When he had closed the door, he stood there for a few moments, with such a comical look of relief upon his face that Elinor laughed.

'Megs is so kind,' she said, her voice quivering with amusement, 'but she does like to talk, does she not?'

'Her tongue runs on wheels, sometimes, but as you say, she has a very kind heart. However, I will take heed of her last words, for you are not yet fully recovered and we must take care that you do not become overtired.'

'Oh but I am not in the least fatigued,' she said quickly, 'Please, sit down and enjoy your brandy.'

He lowered his long frame into the chair, stretching out his legs until his shoes with their large silver buckles were almost in the hearth. For a while they sat in companionable silence, gazing at the flames. Ralph reached forward to pick up another log and throw it onto the fire, and as he sat back in his chair he glanced at Elinor's thoughtful countenance.

He said gently, 'I have told you my history, Elinor. Will you not honour me with yours?'

She looked at him, her green eyes seeming to look through him, never seeing the man at all. She smiled faintly.

'Mine is not an edifying tale, sir. Are you sure you wish to hear it?'

'I would like you to tell me.'

'Very well.' She paused, returning her gaze to the fire, as though the words could be found there. Belham watched her, listening in silence as she spoke of her happy childhood, the only daughter of devoted parents. He observed the play of emotions, clearly visible in her features, as she spoke haltingly of her ordeal at the hands of Lord Thurleigh and his cronies, of her father's subsequent death and the flight to France. Her tale was plainly told, and he could only guess at the anger and sorrow that was held in check within the slim young woman sitting opposite. When she paused in her story, he went over to the small table and refilled their glasses.

'You lived peacefully in France?' He handed her the ratafia. 'Were you happy in your new life?'

Elinor shrugged, a faint smile touching her lips.

'I learned to live with my memories. Poor Mama was not so fortunate or mayhap I am wrong,' she murmured, almost to herself, 'mayhap she was more blessed than I, for at the end she lost all memory of those last days in England. She never really recovered from her grief, you see, and she died just two years later, having convinced herself that Papa was alive and soon to join us in France. How I prayed then that God might take me too!'

'I am glad he did not.' Ralph smiled faintly. 'What happened to you after your mother's death?'

'I was married by that time. My relatives had arranged it all for me - a very good match, considering my circumstances. Philibert de Sange was very old, very rich, something of a recluse - and an eccentric. He offered a good settlement, and in truth I did not care what became of me.'

Ralph had resumed his seat by the fire and from his chair he had a clear view of Elinor's profile. Now as he watched he saw the sudden tightening of her jaw, the lips compressed to withhold some secret she was not yet ready to share with him.

'He owned a house near Paris, although he entertained very little, and rarely went about - there were but two or three houses he deigned to visit. He was an old man, but his - his appetites were not weakened by age. I learned to please him, to degrade myself for his enjoyment, and to suffer his petty tyrannies.'

Her fingers clenched around the stem of her glass. 'At night I would flatter him, praising his wasted body, pressing my kisses upon the shrivelled flesh, and suppressing any revulsion I might feel for the living, lusting skeleton that was my husband. I complied with his every wish, submitted to every caress - I sank to the level of the lowest trull from the gutters of Paris. And every night I prayed that I might die. Each night for four long years I begged God to release me from my living hell.' She gave a trembling laugh. 'And it seems He heard me at last, for de Sange died very suddenly one night and I was a widow - a very, very rich widow. No, pray don't come near me!' she cried out in alarm as Ralph leaned forward in his chair. 'If you comfort me now I shall dissolve into tears, and I am resolved to finish my story. Let me but pause a moment to savour again the thankfulness I felt at that moment. I was then but one-and-twenty, but I felt I had already lived through two lifetimes. I did not know what to do. I had gone from a child of fifteen to a widow of twenty-one, I had severed all connection with my mother's relatives - I could not forget it was they who had arranged my marriage, and they had been amply repaid for their trouble. My one friend was Hannah, the English servant who had been with me since I was a child. It was she who arranged the burial, ordered my mourning clothes and persuaded me to accept the few invitations that came my way.' She looked at him. 'Paris would have opened its arms to me, had I so wished, for you see, the de Sange family is a very old and noble line, as well as being exceedingly rich. But I preferred to live quietly, until September last, when I met an Englishman named Poyntz, who - awakened old memories.'

She paused, but Ralph Belham remained silent, watching her and at last she began to speak again, her words almost tumbling over themselves as she told her story, her eyes never wavering from the crackling fire, as if she was reading her tale in the flames.

For some minutes after Elinor had finished, a heavy silence ensued. Ralph Belham sat in his chair, a deep frown creasing his brow and his normally smiling eyes very sombre. The sound of a log settling into the ash of the fire roused him from his reverie, and he leaned forward to throw more wood onto the flames.

'It is a fantastic tale, Elinor.'

'I know it. But it is a true one.'

'The list of names - where is it now?'

'At Knight's Bridge. I hid it before leaving for Weald Hall. Should Boreland's men search my house, I doubt they will find it. And even if they do,' she shrugged, 'the names are so engraved upon my mind I am not likely to forget them.'

'And what is your plan, to murder all the men upon that list?'

'If that is the only way to bring them to justice, yes.'

'You are a determined woman, Elinor de Sange.'

'I have years of hatred to repay.'

'Revenge is a canker, my dear, it will eat away at your soul.'

The green eyes regarded him steadily. 'It is all that keeps me living.'

He reached out for his pipe. 'Do you know, a very wise tutor of mine once told me that a man who studies revenge keeps his own wounds green.' He glanced across at her. 'You would do well to put your anger behind you, Elinor.'

'Sir, I cannot.'

'Aye, you have told me what you endured and in your place I too would want to be avenged, but the risk you run!' He saw the stubborn set to her chin and shrugged, knowing she would not heed his arguments. He rubbed his beard, staring thoughtfully into the fire.

'Let me see. Poyntz, Rowsell, Boreland and Thurleigh you have yet to tell me the fifth man upon your list.'

'A clerical gentleman, Bishop Furminger now what have I said to give you such amusement?'

Ralph Belham shook his head at her, still chuckling.

'Not content with wishing to tangle with one of the most powerful lords in England, you must needs add a Bishop to your list. Well, Madam, let no-one say you lack courage!'

Chapter Seventeen.

Revelation

Bishop Furminger was dozing before the fire at the modest little house in Islington that he had hired. A mild recurrence of the gout that had plagued him of recent years had coincided with an unfortunate misunderstanding between the himself and one of his footman (a very pretty young man who had quite misinterpreted his master's friendliness) and the reverend gentleman had thought it prudent to follow his physician's advice and take a break from his not very arduous duties. He had thus removed himself from his diocese for a period of recuperation, hoping that by the time he returned to his flock the rumours concerning himself and the young man who had been paid handsomely to disappear discreetly would have died down.

Raised voices penetrated his reverie and the sounds of a violent entry caused him to sit up with a jolt, turning a startled countenance towards the door. At the sight of his visitor, his round face grew pale, but he waved away his servant, who was vociferously protesting that he had been unable to prevent the unseemly intrusion.

'Yes, yes, go away, now, I will deal with this. Well, my dear Boreland, this is ah an unexpected pleasure. Will you not sit down? You must excuse me for not getting up to greet you, but as you can see, I am indisposed.' He waved one fat hand towards his left leg, which was heavily bandaged and resting upon a footstool.

'Your man told me as much.'

This reply was unencouraging, but the man of the cloth summoned up his most charitable smile.

'And what can I do for you, my dear sir?'

'I need your help to find a woman.' Boreland observed his host's look of surprise and gave a bark of laughter. 'Not just any woman, Furminger. The one I seek could be very dangerous.'

'And do I know the lady, sir?'

Boreland's dark eyes were fixed upon the bishop, watching him closely.

'Aye, my friend, you do. Perhaps you will recall a winter's night back in '45 when we were gathered together with certain friends.'

The bishop shuddered, his small mouth pursed in an expression of distaste.

'That is a time I have tried hard to forget. So close to disaster '

'You were ever the coward,' cut in Boreland contemptuously. 'Mayhap you remember we had a girl there that night?'

'You had a girl there.' Furminger was quick to correct him. 'I had nothing to do with that disgraceful episode.'

'Nevertheless, you were present, and as I recall you did precious little to prevent it. But we'll let that pass, for the moment. The fact is that the girl is now a woman. A remarkably beautiful woman, I might add. And she is bent on revenge.'

The bishop shifted uncomfortably on his chair, and when he spoke his voice was little more than a petulant squeak.

'But what has this to do with me?'

'I think she means to kill us all. Doubtless you are aware of the untimely demise of Julian Poyntz, and of Rowsell's sudden death?'

'Of course, but '

'I believe the woman was involved in both. I was to be her next victim, but I foiled her plot.'

'Well, I am sure you can deal with this matter without my help. After all, she is merely a woman; how can she hope to hold out against the mighty James Boreland?'

'How indeed, but I have yet to find her. The witch has disappeared. I had her safe, as I thought, at Weald Hall, but she escaped. I have scoured the countryside, and my men are watching her own house lest she return, but there is no trace of her. That is why I have come to you. It is possible that she has taken refuge with some parish priest, and while the fellow might not disclose the lady's presence to me, he would undoubtedly do so to a bishop. I want you to make enquiries, discreetly, of course, and should you be successful, you will inform me immediately, do you understand? The woman calls herself Elinor de Sange. She is the widow of some rich Frenchman.'

'Then is it not more likely that she has returned to France, or mayhap taken her husband's religion?' put in Furminger hopefully, 'I have no influence with papists.'

'My wife ascertained that although the woman lived for some time in France, she did not adopt the Catholic faith.' replied Boreland. He added dryly, 'Trust Isobel to discover that! No. Elinor de Sange is still in England. I know it, and I intend to find her.'

'But surely the woman is mad to seek revenge upon such a powerful man as yourself. Why put yourself to such trouble over a lunatic?'

For some moments Boreland did not answer, merely stood looking down upon the bishop. Should he tell him that the ruby brooch was missing, and that in all probability it was in the hands of Elinor de Sange? Observing the corpulent figure of the bishop, the protuberant blue eyes glancing fearfully up, then away, unwilling to meet his own stern gaze, he decided against it.

'Lunatics are always dangerous enemies. I would that this one was put safely away. Now, will you help me?'

'Oh, very well, sir. Pray summon my servant and I will send out letters today, seeking news of the woman.'

'Good. Then I shall leave you to your labours. And remember, Furminger, be discreet. I must not be connected with this matter.'

'Pray take your leave sir, and leave me to my task,' retorted the bishop peevishly. 'I am well aware that your opinion of me is not high, but you may rest assured that if there is one thing I have learned these past years it is discretion!'

James Boreland laughed, but as the servant entered at that moment he refrained from comment and took his leave, confident that his efforts to find Elinor de Sange would soon be rewarded.

Ralph Belham did not attempt to dissuade Elinor from her quest, merely extracting from her the promise that she would remain at the Green Dragon at least for a few more weeks until she was fully recovered. The return of his messenger from London the following day added a further reason to remain hidden. The young man had delivered Elinor's note to Hannah, as requested, and reported that the servant had been much relieved by the news that her mistress was safe. However, she sent a warning to Elinor: twice in recent days a stranger had been seen loitering upon the road outside the house, and Hannah was convinced they were being watched. Ralph's messenger had managed to steal away unnoticed under cover of darkness, but his tidings dashed Elinor's hope that Boreland would quickly give up his search, and she resigned herself with a good grace to a prolonged stay at the inn.

Despite her desire for revenge, she was grateful for the peaceful interlude. It could not last forever, she knew, but for the moment she was content to ignore the future. In Ralph Belham she felt that she had found a friend and they were soon upon the easiest of terms. He visited the inn as often as his teaching duties would allow, and although he could not disguise the warm look in his eyes when they rested upon her, he gave no sign of wanting more than her friendship.

His conduct set Elinor at her ease, so much so that she no longer shrank away from the friendly kiss he bestowed upon her cheek whenever he took his leave of her, nor did she object to the brotherly hugs he would sometimes give her. That he wanted her she had no doubt, and on the evenings that he rode out, coming back up the hidden staircase to her room in the early hours of the morning, she would invariably wake at the faint scraping as the wall panel opened and lie in her bed, holding her breath as he crossed the room. She kept her eyes tightly closed, but was aware that his footsteps halted beside her bed and she could imagine him, standing there, looking down upon her before moving on. And gradually, as the days passed, her nervousness subsided. She came to trust him.

Elinor had been at the Green Dragon for nearly three weeks when the weather worsened. The ground had grown ice-hard over the past few days, with clear skies producing sparkling morning frosts and clear, sunny days, but the wind had changed, and the heavy clouds brought the threat of snow. Despite Megs' misgivings, Ralph continued to patrol the night roads. The landlady shook her head over his foolhardiness, and was still voicing her concern one windy evening when she brought Elinor's supper to her room.

Elinor did her best to ally Megs' fears, but as she prepared to retire she could not but feel a little anxious for her friend. The wind was whistling about the house, and a glance through the shutters showed Elinor that it had begun to snow, tiny white flakes that swirled around on the frozen earth. Elinor built up the fire and retired to her bed, snuffing out her candle and burying her head under the covers, but she was unable to sleep. Twice she slipped from beneath the blankets to throw more logs upon the fire, but the night was well advanced when her straining ears caught the sound she had been waiting for: a muffled footstep upon the stairs, then the faint click as the wall panel swung open and Ralph Belham entered the room, wrapped from head to foot in black, with a scattering of white powdery snow upon his hat and shoulders. A cold blast of air accompanied him and Elinor pulled the blankets a little tighter about her. She lay still, watching him in the firelight, and as if aware of her scrutiny, Ralph looked around. He smiled at her, taking off his hat and shaking the snow from it onto the fire, where it hissed faintly before disappearing.

'I am sorry, did I wake you?'

'No. I could not sleep. I put more wood upon the fire in case you need to warm yourself.'

'That was kind of you.' He threw his hat on the table, then discarded his greatcoat and sat down before the fire.

Elinor slipped out of bed and put on her wrap, drawing it closely about her as she came across to the hearth, where she helped him to pull off his boots. Ralph laughed softly.

'Why thank you, ma'am! Ah, that's much better. ''Tis a damned cold night and for all the luck I had I may as well have stayed indoors instead of getting chilled to the bone.'

Having placed the boots on one side of the hearth, she returned to his chair and stood before him.

'There's snow on your collar, Ralph. Let me brush it away before it melts into your neckcloth...'

Her fingers flicked over his collar and, aware of his eyes, upon her, she looked into his face, a faint smile in her eyes. She did not protest as he pulled her down onto his lap and kissed her, instead her own arms crept around his neck.

'Your skin is very cold,' she murmured, 'my bed is warm. You had best share it with me.'

He held her away from him, a mixture of disbelief and amusement in his eyes.

Elinor touched his cheek. 'Come to bed, Ralph. It is quite ridiculous that you should have to sleep on that narrow truckle-bed downstairs when this one is wide enough for us both.'

She rose and he followed her across the room.

'My dear, are you sure this is what you want?'

'Yes,' she reached out for him. 'Yes, I am sure.'

Taking her hand, he sat down upon the bed and leaned over to kiss her. Elinor felt the rough tickling of his beard, still chilled from the night air. Then, when he had shrugged off the rest of his clothes he slipped between the sheets and Elinor warmed his cold limbs with her own soft body. She found herself considering the moment: it was the first time she had willingly embraced any man. She knew a fleeting moment of panic as she first touched his naked skin, but it was replaced almost immediately with a feeling of comfort, a security that she had not known for many years.

He kissed her, gently at first, then with a growing intensity as Elinor responded to his touch. For the first time she felt pleasure in a man's caresses; his hands gently explored her body, his fingers moving lightly over her thighs, arousing in her a passion as she had never known before. His body, firm and unyielding, was pressed against her and Elinor abandoned herself to the new and delightful sensations, forgetting everything in the pleasure of the moment.

Daylight was peeping through the cracks in the shutters when Elinor awoke, her body still wrapped around her sleeping companion. She lay very still, wondering at the feeling of peace that enveloped her. Until now the men who had used her body had done so purely for their own pleasures, but Ralph's gentle caresses had drawn responses from Elinor that had both surprised and delighted her. No man had ever given her such pleasure.