Now he’d have to produce a document that didn’t exist, and produce it in a convincing form. It was a painstaking task that would take him hours even once he’d laid hands on the right materials.

“May I see it now?” she pressed.

“My private papers are not here. They’re in safekeeping elsewhere,” he said. “I’ll fetch them and you’ll see it in the morning.”

“I would have thought they’d be safest under your eye,” Phoebe said with her customary bluntness. “It seems strange to hide them elsewhere. You have no other shelter but your stepfather’s roof, or so you’ve always said, now that you’ve been discredited with the king. Where would you put private papers? In a tree, or under a stone? Or are they with some friend? Although I didn’t think you had any left after you switched sides.”

Brian listened to this artless speech that had gone straight to the heart of the single flaw in his hastily concocted explanation.

“If I were to tell you, they would no longer be in safekeeping,” he stated dismissively. “You know nothing about the work I do. It’s beyond your ken, my dear girl.”

Phoebe considered. If his work was all to do with stealing and borrowing and spying and hiding, then she wasn’t sure she wanted to know about it. But the fact remained that he knew what he was talking about, and he was offering to help her as a by-product of helping himself. Why shouldn’t she take advantage of it?

“Show it to me in the morning, then,” she said. “Now, can we look at your sketches?”

“Most certainly.” Brian smoothed the papers out on the linen shelf. “This one should be made up in linen, a loose weave, to accentuate the flow of the skirts.”

“What color?”

He looked at her consideringly. “A gold or bronze,” he said. “Now, this one in cambric. A simple patterned cambric.”

“They look very sophisticated,” Phoebe said in some awe. “For everyday gowns, I mean.”

“Compared with your present everyday gowns, they are,” he said bluntly. “It shouldn’t take the seamstress more than a week to make these up for you. Less if she has help. Then I suggest you throw away those dreadful garments you persist in wearing. And why don’t you do your hair the way I recommended?”

“It takes so long,” Phoebe said apologetically. “It doesn’t seem worth it when I’m just doing ordinary things in the house or the village.”

“Now that,” Brian scolded, “is a great piece of nonsense. You should always look your best, whatever you’re doing. Cato has always appreciated the finer points of women’s dress. What do you think he must think when he sees you dressed like that?” He gestured to her old gown. “That you don’t care to please him?”

“Oh, but I do!” Phoebe exclaimed. “Indeed I do.”

“Well, I know that, but does he?” He smiled suddenly. “Come, now, Phoebe, you must make the most of yourself. You have much to make the most of.”

He turned to the door before she could recover from the careless compliment, saying over his shoulder, “If your husband returns this night, maybe you’ll have the chance to get the imprint of his keys. Do you have wax?”

“It’s easy enough to acquire,” Phoebe muttered, still taken aback by the turn in the conversation. In these matters she trusted Brian’s judgment absolutely, and while, because she knew he was right, it was most unpleasant to be taken to task by him, by the same token, such a compliment had the ring of truth. And that was as disconcerting as the rebuke.

Brian nodded his agreement and left the stillroom, his mind swiftly turning to the next stage as soon as the door closed behind him. He needed materials in order to forge a document that would satisfy Phoebe. He’d have to ride into Oxford for what he wanted. There were those in headquarters who could provide him with what he needed. A copy of the king’s signature and the heavy parchment the king would use, paper that bore a convincingly important seal.

It could be done; it was just a nuisance. But it would be worth it in the end. Once he had the Granville seal in his possession, then he could wreak merry hell among Parliament’s men.

Of course, no document incriminating the king would be forwarded to Cromwell, but Lord Granville would be responsible for any number of leaked documents containing top secret information sent under his seal to the king. Once Brian had a key to the marquis’s desk and thus to his private papers, there was no limit to what havoc he could wreak.

Brian had practiced over the years forging his stepfather’s signature, but the opportunity to use it had never before presented quite such heady possibilities. It wouldn’t take long before the entire fabric of Parliament’s command structure was in tatters. And if Cato was executed for treason, then Brian’s dirty work would have fallen to another hand.

It was all highly satisfactory, despite this minor inconvenience. Brian set his horse to a gallop along the Oxford road.

“The king’s escape alters matters considerably.” Lord Fairfax scratched his nose with the tip of his knife as he leaned over the map spread out on the long table.

“I see no way to intercept him on his way to the Border, although we’ll send a party in pursuit. But there are any number of routes he could take,” Cromwell said sourly.

“It prolongs matters some,” Cato put in. “But eventually he’ll renege on whatever promises he makes to the Scots… or they’ll impose conditions that he can’t even pretend to agree to… and they’ll turn him over to us.”

“You hope so, I assume?” Cromwell regarded him with a frown.

“I know so,” Cato said firmly. “What we do with him when we have him will then be a matter for discussion. But I see little point in argument until he’s in our hands.”

“Granville speaks truth,” Lord Manchester said. “Let’s not squabble over the final outcome until we have the possibility of a final outcome to hand.”

“We could have that now if the king had not been permitted to gallop away from a sizable troop of our militia,” Cromwell stated.

There were only the four men in the large ground-floor room of the farmhouse. Cato said quietly, “Oliver, if it was a mistake, then I beg indulgence. It was growing dark. We came upon them suddenly. There was no indication that the king was among them.”

“You wouldn’t expect there to be,” Cromwell growled.

“No, indeed not.” Cato shrugged. “I doubt there’s a man among us who hasn’t seen an opportunity slip through his fingers.”

“Aye, there’s truth in that,” Lord Manchester declared. “Let’s move on to other matters, Oliver. Of pressing concern is this business with Walter Strickland. We’ve had no information from the Low Countries for two months now. The two agents we’ve sent to contact him have failed to return. It seems imperative to me that we discover if Strickland is still alive. If he is, then his dispatches are not getting through to us.”

“And now, with this new development, it’s of paramount importance we discover what position the king of Orange will take in supporting Charles in his bid for protection from the Scots,” Lord Fairfax said.

“He’ll support him if he agrees to establish the Presbyterian Church in England,” Cato observed, moving away from the table, his hand absently stroking the hilt of his sword. “But will kinship ties prevail if Charles loses Scottish support?”

There was a moment of silence as the four men considered this. Then Cromwell said, “We need to send someone to find Strickland and bring him back if he’s still alive. We need face-to-face discussions now; dispatches are too uncertain.”

“I’ll go,” Cato said quietly. “This situation needs a more than ordinary ambassador. And there are no pressing military concerns while the king’s pushing his way up to Scotland. Hopton in the West Country has thrown in the sponge. There are no more significant pockets of resistance.”