Free Final Sacrament (Clarenceux Trilogy) by James Forrester Page B

Later it struck me that this is exactly what a woman who dressed as a man might do to conceal her identity. So my best guess is that this second man was a woman in disguise.”
    Rebecca stopped. “Did you not see fit to tell me this?”
    “I only thought about him being a woman after I sent to you. Would it have made things different? Would you have known them? My dear, you have to admit, you are something of an enigma. It is nearly two and a half years since we first met and yet I know so little of your life before then. You keep many things hidden. I would ask, but I am afraid of appearing to pry into matters that you very clearly wish to keep to yourself. I recall a man coming here not long after you had arrived. Immediately you had to go to him. I knew then that you had a past that you could not wholly leave behind.”
    “That was Mr. Clarenceux.”
    “Is he a past lover? Or, let me put it more discreetly: do you love this man from your past?”
    “With all my heart.”
    “Then you should go to him. We may need you here, but you must follow the path of your emotion. Feelings are the Lord’s way of guiding people in life, I believe.”
    Rebecca shook her head. “He is married. He loves his wife, and she is much younger than me.”
    “Ah.” Mr. Wheatsheafen looked down the lane toward his house. “In such unfortunate circumstances, the Lord Almighty can sorely tempt us. Perhaps that is what He is trying to do—test you, by making you love a man who does not love you. Virtue is your guide and your target.”
    “It is not that he does not love me. I know that he does. He and I shared an intense experience three years ago. It was very dangerous; we became very close. He would look at me and his eyes would linger, always that moment too long, and I would hold his gaze. But the fact is that he is married and loves his wife dearly; the affection he feels for me is secondary to that fact. But such things are settled—this is not about affection. If someone is searching for me, and knows I am here, then they have good information yet they are not friends. That in itself is worrying. Why are they looking for me? If it has anything to do with my experiences with Mr. Clarenceux, then I might be in serious danger, and so might he.”
    “Is that likely?”
    Rebecca looked over her shoulder. There was no one in sight; the lane was empty. She spoke in a low voice nonetheless. “You must not repeat this to anyone, Mr. Wheatsheafen. Not even your wife. Mr. Clarenceux has possession of a document that could destroy the queen—it proves that her mother was previously married to Lord Percy and so the queen is illegitimate. It was given to him by my late husband, Henry. Needless to say, there are a number of Catholic plotters who are prepared to do anything to seize it. My husband was killed by Francis Walsingham simply because of a suspicion that he would use it for revolutionary Catholic purposes. Two years ago last May, when Mr. Clarenceux came here to Portchester, it was because the document had been stolen. I believe he recovered it, although I never asked him and I have not been in communication with him at all since October of that year.”
    Mr. Wheatsheafen listened with the same careful attention with which he listened to patients telling him of their illnesses. At the end, he considered his prognosis and spoke solemnly. “On the one hand, Rebecca, I have always said you had some dark secret and that your past was not yet over. In that I am satisfied; the enormity of your situation does not disappoint. But I am not glad to be right, for I can see that it saddens you and makes you think about the past perhaps a little too much. There is a man there you must forget; you must leave both him and that awkward situation behind and live your own life, guided by God.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “As for your affection, I do know also that it is possible for a man to love two women. I still love my first wife dearly,