Free Act of Faith by Kelly Gardiner Page B

over Simon’s desk. ‘May I help you?’
    ‘Fra Clement — what are you doing here?’
    ‘God’s work, my dear.’ He put down a clutch of documents and straightened his cassock. ‘No business of yours.’
    ‘Of course,’ I said quickly. I scanned the room. ‘I’m sorry. I’m looking for Simon.’
    ‘He’s out, apparently. I was waiting for him myself.’
    I started to edge out of the doorway. ‘I’ll come back later.’
    ‘In this weather?’ He glanced at the window and the driving sleet outside. ‘Nonsense. Have you brought Simon a message from your master? Shall I pass it on to him for you? Then you can run home and get warm.’
    I hesitated.
    ‘Surely, after all these months, you have learned you may rely on me, Isabella?’
    ‘It’s not that, sir,’ I stuttered.
    He smiled, and raised one hand as if to take a vow. A fat goldring glimmered red in the light from the fireplace. ‘I solemnly promise I will not forget to pass on the message.’ Then he stretched his hand towards me.
    ‘It’s just …’
    There was something odd in his smile, his gesture.
    ‘Actually, I’m not delivering anything,’ I said. ‘I’m here to collect a manuscript.’
    I am not a convincing liar, but it seemed to work.
    ‘Then you must wait with me, it would seem, and we can greet Simon together on his return.’ Fra Clement made himself comfortable near the fireplace and began stoking the coals with a poker.
    ‘I have some other errands — I’ll finish those and come back later,’ I said.
    I curtseyed awkwardly and backed into the hallway. In my rush to get away, cloak pulled down over my face, I collided with Simon on the street corner.
    ‘There you are, child,’ he said. ‘I was hoping to hear from you today.’
    ‘I brought a message, but Fra Clement — he’s in your house,’ I said. ‘Waiting for you.’
    ‘Do you still have the letter?’
    ‘Here.’ I shoved the roll of paper into the palm of his hand. He hid it quickly under his coat. ‘I didn’t — that is, Fra Clement, he offered —’
    ‘You did the right thing, Isabella.’
    ‘My master says that the friend you are expecting will arrive on Sunday.’
    ‘Good.’ He paused. ‘Did you tell Fra Clement about our … friend?’
    ‘Of course not,’ I said.
    ‘You’re a good girl.’
    ‘Don’t you trust him?’ I asked, slightly shocked at my own thoughts, my own words.
    ‘Not so loud.’ Simon lowered his head until it was close to mine. ‘Your master is the most optimistic of Jews. He trusts Catholic monks and Protestant printers. I am different. I have seen too much to trust anyone — present company excepted, of course.’ He patted my cheek and smiled. ‘Off you go, now. Tell that old rascal I’ll be along to see him in the morning.’
    As I ran past him, into the next street, I heard him call out: ‘Ah, Clement, what are you doing loitering outside in this weather? Why aren’t you in by the fire?’
     
    Our guest arrived late on Sunday evening, when Willem was out of the house. I answered the quiet knock on the kitchen door. Simon greeted me politely, but didn’t introduce the man who stood, muffled thickly against the cold, just behind him.
    ‘Is he in?’ Simon asked.
    I nodded. ‘Upstairs.’
    Simon said something in an unfamiliar language to the stranger and he bowed slightly to me. I smiled.
    ‘You are welcome here, sir.’ I said it in French but he didn’t reply. ‘Come in out of the cold.’
    ‘We’ll find our own way,’ Simon said. ‘But perhaps you could spare us some supper? Our friend has had a long journey.’
    ‘Of course. I’ll bring it up.’
    By the time I had prepared the supper, Master de Aquila had shown our guest to his room in the attic.
    ‘Take it up, take it up! What are you waiting for? The poorman is half-starved.’ He waved me on up the rickety stairs to the very top of the house.
    The stranger was unpacking, standing at a large table that had been shoved into one corner. The