He looked down as well, and at his frown of faint confusion Mary took the letter in her hand and read the passage that offended her, as evidence might be read out in court to the accused: “A report (which I never heard of) it seems was spread when I went abroad that I had carried all off in money to the Pretender, and that reached this place, and sometime after my arrival I was taken up and everything I had seized. If my intention had been to assassinate the Pope they could not have used me any worse. This is what you write, sir, to your father. From this room, this room, where you are kept and fed and sheltered by the kindness of that king you would deny as a pretender.” Mary was so angry at this new betrayal she could feel the paper trembling in her fingers, and she dropped it as though it were poisoned.

“But my dear. You must consider what I’m writing may be opened, may be read.” He was trying to calm her, she knew. To cajole her. “And you of all people should know that one tailors the tale to the listener.”

She paused and collected her thoughts before answering, knowing in one sense that what he’d just told her was true, and yet knowing it was for that reason she could not believe him.

“The thing is,” she said, in a voice that surprised her with how small it sounded, how sad, “it is one thing to tailor the tale, and another to tailor yourself—for by doing the first you may only lose sight of the truth, but by doing the latter you stand then to lose your original form so completely you are become naught but a cipher, a nothing, that changes as smoke changes shape on the wind, and is lost and forgotten as quickly.”

“My dear.”

Mary steeled herself against the part of her that even now sought to pity him, seeing the good in him, wanting to think what he said was sincere. She said only, “Good-bye, Mr. Thomson.”

And turning, she left him alone with his writings that may or may not have been speaking the truth.

* * *

Captain Hay was in the courtyard, talking to another man whose back was to her, so she could but guess from his expensive suit of clothing that he was a man of some importance, with a fine and educated voice that, like the captain’s, had retained its Scottish intonations.

“—likes it very well indeed,” the man was saying. “He is missing the company of the Duke of Liria, naturally, for they were always very close, but General Lacy keeps him well amused and our friend Admiral Gordon is as kind to him as ever. I have just in fact sent several pounds of snuff by ship from Leghorn to St. Petersburg for Admiral Gordon to pass to my brother.”

“If he does not use it first.” The captain smiled. “I miss the admiral. Though I dare say he has not the opportunity for mischief he once had. When last he wrote me, he was waiting for his granddaughter’s arrival on a ship from Leith, and I believe Sir Harry Stirling and the admiral’s daughter Nan now have two children of their own to keep him busy in St. Petersburg.”

“All men must settle, in their time. And I am glad to see the admiral so well set in Petersburg, and General Lacy too, for they are worthy of it. Better they rise by their merit in Russia than molder away here.” His voice had grown cynical. “To see some of our old gentlemen, once clever men, turned to old women here in Rome is a melancholy sight. ’Tis why I am so often in the country.”

“Where was it this time?” asked the captain.

The other man named the place, which meant nothing to Mary, adding, “You ought to have come with us. It is only twenty miles from Rome, and the shooting was excellent.”

“Next time.” The captain had noticed her now.

Through all their talk she’d stayed discreetly to the side, not wishing to intrude, but when the captain greeted her it made the other man turn too, and Mary recognized him then, for she had seen him walking in the street with Hugh—the Earl Marischal.

Mary’s curtsy was low, from respect for his noble rank, but also because it allowed her to divert her gaze from his, which for some reason seemed to be trying to measure her. “My lord,” she greeted him when they were introduced.

“Mistress Dundas.” The earl was a well-formed man of about forty years old, with a long nose and strongly arched eyebrows and keen and intelligent eyes. “Do forgive me for detaining Captain Hay with gossip.”

Captain Hay said, “I have been detained by more than that, my lord. I’ve been told I must wait for a messenger sent by His Holiness, who would have me carry something in private to give to the king, so I very much fear,” he told Mary, “we cannot go yet. If you’re anxious to leave, I could try to have one of the guards—”

“I can take her.” The Earl Marischal had a genuine smile. “If she’ll have me as escort.”

She looked at him and took his measure in her turn, and took his arm.

She was glad to be free of the Castel Sant’Angelo. Glad to be free of its sighs and its sufferings, and of the darkness that seemed such a part of its stones. Outside its walls the air felt softer and a little warmer even though the afternoon was coming to its end, the angels casting longer shadows on the bridge while golden light spilled down the ripples of the River Tiber. The prospect of the great church of St. Peter’s in the distance was so lovely Mary could not help but keep her eyes upon it while she walked, in hopes that she might fix within her memory how it looked with the sun striking it at just that angle, turning it to something from a dream.

The earl looked down at her. “This is the first time you have been in Rome?”