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Master Mew had given the Queen. Pulling myself together and attempting to contribute to the conversation, I made some remark about Paul Fenn and what a smart young lad he was, and Lady Mildred said he was a treasure.
    “He’s from a good family, of course. The Fenns are Sussex people. They’re an old family though not especially wealthy. I believe Paul’s home isn’t far from Faldene, where you were brought up. In fact, I think they know your Uncle Herbert and your Aunt Tabitha slightly—not that that is a recommendation! But young Paul seems none the worse for it.”
    I agreed that Paul Fenn did not seem to have been contaminated by my uncle and aunt, and then, by way of a further contribution, I made a comment about the new wallhangings. One particular panel had caught my eye. It showed a unicorn trapped in a circle of people with hounds and spears. The spears pointed down at the doomed creature, which occupied the centre of the picture and the heart of a deadly vortex. But its head was high and its single horn proudly defied the spears.Glistening highlights, made of paler threads, lay along the spearshafts and on the folds of a huntsman’s pushed-back sleeve.
    “Surely, that’s a copy of a Brussels design,” I said. “When I lived in Antwerp with Gerald and he worked for Sir Thomas Gresham, we often went to Gresham’s house. He had a copy of that. It’s called The Hunt of the Unicorn. But this is finer. There’s silk in those highlights.”
    “Quite right,” Cecil said. “This was made in the Giorgio Vasari workshop in Florence. You can see the workshop’s monogram—the G and V intertwined, down in the righthand corner of each panel, with the initials of the weaver as well—HH for Hans van Hoorn—alongside it.”
    “A Flemish weaver?” I asked.
    “Yes. Bernard Paige, the merchant who sold those tapestries to me, knows the background of all his wares and will lecture you on them for hours if you give him the opportunity! According to Paige, this man, van Hoorn, is one of several Flemish craftsmen brought into the Vasari weaving shop a year ago to copy famous designs. Paige is importing the copies and they’re selling well. The Queen has commended his enterprise. She wants England to attract wealthy merchants and fine merchandise. Prosperity means solvency and that’s one way,” Cecil said, “of keeping enemies at bay.”
    “Such as Mary Stuart,” remarked Lady Mildred.
    With that, the talk veered for the first time towards matters political, and from that moment, I sensed that it was no longer desultory, and that Cecil had begun to guide it. He spoke, with seeming casualness, of thepossible future of young Mary Stuart of Scotland, now that she was no longer Queen Consort of France.
    “She may marry again soon. There’s been talk of Philip of Spain’s son.”
    “I hardly think so,” said Lady Mildred with a sniff. “Don Carlos is said to be deformed and intermittently mad. It’s more likely that the wretched girl will come to Scotland and plant herself as a permanent nuisance on our doorstep.”
    By the time the sweet dishes were brought in and we were choosing between honey and saffron quiche or cheesecakes flavoured with rosewater, the change in the atmosphere was unmistakable.
    Cecil, putting a half-eaten cheesecake back on his dish, met my eyes and said, “The servants will not come back into the room unless I call them. It is time we came to the point.” The line between his eyes was very noticeable. This time, I guessed the cause was worry. “I wish we need not ask you,” he said abruptly. “Tell me, how went your last session with Master Bone?”
    “Quite well, I think. I need practice but I hope to become proficient quite soon.”
    “I don’t doubt it,” Cecil said. “You have an unusual gift for this type of work, Ursula, although I shall never feel it is suitable for a young woman, least of all a young married woman. Frankly, I’m glad to think that after this you will