Page 136 of The Favourite

Oswald nodded. “There is something in what you say,” he conceded, “but really, Lemarchier does seem to have come to the end of his tether. If he was an agent of mine, I would have cut him loose long ago.”

Alisander pushed away his plate of uneaten beef stew. It smelled delicious, steeped as it was in red wine, almonds, and spices. However, he had no appetite since Jane’s visit. “How is it with the Queen?” he asked, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“She is still much incensed on your behalf,” Oswald assured him. “And makes many cutting comments to me whenever our paths cross.”

“I meant, how goes her rapprochement with the King?”

“All seems well on that front. Wymer languishes at her feet these days.”

“It won’t last, you know,” Alisander said fatalistically. Vawdrey’s smugness was irritating as hell. Alisander had never wanted to smash his composure as much as he did right now.

“Oh, I think it will last,” Vawdrey said sanguinely. “For the most part. Why should it not?”

“There are a thousand reasons.”

“I choose to be optimistic,” the annoying bastard responded. “At least the King is smitten, and it is in the Queen’s best interest to make sure he remains that way.”

Alisander snorted. “He should not be so damn obvious about it, then. Once she knows she has snared him, she will lose all interest.”

“Really?” Vawdrey sat down across from him. “You sound as though you speak from experience, my friend. Is that how it is with you?” He glanced at the chessboard. “Love, in your book, is a game to be played for mastery?”

Alisander glared at him. “I was not talking about me!”

“Something is different about you today,” Vawdrey said, tipping his head to one side. “I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“I have not bothered to shave,” Alisander said sulkily.

“Ah yes, that would be it. Your polished appearance is slipping. It is quite disconcerting.”

“Some spymaster, you are!” Alisander placed his arms on the table and then laid his head upon them.

“Perhaps you did not sleep well,” Oswald hazarded after a moment. “You made some complaint about the bed; I seem to recall.” Alisander did not bother to respond. Oswald regarded him in silence.

“How about we put an early end to this confinement?” he suggested at last. “It seems we have achieved our ends after all. Your sternest critics are chastened. Even the King pleaded with me only this morning to show leniency for his sake.”

“I told her that I loved her,” Alisander mumbled against his forearm. “And she did not reply in kind.”

“How very disobliging!” When he made no response, Oswald asked curiously, “How did she make reply?”

“She would not,” he answered bleakly, “not until I return home, she said.”

“My dear Alisander,” Oswald replied, not unkindly. “Your next move seems to me almost blindingly obvious.”

“How can I?” Alisander demanded. “I don’t even know where home is! Besides …” His words trailed off.

“Besides what?” Oswald asked with interest.

“I should likely wait it out.” Alisander forced himself to say the words. “Otherwise, this whole ordeal will have been in vain. We should see it through to the end, now however bitter.”

“Dear me, you have turned over a new leaf! What, might I ask, exactly is it you are waiting for?”

“Some private communication to reach me,” Alisander admitted reluctantly. He felt tired and dispirited. Too tired and dispirited for mystery now. “There are certain channels, you know nothing about,” he said grudgingly, “and I shall not tell you about them, so do not ask. I must wait until I hear via them, that Wilhelm gives me his support. There is a vast difference,” he said hollowly, “between public statement and private intent. Only when I have received these assurances, will I know it is safe for me to return.”

Enlightenment dawned on Oswald’s face. “Oh, you mean, one of these communications?” he asked, drawing forth three slips of paper from his cuff. “They all say the same thing,” he added helpfully. “You will need to decipher them, for they are in a code. If you have forgotten it, I can happily remind you of it.”

Alisander raised his head and stared at him. “You bastard, Vawdrey!” he said, snatching them from his unresisting fingers. “How long have you had these in your possession? If you tell me, it has been days that I have been wasting here—!” He ran through the series of letters and numbers, unlocking their meaning and muttering under his breath.

“Right,” he said, pushing away from the table. “Have the door unlocked. Fetch the guard, or issue the proclamation, or whatever it is you have to do.”