days of almost endless, exhausting practice.
On her third night of training, she was awakened by Agnes, who helped her dress. "What? Not more curtsy practice. Please, Agnes, I beg of you, allow me to sleep."
Agnes looked away. "I promise your ladyship. Not more curtsy practice this night. Be brave."
Meriel stumbled sleepily after her. "Brave? What could be worse?"
They came to a lower room with a burning brazier, and the funny little doctor, Wyndham by name, standing beside Chiffinch. The spymaster pointed to a stool near the brazier, and Meriel sat down.
"You have done well, Meriel St. Thomas. But to be Lady Felice in truth, both to Lord Giles and to the Dutch, you—"
To protect Agnes, Meriel had to pretend shock. "What do you mean be Lady Felice to the Dutch, sir? I know I'm to pretend to be the countess at Whitehall so that the enemy will not know they have lost their spy. I am even prepared to pass false information, but—" Quickly, Meriel stood, backing away from the brazier, for she had focused on a metal rod with a flattened end, glowing red hot in the sea coals. "No," she said, having no doubt as to the spymaster's plan.
"I must protest, sir," the doctor said, horror writ on his features. "The wound could fester and suppurate, beyond my powers to cure."
Chiffinch ignored him. "It is your choice, girl. You submit to becoming Lady Felice in all ways without question, or I am pleased to offer you a quick boat trip to the Clink prison, where you will be bound and thrown into the Thames some foggy night. I cannot risk that you might trade what you know to the Dutch for some revenge or benefit."
Meriel shivered, feeling the water close over her head.
Chiffinch smiled, which did not restore her confidence. "Submit to scarring, m'girl, and be successful in this wifely masquerade for only a month and—"
"A month! Blessed lord, how could I not be found out in such a time?"
"Mayhap two weeks," Chiffinch said impatiently. "Our captains report that the Dutch are on the move in the Channel. As soon as their fleet sails south, you will be substituted for their spy, Lady Felice."
"How substituted? And then what?"
"You will be told what you need to know as you need to know it. If you succeed in convincing the Dutch that you are Lady Felice, they will give you a fortune and sanctuary in Holland. If you do not succeed—" He made a cutting motion across his throat.
"Holland! Nay, I will not leave my country, not for any fortune."
For a moment, Meriel thought he would hit her or order one of the yeoman guards to put a pike through her chest. Still, she stood straight and as resolute as her quavering in-sides would allow.
Chiffinch spoke through clenched teeth. "If you are successful and make your way back to England from Holland, or perhaps convince the Dutch there is more service you can render from London—" He stopped, squinting at her.
She realized that he would promise her anything without any thought of keeping his word. Actually, the promise was less than she expected.
"—You will have a pension at one hundred pounds per annum and receive a small house and garden off the Strand. You have but one charge: never to tell your tale during your lifetime if you wish to end it in your bed."
Meriel flung his offer back at him, marveling at courage that did not seem her own. "One hundred pounds for a hot branding like any common pick-a-pocket, for being a false wife to an English hero, who has done no wrong, and lastly, for making a fool of a fleet of Dutch admirals, who are not fools. You demand much of a countrywoman and hold your spies cheap, sir."
The spymaster ground out the words: "Perhaps we could arrange marriage to an ailing country squire of good estate." He lost the last of his sorely tried patience. "Now choose, girl! I have not all night to argue with a serving wench!"
"No serving wench, sir, but the Countess of Warbor-ough." She resumed her seat, and lifted her hair. It was obvious which course was