Anselm returned to St Catherine’s and rang Victor Brionne.
‘I think we ought to have another talk.’
‘Why? As a result of our last conversation, I came to the court. Now, after my performance, I have lost my son. I don’t think you and I have anything else to say to one another.’
‘I want to talk about Agnes Aubret.’
‘What’s the point? Your curiosity has too high a price.’
‘She’s alive.’
‘No, she’s not,’ he barked. ‘I should know.’
‘Victor, I know her granddaughter. Agnes survived. She is here in London. I will be seeing her within the next few days with a message from Mr Snyman.’
The line went deathly quiet. Anselm could hear the intake of breath.
‘Snyman?’
‘Yes. Victor, listen to me. Agnes is seriously ill. She will soon die. Now is the time to let out what you’ve kept back for fifty years.