Was Oakshott safe enough for him? In imagination she paced its uneven passages, crooked staircases and warren of servants' quarters and attic rooms. According to Susannah, Nicholas Owen, a genius at carpentry, had visited the house and burrowed his way into ceilings and floors to create hiding places for priests and other Catholics on the run from pursuivants. Somewhere a false brick floor covered a secret ladder and behind a certain panel was a tiny room. The authorities had turned the house over so often that they thought every cavity had been found, but they were wrong.

Maybe even now the Jesuit was gliding upwards behind the wall or worming his way along this very ceiling. Isabel hated to think of him so undignified. She remembered his long legs clearing Aunt Teresa's rosemary and couldn't help smiling again.

Actually of course he would still be downstairs with grandmother in the hallowed circle of their intimacy. Later she would bring him upstairs to one of the empty rooms on this second floor. He could sleep safely at Oakshott, guarded night and day by servants who had grown old in Anne's service.

In the morning the household was summoned one after another to confession in the chapel. Edmund Thewing was absent from the schoolroom only ten minutes but his brother AIan took longer than half an hour and came back with an unusual flush in his pallid cheeks and a refusal to meet Edmund's mocking eye. Isabel's turn came after Susannah who was gone for ages. Not that she could have committed many sins, of course. She probably had minute scruples of conscience to discuss.

Alone, Isabel crept upstairs to the chapel. The door at the end seemed more charmed than ever for behind it was the priest. She waited, very still, breathing the warm scent of resin from the eaves.

Be ready, Isabel, she told herself. This is your moment. Susannah opened the door with exaggerated care and slid out, hair combed sleekly under a white cap, heavy eyelids downcast, a faint smile- on her lips.

She's trying to look like a nun already, thought Isabel, dropping a little curtsey. But her time with him is over and mine is to come, so for once I'm best off.

Inside the chapel, cool morning light flowed~ across the little folding crucifix on the altar. The priest was seated on a bench, hunched over himself. Isabel felt a stab of envy because she was the merest dab of a girl in a tight bodice and stiff skirts while the priest in his plain robes was all clean lines, significance and knowledge.

She knelt beside him and murmured: 'In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus. . .' Her nervous voice died. Never had she felt so full of silly ideas. This man had been called to change the world and here was Isabel Stanhope bothering him with a list of dull failings.

'I had an unkind thought in Vespers. . .

'I'm envious of my cousin for being more pious than me..:

There was no reaction from the priest though she was so close to him she could see the light brown curling hairs on his wrist. His hands were very fine but roughened and probably strong. She hated to think of them performing stealthy acts; dropping a latch in the dead of night or clearing a pathway through dense undergrowth. He should be in a proper church standing before a thousand people. Last night when he gave the blessing he had flung his arms wide like Christ on the cross.

A little catch was released in her mind. Say more, Isabel, speak the truth. Her voice sank lower. 'I was angry with my grandmother for criticizing me yesterday evening. But Ithink she's right. I want to be good but I can't keep hold of my thoughts. Inside my head I mock everyone. I can't seem to I2 help myself, even though Iknow I'm the most sinful of all: He was still bent over, his face covered by his hand. How terrible to waste his time like this, she thought, shaking.