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life.’
    The maid was still struggling to quieten Jacoba, and Chaloner was not sure what to do. There were no words he knew to comfort
     her, and it was possible that his presence might exacerbate her distress – he had, after all, gone home to sleep, rather than
     ensuring that her husband arrived safely at the Savoy. But he was loath to slink away until he was certain there was nothing
     she wanted from him.
    But Jacoba was a strong-minded woman, like her sister had been, and once the initial shock had worn off, she dismissed the
     maid and indicated that she wanted to speak to him alone. Ruyven was reluctant to leave her, and Kun and Zas were obliged
     to pull him away. None went far, though, and Chaloner knew they were hovering just out of earshot, lest they were needed again.
    ‘I knew Willem was dead the moment I realised he was missing,’ Jacoba said, when the door had closed. ‘We were married for
     fifteen years, and wives just
feel
these things. But it was still a terrible thing to hear even so. Do you know how it happened?’
    ‘He drowned. Ruyven and the others think it was murder.’
    ‘Do you?’
    ‘I will look into it, and if they are right, I will find his killer. I promise.’
    She shot him a wan smile. ‘Thank you. I suspect you are his sole hope of justice. Ruyven is brave and determined, but he is
     a stranger here – he will fail if
he
tries to investigate.’
    ‘He is brave and determined,’ agreed Chaloner, recalling that these were the qualities Aletta had admired. Of course, Ruyven
     was also surly, feisty and bore grudges.
    ‘He is not the hot-tempered youth you knew,’ Jacoba went on. ‘He has learned how to be gentle, although Willem says … Willem
said
he is dangerous, and would not like him as an enemy.’
    ‘Did he?’ asked Chaloner. Ruyven was one of those Dutchmen who thought a pact with Britain was a mistake. Could
he
have drowned a man whose death would deal peace a heavy blow?
    ‘Ruyven did not hurt Willem,’ said Jacoba quickly, seeing what he was thinking. ‘He liked Willem and considered him a friend.’
    ‘Did Willem make any enemies while he was here?’ Chaloner asked, thinking he would make up his own mind about what Ruyven
     might or might not do.
    ‘Well, there are three hundred thousand Londoners who do not want a truce. Your countrymen itch for war, although it will
     cost them dear – in money and well as lives.’
    ‘Not all of us are spoiling for a fight,’ objected Chaloner. ‘Clarendon wants peace, and so do—’
    ‘Clarendon is a bumbling old man whom everyone ignores,’ Jacoba interrupted bitterly. ‘Heer van Goch is wasting his time here.
     And my poor Willem has wasted his life.’
    ‘Does “Sinon” mean anything to you?’ asked Chaloner, after a short and uncomfortable silence.
    Jacoba frowned. ‘No, why?’
    ‘Willem had the word sewn into his stocking, along with “Visit new gate”.’
    Jacoba’s eyes filled with tears. ‘That would have been a message for you. You are the only one who knows about his habit of
     hiding valuables in his hose.’
    Chaloner did not believe that. ‘There must be others who were aware of—’
    ‘No,’ interrupted Jacoba. ‘It was a family secret. And they are all dead now, except you and me. If he sewed words in his
     stockings, then
you
were the one he wanted to communicate with.’
    ‘Or you,’ Chaloner pointed out.
    Jacoba smiled rather sadly. ‘He did not trust women with business matters. But he trusted you. He told me so the night before
     he went missing.’
    Chaloner regarded her unhappily. Did this mean Hanse had anticipated that he would die, and had worn those particular hose
     in readiness? And if so, had there been more messages in the other stocking? But then he thought about Hanse’s last evening:
     he had not behaved like a man on the brink of death.
    ‘May I see his other hose?’ he asked eventually.
    Jacoba stared at him. ‘You think he might have embroidered more words