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taking his leave, he came quietly into the room.
    With a careless air, Mullin threw his cloak over his shoulder. Then he checked himself, turned back and faced Betsy. ‘Somecall us the Children of Judas, madam,’ he said, his expression bleak. ‘A fitting enough term, is it not?’ Then he went out.
    Eleanor came in and stood beside Crabb. Both looked at Betsy, but she barely noticed them. Instead she gazed at Mullin’s empty cup, on the floor where he had left it.

Chapter Seven
    T HE NEXT DAY , to her dismay, Betsy learned that she would have to take ship again. The town of Delft, it seemed, was some distance away, and travelling by road would be difficult. So the party, which now consisted of a Captain and Mrs Mullin and their servants, would embark from Neiuwpoort by coastal barque to the port of Rotterdam on the River Maas. From there it was but a short journey to their destination.
    ‘It’s for the best,’ Mullin told her. ‘The weather’s fair, and we’ll have time to converse.’
    He, Betsy and Peter Crabb stood in the square, which was now bustling with life. The day was indeed fine, and Mullin appeared in good spirits for a man who’d had only an hour’s rest. Peter Crabb, who had slept in the stables, said little. To Betsy’s eye, Mullin’s promise to ‘smooth things’ between himself and the young man was yet unfulfilled.
    ‘Then it seems I’ve no choice,’ she answered. ‘But I can’t promise to keep my stomach from rebelling.’
    ‘Nonsense, this will be a pleasure trip.’ Mullin smiled at her, and at that moment Eleanor emerged from the doorway of the inn with her baggage. So without further delay the group set off.
    The barque, it turned out, was open-decked, which in one way was a relief to Betsy. With a fresh breeze about her, she thought she might manage the voyage up the coast without mishap. When she found out how far Rotterdam was, however, she balked. 
    ‘Seventy miles? But we’ll be at sea for days!’
    ‘Two, I expect,’ Mullin replied. ‘We’ll put in tonight along the way … speaking of which, how much money do you have?’
    ‘I was given a purse of fifty guilders,’ Betsy told him, which prompted a curse.
    ‘That skinflint Williamson. He’s no better than his master!’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘I mean fifty guilders amounts to only five pounds. Our esteemed Secretary of State, Lord Arlington, is a miser – and so is his underling, that wily Cumbrian!’
    ‘Well, this is no place to speak of it,’ Betsy said quietly. They sat in the stern with the better-off passengers, women in hooded cloaks and gentlemen in feathered hats. Eleanor and Crabb were forward, among the other travellers.
    ‘But it is,’ Mullin countered. ‘It’s the perfect place. For none of these Hollanders understands English.’
    ‘How do you know they don’t?’
    ‘Because I speak enough of their tongue to understand
them
.’
    The boat was leaving the mouth of the River Yser now, and venturing into the open sea. As its sails filled, Betsy recalled Williamson’s letter. ‘Perhaps it’s time you shared some of your knowledge with me,’ she said.
    ‘I’d prefer you to tell me what you know first,’ the other replied.
    Just then the vessel heaved. So, partly to keep her mind off the matter of seasickness, Betsy decided to give her fellow intelligencer a full account of her time in the King’s Bench, with all that she had learned from Venn. When that was done, she spoke of the orders Williamson had sent, which puzzled her.
    ‘Why do you think he was so insistent that I report only to him, and stay away from our ambassador?’ she asked.
    Mullin frowned. ‘Well might you wonder. The truth is, Williamson likes to keep everything to himself. He may be Arlington’s man, but there’s little love between those two. Each hides intelligence from the other.’
    At that Betsy gave a sigh of exasperation. ‘Cods,’ shemuttered. ‘Does no one trust anyone else in this bear-pit …