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Guy eyed him dourly. Remaining out of sight in his own room would have been preferable to his situation downstairs, and Catsby knew it. “Be that as it may, I assume you have good reason for summoning me in the middle of the day.”

“Aye. And for having you visit the undercroft.” He hesitated. “You went, I assume.”

“I did. It was unneedful. The place was just as I left it two nights past.”

Relief eased Catsby’s tense expression. He pointed to a stool. “You’d best be seated. We have much to deliberate.”

“I thought the time for deliberation was long past.”

“As did I.” There was a hardness to Catsby’s voice. “But you may wish to reconsider after you hear Wintour’s report.”

Guy’s impatience was mounting. Wintour was here to report? So much the better. He would rather hear the bad news for himself than receive it through numberless channels. “What have you to tell me, Wintour?” he asked.

The tall, dark-haired man took a seat on one of the other stools. “Thomas Ward came to me late last night with an alarming account.”

“Thomas Ward?” Guy looked from Wintour to Catsby. “Who is that?”

“Manservant to Lord Monteagle and a reliable source,” Catsby said. “He’s been known to share valuable information with Catholic loyalists in the past.”

“Very well,” Guy said. “What did he have to say?”

“A stranger approached him outside Monteagle’s manor and gave him a missive for his master,” Wintour said. “Monteagle was hosting a dinner party and had Ward read the message before the entire group. It was a warning. No details were given, but Monteagle was told that if he valued his life, he should refrain from attending the opening of Parliament and remove himself to the country instead. It further said that no one would know the source of the upcoming blow to Parliament.”

Guy stared at Wintour, a cold chill coursing down his spine. “How did Monteagle and his guests respond?”

“According to Ward, there was a mixed reaction, but it ended with Monteagle leaving posthaste to inform Cecil of the anonymous message.”

Guy swore. “And Cecil? Has he acted?”

“We have heard nothing more,” Catsby said. “But Cecil is not known for sitting idly by.”

The reason behind Catsby’s pressing request to check the contents of the undercroft suddenly became glaringly clear. As did the danger inherent in accomplishing the task.

“You thought to give me no warning of this ahead of my visiting the undercroft this morning?” Guy said.

“There was no need.” Catsby was infuriatingly nonchalant. “I knew full well that you would employ the same caution with or without the additional information. And committing such intelligence to paper only invites disaster.”

Under present circumstances, Catsby’s argument could hardly be refuted.

“Who wrote the missive?” Guy asked bluntly. “The number who know of our plot is limited, and you have had time to ponder upon each man’s innocence—or lack thereof.”

“It has to be Tresham,” Wintour said. “His sister Elizabeth is married to Monteagle, which gives him reason to warn the nobleman.”

Catsby visibly bristled. “You think he would break his oath so quickly?”

“Tresham has not been with us long enough to prove his worth or his loyalty,” Wintour retorted.

“It does not follow that those traits are lacking,” Catsby said. “His joining us at this late juncture was my choice, not his.”

“Who would you accuse in his stead?” Wintour asked.

“I am accusing no one,” Catsby said. “Least of all you, Wintour. I believe it safe to say that no one in this room is culpable, and so I suggest that before we leave, we determine who amongst our group cannot be trusted and whether or not our plans must irrevocably change.”

“Agreed,” Wintour said. “But surely, to move forward now, with Cecil forewarned, would be sheer foolishness.”

“Not at all,” Guy said. “If the note was as cryptic as you suggest, Cecil knows nothing of substance. Regardless of whether his suspicions have been heightened, he has no reason to suspect a cache of gunpowder lies beneath the House of Lords.” He stood and began pacing. “The months of preparation, the gathering of gunpowder, horses, and men, the carefully formulated timetable for each part of the scheme—from the capture of the heirs to the throne to the commissioning of a ship to facilitate an escape. This groundwork cannot be abandoned on a whim.”

Catsby sat forward, his gaze unwavering. “You are willing to enter the undercroft and light the fuse alone, as planned, despite the warning Cecil has received?”