Cardinal Monteria gently snatched the letter from Silas’ hand without a word and stepped to the window to read it, a lamp standing nearby. He recognised Poré’s firm pronounced letters on the envelope, a man confident in both himself and his thoughts.
It was only a short letter, written in haste, judging by some of the raggedly penned characters, a scruffiness which rarely blighted Poré’s usually immaculate hand. With minimal fuss he thanked Monteria for his last letter and his excellent news regarding the American Ambassador, of which Poré announced that he had been almost overwhelmed to hear. He also acknowledged the dangers which faced them, writing that he ‘would be taking steps to ensure that their plans go unimpeded by those who wish to thwart them.’
A wave of cold panic swept over Monteria and he swallowed on his dry throat, his eyes rising to the dark Paris skyline beyond his window as he wondered just what steps Poré might be inferring. He was aware of Silas’s eyes on him and he scolded the servant for remaining in his presence unrequested, ushering him away with a flap of his hand.
He stared back at the letter, grasping at the final words in the hope that they might give him something to allay his fears.
‘Cardinal Bishop Monteria. I will be joining you in Paris at the next available opportunity. I look forward to our meeting then.’