The Quality of Mercy
A thrilling story set in Elizabethan London, from New York Times bestselling author Faye KellermanOne wrong move could lead to death…1593. Rebecca Lopez, daughter of Queen Elizabeth’s physician, enjoys a seemingly privileged life at Court. Yet she guards a dangerous secret. She is Jewish – and her forbidden faith could bring her downfall at any moment.One night, infuriated by the restrictions imposed upon her, she slips out of her household, disguised as a boy. There she crosses paths with a dashing and daring young man – a young man by the name of Will Shakespeare.As a dutiful Jewish daughter, Rebecca never considered falling in love with such an unsuitable man. But as she and Will become ensnared in a dangerous web of intrigue, secrets and murder, they must protect each other if they are to escape alive…
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The Quality of Mercy
Faye Kellerman
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in the United States by William Morrow, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers, 1989
This ebook edition published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019
Copyright © Plot Line, Inc. 1989
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018
Cover photography © Shutterstock.com
Faye Kellerman asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © April 2019 ISBN: 9780008293543
Version: 2018-12-12
Thanking the translators: Maribel Romero,
Phyllis Elliott, and Miriam Lewis.
And a special thanks to John and Mary Jane Hertz—
two people worthy of their titles.
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Map
Lisbon, 1540
Chapter 1
London, 1593
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Historical Summary
Keep Reading
About the Author
Faye Kellerman booklist
About the Publisher
As I see the first hint of sunlight, the death march begins. We advance toward the Terriero do Paco—the great city square adjacent to the Royal Palace on the seafront.
Leading the processional is Don Henrique—the Inquisitor General of Portugal by appointment of his older brother, His Royal Highness John the Third. Don Henrique is an ugly man—lean, with an avian nose, and black eyes set so deeply that the sockets appear hollow. His thick beard—a weave of bronze, copper, and iron—is meticulously shaped to a dagger point. His dress is appropriately august—official: floor-length black robe and cape, white clerical collar, and black trapezoidal hat. Dangling from his neck is his scallop-edged crucifix of gold, inset with topaz, lapis, aquamarine, sapphire, and topped with a finial of diamonds. A haughty man, Don Henrique always wears jeweled crosses. Gilt bible clutched to his breast, eyes fixed straight ahead, he presses on slowly but inexorably, prepared to carry out the work of his God.
Following the Inquisitor are four rows of black-garbed monks. Around their necks are unadorned crucifixes fashioned from the heavier base metals. Rigid and stone-faced, they carry black-covered bibles and hold aloft crosses and banners. They chant low-pitched dirges as they trudge forward on sandaled feet.
Behind the clergy are the royal officials and the black-hooded executioners—the secular arm of the law. Their ranks advance in taut, military fashion—arms swinging with pendular precision, not a boot out of step.
We are at the rear of the retinue. The victims—the wretches. We are heavily guarded and hold lighted tapers that spit fire into the early morning sky. Some of us endure the ordeal with stoicism—posture erect, gait sure-footed and strong. That is how I walk. Others about me seem stuporous, stumbling off-balance, as if being yanked forward by an invisible harness. The weakest weep openly.
