‘Only when they can afford to, and that is often later than they would wish these days. As for the effects of the war, the taxation and the ruin of the coinage – well, your father still has his manor house, but his poor tenants will find it hard to pay the rent and eat.’

Nicholas shook his head firmly. ‘Now the war is over, prosperity will surely return. And the security of everyone depends on people staying within the ranks to which they were born. Otherwise we would have the anarchy of the Anabaptists.’

That bogey again. I said, ‘I confess that the more I see of mankind, the more I think we are all of one common clay.’

He considered for a moment, then said, ‘My family have been gentlefolk by birth for centuries. Since before the Conquest, my father says; since the Norsemen settled Lincolnshire. It is our heritage to rule.’

‘They became gentlefolk by conquest alone. The Norsemen took plenty from the English, as did the Normans. That is how most of our families become wealthy; I know, I am a property lawyer, I spend much time dabbling in ancient deeds.’

‘Land may be taken honourably in warfare, sir.’

‘As the Normans doubtless did from your Norse ancestors. You may have had more land once.’

‘Too late to fight for it now, I suppose. A pity, perhaps.’ He smiled.

I was starting to like Nicholas; he was showing signs of wit, and for all his upholding of gentlemanly conformity, he had himself defied convention. I said, ‘Well, we shall have the chance to talk more of land and who owns it as the new law term approaches. But now I must go home for lunch.’

‘Has there been any further progress on the murder of the printer?’ Nicholas asked.

‘No.’ I raised a finger. ‘And remember, do not speak of it.’

‘You have my promise as a gentleman.’

‘Good.’ My eye was drawn to Bealknap’s window. After lunch, I would lie down for an hour or two; I needed to rest. Then I would return.

I WENT HOME. As I walked up the path, Josephine appeared in the doorway in her new dress, a young man in a sober doublet at her side. Agnes Brocket held the door open, smiling at them, while Timothy stood at the corner of the house, looking on nosily. Josephine’s companion was in his early twenties, slim, dark-haired and moderately handsome; this must be the young man she was walking out with. She blushed as I approached, and the boy doffed his cap and bowed.

‘I am Edward Brown, sir. Servant to your brother-in-the-law, Master Peter Henning.’

‘Ah, yes. A good man. I was sorry to hear his wife died – some months ago, was it not?’

‘In December, sir. My master was much affected. He is thinking of retiring, going home to Norfolk.’

‘I hope he will not,’ Josephine ventured.