‘Heretics,’ she snapped triumphantly. ‘Well, they are getting their just deserts these days.’ Seeing my expression, she scowled, perhaps wondering about my own loyalties, although knowing Isabel she would have been careful to ensure I was – at least– neutral in religious matters before appointing me.

A movement outside caught her eye. She looked through the window and seemed to shrink for a second before setting her face hard again. There was a knock at the door and a minute later Vowell showed Coleswyn back in, together with three other men. Two were middle-aged fellows whom I guessed were the experts; they were discussing the various methods by which small monastic houses could be converted into residences. The third was Isabel’s brother, Edward Cotterstoke. I had seen him in court but, close to, the resemblance to his sister was even more striking: the same thin face with its hard lines of discontent and anger; the protuberant, glaring eyes, the tall, skinny body. Like the other men present he was dressed in a robe; in his case it was the dark green of a Guildhall employee, the badge of the City of London on his breast. He and Isabel exchanged a look of hatred, all the more intense somehow because it only lasted a second; then they both looked away.

The two experts, Masters Adam and Wulfsee, introduced themselves. Adam was a small, solidly plump man, with a ready smile. He grinned cheerfully and grasped my hand. ‘Well, sir,’ he said, ‘this is a strange business.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘Interesting little set of papers I read yesterday. Let’s see if we can find some answers, eh?’

I could tell at once from his manner that Isabel had made the wrong choice. Adam was clearly no sword-for-hire expert, but an ordinary man, unaccustomed to testimony, who probably saw this whole thing as an odd diversion from the daily grind. Wulfsee, however, Edward Cotterstoke’s expert, was a tall man with a severe manner and sharp eyes. I knew of him as a man who would argue a technical point to death for his client, though he would never actually lie.

Edward Cotterstoke looked at me, frowning, his back turned to Isabel. ‘Well, master lawyer,’ he said in a dry, grating voice. ‘Shall we get this done? I have left my work at the Guildhall for this – nonsense.’ Isabel glared at his back, but did not speak.

The experts went over to the wall painting and looked it over with professional interest. The servant, Vowell, had come in and stood unobtrusively by the door, looking unhappily between Edward and Isabel. It struck me that he probably knew as much of the family history as anyone.