‘Does nothing but talk of tomorrow’s party. All our neighbours are coming. You know what women are like.’ He looked at me shrewdly. ‘I think she’s forgotten any suspicions she had about what I might be doing. Let’s hope she goes on forgetting, eh?’ He raised his hand and I saw the bandage was off and the stitches out. ‘I’m ready for action,’ he said.

LATER THAT MORNING I crossed the sunlit Gatehouse Court to visit Treasurer Rowland. The old man was as usual seated behind his desk, his office shutters half-closed, and he greeted me with a curt nod.

‘I looked for you at Bealknap’s funeral on Saturday. I wondered if you would come.’

‘Actually, I forgot about it.’

‘So did everyone else. There were only me and the preacher there. Well, Brother Bealknap lies in the chapel now, under a flagstone like any other, with his name and dates of birth and death inscribed upon it. He merited no mausoleum.’

‘Poor Bealknap,’ I said.

‘Oh no,’ Rowland said. ‘Rich Bealknap. Much good it did him in the end.’ I did not reply, and he turned to the pile of papers on his desk. ‘Secretary Paget’s people have sent me more details about the French admiral’s visit next month. It is going to be an even bigger event than I thought. I’ll show you the correspondence. But first,’ his voice deepened, ‘I’ve got to waste my time on this nonsense.’ He pulled a letter from the pile on his desk and threw it across to me: Isabel’s complaint, two pages covered in her neat, tiny writing. As expected, it accused me, along with Philip Coleswyn, her brother and the expert Master Adam, of collusion to defeat her case, ‘out of wicked spite’, as she was of honest religion while we were all heretics.

‘It’s all nonsense,’ I said. ‘She chose that architect herself.’

‘Is he a radical?’

‘No. The accusations of heresy she sent flying around at the inspection scared him out of his wits. As I said, it’s all nonsense.’

Rowland gave his laugh, a sound as though rusty hinges were opening and closing in his throat. ‘I believe you, Brother Shardlake. It is years since you associated with the radicals; we spoke not long ago of how you have been careful. Though you did not attend Mass yesterday.’

‘Urgent business. I will be there next weekend.’

He leaned back in his chair and regarded me closely, stroking his long white beard with fingers stained black from a lifetime’s working with ink, as mine were. ‘You seem to attract trouble, Serjeant Shardlake, despite yourself. How did you end up working for this madwoman?’

‘Ill luck. Every barrister has such clients.’

‘True. I am glad I am out of such nonsense. What of this Coleswyn, is he a radical?’

‘He has a reputation as a reformer.’