‘Thank you, sir,’ she replied. Agnes appreciated compliments. ‘Josephine helped, didn’t you, dear?’ Josephine nodded, giving me her nervous smile. I looked at her. Her cruel rogue of a father had been my previous steward, and when I had – literally – booted him out of the house a year before, Josephine had stayed with me. Her father had terrified and intimidated her for years, but with him gone she had gradually become less shy and frightened. She had begun to take care of her appearance, too; her unbound blonde hair had a clear lustre, and her face had rounded out, making her a pretty young woman. Following my look, Agnes smiled again.

‘Josephine is looking forward to Sunday,’ she said archly.

‘Oh? And why is that?’

‘A little bird tells me that after church she will be walking out again with young Master Brown, that works in one of the Lincoln’s Inn households.’

I looked at Josephine. ‘Which one?’

‘That of Master Henning,’ Josephine said, reddening. ‘He lives in chambers.’

‘Good, good. I know Master Henning, he is a fine lawyer.’ I turned back to Agnes. ‘I must go and wash before my guest comes.’ Though goodhearted, Agnes could be a little tactless, and I did not want Josephine embarrassed further. But I was pleased; it was more than time Josephine had a young man.

As I left the kitchen, Martin returned. He bowed. ‘The table is set, sir.’

‘Good. Thank you.’ Just for a second I caught Josephine glance at him with a look of dislike. I had noticed it once or twice before, and been puzzled by it, for Martin had always seemed a good master to the lower servants.

GUY ARRIVED shortly after seven. My old friend was a physician, a Benedictine monk before the Dissolution of the Monasteries. He was of Moorish stock; past sixty now, his dark features lined and his curly hair white. As he entered I noticed he was developing the stoop that tall men sometimes do in their later years. He looked tired. A few months ago I had suggested that perhaps it was time for him to think of retiring, but he had replied that he was still quite fit, and besides, he would not know what to do with himself.

In the dining room we washed our hands at the ewer, put our napkins over our shoulders, and sat down. Guy looked admiringly over the table. ‘Your silver has a merry gleam in the candlelight,’ he said. ‘Everything in your house looks well these days.’

Martin knocked at the door and came in, setting out the dishes of salad, with herbs and slices of fresh salmon from the Thames. When he had gone I said to Guy, ‘You are right, he and Agnes were a find. His old employer gave him a good reference. But, you know, I am never at ease with him. He has such an impenetrable reserve.’