‘Paget, of course, as Master Secretary. But if he had a spy in the Anabaptist camp, whether Curdy or McKendrick or both of them, that would have been in an official capacity, and as soon as they had taken Askew’s book, or the Queen’s, he would have had to arrest everyone in the group and report to the King. And I am sure Paget has no loyalty to either faction. He survives, the Master of Practices, by taking orders only from the King. But the other courtiers – Gardiner and his hirelings Wriothesley and Rich – yes, if they got wind of an Anabaptist group, they have the resources to infiltrate it. It is just the sort of business Rich would be good at. But how would they get wind of it? It seems Rich got lucky only in finding that the gaoler Myldmore had Askew’s book. Unless Rich was lying,’ he added slowly, turning to me.

‘I still think Rich knows nothing of the Lamentation.’

‘We must find that Scotchman,’ he said again emphatically. ‘It is very likely he was the spy.’

I considered. ‘My assistant suggested there could have been some sort of double agent, working for a master at court while keeping his Anabaptist beliefs. In that case, it is likely he would seek to keep the Lamentation safe.’

‘Anything is possible. Only finding McKendrick will solve that mystery.’

‘Thinking of Rich, if his only interest was Anne Askew’s book, since that is now gone I do not think he would put any more resources into finding McKendrick.’

‘No. That would indeed be shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted.’

I looked at him. ‘But if he is interested in finding the Scotchman, that would indicate he is interested in something more – the Lamentation, perhaps.’

Lord Parr considered, then nodded. ‘Yes, that makes sense.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Either way, Rich will be sweating in his shoes, dreading the day Anne Askew’s words appear in print in London, smuggled back from Flanders.’

‘Yes, he will be.’ I could not help but feel satisfaction.

‘Go and see Rich now,’ Lord Parr said. ‘Find out how the land lies. I must go to the Queen, see how she fares.’ He bowed and then turned, in his abrupt way, and walked slowly back towards the Queen’s chambers, leaning on his stick. I took a deep breath. A little way off I heard laughter and saw a couple of ladies throwing seed to the peacock.

LATER THAT DAY I went again to the house in Needlepin Lane to see Stice. I asked Nicholas to attend me. As we walked down Thames Street I thanked him for saving my life. ‘I shall not forget it,’ I told him.