‘You mean the children tried to poison him?’ Philip asked, horrified.

‘I don’t know that, I don’t know. But when I spoke to the cook she said the children had been round the kitchen that day.’

Philip’s voice was stern. ‘You should have spoken up.’

Vowell was looking at us anxiously now. ‘There was no evidence, sir. The children were often round the kitchen. Master Cotterstoke recovered. And I was just a poor servant; making an accusation like that could have cost me my post.’

‘How did the children react to Master Cotterstoke’s illness?’ I asked.

‘They went quiet. I remember after that, their mother looked at them in a new way, as though she, too, suspected something. And I thought, if she is suspicious of them, she will look out for her husband, there is little point in my saying anything. Yet it pricked my conscience, that I had not spoken.’ He added sadly, ‘Especially after – what happened next.’ He hunched forward again, looking at his feet.

I said, ‘The drowning?’

‘The coroner found it was an accident.’

‘But you doubted it?’ Philip said sternly.

Vowell looked up at that. ‘The coroner investigated everything, it is not for a servant to contradict him.’ I heard a touch of anger in his voice now. ‘There were enough unemployed servants trailing the road even back then.’

I spoke soothingly. ‘We have not come to criticize you, only to try and discover what caused the quarrel. We understand Master Cotterstoke went down to the docks on business that day, and you and another servant accompanied him and the children. And then after a while the children came back, saying they had been told to wait with you beside the customs house till he returned.’

‘Ay, that is what happened, as I told the coroner.’

‘How did the children seem when they returned?’

‘A little quiet. They said their stepfather wanted to look over some goods on a ship newly come in.’

I thought again, there was only the children’s word for that. Anything could have happened when they and Cotterstoke were alone. The children could have pushed their stepfather into the water. They would have been fourteen and thirteen then.

I asked Vowell, ‘Was Master Cotterstoke a big man?’

‘No, he was short and slim. One of those fast-thinking, energetic little men. Not like my first master.’ He stared up at the wall painting, where Edward and Isabel’s father, in his smart robes and tall hat, looked out on us with patrician confidence.

‘What were things like in the family after the drowning?’ Philip asked.