I SAT BESIDE PHILIP on his bed and looked at Edward. I feared the state he was in, what he might blurt out when brought before the council. He was sitting up now, his head bowed. I whispered to Philip, ‘He told you he killed his stepfather?’

Philip nodded sadly. Edward had heard me, despite my lowered voice, and looked up, still with that expression of despair. ‘Yes, I killed him, a man who was guilty of nothing, and I must answer to God for it. I have hidden the truth from myself and the world for forty years, blamed Isabel for everything, but now the secret is discovered I must answer for it along with her. Somewhere in my heart I always knew this time would come.’

‘What happened, Master Cotterstoke, all those years ago?’ I needed to try and reach this shocked and devastated man.

He was silent a moment, then said quietly, ‘Our father was a good man. Isabel and I were always quarrelling, but though it merely annoyed our mother, our dear father would always settle things between us, bring us round. He was our rock. When he died, the sorrow, for Isabel and me – ’ He shook his head, fell silent.

‘And then your mother married again?’ I prompted.

‘When our father had not been in his grave a year.’ I heard a touch of the old anger in his voice now. ‘Another few months and her belly was swelling with a new child. She fawned on Peter Cotterstoke, ignoring Isabel and me. How we hated him.’ He looked at me. ‘Have you brothers or sisters, sir?’

‘No, but I have seen families broken by hatreds before. Too many times.’

Edward shook his head sadly. ‘Children – their minds can encompass such wickedness, such depravity. We were sure Peter Cotterstoke would give everything to his new child and disinherit us. Though we had no evidence.’ He shook his head. ‘We started by doing little things, stealing possessions of his and destroying them. Sometimes the idea was mine, more often Isabel’s.’ He shook his head. ‘We got bolder; we burnt a book he valued – in a field, dancing round the little fire we made, tossing in the illuminated pages one by one. We were wicked, wicked.’

‘You were but children,’ I said.

He looked back at me bleakly. ‘We tried to poison him. Not to kill him, not then; just to make him sick. But he was ill, very ill. We thought we would be discovered, but he never suspected us.’ He shook his head sorrowfully. But your mother did, I thought, and watched for her husband. But not close enough.