So that was why Rowland had been avoiding me: he wanted no association with matters of heresy if they became official. I had been concerned that Isabel had overheard Coleswyn’s words on the night of the dinner. Yet she had misremembered or falsified what happened: that evening Philip had adjured me to pray and study the Bible, as the only sure path to salvation. I had made no reply. And neither of us had mentioned the Mass. What Philip had said marked him as a radical reformer but not a heretic; just as, from what I had been told was contained in the Lamentation, the Queen’s views marked her. They were risky views to express, but not illegal. I frowned. Paget’s office must receive a dozen such letters a week, written from malice by quarrelling family members, former lovers, business enemies. At most, the accuser would be questioned by an official from the council. Why indeed had such nonsense been brought here?

Another door opened and Isabel, dressed in her finery as usual, entered. Behind her came the tall, black-robed figure of Vincent Dyrick. He looked uneasy.

Edward stared at his sister, a long, unfathomable look. Isabel, whose expression a moment before had been haughty as always, seemed to quail a little at the sight of these great men. She glanced quickly at her brother, who only stared back at her stonily. Then she curtsied. Dyrick bowed, rising to look at the men behind the table, his eyes scared, calculating slits.

Hertford said bluntly, ‘It is not customary for those brought before the Privy Council to be allowed lawyers.’

Paget answered firmly, ‘Two of the accused are lawyers themselves. In the circumstances it is reasonable to allow the witness her legal representative.’

I looked at the Secretary, the King’s Master of Practices; it was still impossible to discern whose side he was on. But someone had made a miscalculation if he thought Vincent Dyrick would help Isabel. He was obviously here under pressure; he was not a man who would willingly appear before such a powerful group to plead a pack of nonsense.

Paget addressed Dyrick. ‘We have been discussing the correspondence. You have copies?’

‘We do. And Mistress Slanning knows them by heart.’ That I could imagine.

Paget grunted, and looked at Isabel. ‘You say there was a conspiracy between these three men to cheat you, motivated by their being heretics?’

Isabel turned to Dyrick. ‘You must answer yourself, mistress,’ he said quietly.