‘Even a superficial reading would identify the author.’ Lord Parr looked at the Queen. ‘It is, after all, a personal confession of sinfulness and salvation. It is obviously the Queen’s work.’ He shook his head. ‘But we have no idea who has it now, or how it came into Greening’s possession. The inquest was held two days ago; it returned a verdict of murder by persons unknown.’

The Queen looked at me. ‘We have been waiting like rabbits caught in a snare for something to happen, for the book to appear on the streets, but there has been nothing for eleven days save silence. We three have fretted day and night over what to do and decided the matter must be investigated, and not by someone closely associated with the court.’ She held my gaze, her eyes full of appeal. ‘And so Matthew, forgive me, my mind turned to you. But even now, I say again, I only ask if you will help me. I do not command; I will not. I have enough blood on my hands through my writing of that book; but for me, poor Greening would still be alive.’ She added sadly, ‘I meant only to do good, but truly the Bible says, “Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.”’ She sat back, exhausted.

I said – could only say, ‘How would you have me proceed?’

Cranmer and Lord Parr exchanged a glance. Relief? Hope?

Doubt as to the wisdom of placing this thing in my hands? Lord Parr stood abruptly and began pacing the room. ‘We have a plan, though you must tell us if you see flaws in it. The matter is urgent and I think must be approached from both ends. So far as Greening’s murder is concerned, agents of the Archbishop have spoken with his parents through their vicar. They know nothing of the book, of course, but want the murderer found. They live in the Chilterns, so cannot easily come to London.’

‘The Chilterns, yes.’ I knew the district had long been known for Lollardy.

‘They have willingly given you a power of attorney on their behalf. So far as they are concerned, wealthy friends of their son wish to discover his murderer, nothing more. Now the inquest is over, investigations have been left in the hands of the local constable, a man called Fletcher, a plodder. You will know, Serjeant, that if a murderer is not found within forty-eight hours the constables lose interest, as the chances of finding the perpetrator are slim. I should think Fletcher will be glad if you take over the work from him. Speak to Greening’s apprentice, his neighbours, his associates; look round the workshop. But say nothing about the book. Except to Okedene, who, thank God, is a man who knows how to keep his mouth shut. He is utterly loyal to reform and understands the importance of this.’ Lord Parr looked at me with steely intensity.

‘I will, my Lord.’