‘Speak up, girl, for we can barely hear your voice. I am sure you have a nice loud voice, for you are a fishergirl, are you not? Now pretend you are at the market selling your fish and use that loud voice,’ Lord Leith told her. ‘Now, hiding it from the Baxters is what you have just said. Hiding the baby from the Baxters. In other words, concealing it.’

Well, that went down well, and everyone in the room settled down with fresh snuff and confits for the rest. Joan cleared her throat and begged for water and sipped it, holding the cup between two shaking hands. Then she put the cup down and delivered the rest of her testimony, louder this time, gripping the edge of the table in front of her as though she might vomit with fear.

The labour had started shortly after midnight, Joan said. She had guessed at my condition and tried to get me to come home with her, but I had refused, desperate to get to London.

‘And what was it about London that so enticed your sister?’ pondered Lord Leith. ‘For she had few skills for city life. She could gut and sell fish, but clearly she thought she deserved better rewards.’

‘She had always yearned for London,’ said Joan. ‘She had an ambition to go there.’

‘And this ambition of hers. Would you say it was all-consuming?’

Joan nodded, looking petrified.

‘To the point where she would sacrifice anything? Even her own child?’

The room was silent for a heartbeat or two.

‘I cannot say, sir,’ stammered Joan. ‘I do not think she would have wished ill on the little mite. It was a darling little thing.’ Her eyes welled with tears and she bent her head down, almost folding herself over the table.

‘Straighten up, we are almost done. A precious little mite, I can imagine.’ Lord Leith addressed the crowd. ‘I myself am a father of three living children, and of one child who went to be with the angels. There is nothing that shows God in his mercy any clearer than the face of a newborn babe.’ His eyes welled with tears too. Everyone’s did.

Not mine, though. I was incandescent at the man. I willed Joan to see him for the bully he was and to stand up to him, instead of letting him talk down to her like this.

‘And did Mistress Dickson bond with the baby, when it was born? Was she enraptured with it, as mothers usually are?

‘I think she was shocked,’ said Joan. ‘We both were.’

The crowd were hooked on her every word.

‘Are you sure – beyond all doubt – that the baby succumbed to its own weakness? Was there ever a point when you turned your back on your sister and she might have smothered the baby? Held her hand over its mouth?’

‘I am sure that did not happen,’ said Joan.