‘And you say that only Sir Thomas, then Sir Richard and Lady Isabella’s maidservant, went along the Nightingale Gallery?’

‘Yes, I am certain of that.’

‘And you are sure that Sir Thomas was not disturbed during the night?’

‘Yes, I told you, man!’ she snapped. ‘I am a light sleeper. I heard no one.’

‘And you, Father Crispin?’ Cranston leaned sideways to catch a glimpse of the young clerk’s face. ‘You went up the next morning. Dame Ermengilde heard you go along the Nightingale. When you failed to rouse Sir Thomas you went for Sir Richard whose chamber is on the adjoining passageway. Sir Richard came back with you. You were unable to arouse Sir Thomas so you asked the servants to break down the door?’

‘Yes.’ The priest nodded, his eyes bright. ‘That is exactly what I did.’

‘When the room was broken into, all of you here were present? You went in. Sir Thomas was sprawled on his bed, a cup of poison on the table beside him. Nobody said anything . . .’

‘Except Vechey!’ Allingham broke in. ‘He said, “There were only thirty-one!”'

‘Do you know what he meant by that?’ Cranston asked.

‘No, I wish to God I did!’

‘The physician was sent for,’ Cranston continued.

‘Master de Troyes. He came. He examined Sir Thomas’s corpse, pronounced him to have been poisoned, and claimed the potion was placed in a half-drunk cup of wine beside Sir Thomas’s bed. Now Brampton was last seen late in the evening taking a wine cup up to Sir Thomas’s chamber and was not seen alive again. The next morning, after Sir Thomas had been discovered dead, Brampton’s corpse was found swinging from a beam up in the garret. Master Vechey was here when Brother Athelstan and I came to the house for the first time. He went out late on the same evening, God knows where, and was found hanging from a beam under London Bridge. Now we have evidence which we will keep privy for the time being which will prove that neither Brampton nor Vechey committed suicide. Though, Lady Isabella, we are no further forward in resolving the mystery of your husband’s death.’

‘It could still have been Brampton!’

It was Buckingham who spoke. Cranston looked at him.

‘What makes you say that?’

The clerk shrugged. ‘I accept you have your own reasons for claiming Brampton did not commit suicide but that does not mean he is innocent of Sir Thomas’s death.’

Cranston grinned.

‘A good point, Master clerk. You would make a good lawyer. I shall remember that.’ There was a sudden commotion at the door. A servant scurried in, leaned over Sir Richard’s shoulder and whispered in his ear. The merchant looked up.

‘Sir John, there is a messenger, a cursitor from the sheriffs office, who wishes to speak to you.’

‘I will see him, Sir Richard, by your leave. Tell him to come in.’