‘That, sir, is enough!’ Sir Richard grabbed Cranston by the wrist but the coroner shook him off.

‘That will do!’ Cranston was annoyed now by the arrogance of these people, thinking they could push him around whenever they wished. ‘I am an officer of the king, and the crown is involved. These charges may involve treason, conspiracy as well as murder!’

Sir Richard sat down again, breathing heavily. Lady Isabella linked her arm through his. She looked at him and shook her head.

‘My Lady,’ Athelstan said softly, ‘it is best if you tell the truth. You must! Your husband lies murdered. Two others have been brutally executed. The murderer may well strike again. Sir John and I go around London playing Blind Man’s Buff in this deadly game. Your husband, Lady Isabella, had secrets - that is why he was murdered. Brampton was supposed to have been the culprit but, due to chance and circumstances, we have ascertained he was innocent, and he, too, was murdered, though it was made to look like suicide. Vechey saw or heard something so he, also, was silenced. Now, Lady Isabella, on your oath to the new king, have you ever visited the apothecary called Simon Foreman?’

‘No!’

Athelstan stared back.

‘Did you love your husband?’

‘No! He was a gentle, kind man but he did not know me, not in the carnal sense. He had his own tastes . . .’ her voice trailed away.

‘A liking for young men?’ Athelstan asked.

‘He was a sodomite!’ Cranston barked. ‘He liked young men! He lusted after them!’ Athelstan stared at him and shook his head. Lady Isabella put her face in her hands and sobbed bitterly. ‘My Lady,’ Athelstan pressed her, ‘your husband?’

‘He left me alone. I made no inquiry into what he thought or did.’

‘You, Sir Richard, do you love the Lady Isabella?’

The crestfallen merchant pulled himself together. ‘Yes. Yes, I do!’

‘Are you lovers?’

‘Yes, we are.’

‘So you both had a motive?’

‘For what?’

Sir Richard had lost his usual ebullience. He slouched back in the chair, his face drawn as if he realised the mortal danger they were now in.

‘For murder, sir.’

The merchant shook his head. ‘I may have lusted after my brother’s wife,’ he muttered, ‘but not his life!’

‘In King’s Bench,’ Cranston barked, ‘it would not appear like that. It would appear, Sir Richard, that you lusted after your brother’s wife as well as his riches; that while he was alive you committed adultery with her and, with each other, you plotted together to carry out his murder and lay the blame on Brampton.’