WE TOOK A BOAT into the City, then walked up to Walbrook. I had dressed in my robe and my best doublet and urged Barak to borrow my second-best robe to conceal his bandaged arm.

A maid answered the door. 'Is Sir Edwin in?' I asked. 'I am Master Shardlake.'

Her eyes widened a little; she recognized my name. I wondered how much the servants knew of what had happened here.

'He's at the Mercers' Hall, sir.'

'Goodwife Wentworth, then?' The girl hesitated. 'Come,' I said briskly, 'we have business with Lord Cromwell at Whitehall today. Is your mistress in?'

Her eyes widened further at Cromwell's name. 'I'll see, sir. Please wait.' She left us at the door and scurried off into the house. Minutes passed.

'What's keeping her?' Barak asked irritably. 'Let's go in.'

I held him back. 'She's coming.'

The girl reappeared, looking flustered. She took us upstairs, and once again we were led into the parlour with its tapestries and cushioned chairs, its view of the garden and the well. The room was cold today. This time the old woman was the only member of the family present. She was still dressed in black, her dark hood highlighting the paleness of her lined face. The young steward Needler stood behind her, his broad features impassive but his eyes watchful. The old woman had evidently just eaten, for a tray stood on a table at her elbow, with the remains of a dish of spring vegetables and a hunk of cold beef. I saw that the empty plate, the mustard pot and the little salt cellar were all of silver.

Goodwife Wentworth did not get up. 'You will forgive me if my steward stays, Master Shardlake. There are no other members of the family at home just now.' She smiled. 'He can be my eyes. Tell me, David, who is it that accompanies him? He has the steps of a young man.'

'A bald young fellow,' Needler said insolently. 'Though he dresses well enough.'

Barak gave him a steely look.

'He is my assistant,' I told her.

'Then we each have a chaperon,' Goodwife Wentworth said with another smile, showing her horrible false teeth and wooden gums. 'Now, what may I do for you? I understand the business is urgent. Elizabeth returns to court tomorrow, does she not?'

'She does indeed, madam, unless fresh evidence can be brought. Evidence, for example, of what lies at the bottom of yonder well in the garden.'

'Our well?' she asked quietly. 'Whatever can you mean, sir?' Her composure was remarkable.

'The bodies of the animals your grandson Ralph tortured and killed for sport are there. Including Elizabeth's cat that Sabine and Avice brought to him. And a tortured child, a little beggar boy. Whom Needler must have seen, but which you said nothing of at the inquest.' I looked from one to the other of them. They were silent, their faces expressionless.

'The boy had things done to him that would make a hangman sick,' Barak added.

The old woman laughed then, a shrill cackle. 'Are they mad, David? Are they frothing at the mouth, plucking straws from their hair?'

I spoke evenly. 'It must have been hard, these last weeks, for your granddaughters to keep such a secret.'

'Elizabeth is my granddaughter too,' the old woman said.

'Sir Edwin's children are all you have ever cared for. Them and their advancement.'

She was silent for a long moment. Then her lips set hard. 'I see you have learned much.' She sighed. 'It seems I must tell you all. David, I would like a glass of wine. Master Shardlake, you and your assistant will have one?'

I did not answer, surprised by the speed of her capitulation. I looked at the steward.

His face was tense, anxious.

'Get some wine, David,' the old woman said quietly.

Needler went over to the buffet, then turned to his mistress. 'The family had the last of it yesterday, madam. Shall I fetch another bottle from the cellar?'

'Ay, do that. I will be safe enough, I think.'

'Quite safe,' I replied grimly. Needler left the room. The old woman worked her hands in her lap, playing with her gnarled, beringed fingers. 'Elizabeth has spoken, then?'

'Reluctantly, yes. To us and to your son Joseph.'

She pursed her lips again. 'My family has come far,' she said quietly. 'If Edwin had been like Joseph we would all still be country clods, working at that dreary farm. But Edwin has brought us advancement, wealth, the chance for his children to mix with the highest in London. It has been a great consolation to me in my blindness. Now that Ralph is gone our hopes rest on good marriages for Sabine and Avice. It is all we have left.'

'Are they safe for a young man to marry? After what they have done?'

She shrugged. 'They only need a strong lusty fellow to take them in hand.'

Needler returned with a bottle of red wine and three silver goblets on a tray. He laid it on a table and gave a goblet to the old woman, then passed the others to Barak and me. His face was expressionless as he returned to his place behind his mistress's chair. Why were they both so calm? I wondered. I took a sip of the wine. It was sweet and sickly. Barak took a large draught.

'The truth, then,' Goodwife Wentworth said decisively.

'Yes, madam, the truth. If not here, then in court tomorrow morning.'

'Elizabeth will speak for herself?'

'Whether she does or not I shall bring forward the evidence I have. This is your chance to tell me the truth, madam. Perhaps-' I paused, taking another sip – 'something may be done.'

'Where is Joseph?' she asked.

'At his lodgings.'

She nodded then paused, gathering her thoughts. 'David saw it all,' she said. 'From this window. He was cleaning the tapestries; it is a task I trust only to him.' She hesitated a moment, as though listening for something, then continued.

'Elizabeth was in the garden alone that afternoon, sulking as usual. She would have done better to stand up for herself, the way she used to cower in corners like a pissing woman only encouraged the children to be cruel. And children are cruel, are they not? As a hunchback you will know that.'

'Yes they are. Which is why adults must correct them. And they were three against one, were they not?'

'Elizabeth was almost an adult. A great girl of eighteen afraid of a twelve-year-old boy.' She gave a snort of contempt. 'The day Ralph died he had gone down to the garden, to Elizabeth. He sat on the edge of the well and spoke to her. You could not hear what he said, could you, David, through the window?'

'No, madam.' He looked at us and shrugged. 'He was probably tormenting her, perhaps talking about that cat of hers he killed. She just sat under the tree and took it as usual, her head bowed.'

The old woman nodded. 'If she'd any courage she would have got up and boxed his ears.'

'The favoured son?' I said. 'Sir Edwin would not have been pleased.'

Goodwife Wentworth inclined her head. 'Perhaps not.'

'Did you know your grandson had killed a little boy, madam?' I asked. The steward laid a warning hand on her arm, but she shrugged it off.

'We heard the boy had disappeared. I wondered. I knew the things Ralph did and I was waiting for a chance to speak to him about it – I feared he was placing himself in danger. My son Edwin knows nothing,' she added. 'He believed Ralph could do no wrong and I thought it better he kept that belief. He has enough to worry about with his business.'

'You did not fear Ralph was growing into a monster?' I coughed. My throat was suddenly dry.

She shrugged. 'If Ralph did not grow out of his cruelties he would have learned to conceal them. People do.' She sighed. 'You go on, David, this is tiring me. Tell them what happened next.'

The steward looked at us intently. 'After a while Sabine and Avice came outside and sat with Ralph on the edge of the well. They joined in baiting Elizabeth, I think. But then Ralph said something to Sabine. Something she did not like.'