'Someone I met at the Guildhall.'

'I've only had one customer of your class,' she said. 'And he is dead.' To my surprise I saw tears in the corners of her eyes. It seemed Michael Gristwood's feelings for her had not been one-sided. She continued to look at me fearfully. How had they realized so quickly I was not an ordinary customer? I studied her scared face a moment, then laid my satchel on the edge of the bed and sat down carefully.

'I swear I mean you no harm,' I said soothingly, 'but I am here to enquire into the death of Master Gristwood. I am a lawyer.'

'I know nothing of his death,' she said quickly.

'I didn't think you did. I only want to know what he talked about with you. Did he mention his work?'

I saw her glance at the door and lowered my voice.

'You will be paid, I'll see to that.' I paused, then said, 'You cared for each other?'

'Yes.' Defiance entered her face. 'We both needed kindness and we gave it to each other. Madam Neller didn't like me getting close to a client but it happens.'

'How did you meet?' I felt pleased with my quick progress.

'He came here one day with some Augmentations clerks. They'd come on a roist south of the river and ended up here. Michael pleasured me, he made me laugh and he visited again on his own. He had a hard time with his wife. He said she had no laughter in her.'

'I've met her. Not a merry soul.'

'But he told me nothing of his work.' She looked at the door again, her bruise showing livid. I wondered if the madam had given it to her.

'He didn't say anything about some papers he had, or anything he was working on with his brother?' I asked gently.

'I know nothing,' she said, her voice trembling. 'I told the others-'

'What others?' I asked quickly.

Bathsheba pointed to her cheek. 'The ones who gave me this.'

Heavy footsteps sounded outside. I heard someone whispering to the madam, then started back as the door was flung open. Two men stepped into the room. One was a bald, hulking fellow carrying a club and the other a stocky young man whose features were so like Bathsheba's he could only be her brother. I recognized him at once: he was the man I had seen in the Gristwoods' yard. He held a long dagger, which he pointed at my throat as I jumped up from the bed. I caught a glimpse of the madam's worried face before the big man shut the door and stood against it.

'He hasn't hurt you, Sheba?' the young man asked, never taking his eyes from my face.

'No, George, but I was afraid the boy wouldn't find you in time.'

'Has he hurt you?'

'No. I kept him talking. About Michael again.'

'Pox on Madam Neller, letting these shits in at all.' He turned to me. 'We've got you this time, matey. You won't get away with hitting a defenceless woman.'

I lifted my hands. 'There's a mistake, I swear. I never met this girl before today.'

'No, but your pock-faced mate did that came and beat her last week. He'd have killed her if one of the other girls hadn't run for me.' He turned to his sister, clenching his fists. 'Is it him in the other room? The pock-faced man? Or that lump of a confederate of his, with the wens on his nose?'

'Madam Neller says no. She's keeping him occupied.'

'A pock-faced man?' I asked. 'Tall and very pale? Asking about Michael Gristwood?'

'Ay, your confederate.'

I considered shouting for Barak, but Bathsheba's brother had a desperate look and could slit my throat in a moment. I forced myself to speak calmly. 'Please listen. That man is after me as well – he tried to kill me yesterday. I mean no harm, I wished only to ask Bathsheba about Master Gristwood-'

'He was asking the same questions,' Bathsheba said. 'About Michael's papers, his brother's work. He says he's a lawyer.'

The young man's eyes flashed angrily. 'I didn't know they allowed hunchbacks to be lawyers.' He stepped closer and held the dagger to my neck. 'If you're a lawyer, you're working for somebody. Who is it?'

'Lord Cromwell,' I replied. 'My assistant has his seal.'

Bathsheba's brother and the big man at the door exchanged a look. 'Oh, George,' Bathsheba groaned, 'what have we done?'

The brother grabbed my arm and slammed me against the far wall, the knifepoint pressed against my throat. 'Why? God's death, how is he involved in this?'

'George,' Bathsheba cried out then, wringing her hands, 'we have to tell them everything, we have to throw ourselves on their mercy-'

George turned to her angrily. 'Mercy? Cromwell? No, we'll kill the crookback and his mate and dump their bodies in the Thames, there'll be nothing to show they were ever here-'

There was a yell from the madam standing outside, then a loud crash. The man with the club staggered across the room as the door was flung open. He landed on the bed and Bathsheba screamed. Barak lunged in; he had unsheathed his sword and now he brought it down on George Green's knife arm as he turned. Green yelled, dropping the dagger.

'You all right?' Barak asked me.

I gasped. 'Yes-'

'I heard these fellows in the hallway, though they tried to muffle the noise they made.' He turned to George, who was gripping his arm, blood running through his fingers. 'You'll be all right, matey, I just cut you. I could've had your arm off, but I didn't. In return you can do some talking-'

'Look out!' I shouted. The big man had jumped up from the bed and raised his club, ready to smash it down on Barak's head. I threw myself at him and managed to throw him off balance. He staggered against the wall. Barak turned and in that moment George grabbed his shocked-looking sister by the hand, threw open the shutters and jumped from the window, Bathsheba screaming as she followed. The big man steadied himself, dropped his club and fled through the open doorway.

Barak ran to the window. 'Stay here!' he shouted as he jumped after Bathsheba and her brother, whom I could just see disappearing round a corner. I sat on the bed, trying to gather my wits. After a few moments I realized the house was totally silent. Had everyone fled? I wondered. I lifted myself from the greasy bed and, picking up George's dagger, walked back to the dining chamber. The girls and their customers had gone. The madam sat alone at the table, her head in her hands. Her shock of red hair, evidently a wig, lay among overturned tankards. Her own hair was thin and grey.

'Well, lady?' I said.

She looked up at me, her expression despairing. 'Is this the end of my house?'

I sat down. 'Not necessarily. I want to know about Bathsheba's doings with Michael Gristwood, and the attack on her. Was that attack the reason you were worried when we came asking after her?'

She nodded, then looked at me fearfully. 'I heard you mention Lord Cromwell's name,' she whispered.

'Ay. I work for him. But he doesn't care what trugging houses there are in Southwark so long as the owners don't cross him.'

She shook her head. 'The girls shouldn't get involved with the customers. It happens sometimes when a girl isn't pretty or getting past her prime, and Bathsheba's past twenty-five. Sometimes they fancy themselves in love. Not that I'd anything against Michael Gristwood, he'd a merry way with him for a man of law. Some afternoons we all sat round this table together laughing. But when he was alone with Bathsheba he'd start crying and bewailing his woes.' Her mouth twisted bitterly. 'He should have my troubles, have a mark like this.' She pointed to her cheek. The 'W' stood out clearly in the dim light; ashes would have been rubbed into the burn to ensure the mark never faded.

'So you discouraged Bathsheba.'

'When I saw she was getting in too deep. These things always end in trouble.' She looked at me with hard blue eyes. 'There were things Gristwood told Bathsheba that worried her, I knew that. He was in trouble of some sort.'