'They say at the guild, you have some other business now.' She eyed me severely with little blue eyes that stood out sharply in her painted face. 'The disgraceful business of the Wentworth girl.'

'I am defending her, yes.'

She went on staring at me. 'Sir Edwin is devastated by what happened to his son. He deplores that his wicked niece should be allowed to delay justice. My husband and I know him well,' she added, as though that were the last possible word on the matter.

'She is entitled to a defence.' I noticed the duke had turned to Marchamount and was talking to him earnestly, ignoring the Vaughan boy, who sat staring down the table, quite at sea. Thank God the duke had showed no sign of recognizing me.

'She's entitled to hang!' Lady Mirfyn would not let go. 'No wonder the City is crawling with impertinent masterless beggars when justice is seen to be evaded so! Edwin doted on that boy,' she added fiercely.

'I know it is hard on Sir Edwin and his daughters,' I said mildly, hoping the woman would not go on like this all evening.

'His daughters are good girls, but they cannot take the place of a son. He had laid all his hopes on the boy.'

'But he has taught his girls to read scripture, has he not?' I decided I might as well make the best of things: this opinionated woman knew the family, she might let something interesting drop.

Lady Mirfyn shrugged. 'Edwin has advanced ideas. I don't think it serves girls to teach them religion – their husbands won't like arguing ideas with them, will they?'

'Some might.'

She raised her eyebrows. 'I never even learned to write, and I'm glad to be able to leave such things to my husband. I'm sure that's what Sabine and Avice would prefer too, good well-mannered girls that they are. Poor Ralph was a mischievous child, but that is to be expected in boys.'

'Was he indeed?' I asked.

'They said his misbehaviour helped drive his mother to her early grave.' She gave me a sharp look, suddenly realizing she had said too much. 'That doesn't excuse his vile murder, though.'

'No, indeed. It does not.' I was going to add that I believed the real murderer could still be at large, but Lady Mirfyn took my words for agreement, nodded with satisfaction and looked at Lady Honor.

'Our hostess is a learned woman,' she said with a note of disapproval. 'But I suppose she has the status of a widow and may live independently if she chooses. It is not a fate I would wish for.'

I heard a loud whisper from Norfolk to Marchamount. 'I'll not take the boy up unless she agrees.' I lowered my head, trying to catch the serjeant's reply, but he spoke softly. 'Damn it,' the duke hissed, 'she'll do as I command.'

'I fear she won't.' I heard Marchamount this time.

'God's death, I'll not be defied by a woman. Tell her I'll do nothing for the boy unless I get what I want. She's skating on thin ice.' I saw the duke take a long swig from his glass, then stare at Lady Honor. He was red-faced now and I remembered it was said he was often drunk and could turn brutal then.

Lady Honor met his eyes. The duke smiled and raised his glass. She raised her glass in return, with a smile that looked nervous to me. A servant appeared by her side and whispered something. She nodded and, looking relieved, stood up. 'Ladies and gentlemen,' she said. 'Many of you have heard of the edible, yellow things from the New World that have been raising eyebrows since they arrived last month.' She paused, and there were guffaws of bawdy laughter from some of the men. 'Well, we have some tonight on beds of marzipan. Ladies and gentlemen, the sweetest fruit of the New World.'

She sat down and there was more laughter, and clapping, as the servants laid half a dozen silver trays on the table. There, on beds of marzipan, lay strange, pale yellow crescents. I understood the bawdy laughter, for the things were the size and almost the shape of a big erect cock.

'So this is what everyone is laughing about,' Lady Mirfyn said. 'Such naughtiness.' She giggled, turning innocently girlish as rich matrons will when confronted with bawdy humour.

I picked up one of the strange fruits and bit into it. It was unyielding, with a bitter taste. Then I saw people were peeling back the skins to reveal a pale yellow fruit within. I followed their example. It was floury, rather tasteless.

'What are these called?' I asked Lady Mirfyn, who had also taken one.

'They have no name I know of,' she said. She looked down the laughing table, shaking her head indulgently. 'Such naughtiness.'

I heard my name on Lady Honor's lips and turned to find her smiling at me. 'The mayor says you have a knotty case for the council, involving the suppressed monasteries,' she said.

'Ay, Lady Honor. I fear we lost the first round, but we shall gain the second. It is a matter of the City's rights to regulate these buildings for the good of all the citizens.'

Mayor Hollyes nodded seriously. 'I hope so, sir. People don't understand that the regulations on cleanliness need to be enforced to keep away the foul humours that bring plague. And so many houses are let out as poor tenements now.' He spoke animatedly, as one who has mounted a hobby horse. 'You heard about the house near the Joiners' Hall that collapsed last month? Killed fourteen tenants and four passers-by-'

'Let them all fall!' There was a shout from the head of the table and all eyes turned to the duke. He slurred his words and I saw that he was, indeed, drunk. His conversation with Marchamount seemed to have put him in a foul temper. 'The more houses fall on the diseased populace of this great cesspit the better. Perhaps that will scare some into going back to their parishes where they belong, to work on the land as they did in our fathers' time.'

A silence fell on the company, as deep as had fallen at the Lincoln's Inn dinner. The Vaughan boy looked as though he wished to crawl under the table.

'Well, we may all agree much needs amending,' Lady Honor said. She tried to make her voice light, but it had a strained quality. 'Did not Bishop Gardiner preach a sermon last week, saying all must labour according to their station to keep the realm in proper order?' As she quoted these anodyne words from the leading conservative bishop she looked round the table, hoping for someone to help defuse the topic. She did not wish for controversy tonight, it seemed.

'So we must, Lady Honor,' I said, stepping into the breach. She gave me a smile of gratitude as I stumbled on. 'We must all aim to work for the common good.'

The duke snorted. 'Your work. Pen-pushing. I remember you, lawyer, you were with that churl who spouted Lutheran sentiments at me last Sunday.' I confess I quailed under his cold, hard stare. 'Are you a Lutheran, too, lawyer?'

Every eye turned to me. To answer yes was to risk a charge of heresy. For a moment my voice caught, I was too frightened to answer. I saw one of the women rub a hand across her face, leaving a smear of rouge. There was another rumble of thunder, closer now.

'No, your grace,' I said. 'A follower of Erasmus only.'

'That Dutch pederast. I heard he lusted after another monk when he was a boy, and d'you know what his name was, eh?' He looked round the table, grinning now. 'Roge-rus. Roger-us, hey?' He gave a sudden bark of laughter that broke the spell. The men up and down the table began laughing with him. I sank back in my chair, my heart thudding, as the duke turned to young Henry Vaughan and began telling tales of his soldiering days.

Lady Honor clapped her hands. 'Some music, now.' Two lute players appeared together with a gaudily dressed young man, who began singing popular songs, loud enough to hear but not too loud to stifle conversation. I looked down the table. The conversation had become desultory; between the heat, the drink and the sweet food most of the diners looked sticky and tired. Further sweetmeats followed, including a model of the House of Glass itself made of marzipan set with strawberries, but the guests only picked at it.