‘I hear you have been attending Master Wrenne well.’

‘She has.’ Giles smiled at her warmly.

‘He will keep getting up, though your friend Master Guy says he should stay abed awhile yet.’

‘Barak told me he came.’

‘May I leave you for a while, sir?’ Tamasin asked. ‘I said I would do some shopping for Mistress Woode.’

‘Ay. And thank you for bringing those things to the Tower.’

‘I am pleased to see you out of that doleful place, sir. Jack was half mad with worry.’ There was still something watchful, evaluating, in her look. Was that because she was uncertain of the treatment she might expect from me? She curtsied and went out. I took her chair by the bed.

‘What did they do to you?’ Giles asked quietly.

‘Less than they might have, thanks to Jack.’

‘Barak told me of the wicked plot Rich and Maleverer hatched against you.’

‘Yes. Cranmer knows all now. Maleverer will be in trouble, though Cranmer says he cannot touch Rich.’

I saw Wrenne’s eyes on my wrist. My wretched sleeve had ridden up again, exposing the gyve and the raw skin around it.

‘That thing is like a symbol,’ he said quietly. ‘The whole nation fettered and bruised by the King. A piece of filth like Rich may have a man falsely imprisoned, even tortured, to get a legal case dropped. It is not justice, Matthew. This is not the country I once knew.’

‘No. Giles,’ I said, ‘you said once that Maleverer’s family were all strong Catholics, then he aligned with the reformers after 1536 in hope of gain.’

‘That is right. He is a greedy man. But what -’

‘What if he could satisfy his greed by standing with the reformers, yet secretly help the old cause?’

‘How? What do you mean?’

‘Nothing.’

Giles smiled at me. ‘I am not sure he would have the brains.’

I WENT TO BED and fell asleep at once. When I woke it was early morning, I had slept near twenty hours. I felt somewhat rested, though my shattered tooth hurt and my nerves were still so strung up the squeak of a mouse would have set me bounding. I got up and dressed, cursing the gyve again. I looked at my face in my steel mirror. I was startled by the staring apparition that looked back at me from sunken eyes, several days’ stubble darkening the cheeks.

I went downstairs. Joan, hearing me, bustled out of the kitchen. She saw me and opened her mouth in horror. I raised a hand, frightened she would scream. ‘It looks worse than it is.’ I was getting used to that phrase.

‘Oh sir, your poor mouth! The rogues! Is no one safe from vagabonds these days!’ I stared at her in surprise, then remembered I was supposed to have been attacked by robbers. ‘I will be all right, Joan. But I am very hungry, might I have some breakfast?’

‘Of course, sir.’ Her face working with concern, she hurried away to the kitchen. I took a seat in the parlour and looked out at my sopping garden, strewn with leaves. It was not raining, but the sky was heavy with dark clouds. My eye was drawn to the wall at the far end where the Lincoln’s Inn authorities had grubbed up an old orchard for replanting, remembering what Barak had told me. I had warned them in the summer that without trees to absorb the ground-water the bottom of the slope could flood. I should go and take a look.

My thoughts went back to Maleverer. He had allowed Rich to involve him in a plot against me, no doubt in return for help to get rebels’ lands, and that had been his downfall. But what if that had been a side issue, what if he had been playing a double game? He had refused to accept that Jennet Marlin might not have stolen those papers, had insisted Radwinter was guilty of Broderick’s death, and had allowed a pair of drunks to be appointed as his guards. I had taken it all for stupidity and obstinacy, but what if it had been something else? Where was he now, in London or on his way back to York? I thought, if I knew who appointed those guards…

Joan returned with eggs, bread and cheese. ‘I am sorry to land you with such a full household,’ I told her. ‘But I promised old Master Wrenne he could stay here till he is fit for some family business he has to deal with, and Barak hurt his leg. Where are they, by the way?’

She sniffed. ‘Went out early. Master Jack had some private business, he said, and Tamasin was to go to Whitehall to see if she still had a place. There is some trouble in the Queen’s household.’

‘So I hear,’ I replied neutrally. The household would be dissolved now. Tamasin could be out of a job.

She paused, then said, ‘I don’t mind Master Wrenne, sir, poor sick old gentleman, but that girl. It’s not right her being in the house with Jack. And she’s a pert way with her, in her fine ladylike clothes – she may say she only wants to help with the old man but I think she likes having her feet under a gentleman’s table.’

‘She’ll be gone soon, Joan,’ I said wearily. ‘The four of us need a few days’ rest.’

‘She’s no morals. They think I don’t hear her scurrying across to Master Jack’s room at dead of night, but I do.’

‘All right, Joan. I am too tired to deal with that now.’

She curtsied and went out.

I ate heartily. The meal over, I prowled the room restlessly. I thought of Maleverer and Sergeant Leacon, and Broderick swinging in his cell aboard ship. I thought of Tamasin; Barak would probably see his friend today, what would he find out about her father? I thought of Martin Dakin, and half resolved to go to Lincoln’s Inn, but I was still too tired to face the prospect of seeing familiar people, nosy lawyers who might have heard about Fulford. It could wait until tomorrow, when with luck the manacle would be off. Perhaps Bealknap would be there, and I wondered if that rogue knew what had been done to me to save that case for him.

I decided to go and look at the old orchard. Putting on my boots, I walked down the garden. Everything was drenched, and at the far wall, by the gate to the orchard, the ground was quite waterlogged. I unlocked the gate and went through.

The apple orchard had probably been there centuries; the trees had been gnarled and very old. The orchard walls bounded Chancery Lane on one side, the Lincoln’s Inn grounds on two, and my garden on the fourth. The ground sloped gently down to my wall. The orchard was, as Barak had said, a sea of mud, dotted with waterlogged holes where tree roots had been grubbed up. Without the trees to absorb any of the water from the rains, a pool the size of a small house had built up against my wall. I cursed; if there was much more rain my garden could be flooded. I resolved to visit the Inn Treasurer on the morrow.

The sight of the devastated orchard unsettled me. I went back into my garden and headed for the stables. There I found Genesis and Sukey in their stalls, munching hay. Both looked up and neighed in greeting. I went and stroked Genesis. Looking into his dark eyes I thought of what it must have been like for the horses, driven two hundred miles through unknown countryside by strangers. Did they wonder, as I had in the Tower, whether they would ever see home again? I had a sudden memory of Oldroyd’s huge horse charging through the mist at Tamasin and me, that misty morning two months before. That was where it had all started.

As I left the stable I felt raindrops on my face. I walked quickly round to the front door. There was someone standing in the porch, his back to me, a tall figure in a black coat. He was looking at the door as though uncertain whether to knock. My hand went to the dagger at my belt. I had worn it since it was returned to me at the Tower.

‘Can I help you?’ I asked sharply.

He turned round. It was Sergeant Leacon, in civilian clothes, a cap on his head instead of a helmet. His boyish face looked careworn. I saw he wore a sword, then thought, so do most men in London. He doffed his cap and bowed.