She sat on the bed again. ‘I can’t tell you any more than I told Sir William yesterday. I knew nothing of poor Maister Oldroyd’s affairs, God rest his gentle soul.’ She made the sign of the cross, then looked miserably around the wreckage. ‘See what they did to his house, they turned the yard inside out too. And poor young Paul taken and locked up, that never hurt a fly. I don’t understand any of it.’

‘If you know nothing, you will come to no harm.’

She raised an arm, then let it fall in a helpless gesture. ‘I ought to set all this to rights. But for who?’ She gave a despairing laugh. ‘There’s no one left.’

We left her and mounted the stairs. The doors to both bedrooms were open and both, like the hall, had been turned upside down. We stepped into Oldroyd’s room. The bed had been overturned and the chests up-ended, Oldroyd’s clothes strewn around. The wall-hanging had been torn down and lay in a heap. The wall behind was of painted wooden panels.

‘No sign of anything there,’ Barak said. ‘What were you hoping for, an alcove?’

‘Something, at least.’ I stepped to the area the boy’s eyes had gone to yesterday and tried tapping the wall. It sounded solid enough, it was a supporting wall between Oldroyd’s house and the next one. Barak joined me, bending down and tapping the panels.

‘Aha, what’s this?’ he said.

I knelt beside him. He tapped again at a panel by the floor. It sounded different, hollow. I felt the edges with my fingers. There were a series of recesses cut into the wood of the joist, just big enough to slip fingernails into. I pulled gently, and the panel came out of little grooves that held it into the wood and fell on the floor, exposing a hollow space behind. It was skilfully done; but then, I reflected, poor Oldroyd had been a craftsman.

We looked inside. A space, perhaps eighteen inches square. And, almost filling it, a box. I pulled it out. It was a foot square, strongly made from some dark wood, the lid beautifully painted with a scene of Diana the huntress, her bow and arrow raised at a stag. It was the sort of box a wealthy woman might keep her jewels in. I noted the paint was faded; the huntress’s dress and indeed the whole design of the box were in the fashion of a hundred years ago, before the Wars between the Two Roses. Barak whistled.

‘You were right. We’ve got something.’

‘It’s very light,’ I said. ‘But I think there’s something inside.’ I grasped the lid, but it would not budge and I saw there was a strong lock. I shook the box, but heard no sound.

‘Let’s smash it open,’ Barak said.

I hesitated. ‘No. This should be opened in the presence of Maleverer.’ I stared at the box.

‘That apprentice must have known it was here, whether by spying through his master’s keyhole or some other means.’

‘He can’t have told them at St Mary’s or they’d have been after it. I can understand the searchers missing it yesterday, it is well hidden.’

‘But why hasn’t the apprentice told them? You saw him, he was terrified.’

‘Maleverer left before he could question him. Come, the sooner this goes back to St Mary’s the better.’

Barak frowned. ‘What’s that noise?’ He stood and went to the window. A loud murmuring was audible from outside. I joined him. Goodwife Byland was standing there, weeping on the shoulder of another woman. Three or four other women stood around, with half a dozen men, shopkeepers by the look of them. I saw three blue-coated apprentices join the group.

‘Damn it,’ I breathed. ‘The housekeeper’s roused the neighbours.’

‘Let’s get out the back way.’

I tucked the box under Master Wrenne’s coat, glad now of its voluminous folds, and followed Barak down the stairs. But there was no escape. The housekeeper had left the door open and as soon as we reached the bottom of the staircase we were visible to the crowd. An apprentice pointed at us. ‘Look, that’s them.’

‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Put on a bold face.’ I stepped out, remembering with sinking heart that I did not have my commission with me. ‘What is this commotion?’ I asked, adopting a stern tone.

A shopkeeper in a leather apron stepped forward. He had the scarred hands of a glazier and carried a wooden stave in his hand. ‘Who art tha? What business hast tha in that house?’ he asked angrily. ‘My friend Peter Oldroyd is dead and the King’s men take licence to knock his house and servants about. Poor Goodwife Byland is scared out of her wits.’

‘I am a lawyer sent from St Mary’s. We merely wished to check the house was in order.’ It sounded lame even to me.

‘Crawling hunchback,’ an apprentice called out, to murmurs of approval. Barak laid a hand on his sword, but I shook my head. If this crowd turned violent we could be in trouble. I looked up and down the street, hoping to see one of the guards or constables, but there was none in sight.

I raised a hand. ‘Listen, please. I am sorry for the damage that has been done here. I have had no part of it. I am sorry if we frightened the good woman there. But there are enquiries into Master Oldroyd’s affairs -’

‘What enquiries?’ the glazier said. ‘Peter was a good man, he did none wrong.’

‘I cannot say more. And now, please let us pass.’

The glazier tightened his hold on his club. ‘Where’s thy papers? Come on, tha awd scrat! King’s men all have papers!’

‘Mebbe they’re thieves!’ someone called out.

I glanced over the hostile crowd, looking for Master Dike, the glazier I had met yesterday. He could at least vouch I had made enquiries on behalf of the King. But he was not there.

I took a deep breath. ‘Let us pass,’ I said curtly, taking a step forward. Neither the glazier nor the rest of the crowd budged an inch. That meant we were in real trouble. Then a stone, thrown by someone at the back of the crowd, struck me painfully on the arm that held the box under my coat. My arm jerked and the box dropped to the pavement with a clatter.

‘Thieves!’ someone called out. ‘They are thieves!’ Another stone struck Barak on the shoulder, and the crowd surged forward, pressing us against the wall of the house. The glazier raised his stave, and I braced myself for the blow.

Chapter Eleven

‘STOP!’

A fierce shout, in a deep voice I recognized. The glazier lowered his stave. Looking past him I saw Giles Wrenne’s tall head as he shouldered his way though the crowd.

‘Sir!’ I called out. ‘I have never been so glad to see anybody!’

The old man stepped in front of us, placing himself between us and the crowd. He looked impressive in a robe with a fur trim, his best no doubt, and a black cap with a red feather. ‘What is happening here?’ he asked the glazier sharply. ‘Master Pickering, what are you doing?’

‘These men were in Peter Oldroyd’s house, maister! The hunchback says he’s a lawyer, but I say they’re thieves.’ He pointed to the painted box lying at my feet. ‘He had that hidden under his robe.’

Wrenne looked at the box with a puzzled frown, then sharply at me.

‘We were on King’s business, sir,’ I said. I felt myself reddening.

Wrenne then raised himself to his full impressive height and addressed the crowd. ‘You all know me here in Stonegate! I can vouch for this man. He is a lawyer sent to work with me on the petitions to the King. I will deal with this!’

The crowd muttered, but the heat had gone out of them. Faces began to look worried as it sank in that they had been about to assault an officer of the crown. The apprentices who had thrown the stones sidled away. Barak glared at them, rubbing his shoulder. ‘Arseholes,’ he muttered.

Wrenne put his hand on Pickering’s shoulder. ‘Come now, sir. Leave this to me. Return to thy shop, you will be losing business.’

‘What business that is left for us with all the religious houses gone,’ the glazier answered, casting me a bitter look. ‘Peter Oldroyd is well out of it, God rest him.’