while Tom cast his eye over the grounds to make sure no one came. A brief smile flickered over her face, but quickly faded as she stood in the middle of the shed, wrapping her arms around herself, unsure of whether to sit.
“I have to lock you in,” I whispered, apologetically. “Just in case.”
“I know. Bruno?” she said, in a small voice. “Don’t be too long, will you?”
“I will be back as soon as Langworth has finished poking around,” I promised. “Here.” I lifted the leather satchel from my shoulder and handed it to her. “He must not find the book either. Keep it safe for me.”
“One day, will you tell me what is in it?”
“Perhaps. When I have worked that out for myself. For now, your only task is to keep still and silent.”
“Oh, I am good at that,” she said, with a sardonic flash of her eyes. “It is what women are taught to do all our lives.”
“Well, now your life depends on it,” I said, and closed the door on her.
Tom secured the padlock and gave me the key from his belt.
“Return it to me when you need to. And be assured, sir, my lips are sealed.”
“Thank you.” I hesitated. “Tom—if it comes to it, would you be willing to testify about the gloves? To say they never belonged to Mistress Kingsley?”
His large frame visibly trembled.
“I would be punished, would I not?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “As long as the killer is brought to justice, it would be clear you only acted to protect yourself. You might hope for clemency.”
Tom narrowed his eyes.
“But you can’t promise the killer will be brought to justice, can you? And I might not get clemency.”
“The only evidence against Mistress Kingsley is that pair of gloves. Until you tell the truth, they could still hang her.”
“I will give it some thought,” he grunted, and walked away towards the gatehouse.
No one in this town has any faith in the law, I thought. I am the only fool here who thinks truth has a chance. A gull landed on the roof of the outbuilding and looked at me enquiringly with its yellow eye, its head tilted to one side. I prayed it would not shit through the holes on to my book, which I had no doubt Sophia was puzzling over even now.
When I returned to the house I found Harry shuffling about the kitchen at the back, peering into cupboards, lifting the lid on pots.
“Well, Harry. If you have anything hidden away in this house that you wouldn’t want Langworth to see, now would be the time to dispose of it. Letters, for instance.”
“I burn all Walsingham’s letters. I’m not a fool. Tell you what—they won’t find anything in this godforsaken kitchen, that’s for certain,” he grumbled, poking an iron spoon into the cauldron suspended above the empty grate to make his point.
“Yes, I hear you, there is no food here,” I snapped, exasperated. “Looking in every pot won’t change that.”
“And whose fault is that?” he shot back. “Who sent my servant out of town and promised to take his place? God knows I am Her Majesty’s loyal servant, but this mire you have dragged me into is not the crown’s business, it is all for the sake of your doxy!”
“Not the crown’s business? That you have sat by while a viper’s nest of traitors keeps guard over forbidden relics and plots to revive the greatest saint’s cult in England, as a direct rebellion against the queen? Is that not her minister’s business?”
“Keep your voice down, can’t you?”
We glared at each other for a long moment, until my anger subsided first and I looked at the floor.
“I’m sorry. I have asked a lot of you, I know. But we are on the same side, Harry.”
He pushed a hand through the front of his white hair and continued to look at me without speaking, his head to one side as if he were calculating the balance of my faults and my virtues.
“I have failed Walsingham here,” he said eventually, deflated. “It is I who should be apologising to him. If you had not come and seen what I should have seen long ago, Langworth and Sykes might one day have achieved their aim. And most likely more children would have died along the way.” He sighed and shook his head.
“The outcome is in the hands of the queen’s justice now,” I said.
“Let us hope he is competent,” Harry said, in a tone that did not inspire hope. “So many of them can be bought. Still, I will not argue with you, Bruno, not with my stomach growling like an angry bear. Get yourself round to the Sun Inn while there’s still time and bring back a dish of their beef stew, if they have it. And some pickled beetroot …”
I was turning to go when a brusque rapping sounded at the front door. Harry and I froze, looking at each other.
“Open up, Doctor Robinson,” came Langworth’s voice from outside. “I have the constable with me and two armed men. We demand the right to search your property for stolen goods.”
“Watch him like a hawk,” I hissed. “If he tries to pretend money was found anywhere here, we must contradict it on the spot, as eyewitnesses.”
Harry raised a sceptical eyebrow.
“You think that will help?”
Another knock; louder, more impatient.
“All right, all right,” Harry called. “Give an old man time to find his stick.” Under his breath he said to me, “Get upstairs and make sure there’s nothing of hers lying around that room.”
When I returned, taking the stairs two at a time, Harry’s small entrance hall was full: Langworth, Constable Edmonton, and two armed men in the mayor’s livery. I recognised one of them as one of the guards that had taken me to the West Gate prison; I nodded to him and he blinked hard, surprised, before nodding back, as if we were old drinking companions.
“Well, then,” Langworth said, barely troubling to conceal his pleasure at the prospect before him. “Constable, you begin upstairs. Find the Italian’s room. You know what you are looking for. I, meanwhile, will make a start in here.” He indicated Harry’s front parlour.
“Where shall I search, sir?” one of the guards asked, hand on his sword hilt.
Langworth looked at him with faint impatience.
“You are not searching anywhere. What we are looking for requires a practised eye. Your job is to keep the peace, and make sure the householders give us no trouble.” He eyed me with resentment.
“Yes—mind I don’t start a brawl and knock you to the ground, son.” Harry waved his stick at the guard in mock threat.
We followed Langworth into the parlour. He crossed to Harry’s desk and regarded the jumble of papers and books.
“This should prove interesting.” He lifted the topmost paper of one pile, gave it a cursory examination and discarded it on the floor.
“You will discover nothing there but my work, John,” Harry said, rubbing a hand across his chin. “Hard as you will find this to believe, there is an order to those papers, though it is known only to me. I would be grateful if you —”
Langworth waved a hand.
“We are investigating a serious crime of theft, Doctor Robinson, you can hardly expect us to observe all the niceties.” He tossed a pile of papers onto the floor and looked at Harry as if daring him to object. I watched Harry’s jaw working as he battled to master his anger. When Langworth turned his attention to the desk once more, I backed slowly out of the room. If Edmonton was poking about in the upper rooms, I wanted to be there to witness whatever he claimed to find there.
But I had hardly set foot on the stairs when there was more furious hammering at the door. I looked back at the guard in the hall.
“Reinforcements?”
He shrugged. Langworth emerged from the parlour, his mouth twisted in irritation, followed by Harry.
“Yes?” Langworth flung the door open to reveal Tom Garth, breathing hard, his face flushed. “What is it,
