'Do not give up, sir,' Mark said awkwardly as he set the candles on the table. 'We have this new matter of the bursar to investigate. That may take us forward.'

'He was away when the murder was done. But no,' I forced a smile. 'I shall not give up. Besides, I dare not, this is Lord Cromwell's commission.'

'I took the chance to look over the outhouses while you were in the church. You were right, they are busy places. The stables, the forge, the buttery, all in constant use. I couldn't see anywhere that large items might be hidden.'

'Those side chapels in the church might repay investigations. And I saw something interesting on the way out to the marsh.' I told him of the yellow gleam at the bottom of the pond. 'That's one place you might use to dispose of evidence.'

'We should investigate then, sir. You see, we have leads. The truth will prevail.'

I laughed hollowly. 'Oh Mark, you have not spent a lifetime around His Majesty's courts to say that. But you are right to encourage me.' I picked at a loose thread on the seat cover. 'I am become melancholy. I have felt my spirits weighing heavily on me for some months but it is worse here. My humours must be out of balance, too much black bile in my organs. Perhaps I should consult Brother Guy.'

'This is no place to cheer one.'

'No. And I confess I fear danger too. I was thinking of it now, in the yard. A footstep behind me, the swish of a sword through the air-' I looked up to where he stood over me. His boyish features were full of concern, and I was conscious of the weight this mission laid on him.

'I know. This place, the silence broken by those bells that make you start like a jack beetle.'

'Well, alertness is a good thing. I am glad you are ready to admit your fear. That is a good manly thing, better than the bravado of youth. And I should be less melancholy. I must pray for fortitude tonight.' I looked at him with sudden curiosity. 'What will you pray for?'

He shrugged. 'I am out of the habit of praying at night.'

'It should not be a mere habit, Mark. But don't look so worried, I am not going to lecture you about prayer.' I heaved myself upright. My back was tired, and sore again. 'Come, we should rouse ourselves, have a look at those account books. Then after supper we will tackle Brother Edwig.'

I lit more candles, and we set the books on the table. As I opened the first one, revealing lined pages filled with numbers and scratchy writing, Mark looked across at me seriously.

'Sir, could Alice be in danger because of what she told you? If Simon Whelplay was killed because he might divulge a secret, the same could happen to her.'

'I know. The sooner I confront the bursar about this missing book, the better. I promised Alice I would keep her involvement secret.'

'She is a brave woman.'

'And an intriguing one, eh?'

He reddened, then suddenly changed the subject. 'Brother Guy said the novice had four visitors?'

'Yes, and they are also the four senior officers who knew Singleton's purpose here – them and Brother Guy.'

'But it was Brother Guy who told you Simon was poisoned.'

'All the same, I must be wary of taking him entirely into my confidence.' I held up my hand. 'Now, these accounts. You are used to monastic accounts from Augmentations?'

'Of course, I was often set to audit them.'

'Good. Then look through these and tell me if anything strikes you. Any items of expenditure that seem too high, or do not tally. First, though, lock the door. God's death, I am becoming as nervous as old Goodhaps.'

We set to work. It was a dull task. Double-entry accounts, with their endless balances, are harder to follow than simple lists if one is not a figurer by trade, but so far as I could tell there was nothing unusual in the books. The monastery's revenues from its lands and the beer monopoly were substantial; low expenditure on alms and wages was balanced by high spending on food and clothes, especially in the abbot's household. There appeared to be a surplus in hand of some £500, a goodly sum but not unusual, augmented by some recent land sales.

We worked until the bells tolled through the frosty air, announcing dinner. I stood up and paced the room, rubbing my tired eyes. Mark stretched out his arms with a groan.

'It all seems as one would expect. A wealthy house; there is much more money than in the small houses I used to deal with.'

'Yes. There is much gold behind these balances. What could be in this book Singleton had? Perhaps everything is too much in order; maybe these figures are for the auditor and the other book shows the true ones. If the bursar is defrauding the Exchequer that is a serious offence.' I banged my book shut. 'Now come, we had better go and join the holy brethren.' I gave him a serious look. 'And make sure we eat only from the common dish.'

We crossed the cloister yard to the refectory, passing monks who bowed low to us. In doing so one slipped and fell, for many feet had passed across the yard now, turning it into a mass of packed slippery snow. As I passed the fountain I saw the stream of water had frozen in mid air, a long spike of ice protruding from the nozzle like a stalagtite.

Supper was a sombre meal. Brother Jerome was absent, presumably shut up somewhere on the prior's orders. Abbot Fabian mounted the lectern and made a solemn announcement that Novice Whelplay had died from his ague, and there were shocked exclamations and appeals to God's mercy along the tables. I noticed some venomous looks cast at the prior, especially from the three novices, who sat together at the furthest end of the table. I heard one of the monks, a fat fellow with sad rheumy eyes, mutter a curse on those without charity, glaring all the while at Prior Mortimus, who sat looking ahead with a stern, unbending gaze.

The abbot intoned a long Latin prayer for the departed brother's soul; the responses were fervent. This evening he stayed to dine at the obedentiaries' table, where a great haunch of beef was served with runcible peas. There were subdued attempts at conversation, the abbot saying he had never seen such snow in November. Brother Jude, the pittancer, and Brother Hugh, the fat little chamberlain with the wen on his face I had met in the chapter house, who always seemed to sit together and argue, now disputed whether the statutes obliged the town to clear the road to the monastery of snow, but without much enthusiasm. Brother Edwig alone became animated, talking worriedly about the pipes freezing in the privy and the cost of repairing them when the weather warmed and they burst. Soon, I thought, I will give you something worse to worry you. I was surprised at the strength of my emotion, and chid myself, for it is a bad thing to allow dislike to cloud one's judgement of a suspect.

There was another at table that night under the influence of even stronger emotions. Brother Gabriel barely touched his food. He appeared devastated by the news of Simon's death, lost in a world of his own. I was all the more shocked, then, when he suddenly lifted his head and cast a look at Mark of such intense longing, such burning emotion, that it made me shiver. I was glad Mark was attending to his plate and did not see it.

It was a relief when at last grace was said and everyone filed out. The wind had risen higher, sweeping up little waves of snow and sending them stinging into our faces. I signalled Mark to wait in the doorway as the monks raised their cowls and hurried off into the night.

'Let us tackle the bursar. You have your sword buckled on?'

He nodded.

'Good. Keep your hand on it when I talk to him, remind him of our authority. Now, where is he?'

We waited a few moments more, but Brother Edwig did not emerge. We went back into the dining hall. I could hear the bursar's stuttering tones, and we found him leaning over the monks' table where Brother Athelstan sat, looking sulky. The bursar was stabbing a finger at a paper.