'Have you heard the rumours?' he asked.

'What now?'

'Yesterday evening the king rowed down the Thames to dinner at the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk's house with Catherine Howard beside him under the canopy. In the royal barge, for all London to see. It's the talk of the City. He meant to be seen – it's a sign the Cleves marriage is over. And a Howard marriage means a return to Rome.'

I shook my head. 'But Queen Anne was beside him at the May Day jousts. Just because the king has his eye on a Howard wench doesn't mean he'll put the queen aside. God's wounds, he's had four wives in eight years. He can't want a fifth.'

'Can't he? Imagine the Duke of Norfolk in Lord Cromwell's place.'

'Cromwell can be cruel enough.'

'Only when it is necessary. And the duke would be far harsher.' He sat down heavily opposite me.

'I know,' I said quietly. 'None of the privy councillors has a crueller reputation.'

'He is a lunch guest of the benchers here on Sunday, is he not?'

'Yes.' I made a face. 'I shall see him for myself for the first time. I do not greatly look forward to it. But, Godfrey, the king would never turn the clock back. We have the Bible in English and Cromwell's just got an earldom.'

He shook his head. 'I sense trouble coming.'

'When has there not been trouble these last ten years? Well, if London has a new topic that may take the heat from Elizabeth Wentworth.' I had told him yesterday that I had taken on the case. 'I've been to see her in Newgate. She won't say a word.'

He shook his head. 'Then she'll be pressed, Matthew.'

'Listen, Godfrey, I need a precedent to say someone who won't speak because they're mad can't be pressed.'

He stared at me with his large blue-grey eyes, strangely innocent for a lawyer's. 'Is she mad?'

'She may be. There's a precedent somewhere in the yearbooks, I'm sure.' I looked at him; Godfrey had an excellent memory for cases.

'Yes,' he said. 'I think you're right.'

'I thought I might try the library.'

'When's gaol delivery – Saturday? You've little time. I'll help you look.'

'Thank you.' I smiled gratefully; it was like Godfrey to forget his own worries and come to my aid. His fears, I knew, were real enough; he knew some of the evangelicals in the circle of Robert Barnes, who had recently been put in the Tower for making sermons with too Lutheran a flavour.

I walked with him to the library and we spent two hours among the great stacks of case law, where we found two or three cases which might be helpful.

'I'll send Skelly over to copy these,' I said.

He smiled. 'And now you can buy me lunch as a reward for my help.'

'Gladly.'

We went outside into the hot afternoon. I sighed. As ever, among the law books in the magnificent library I had felt a momentary sense of security, of order and reason; but out in the harsh light of day I recalled that a judge could ignore precedent and remembered Bealknap's words.

'Courage, my friend,' Godfrey said. 'If she is innocent, God will not allow her to suffer.'

'The innocent suffer whilst rogues prosper, Godfrey, as we both know. They say that churl Bealknap has a thousand gold angels in the famous chest in his rooms. Come, I'm hungry.'

As we crossed the courtyard to the dining hall I saw a fine litter with damask curtains standing outside a nearby set of chambers, carried by four bearers in Mercers' Company livery. Two attendant ladies, carrying posies, stood at a respectful distance while a tall woman in a high-collared gown of blue velvet stood talking to Gabriel Marchamount, one of the serjeants. Marchamount's tall, plump figure was encased in a fine silk robe, and a cap with a swan's feather was perched on his head. I remembered Bealknap had been under his patronage once until he tired of Bealknap's endless crookery; Marchamount liked his reputation as an honest man.

I studied the woman, noting the jewelled pomander that hung at her bosom from a gold chain, and as I did so she turned and met my eye. She murmured something to Marchamount and he raised his arm, bidding me to halt. He gave the woman his arm and led her across the courtyard to us. Her attendants followed, their skirts making a whispering noise on the stone flags.

Marchamount's companion was strikingly attractive, in her thirties, with a direct, open gaze. She wore a round French hood about her hair, which was blonde and very fine; little wisps slipped out, stirring in the breeze. I saw the hood was faced with pearls.

'Master Shardlake,' Marchamount said in his deep, booming voice, a smile on his rubicund face, 'may I introduce my client and good friend, Lady Honor Bryanston? Brother Matthew Shardlake.'

She extended a hand. I took the long white fingers gently and bowed. 'Delighted, madam.'

'Forgive my intrusion on your business,' she said. Her voice was a clear contralto with a husky undertone, the accent aristocratic. Her full-lipped mouth made girlish dimples in her cheeks as she smiled.

'Not at all, madam.' I was going to introduce Godfrey but she continued, ignoring his presence. 'I have been in conference with Master Marchamount. I recognized you from a description the Earl of Essex gave when we dined last. He was singing your praises as one of the best lawyers in London.'

The Earl of Essex. Cromwell. I had thought, and hoped, that he had forgotten me. And I realized she would have been told to look out for a hunchback.

'I am most grateful,' I said cautiously.

'Yes, he was quite effusive,' Marchamount said. His tone was light, but his prominent brown eyes studied me keenly. I recalled he was known as an opponent of reform and wondered what he had been doing dining with Cromwell.

'I am ever on the lookout for fine minds to strike their wits against each other around my dining table,' Lady Honor continued. 'Lord Cromwell suggested you as a candidate.'

I raised a hand. 'You compliment me too highly. I am a mere jobbing lawyer.'

She smiled again and raised a hand. 'No, sir, I hear you are more than that. A bencher, who may be a serjeant one day. I shall send you an invitation to one of my sugar banquets. You live further down Chancery Lane, I believe.'

'You are well informed, madam.'

She laughed. 'I try to be. New information and new friends stave off a widow's boredom.' She looked round the quadrangle, studying the scene with interest. 'How marvellous it must be to live beyond the foul airs of the City.'

'Brother Shardlake has a fine house, I hear.' There was a slight edge to Marchamount's voice, a glint in his dark brown, protuberant eyes. He laughed, showing a full set of white teeth. 'Such are the profits of land law, eh, Brother?'

'Justly earned, I am sure,' Lady Honor said. 'But now you must excuse me, I have an appointment at the Mercers' Hall.' She turned away, raising a hand. 'Expect to hear from me shortly, Master Shardlake.'

Marchamount bowed to us, then led Lady Honor back to her litter, making a great fuss of helping her inside before walking back to his chambers, stately as a full-rigged ship. We watched as the litter made its swaying way to the gate, her ladies walking sedately behind.

'Forgive me Godfrey,' I said. 'I was going to introduce you, but she gave me no chance. That was a little rude of her.'

'I would not have welcomed the introduction,' he said primly. 'Do you know who she is?'

I shook my head. London society did not interest me.

'Widow to Sir Harcourt Bryanston. He was the biggest mercer in London when he died three years ago. He was far older than her,' he added disapprovingly. 'They had sixty four poor men in attendance at his funeral, one for every year of his age.'

'Well, what's so wrong with that?'

'She's a Vaughan, an aristocrat fallen on hard times. She married Bryanston for his money, and since his death she's set herself up as the greatest hostess in London. Trying to build up her family name again, which was trampled down in the wars between Lancaster and York.'