Dodd was very shocked when he realised Carey was about to go straight into the house with red lattices and the sign of the Rainbow over the door down an alley off Scotch Street.

‘Sir,’ he protested. ‘I dinna...’

‘You’ve got a mucky mind, Sergeant,’ said Carey. ‘I’m only making sure Barnabus was telling the truth about where he was.’

‘Oh.’

From the way Madam Hetherington greeted the Deputy Warden with a curtsey and a kiss, it was obvious he had been there before, which further shocked Dodd’s sense of propriety. It wasn’t that he didn’t know the bawdy house—he’d been there a couple of times himself, when drunk, and prayed Janet would never find out about it—only he felt it was a bad thing for an officer of the Crown to be seen entering the place in daylight. Carey didn’t seem to care; no doubt Londoners, courtiers and lunatics had different standards in these things.

‘No, mistress,’ said Carey courteously to the lady’s enquiry. ‘I want to talk to you about my servant Barnabus Cooke.’

They were led into her office and wine was brought for both of them. Dodd sipped his cautiously and then found to his surprise that it tasted quite good.

Carey smacked his lips as he put the goblet down.

‘I now know who has managed to find the only decent wine in Carlisle.’

Madam Hetherington had sat down on a stool beside a table clear of anything except some embroidery and she smiled modestly.

‘I have a special arrangement with my cousin, sir,’ she said.

‘Hm. You’re aware of Barnabus Cooke’s arrest.’

‘Of course, sir.’

‘Can you tell me where he was on Monday night?’

Madam Hetherington took her embroidery and began stitching like any lady of a house. Dodd stared about at her little solar; it was hung with painted cloths and floored with rushmats. When he looked closer at the painted cloths, he stretched his eyes: naked women abounded, were pinkly profuse in all directions. There was a naked woman with a lascivious-looking swan on her lap, and another naked woman riding a bull and a third who seemed to be very happy to receive a lot of gold coins tumbling down a sunbeam. Surely that would hurt, Dodd thought incoherently, all those pennies hitting your bare skin. He was mesmerised by the round pearly shapes and little red touches here and there on lips and nipples... In comparison with Janet’s these were rounder and plumper and...

‘What do you think, Dodd?’ Carey asked.

‘Ah,’ said Dodd, caught out and he knew it. Carey seemed amused.

‘I was saying that Barnabus was certainly here on Monday night after Bessie shut her doors,’ repeated Madam Hetherington kindly. ‘He left early on Tuesday morning in time to go in at the gate to attend Sir Robert.’

‘Oh,’ said Dodd.

‘Madam Hetherington does not think one of her girls will be believed by a jury either.’

‘Er... No, that’s right,’ Dodd said desperately, staring at Madam Hetherington’s embroidery hoop. ‘They wouldna. They’d say she was nae fit person to be in front of them and could be bribed and they couldnae place any confidence in her word.’

Madam Hetherington and Carey nodded.

‘In fact,’ said Madam Hetherington, stitching away at a shape that looked suspiciously like a buttock, ‘Barnabus spends much of his free time here. He was here on Sunday night as well, twice.’

‘Oh?’ said Carey neutrally.

‘Yes, he left at a reasonable time and not too drunk and then he returned a little while later with more money to spend, which he spent.’

‘Yes,’ said Carey. ‘I know how that happened. Another thing I would like to know is how someone also managed to get hold of one of Barnabus’s knives.’

Madam Hetherington was threading a needle and she said nothing.

‘Mr Pennycook owns the freehold of this house, doesn’t he?’ pressed Carey.

‘I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir,’ said Madam Hetherington coldly. ‘Will you or your henchman be wishing to take your pleasure with one of the girls now, sir?’

Carey rose to leave. ‘I must be on my way, Madam Hetherington,’ he said. ‘Oh and by the way, Barnabus has the clap.’

She frowned and bit off a piece of thread. ‘Not from my house,’ she said.

‘No?’ asked Carey. ‘Good day to you, Madam.’

She rose to see them to the door, curtseyed and gave no farewell kiss.

Dodd was quite glad to get out of the place with no more upsetting sight than one of the girls in her petticoat and bodice hurrying through with a bucket of water. He hoped no one had seen them. Janet was likely to be in town soon.

‘Right,’ said Carey to himself and set off again down Scotch Street with that long bouncy stride of his.

Andy Nixon’s landlady was a Goodwife Crawe, widowed a few years back in a raid, who lived precariously by spinning and letting out her loft. Her two tousle-headed young boys were at the football in the alley when Carey and Dodd arrived.

‘Tell me what Andy Nixon did on Monday, Goodwife Crawe,’ said Carey formally.

‘Well,’ she said unhappily, ‘I dinnae want to get him in any more trouble because he’s a good lodger and a nice lad and pays his rent every other Monday and it’s a pleasant thing to have a grown man about the house, for the boys, ye ken.’

‘Only tell me the truth, Goodwife; that will help him best of all.’

‘Hmf. Y’see, I heard he was accused of cutting Mr Atkinson’s throat and I dinna see him doing it. In a fight, perhaps; he’s a bonny fighter is Andy...’

‘I know,’ muttered Carey.

‘...and sometimes doesnae ken his ain strength, but from behind with a knife—nay, he’s not the type.’

‘How about his... friendship with Mrs Atkinson?’

‘Ay,’ said Goodwife Crawe heavily. ‘That was it, y’see. I couldnae blame them for it, but the Lord knows it’s a sin and a scandal.’

‘What happened on Sunday night, Goodwife?’

She sighed as she stepped backwards nimbly over the rushes, her fingers flying as she smoothed the wool into a taut thin thread.

‘Some men jumped him in the alley as he came home,’ she said. ‘Poor lad, he was in a terrible state. He couldnae get up the ladder and his hand was all puffed up. And some dirty thieving bastard had cut his purse as well, which Andy took very hard because it had his rent in it and he knows well how I fare and that I need the money. He knew who it was too, sir, for he said he heard the man’s voice and there was nobbut one voice like that in Carlisle.’

Carey nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘It was my servant, Barnabus.’ He felt in his belt pouch and brought out some money. ‘Here’s your rent, Goodwife Crawe,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry about it. I’ve told him often enough about footpadding, but some habits die hard.’

Don’t give it to her yet, ye soft get, thought Dodd in despair, wait until she’s told ye what she knows. Do ye not know anything?

Goody Crawe took the half crown and put it in her bodice looking thunderstruck, as well she might.