‘Well, that’s something. Though Lowther still thinks it was Barnabus. Anything else?’

‘Then we went to Bessie’s to see if anybody there had heard anything, but they hadnae except that Pennycook’s left town and gone back to Scotland.’

‘Very wise of him,’ said Carey. ‘And that was it?’

‘Ay sir.’ Dodd saw no reason to fill Carey’s enquiring pause with the details of their evening in Bessie’s. ‘Janet says she thinks ye should arrest young Julia and frighten her into...’

‘Speak of the devil,’ said Carey softly. ‘Look there.’

It was hard to miss the girl’s wonderful fall of hair, even under her hat, as she walked quickly down the street ahead of them. Carey put his arm out to stop Dodd and then followed her cautiously. The girl went to the door of the Leighs’ house and knocked softly. The door opened at once and she stepped in.

‘What’s she up to?’ Carey said to himself, walking about under the spidery growth of poles and planks on the Leighs’ house. The workmen had pulled up all their ladders when they left the night before. Carey whistled very softly between his teeth.

‘Right, Dodd,’ he said. ‘Give me a leg up.’

‘Eh?’

‘Give me a boost. I want to get up the scaffolding.’ He was already unbuckling his sword.

Dodd sighed, bent his knee next to one of the poles and Carey climbed from knee to shoulder, to an accompaniment of complaint from Dodd, caught the horizontal pole of the first platform and heaved himself up.

Carey’s legs were kicking, so Dodd backed off a bit. It was the Courtier’s padded Venetian hose that were causing the trouble; they had caught on the edge of one of the planks. No doubt they were well enough for a life spent parading in front of the Queen, thought Dodd with sour pleasure.

At last Carey was onto the first platform, a bit breathless. He let down one of the ladders and Dodd climbed up after him, bringing the swordbelt, then he pulled the ladder back up to use it for getting to the second platform. Once there, Carey went to the boundary with the Atkinsons’ house and called Dodd over. He nodded at the place where Carey was pointing.

‘Ay,’ he said, suppressing a feeling of sickness at being so high over the street. ‘I was wondering about them marks.’

Carey went along the platform again. ‘Where did they find the knife?’

‘Just about here, sir.’

‘Right. Help me make a hole.’

‘But sir...’

‘Don’t argue, Sergeant. I don’t need a warrant.’

‘But they just had the roof done, sir.’

‘So they did, Sergeant.’

Carey had drawn his poignard and was digging away among the rushes. Reluctantly Dodd took out his own knife and helped. The hole was rather large when the Courtier finally hissed softly through his teeth and started pulling something from the thatch.

It was a man’s linen shirt, crackling and stiff with brown crumbling stains.

‘Och,’ said Dodd and then, ‘The silly bastard.’

Carey looked at him quizzically and gave him the shirt.

‘Why?’

‘Should ha’ burned it, that’s why. What’s he want tae keep it for?’

‘Couldn’t bring himself to waste a shirt. Or was going to but hasn’t had the chance yet.’

Dodd shook his head. Carey led the way back along the platform and started down the ladder, but Dodd stopped by the small window and peered in between the shutter slats.

‘Sir,’ he said softly. ‘Come and look at this.’

Carey came back, peered between the shutters as well. It was hard to be sure in the half-light, but there were two people standing in the little room. One was John Leigh, the other the girl with long red curls. They were murmuring too low for Carey to hear. The girl shrugged and spoke sharply. John Leigh nodded and held out what looked like a heavy purse. The girl reached to take it and in that moment, John Leigh dropped the purse, grabbed her wrist and hit her hard on the jaw. She reeled back and slumped. Then John Leigh was on her with his hands round her neck, silently squeezing the life out of her.

Dodd’s mouth was open. Carey stepped back, lifted his boot and kicked the shutters hard, kicked again. Dodd remembered something, left him to it, and slid down the ladder to the next level.

It was a horrible shock to John Leigh when a boot suddenly started splintering the wood of his window shutters and then burst apart the lead flushings of the expensive little diamond window panes.

Foolishly he let go of Julia Coldale’s neck, and started back, staring wildly. The head and one shoulder of the Deputy Warden shoved through the tattered window, causing glass to fall and shine in the rushes.

‘Get away from that girl,’ ordered Carey.

He can’t get through the window, thought John Leigh; it’s too small for him. Without really thinking things through, he reached for Julia Coldale again. There was a loud hammering downstairs. She was making crowing noises and blindly trying to crawl away from him; he grabbed her shoulder, pushed her back, clipped her jaw again and started strangling her once more. Something hard hit his ear painfully, drawing blood. He looked up, saw Carey with two more diamond panes in his hand, taking aim to throw them at him, his dagger in his left hand. He did throw them, John Leigh ducked, but didn’t duck fast enough and was hit on the cheek. He let go of Julia to put his hand up to the cut and another piece of glass hit him on the forehead.

There were footsteps on the stairs, but John Leigh had picked up his wife’s sewing table and was using it as a shield against the rain of missiles from Carey. The door was booted open and there stood Sergeant Dodd, breathing hard, a drawn sword in each hand.

‘Now,’ said Dodd sadly between pants. ‘Ye’d best do as the Deputy tells ye, Mr Leigh.’

Leigh’s teeth showed like a cornered dog’s. He drew his own dagger, dropped the sewing table in a mess of pincushions and thread spools, and picked up Julia, turned her about so he could put his blade to her neck. Her legs weren’t supporting her and she didn’t look as if she was breathing.

‘Stay away, Dodd,’ he shouted wildly. ‘Or I’ll cut her throat.’

Dodd stopped, partly because Julia Coldale was between him and Leigh and it was always hard to put a sword through two bodies at once. The girl made a loud snoring noise and then another, started coughing and gagging.

‘Matilda,’ roared John Leigh. ‘Matilda, come and help me. Matildaaa!’

There was no answer. Dodd stood there, a sword in each hand and no way to use either of them while Leigh kept his knife to the girl’s neck.

‘Get back,’ whispered Leigh hoarsely. ‘Get back through the door.’

‘Now listen,’ said Dodd regretfully. ‘Ye canna make it work. We both saw ye trying to kill the girl an’ I dinna care why and nor does the Deputy. But ye willnae hang if ye dinna kill her, see, so why not let her go and save us all trouble and sweat?’

The girl was gagging and whooping pitifully, still not able to stand. She must be an awful weight on his arm, thought Dodd, taking one considered step back. Leigh followed, facing him, his hand with the knife trembling dangerously.

I wonder what the Deputy’s up to, Dodd thought to himself.

‘Where will ye go?’ he asked Leigh reasonably. ‘What will ye do? Ye’ll be at the horn for sure and could ye live in the Debateable Land?’

‘Other men have,’ said Leigh desperately. Julia slipped against him and he hefted her up again, sweat on his face.

Dodd shook his head. ‘Fighting men,’ he said. ‘Wi’ all the respect in the world, sir, ye’re not a fighting man. Have ye a sword? Harness? A helmet? D’ye have horses? Can ye use a lance? My brother-in-law Skinabake Armstrong has his pick o’ men to join his gang, sir, and he’ll no’ take a Carlisle draper.’